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“Go on, sweetpea, you’ll be alright!”
The girl’s little hand tightened around hers, her green eyes wide as she stared up at her, worry clear in the line of her brow.
“Are you sure mama?”
Yennefer smiled reassuringly, and reached out with her free hand to wipe a wisp of ashen hair out of her daughter’s face gently.
“It’s Santa, of course I’m sure! He won’t bite, and I’ll be there the whole time, I promise.”
With another reluctant glance between her mother and the big, bearded man, Cirilla took a hesitant step forward, tugging her mother along.
Yennefer shared a knowing look with the mother herding her child off of Santa’s lap, so that Ciri could take her son’s place. The boy bounced excitedly as his mother took his hand.
“Hi Yenna, hi Ciri! Exciting, isn’t it, having Santa here?”
Yennefer lifted her daughter up, which was not made easier by her half-nervous, all too excited nodding, or her kicking feet, though it wasn’t easy on a good day now, with how big she was getting.
“So ‘citing!” Ciri echoed. Yennefer smiled.
“Hello there, you two,” she said, waving at the woman’s son and getting a wild wave in return, “it’s a magical time, isn’t it? We’re lucky Santa Claus isn’t too busy to come see us here.”
“Very lucky,” came the slightly dreamy reply, “maybe he’ll let us moms sit on his knee when there’s some time left later, hm? Just to hear what we’d like to find under our Christmas trees, of course.”
At the sound of a half-choked cough her eyes flicked away from Triss. Over the redhead's shoulder she could see Santa hiding an impish grin behind his beard, shaking his head. Yennefer shot him a pointed look, to which he had the decency to look at least sheepishly apologetic.
“Perhaps,” she said drily after a second, “but for now I sure hope he’ll prioritize the kids.” Her pointed remark did not go unnoticed by either of the adults involved, and though she turned back to watch Triss blush slightly she was sure she’d find Santa rolling his eyes at her if she’d looked. “Speaking of which, I’m going to go take Ciri over now, we’re holding up the line.”
“Right, of course,” Triss answered, as she finally allowed her son to tug her away in the direction of some of the other children.
With an apologetic shrug at the few parents and kids still in line, Yennefer finally turned to deposit her squirming child onto Santa Claus’ bright red lap.
From behind the big, curly white beard came the familiar jolly laugh in greeting as a broad, gloved hand moved to span almost protectively over Ciri’s back. Bright hazel eyes looked up to meet hers from behind silly glasses she knew the man didn’t need. The spark in them almost took her by surprise. Almost.
“Well, well,” the man spoke, his voice clearly contorted to be… either more Santa-like or just less recognizable, “who do we have here? Is that our little Cirilla?”
Her daughter squeaked a quiet “yes,” staring up at her in a mixture of wonder and fear, and Yennefer could only grin at her, giving her an encouraging nod. The smile on Santa's face was as wide and warm as she was sure her own was, and when Ciri turned her head to look at him she finally seemed to settle a little.
Though tradition dictated she likely should be paying close attention to whatever her daughter would be telling Santa she wanted, Yennefer didn’t find herself worried about it.
Instead she just allowed herself to focus on the pictures she was taking of her daughter and the old man, with her kid’s excited chatter about her wishes and Santa’s patient responses as the temporary soundtrack to her life as much as the now ever-present Christmas playlist chosen by the daycare workers was. They had family that would do just about anything for these pictures, and she’d promised them some good ones that year.
As Ciri rapidly fired off gift ideas, she took another picture of her daughter’s wide, toothy smile, and when Santa asked her whether she’d truly been nice enough for gifts like that she found herself redirecting to snap a shot of her daughter’s back, with the man’s almost teasing smile in the center of the photo instead.
She lowered her phone to go back to living in the moment just as her daughter started rattling off her own nice-list defense as professionally and preparedly as any lawyer might have.
Maybe she should’ve cut Ciri’s rambling off, but Santa looked so entirely invested in her words that Yennefer couldn’t help but allow the girl to finish her long list of reasons she was nice, and entirely deserving any and all gifts. For a while, Yennefer just watched them as they talked, the impossibly fond warmth in her chest almost painful.
Eventually though, the elf standing by their side tapped the man on the shoulder, and poor Santa Claus seemed to once again become aware of the line of children waiting for his attention. With an exclamation about how she was definitely one of the nicest kids on his nice-kids-list, he placated her enough for them to round off her visit.
Yennefer's apologetic look at her daughter’s hogging of his time was waved away as Yennefer moved to help the girl to the ground, her hand landing on her kid’s shoulder blade. Her timing, impeccable as it always was, coincided perfectly with the man’s when he shifted his own hold up just slightly to help her.
For a brief moment their fingers touched on the admittedly small expanse of her little girl’s back.
She watched with some fascination as he lifted his pinky finger and hooked it around hers in an affectionate little gesture hidden quite expertly from their surroundings.
It would be easy to dismiss as an accident, or a clumsy attempt to free up more space on the girl's back, but based on the quirk of his lips and the teasing spark in his eyes it was quite clear how deliberate the action had been. After a split second of hesitation she relaxed, curling her own finger around his in turn, and allowing herself to enjoy the ghost of the warmth of his skin leaking into hers through the white gloves. It wasn’t like Cirilla would be able to see, she’d be too preoccupied to notice anyway, so there really was no harm in it.
There was an unfair comfort to the feeling, to the way his attention made some of the stress of the holidays melt away.
Over her daughter’s head they shared a soft, comfortable glance for a brief moment before Ciri squirmed. Both she and Santa finally moved to actually put the girl down on the floor, with smiles neither of them quite managed to wipe off their faces, though hers was now aimed down at her daughter, speaking almost thoughtlessly.
“Wanna say bye bye to yo- Santa, baby?”
The fond amusement in her voice was clear, and equally clear was the man’s chuckle when he caught her near slip-up when addressing him. Ciri just turned her bright eyes and beaming grin up at him, entirely unaware of either.
“Thank you, Santa!” she cried out excitedly, “bye!”
“Bye Santa,” Yennefer echoed, aiming a smirk she couldn’t quite bite back at the man, “we’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” he answered with a knowing gleam in his eyes behind the little glasses, “bye Cirilla, be nice to your mother, you hear me?”
“Daddy!”
Before the door had even fallen shut behind them, Ciri was off, her coat barely lost by the front door before she’d escaped her mother’s grasp. She followed her daughter into the living room quickly.
“Hey princess!” Her husband crouched down as their daughter raced towards him as quickly as her little legs could carry her. He caught her, lifting her feet off the ground and swinging her around, her squeals and giggles filling their warm, now pine-scented living room. He spun her fully once, and then slowed their movements. “How was your day today, huh?”
Yennefer met his eyes over their girl’s shoulder for a moment, the two of them sharing a conspiratorial grin before he turned his full attention to their kid. The way their abundant Christmas lights reflected in his and their daughter’s matching wide, hazel eyes would be enough to make a lesser woman weep, she was convinced.
“I got to meet Santa! He was so soft and he’s gonna bring me a pony for Christmas!”
“Is he now? Are you sure that’s what he said?”
She could hear the amusement in his voice, and with the conversation between her daughter and husband as background she silently snuck away to make her way into the kitchen.
Her shoulder sagged with relief at the sight of dinner already mostly prepared, the table already set for three.
She knew he’d already been home for a little while, but since Fridays were usually a workday for him and not for her, they’d become one of her days to cook in their unofficial family chores schedule. As much as she wanted him to enjoy his day off she was entirely too glad to not need to set herself to a lot of work in the kitchen that night.
From the living room she could hear her daughter loudly recounting her meeting with Santa Claus, and her husband oohing and ahhing at the appropriate times. It was impossible to keep from smiling as she filled the two wine glasses Geralt had set by their plates, allowing her thoughts to wander.
For all the complaining he’d done about being volunteered by her to play Santa at their daughter’s daycare center he’d taken to the role quite enthusiastically. Of course she’d known for a while how good he was with kids, and that despite his grumpy demeanor he was a sucker for the holidays, but still it almost surprised her, again and again every year, exactly how much he loved Christmas cheer.
They’d known each other for ages, though they hadn’t really spoken to each other much -if at all- back in high school. It had taken until they’d happened to end up in a few college classes together for her to start getting to know him, and until their first Christmas together as a couple for her to find out how much the holidays meant to him and why.
Her family had never done much of anything for the season, and she herself hadn’t truly started caring until she’d started joining his family for them instead.
She’d always known him to grumble, be a bit aloof, protective of his own and himself in a way that’d made him seem closed off, vaguely threatening. Having seen him like this though, dressed up in an overly expensive Santa costume, positively beaming at their daughter, the other daycare children- it only drove home how wrong most people’s image of him was. How wrong her image of him had been, when they’d been stupid kids.
It was only moments later that he entered the kitchen alone, Ciri clearly otherwise occupied for a while. With a smile he veered from his path straight towards the stove in order to press a kiss in belated greeting to her lips.
Yennefer welcomed it gladly before offering him one of the glasses.
“Hi,” she spoke up at him.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he replied, taking the wine and wrapping an arm around her.
“Santa left quite the impression on her, didn’t he?”
He chuckled, the gentle shake of his head more disbelief than denial. “It appears he did. How about you though? Equally impressed with the old man?”
“Oh but of course, I like a chubby man in red, and that unkempt beard was quite fetching,” she teased, only to yelp as he growled and pulled her closer roughly, “mind my drink, you brute!”
He stopped jostling her, but didn’t loosen his grip, and despite herself she slipped her free hand into his hair to make sure he didn’t pull away after all. “You didn’t really promise her a damn horse did you?”
He silenced her with another kiss, his jolly “ho ho ho,” muttered against her lips and escaping in the gaps created where their wide grins didn’t quite fit together seamlessly. She couldn’t be too annoyed with him when he eagerly welcomed her tongue into his mouth, his fingertips trailing pointedly down her spine, over the small of her back, until he could press his palm just over the curve of her ass, teasing at the hem of her shirt and digging his thumb into her flesh.
The chirp of his phone was an unwelcome interruption.
Her hand tightened in his hair, a subconscious effort to not let the noise distract them, and for a moment he seemed happy to let her keep him from checking it.
Then he pulled back slightly, and before she could respond his hand had shot up to grab her chin, keeping her from escaping, and his tongue swiped a broad stroke across her cheek. She yelped. Her husband had darted away from her before she’d even registered his action for the true betrayal it had been, the wet patch on her cheek cooling quickly.
“What the Hell, Geralt!” She hissed and he just laughed, clearly pleased with himself, as he fished his phone from his pocket and she wiped at her face. “God, you’re a child.” Her frustrated grumbling went entirely ignored.
“Ah, but look!” He turned his phone screen to face her. Though she wasn’t sure it’d been worth his dastardly actions, she’d admit the picture was damn cute.
His brother and sister-in-law had clearly put a lot of care into decorating the large tree visible behind them, but it was the newborn in Renfri’s arms that truly stole the show.
They’d put little Deidre in an infant version of a Santa outfit, a tiny red hat completing the look. Renfri was beaming at the camera, Eskel preoccupied with grinning fondly down at his wife instead. An aching little thing in her chest that was quite too overwhelming to ignore made it near impossible to breathe.
“I can hardly even remember Ciri being that small,” Yennefer muttered, her husband's earlier traitorous action forgotten when he wrapped his arm back around her to pull her into his side, the both of them still looking at the picture slightly unseeing, lost in their own thoughts. “God, I wish I’d more actively realized just how special that time was, back then.”
“That first Christmas together really is special,” he whispered, pulling her impossibly closer, “but so is every single one after that. I’m honestly kind of stoked that she actually understands Christmas, these days.”
She tilted her head to brush a grateful kiss against the gentle slope where his shoulder turned to his neck, gratefully enjoying the warmth of his skin under her lips.
“You’re right,” she mumbled after a moment, shifting to almost hide the words into the soft fabric of his sweater, “you should have seen how anxious she was all afternoon, about meeting Santa… It was probably the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I know you were there for much of it, but I just…”
His short breath of laughter rattled through her as his chest shook beneath her cheek where she rested it. “God, it’s a miracle she didn’t recognize me- I was probably even more anxious than she was.”
“She was too excited to register anything beyond the beard and the red outfit, I think,” she said quietly, “she wouldn’t even have realized it was you if you hadn’t been as convincingly disguised as you were.”
He was silent for a moment, and she could feel his nose nudge the top of her head, his breath playing through her hair. Both of them’d had hectic days, surrounded by children and music and endless flashing lights. They could both use the moment to breathe, calm themselves, and neither of them knew a better way than just… this.
The clock by the doorway ticked quietly, the fridge hummed, and from the living room they could just hear Ciri singing Christmas songs to herself as she played what seemed to be peacefully on her own. Under her cheek his heart was beating its regular constant pattern. She breathed deeply and allowed the scents and sounds of home to settle her.
All against her, surrounding her, she could feel his muscles shift, some of the tension finally bleeding from her husband too.
When the rhythmic, familiar noises had eased her enough she leaned back with a hum, aiming another smile up at him. “I’ll help you finish up dinner,” she said, pushing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips, “thank you for getting it started.”
She carefully freed herself from his embrace to make her way over to the counter to take inventory of what would still need doing. Geralt stepped up next to her not a moment later, reaching out for whatever utensil he’d decided he’d need. “I was fully intending to finish what I’d started, you know.”
“I know,” she said, though she didn’t make any move to leave either, “we work well as a team don’t we?”
“That we do,” he agreed readily.
It was as easy as breathing, settling into the routine of working side by side with him, finishing up the little bit of cooking he’d had left to do.
With quiet chatter and the laughter that felt so natural when she was around him but never had before they made fairly quick work of the last of the preparation. Before long they had dinner simmering, and their conversation first shared across the counter once again filled the kitchen in its entirety as Geralt crossed back over to the table to grab his wine glass.
She turned around to allow her gaze to follow his easy gait as she leaned back against the counter.
Her husband had dropped himself onto one of the kitchen chairs they desperately needed to replace with a groan, his bright eyes focused on her so intently she should by all means be entirely uncomfortable. Yet she never was- all his gaze ever did was make her feel impossibly more loved and desired than she’d ever had before, to a somehow ever rising fever pitch, beyond what should be attainable. Each time she thought she couldn’t feel more loved than she did, he somehow managed to make it so.
She answered his smile with one of her own, and watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled with what she knew would one day be deep crow’s feet, caused by a lifetime of joy she’d have a hand in. She couldn’t wait.
After a brief moment of feeling entirely, irrevocably stuck in his gaze she finally shook herself free, and pushed away from the kitchen counter.
“I’ll go get Cirilla washed up for dinner,” she said, in lieu of the God, I love you waiting to roll off her tongue. The way his eyes followed her as she made to step past the table answered his own silent love confession. She knew it well.
When she walked past him a large hand reached out to wrap around her wrist, and before she could protest he’d pulled her down into his lap. The kitchen chair he was on creaked ominously beneath their shared weight.
His arms slid around her waist, and she was quick to wrap hers around his neck in turn.
“Your tactics are getting a bit aggressive there, Santa.”
The teasing glint in his eyes, the wide smile on his face, the soft old sweater he was wearing though it was as much hers as his with how often she borrowed it- everything about him took her breath away, made her heart ache with its inability to contain an amount of love so stupidly overabundant that she might explode with it.
“I have to make sure I get everyone’s wish list, sweetheart,” he said, “and if you won’t tell me voluntarily, I have to get creative.”
“Everyone, hm? Because if that’s the case I know a handful of daycare-moms that’re absolutely chomping at the bit to take their turn sitting in Santa’s lap.”
The mental image of him in the stupid Santa outfit with Triss Merigold or Gill Vigo draping themselves all over him made her want to gag- the moms knew full well who was hiding beneath the pillow-belly and fake beard, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d used daycare pick-up to make eyes at a married man. Her married man.
He laughed, pulling her closer as her hands moved to cup his face, her ring catching the light against the neatly trimmed beard she much preferred over the fake one he’d been wearing earlier. Her thumbs pressed small, gentle circles into his sharp cheekbones, the smile on his lips obvious from the pull of his cheeks under her palms.
“Maybe not everyone,” he amended, with a grin she was eager to wipe off of his face with a deep, lingering kiss.