Eye Of The Storm - Headcanon Fluff
Gif found at @yennefer-de-vries!
- “Hurry up,” Geralt grumps, tugging your hand as you try to keep up with his pace.
- “Some of us don’t have long legs and thighs strong enough to crush watermelons between!” You force out, your breath quick.
- The sound of thunder prowls across the sky like a hunting cat, warning.
- “It’s going to pour and the village is so close! If you’ll just walk faster–”
- “I’m walking as fast as I can, Geralt!” You huff in exasperation.
- A few droplets fall, fat and wet; lighting whips through the stormclouds, forking jaggedly in a flash.
- “Hurry up!” He snaps, and you jerk your hand from his. “What–?”
- “Or what, huh? We’ll get rained on? Are you scared of being a bit damp?” He lunges to grab your hand again, and you leap back.
- “No, I’m scared you’ll get cold and sick!” He growls, as the rain begins to fall. It’s a sprinkle, settling on your hair and skin like prism mist.
- “I’ve been wet before, Geralt. I’m not as fragile as you think I am.” There’s a clap of thunder like the strike of a hammer on iron, and you jump, giggling at your own skittishness.
- “Love, please.” He’s using his soft voice, and his best sulky pout; still, when he goes to take your hand, you dodge him.
- “Catch me, and you can take me wherever you want!” You challenge him, sassy, and with a flick of your skirts you’re running into a meadow of wind-whipped grass as the rainfall increases.
- “Get back here!” He demands, before rolling his eyes at the dark skies, “You’re being ridiculous!”
- His answer is a distant giggle, and he makes a low growl, jogging after you, easily tracking your clumsy path.
- Sheets of rain begin to unfold, a torrent of water that your boots splash in as you run, soaking through your clothes in an instant.
- Your breath is quick as you peek over your shoulder to see how close he is, and find suddenly that he’s nowhere in sight.
- “…Geralt?” You question, pausing your run.
- The next thing you know, you’re scooped up in a pair of dripping arms, lifted off the ground, the snarl at your ear giving your captor away; you cling to his forearms and squeal.
- “Always fall for that one. You are impossible, sweetheart.” He mutters, and nips your earlobe. “Impossible and wet.”
- “You like me wet.” You tease, and laugh when he twirls you, hugging you to his huge chest.
- He lets you stand, and you turn to face him, grinning; the rain pours, the lightning licks the sky, and you watch the water run down his angular features in little rivers.
- “A rainstorm won’t break me, love.” You tell him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his chin, “Maybe I’ll get wet and cold, but I’d sooner stand in the downpour, with you, than run away, frightened of what might happen.”
- His eyes blaze; he knows you’re not just talking about weather anymore. When he bends down to kiss you, his mouth is a hot contrast to the splash of the rain on your skin, and you lick the water from his lips as if drinking of him.
- “So, then. You’d weather any storm, with me?” He asks, and you nod, brushing a strand of streaming slick hair from his forehead.
- “If you’d stand with me, then yes. Any storm.”
- He smirks, and takes your hands, kissing your fingers. “Well, I’m happy to know, because… hmm. This is not how I’d envisioned it, but…”
- You quirk an eyebrow, confused, until he slowly lowers onto one knee right there in the mud-puddle field of wild wheat and spring flowers, still holding your left hand.
5
