#also YOUR PSD IS SO GORGEOUS uuughhh

[okruchlodu]

@ruinedbycatastrophe

Despite the harrowing ache in her chest, his words had a rather healing touch that left the sorceress somewhere between thunderstruck and euphoric. Swallowing forcibly, something strange and bitter crowding her throat, she pried her gaze away from the frozen glitter of the stars swathing the dark skies above them, dipping her head to the side and fixing fire-bright, violet eyes upon him, her heart racing. Yennefer looked at the witcher as though witnessing him for the first time, and she was surprised to see the exact same man laying next to her as last night and all days before.  Heavens, how strange it was, to watch the shadows unveil the man behind the wolf. There was Geralt (her Geralt, bright and blazing like a fire in her veins, his smiles, his sweet, hard mouth on hers, his hands around her - safe; warm; her world entire), and then there was the witcher, the feral wolf plighted with strange, dark hungers that she could never satiate —and then there was the marriage of the two. Here, amidst the pyres of the Belleteyn now burnt to embers and ashes, soft in his arms under a sky that promised only grief, only regret once dawn had come to separate them, Yennefer could see each distinction as though they existed in three separate windows for her to view; that dark, strong grief ever hung off his shoulders like a disease that he could not be rid of; the cutting, stabbing pain that he would never quite voice but she could plainly see drowning the fire in his eyes; the harsh, thick shadows that blurred his expression, the sharp line of his mouth, full of its secrets. And then... him, when he was with her, sheltered away from the world, alone with her in the shadows that enveloped the both of them; for one supposedly forged from fire and steel, Yennefer discovered that there was a softness to him that lingered beneath the branded armor of a witcher stripped off emotion.  There was a gentleness, a pillow of vulnerability that invited her warmth in such a sacred gesture, it often took her breath away.  That was who he was—who he had been the entire time.  Though he carried a darkness in his veins that haunted his every step, nothing could ever quite pierce the strong walls of his heart.  She had been foolish to think otherwise, even if only for the moments they had been apart (countless, endless, forever more than those they shared together).  She had been foolish to hate him for it, to tear herself to ribbons with her rage, her fury, her feral, wild anger at him, wishing that he had never forced his way into her life, steering the path that destiny had blazed for her towards some direction that the enchantress had never thought that she would find herself taking.

In spite of this, Yennefer had never once stopped loving him. She never would. He was something to her that no one else could ever be; no matter what destiny and the world around them would throw their way. No matter that him and her, could never quite happen.

❝I know…❞ she whispered, a breathless, pained smile quivering upon narrow, soft lips, pressing her palm to his chest, just over his heart. ❝you have me, Geralt.❞ she expanded the thought reverently, fingers slipping down the length of his chest to find his hand, curling around the roughness of the witcher's knuckles (the callous kisses of war) which she brought to her mouth, too, to mend. ❝you shall always have me.❞ but everything must end and when the morning comes, we must part — this time went unsaid; but the pain flared in her eyes, an uninvited visitor, dark and drowning, a violent shade of purple blazing in her gaze as she exhaled through her nose, felt herself tremble. ❝my witcher...❞ she dragged his knuckles across her lips until she could caress each pad of his fingers with the fealty of her adoration. ❝so full of promise...❞ she laughed, a wet, choked sound, trying not to think about the lie in her words... how they would have to leave one another... How he would never truly be hers.

—but for just then, that firelit, star-drenched night full of pulse; full of life swelling all around them, it was enough; he was hers, and she his world entire, here, between the earth and the moon, the end and the beginning, the two of them, fitting together like the sea to the shore. Yes, they were enough. More than enough; everything to her.

Yennefer sighed sharply, buried her face into the swell of his chest, seeking to feel the slow pulse of his heart against the cold skin of her cheek. She could no longer bear to look at him for fear of what she would see in his eyes (the darkness returning to swallow the light, and some part of hers she's left inside of him, with it). Enough, she breathlessly clutched at him, pressing herself closer as though afraid something would take him from her (and soon, something would.) Enough. This had to be enough...

“ i don’t know what the future holds. all i know is that... i hope you’re in it. “ (for Geralt)

sacred romantic moments // accepting! @okruchlodu

He's hated destiny for so long. Everything in his life since the day he was left on the Witcher's doorstep has been destiny. Its had it's claws in every part of his long, sorry life, ripping and tearing along the way. Geralt has been through so much, seen too much and his mind is so jaded, too cloudy with the what ifs and horrors of war by humans and their greed. But destiny also gave him her. Her long dark curls, her lips, her violet hues. She's crawling into his chest, into his heart. It beats so slow, but even it skips a beat seeing her. "I want you too. Always." He replies, softly. As if it were a prayer to Gods he doesn't believe in. A prayer that Yennefer would stay. That she would never leave. It aches. She will always leave him with an ache until he sees her again.