open post;

[choicely]

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open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/f + f/m for shipping.
please link nsfw images.
compliant through season 4 of the witcher.

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[choicely]

Yennefer’s own cataclysm is an inevitability, as hard as his thrusts are — not punishing, not as if he’s selfishly trying to wring pleasure from her body without giving it, but strong in the way where she can tell he’s given up on any semblance of control as he nears his own release. It comes for both of them, in quick sequence — hers first, so intense that she squeezes her eyes shut and can still see starbursts throughout as she forms a helpless arch beneath him, and his following behind a few drives later.

When he shoves deep, bringing their bodies flush to spill every drop of seed within her, she wonders, briefly, if this is the moment it will take — if her womb will quicken, and what he’s left within her will take root. If not, the thought of trying again doesn’t seem nearly as terrible, or obligatory, as it might have before.

In the aftermath, he drops himself against her, but rather than loathing his weight, his warmth, his sweat, she finds herself eager to bask in it, fingertips idly skimming over his spine as he nuzzles against her, both of them momentarily left at a loss for words. Something more has transpired here, in their consummation, and she’s not willing to interrogate it too closely, but she turns her head to gently seek out his lips with her own, kissing him almost sweetly.

[madaboutit]

Oh--the kissing is a surprise, but a welcome one. Sweeney has to shift a little to facilitate it more properly, and even with the additional bow of his spine, he has to sacrifice an inch of depth to angle more comfortably. There's still plenty of him in her to not have to lament the cold, so he doesn't mind so much, as his prick continues to twitch in the afterglow.

Eventually, he comes up for air and leans back just enough to meet her eyes, leaving them barely in focus.

"You a'right?" he pants softly.

[choicely]

"I am."

She's breathless, and flushed, but there's a light in her eyes that's unmistakable from this angle — the proof of a woman thoroughly satisfied, and one who's still content to linger in his arms despite the weight of his frame or the fact that they're both lightly sweaty from their exertions.

The most damning part of all of it, she thinks, is that the thought of doing this again doesn't bother her in the slightest, doesn't feel anywhere close to the chore she initially believed it would be. There's no telling whether his seed will quicken in her womb right away, so perhaps they'll need to engage in this more than once just to ensure it, and the small, private smile that curves up the corners of her mouth is a clear indication of her thoughts in that regard.