[ it is a terrifying thing for yennefer to admit to, that feeling she’s all but run from since their fight on the mountainside. because he’s not far from the truth - he does have a place in her, a part of her that is only really complete when he is here. for a brief moment, she had considered if that would be enough. if she could be enough, with that part of her patched clean. it says something about how much she’d started to believe it, when the truth about the wish had been shared. when she’d understood where the pieces came from, that they hadn’t been perfect fits from the start. magic had made his square shape feel as though it fit in the round void she’s been so desperate to fill, expanding into spaces where it didn’t, making her think…
well. that didn’t matter anymore, did it? or perhaps not that it didn’t matter, but that yennefer made the choice that the parts of her he could fill would have to be all she was able to have.
( there will always be a part of her searching for that extra thing, driven by the chance that maybe, maybe there is a way for her to be entirely full.
it’s just that here - with geralt, with ciri, with a purpose and a chance and pieces that might not fit perfectly yet, but maybe they could, maybe there is a chance - yennefer feels like hoping isn’t too dangerous an act. )
geralt pulls away from her just enough for her to watch as he slips his fingers into her. a separation that gives her all the view she needs of him, as her breath hitches again, as his eyelids flutter. the effect she has on him is intoxicating, watching the hunger grow in his eyes, watching his attention turn from her face to her neck, before he buries his face into her, finds her pulse with his teeth, his tongue. she leans into it a bit more than she might have with anyone else, letting herself feel everything; his fingers (as she opens her legs even wider for him), his mouth (as she bares her throat, her neck, wanting him to take more), his breath (stuttering with each press of her fingernails, which makes her do it again, and then again), and of course the strength and size of him, pressing her down into the mattress.
because it is this moment now, just like every time before, that yennefer has felt the closest to whole that she’s probably ever felt. magic, her magic, all around them. geralt, present and hungry and whole. and her thoughts, brought down to only this moment. only them. only this. one of her hands moves up his back to tangle in his hair, holding him against her as if there was something that could take him away, her face turned up against his own. her voice, heavy and hungry and low, as she arches back up against his pressing - feeling herself open up for him, relax for him, his fingers slick and hot between her legs - and let’s free a breathy moan. ]
no subject
well. that didn’t matter anymore, did it? or perhaps not that it didn’t matter, but that yennefer made the choice that the parts of her he could fill would have to be all she was able to have.
( there will always be a part of her searching for that extra thing, driven by the chance that maybe, maybe there is a way for her to be entirely full.
it’s just that here - with geralt, with ciri, with a purpose and a chance and pieces that might not fit perfectly yet, but maybe they could, maybe there is a chance - yennefer feels like hoping isn’t too dangerous an act. )
geralt pulls away from her just enough for her to watch as he slips his fingers into her. a separation that gives her all the view she needs of him, as her breath hitches again, as his eyelids flutter. the effect she has on him is intoxicating, watching the hunger grow in his eyes, watching his attention turn from her face to her neck, before he buries his face into her, finds her pulse with his teeth, his tongue. she leans into it a bit more than she might have with anyone else, letting herself feel everything; his fingers (as she opens her legs even wider for him), his mouth (as she bares her throat, her neck, wanting him to take more), his breath (stuttering with each press of her fingernails, which makes her do it again, and then again), and of course the strength and size of him, pressing her down into the mattress.
because it is this moment now, just like every time before, that yennefer has felt the closest to whole that she’s probably ever felt. magic, her magic, all around them. geralt, present and hungry and whole. and her thoughts, brought down to only this moment. only them. only this. one of her hands moves up his back to tangle in his hair, holding him against her as if there was something that could take him away, her face turned up against his own. her voice, heavy and hungry and low, as she arches back up against his pressing - feeling herself open up for him, relax for him, his fingers slick and hot between her legs - and let’s free a breathy moan. ]