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          light streams in through the open window of the bedroom, a slight breeze shuddering the thin curtains as the dim light of morning drapes over the witcher’s eyes, stirring him awake with a few blinks. his head turns, wanting to take in a few extra minutes of sleep -- it isn’t like he has anywhere to be but here -- but his senses overload with the familiar scent of lavender and wild gooseberries mixed into their new environment and now he can’t not be awake.           his favourite. yennefer.           the wolf turns over in bed and gazes at the wonder laying next to him, her naked back facing in his direction. he drinks her in, almost salivating at the sight, but he will never overcome the sensation of his heart thumping against his tightened chest that floods his body every time his eyes gaze upon her. the soft curves of her body, her smooth skin, the way she rises and falls with each breath is mesmerizing and he knows he could die happily if this was the last thing he was given the chance to see.           though he’d probably sooner die to the sight of the monster that slays him than from old age, laying down next to the love of his life, but that’s not the point.           he can’t control himself when he shifts closer to her, his bare chest pressed against her skin and a scarred arm draping over her middle, familiar sparks and tingles shooting through his body from the passive magical energy she naturally gives off. his nose buries itself in raven locks, breathing her in and overwhelming his senses with her and only her.           a hum rumbles in his chest before he speaks, voice still husky and deep from sleep.           ❝ morning, yen. ❞