#* 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 — questions.

[evervinter]

༺ ❅ ༻ 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒆 @dasmirakel ft. Matt

❝ It doesn't take much to want your touch. ❞

She can't help but grin as as her chilled fingertips brush up against Matt's skin along his chest. ❝ Even when I do this ? ❞ she asks, her head canted as curiously as a cat with eyes gazing in mischievous fashion. It's probably a tad bit dangerous to walk the line with a SHIELD agent but what's life if there isn't a little danger to be had?

Removing her hands, she takes a step back. ❝ Still want it? ❞ she asks simply playing a game of temptation.

But the question is does he want to play ?

[occllumency]

alecto, do you ever wish you could be different

“ wishing stuff like that is a bit childish,  isn’t it? “ 

[arcaenelle]

paniczasu‌:

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆,   is what Ciri wants to add, but she doesn’t.   Nor does she press her previous question further, even as he cups her face, looking at her as if he’s parched and there’s an oasis at his feet.  Any heat in her veins has cooled and all she wants, wishes, is to wiggle around to place her wet back against his chest.   Oh, don’t be fooled; she does look at those lips and she does have a quickening in her chest, but what she wills is resting against him and closing her eyes. She could sleep like this.  Ciri wishes she could always fall asleep in his arms, like this, being held for the first time in oh-so-long. Ciri understands his desire.  While cooled, content in only him holding her and pretending he loves her, hers still lives.  She’s desired this man for years; she thinks she might’ve loved him a little longer, but she isn’t certain.   Ciri just knows that he’s the first person she thinks of when she’s happy, or sad, or has something on her mind and she simply wishes for someone to know.   Gods.  If he only knew–but he isn’t ready.  She stands by this. ❝ No, ❞   she gives in and answers him.     ❝ A witcher ought to have scars. ❞ The water cools, but Ciri makes no move.  There’s still warmth and, frankly, she’s worried that once she leaves the bath he’ll leave.  She could ask him to stay with her–just sleeping, nothing else–but she fears, with her upcoming wedding, that might be pushing things.  Hell.  This is pushing things.   Once again, in an effort to be more comfortable, she maneuvers to her side and rests her cheek against his chest.   She tries to be considerate; she knows they are cramped for space and her moving around isn’t wise, but at the same time she hardly gives a damn.    ❝ You kiss better in reality than my dreams. ❞ Fine.  She has to throw at least one flirt in there. 

Pausing, Avallac’h allowed a contemplative stare to galvanize his companion in the wake of what it was he could be thinking of. Just about anything, from her words to tomorrow’s breakfast, could be rappelling through his thoughts at that very moment, but instead of making them known, the Sage chose to hum his acquiescence and coax Ciri on top of his lap, with her back pressed against his chest and his lips to the crook of her neck.

Mind reading.

“In your dreams?” His voice was made of silk, palms smoothing down Cirilla’s arms and breath tickling the skin. 

Digits, bigger than hers yet surprisingly gentle still, intertwined with the lass’ own and brought her palm to the water’s surface. Then, an electrifying current that could only have been understood as magic shot from his veins to hers and, slowly, vapours began to billow up from their renewed spring water once more, enveloping the two in its thawing warmth.

After the spell was cast, a deep sigh issued from the elf. His fingers of the other hand rested in the hollow of Cirilla’s pulse, stroking lazy circles around it. An arm seized her in its strapping hold and elven lips found themselves opening and closing in an incredibly intimate set of kisses back at the base of his ward’s neck.

“Tell me about them…” Avallac’h tightened his embrace around the lass, feeling the heat which pooled in her stomach almost immediately shoot down to her nether regions. “...Your dreams.”