Let Your Chaos EXPLODE

@cerbin​                                                        ‘   ♡

❛     𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄   𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄   𝐎𝐅   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 ?    ❜               not   to   be   a   downer,   or   sound   cynical !   it’s   not   that   they   lack   confidence   in   her   assured   planning   skills,   however,   there’s   a   very   significant   memory   of   a   very   specific   event   that’s   just   holding   them   back   by   a   petite,   tiny,   very   tiny   fractional   bit.   geralt   trusts   her   and   that’s   enough   for   jaskier   to   go   along.   not   a   guarantee   of   their   bitten   tongue !          ❛     it’s   just   that   last   time   you   had   a   plan   i   seem   to   recall   you   almost   died,   geralt   almost   died,   i’m   fairly   positive   that   i   almost   died.   so   forgive   a   bard   for   wanting   to   check.     ❜

             ✤ : lacing your fingers into theirs and holding their hands ── @cerbin​ .

her touch was not something he took for granted easily. Perhaps, maybe not at all nowadays. All things considered ─ he knew better. He knew now what it was like to miss those fingers in his hair ; to miss them against his chest, to feel her close enough to have it. He looks at her then and the span of dying flora around them. The once green landscape fading into more gray and dull colors as their ride continued on. The one consistency in the last few weeks was her. And roach. 

He turns his head when she falls to sit beside him. The fire burned faintly in front of them. A weak brush of heat against his gerkin and his boots. She takes his fingers first before he could get hers. Thumb stroking circles over her palm and then her knuckles. Tracing the shape of imaginary lines he could still see through the growing darkness. She didn’t scar like he did. She didn’t show the wear and tear that came with mortality like they do. She stayed quite the comely beauty he’d beg to forget whenever they would take their leave of each other’s company. With her haunting eyes and intoxicating scent. 

Light fingers frame her neck and her jaw, tilting it back as he claimed her lips with his. Lilacs and gooseberry. Soft and warm to the touch. A quiet comfort to add to the thrill of the night. His for now. In the way it could only be his. And he parts, a mere few inches, with a slow drawn out smile. 

send a symbol for a gentle touch / not accepting . 

Yennefer tilts her head for Geralt’s probing pleasure. She looks at him out the corner of her eye. “Enjoying the view?” she asks. She’s had decades to grow accustomed to the stares, that outright near gawking at her enchanted body. However, she’s never noticed Geralt do it himself especially in this manner. She can detect his amber eyes switching between admiration and examination. What is he searching for?