Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day four of the rest of Tissaia’s life is not going well.

    This may potentially be because “the rest of her life” is code for “living in a shitty apartment after catching her philandering husband with a teaching assistant half of his age.” She hoped her days of living in the kind of housing prevalent on University campuses were long over, but evidently, she had been mistaken.

    While her new accommodations are cramped, possibly not up to building code, and far too close to the lunacy of student life for her comfort, she will take this any day before sharing a townhouse with her so-very-apologetic husband. Soon to be ex-husband.

    She can only hope that her current situation is temporary. It would take a small act of divine intervention to find an actual apartment that isn’t a drug den now that the semester has started, but really the universe owes her. Just a little. If it gets it together and gets her away from this wreck of a building and her disaster of a next-door neighbor she would be willing to call it even.

    Her neighbor, whom she definitely does not consider murdering on a daily basis, takes this as her cue to begin blasting what Tissaia’s somewhat aged musical tastes can only identify as “loud yelling about sex.” It would appear whatever-her-name-is is quite fond of this type of noise, playing it at top volume from around eleven pm to three am every single night. This habit has done nothing to endear her to Tissaia, whose teaching schedule begins promptly at nine am and therefore cannot sleep till the late afternoon as her new annoyance seems fond of doing.

    She collapses onto a forlorn kitchen chair, one of the few pieces of Ikea furniture she’s managed to pull together, and throws a baleful look at the pile of still-unopened cardboard boxes containing both possessions she’s been unwilling to put away and what a cheerful illustration assures her will become a couch if she ever manages to comprehend the instructions. She has a law degree and she’s been defeated by what are effectively glorified lego directions. This is her own damn fault for never learning to do handy-person things and calling a goddamn repairman whenever something broke. 

    Something is breaking on the other side of her very, very thin wall. She hopes it was her neighbor’s speaker system, but based on the obnoxious laughter in the other apartment and the continued assault on her eardrums she’s not having that kind of luck tonight.

    She growls. It is a goddamn Tuesday. She would understand if it were Friday night. College students will be college students, live and let live and all that jazz. But Tuesday? She clicks at her cell phone and scowls. Two am on a Tuesday? She has a job. It involves convincing a lecture hall of several hundred bored law students she knows what she’s talking about. She cannot be awake at two in the morning on a Tuesday.

    She will not be awake, and her neighbor will not be alive this fine Tuesday or possibly Wednesday now, because she is not dealing with this. She has a divorce to file for, and budget meetings to endure, and she’s sorry to be a drag but she’s been very patient so far and tonight she’s done.

    She grabs her keys from where they’ve been thrown on the kitchen table and marches out the door in a huff of righteous indignation. She is aware she’d projecting her accumulated rage onto a reachable target rather than the one probably off screwing more undergrads and living in her house, but she’s tired and pissed and doesn’t give a damn. If she were less infuriated, or more awake, she might realize that the pajamas she had put on as some kind of hopeful prediction of sleep were not appropriate “meet the neighbors” attire. And that she isn’t wearing shoes. 

    She slams her fist into the cheap plywood of her neighbor’s door and waits. She can hear hushed laughter and more of that blaring noise that maybe she’d consider music if the hour weren’t so atrocious. There is no sign of movement to answer the door and let her collapse into unconsciousness.

    She raps on the door again, harder this time. Unless the music has rendered the occupant of 41B deaf then she had better get her arse to the door.

    The only reason Tissaia knows the gender of the creature next to her in this disaster of a building is because the aforementioned woman is fond of having, by the sound of things, extremely acrobatic sex at horrendous hours while their bedrooms share a wall. And good for her, really, but if Tissaia wanted to hear something like that than the internet holds a treasure trove of pornography that comes with a mute button when she wants it to be silent. 

    As if summoned by the thought of her late-night activities, the door flies open and what Tissaia is certain is some type of succubus leans against the frame. Her shirt, though calling it that may be giving far too much credit to the manufacturer, bares her entire midriff and is made of the thinnest lace she’s ever seen. She is wearing leather trousers, dark eye makeup, and perhaps Tissaia is staring slightly but what else is she possibly supposed to do? Her newest annoyance is offensively attractive, and after hearing the girl’s rather lovely voice moaning obscenities for several days straight it is quite difficult to look her in the face.

    She regrets doing so instantly. The menace in the doorway has eyes in a striking shade of violet that seem to bore into her soul, twinkling with self-satisfaction as they drift down Tissaia’s body. Because she’s not wearing a bra. And it’s fall, and cold, and her nipples are hard through the fabric of her shirt. But not because she is at all aroused by this little...display.

    “Can I help you, or did you just want to watch?”

    Tissaia resists the urge to choke on her own tongue or flee. She speaks for a living. She can do this absurdly simple thing. “Right. Please stop having sex so loudly. Or whatever else you were planning on doing. It’s two am on a Tuesday.”

    What’s-her-name is glancing at her like perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. In which case she is the one who does not understand. Because no matter how pretty her irritating face is and no matter how long it’s been since Tissaia had a decent orgasm, if she doesn’t get to sleep soon she will throttle this girl and frame dear Vilgefortz for the murder.

    “Right now I’m planning on doing you.”

    Just like that, the delicate circuits and wires of Tissaia’s brain burst into flames. She hates how attractive the offer is, and she’s dearly grateful for her sleep-deprived state because it is keeping her very goal-oriented.

    “Just turn it down. Some of us have jobs.” She’s being rude. She does not care that she’s being rude, because she still has not fully processed that a walking, talking version of a sex dream, the kind that would have sent her into paroxysms of guilt during her marriage, has just propositioned her. All non-critical sections of her brain have shut down to divert blood flow lower down, and perhaps this is what a stroke feels like. Do women in their forties get strokes?

    “And some of us have sex lives. Really, how long has it been Ms. Uptight I Have A Job? I’d love to help pull the stick out of your ass.”

    She is leaving. Right now. Because dear gods this woman is very likely a university student. That is an ethical violation the same size as Professor Stregobor’s forehead and the exact reason she is not going to be married much longer. 

    “I most certainly do not want to participate in whatever orgy is back there. Don’t make me call the landlord. Good night.” She turns around and makes a strategic retreat she refuses to call “running for the hills.” Even if that’s exactly what it is. She is never going to be able to look at that woman again. And what if she’s in Tissaia’s classes? Or worse, applies to work in her office? 

    "Too bad. I bet I could make you scream."

The response follows her back to her door like a specter. Tissaia doesn’t doubt it. She feels quite like screaming right now, although for different reasons than the woman is suggesting.

“Feel free to knock if you change your mind! The offer is always open!” Tissaia can hear her grinning. This is the absolute worst-case scenario and she hates her life. 

She was wrong. It is fifteen minutes later, and the music has stopped but that’s almost worse because now all she hears is a low moaning sound that should not be attractive and the telltale slam of a headboard against her wall. She halfway expects the goddamn thing to break through and for her to be exposed to whatever perverted happenings are occurring in the other apartment. Which would be an absolute nightmare. She can almost see those enraging eyes blinking up at her now, how warm her skin must be...Eventually, the anger fades from her exhausted limbs. She drifts into a fitful sleep and dreams of intoxicating voices and lace. She obviously does not enjoy this at all.

Chapter Text

Yennefer wakes up in a tangle of limbs with...whomever. She doesn’t entirely remember. They’re hot, though. Not quite as hot as her new neighbor, but still. Even mildly deranged with sleep deprivation, the woman was absolutely enchanting. It’s a shame she had decided to be boring and do whatever cranky older women did instead of getting laid.

    The not-so-early-morning sun streams through her blinds to cruelly remind her that her kitchen resembles the site of a music festival left unpoliced. Empty liquor bottles form pyramids on every horizontal surface and the reek of weed seems ready to take physical form. The haze is at risk of setting off her fire alarm a mere thirty hours after her last cooking attempt had caused an evacuation. Basically, it’s even more of a shitshow than usual, and she’s not nearly awake enough to deal with it. To her intense horror, the shitty coffee maker she’d bought is out of beans, and her refrigerator is lacking anything that could have come close to resembling a mixer during an alcoholic bender, which means she’s also out of apple juice. She’s going to need to face the glaring light of noon and put some clothes on if she wants to caffeinate enough to be awake for her afternoon classes.

    While she searches through her closet for something appropriately entrancing for if her sexy but bitchy neighbor shows up again, last night’s conquest is shrugging into a pair of jeans and heading for the door. Thank god. She’s not brave enough to attempt to cook breakfast for herself, much less any unanticipated guests. Yennefer shrugs into her tightest pair of jeans, sticks a pair of sunglasses on her face and prepares to deal with the joy that is natural lighting with a wicked hangover.

    The other side of the wall is dead silent, which figures. Her neighbor was probably up at six to jog or whatever. Just to see, Yennefer smacks her fist against it. No response. She’s almost disappointed. The chances of her just happening to run into the hallway were low, but the odds of her neighbor charging out of her apartment to admonish her? She thought those would've been pretty high if she were home. Yennefer huffs. It’s like no one knows how to let themselves be seduced anymore. 

Whatever. She can deal with any and all gorgeous sticks in the mud after cleaning up her kitchen. It looks like she’s had someone squatting in there for like a month, and while she’s used to living in film-student squalor she has standards.

    The wreckage of last night’s “congratulations, you finally came out of the closet to your asshole parents” party is kind of disgusting. There are cigarette butts everywhere, all her counters are sticky, and someone’s left a very nice leather jacket she may or may not make hers on her couch. All in all, the place is a cockroach haven waiting to happen and that is not okay. She shoves all the bottles into a trash bag, mentally apologizing to the planet for not having room in this shithole for an actual recycling bin. The cigarettes go into the trash and the counters and floor get several liberal coatings of Lysol until the place smells like a hospital that also has a cannabis problem and Yennefer starts to get a headache. She tosses on her new jacket and opens a window, hoping in the time it takes her to buy a fuckton of espresso no squirrels will have made a home in her apartment. 

    She opens the door, checks to make sure there’s no one there that she’ll be forced to make pleasant conversation with while dying of caffeine withdrawal, and steps outside. She’s almost through wrestling the lock on her door shut when she ends up looking at the actual door and stopping dead. In perfect cursive on official university stationery, her neighbor has written her a note. It says “I can hear you having sex. What is wrong with you?” It says this in all capital letters. “What is wrong with you?” is underlined twice.

    The note is signed. Not with 42A, the way anyone knows you’re supposed to sign neighborly disputes, but with an actual name.

    Tissaia de Vries. It’s pretty and exactly as snobbish as she’d expected. Well, Tissaia , there was nothing wrong with living a little before the rent was due. As she ought to learn before she exploded.

    She also ought to learn that a very unique name combined with using office supplies from your workplace made it insanely easy to find a person. How many people named Tissaia de Vries could be living in her state, much less working at her school? And more importantly, how many of them had social media profiles she could stalk? She marches out the door and leaves the note where it is, trash bag trailing behind her and thumping against the walls in her wake. She’s already scrolling through the university’s faculty directory. By the time she’s standing in line at the crap fast food place across from their building to get her caffeine fix, and resisting the urge to shudder at the feeling of sticky fast food joint linoleum on the bottoms of her shoes, she’s found out that Tissaia de Vries does not have any social media whatsoever, is a law professor and general terror to her students according to the course review site, and has a fan page made by appreciative pupils, which she can relate to and is going to read in its entirety later. Tissaia also has an office phone number that she was foolish enough to make available to the public, a headshot that in no way does her justice, and an official email address.

    Maybe she’s just feeling petty today, but really Tissaia needs to loosen up a bit and this should certainly give her some ideas on how to do so. So if she signs the email up for every lesbian porn newsletter she can find it’s only being neighborly. If Tissaia happens to discover a long unrealized fondness for bondage as a result of her machinations, then Yennefer is more than willing to help her explore that.

    Grabbing her scalding coffee and shoving a few crumpled bills at the cashier, she darts out the door and dials the office number, nearly burning her entire torso in the process because the lid of her somewhat questionable beverage was a bit looser than she’d anticipated. The bright sunlight is hurting her head, random passerby keep shooting her dirty looks as she tries to avoid dousing them, and it’s quite annoying so she ducks under the awning of some cafe to wait.

    “Hello, this is the office of Tissaia de Vries, how may I direct your call?”

    And now she knows how the hell you pronounce her name. Victory to Yennefer.

    “Yes, hi. I was looking to talk to professor de Vries?” Please don’t ask why, random assistant. Yennefer hadn’t thought of a suitable excuse yet.

    “She’s in a meeting.” Yennefer would bet anything she was not in a meeting. She would bet this because she can hear a very familiar, very angry voice letting out a horrified shriek in the background. She can also hear mutterings about needing a better firewall and something about hackers. Well then. Clearly, her contribution to the “prevent Tissaia from causing her own death due to hormonal overflow” fund had been received.

    “Right. Well, can you just tell her that this is her landlord’s office, and there’s been a minor incident, and she should really call us back as soon as possible? Also, ask if she has fire insurance. And possibly somewhere else to stay tonight.” The poor assistant drops the phone with a thunk, rushing to Tissaia’s side so quickly she forgets to hang up. Yennefer can hear a muffled but very panicked conference over the traffic on the street before, picking up words like “lawsuit” and “goddamn fucking shit,” which she didn’t know was in Tissaia’s vocabulary. She can barely contain her glee when Tissaia starts barking into what Yennefer will assume is her cell phone to their landlord. She can hear her say something about castration and building codes before going very, very quiet.

    Point number two to her. Let’s see her call the landlord on her when she’s spent her morning berating the man for letting people live in a massive health and safety violation masquerading as an apartment complex.

Tissaia is positively livid when her car skids into the parking garage of her oh so humble home. Some buffoon had called her office with a false fire alarm, and then she’d called her landlord to sort out the insurance only for the man to act like he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was blabbing about. Because he did indeed have no idea what she was talking about. Because there was no fire in the first place, and now he probably thought she was insane for perhaps insinuating that his building was a lawsuit waiting to happen and he ought not to procreate for the safety of the future.

    She does feel a tiny bit insane. Not because of that. Because of the virus in her emails. That is the only explanation for the sheer filth inside her inbox. Poor Fringilla had to explain to the security guard that no, Tissaia was fine even though she just screamed bloody murder and they certainly didn’t require any assistance while she did her best to delete them all without looking. This became more challenging with the added requirement of keeping track of what was actually from her inept students, because to her immense shock, when attempting to not see anything it would be impossible to unsee, you tend to accidentally bin a few panicked requests for higher grades. And oh, she would never be unseeing some of this. She was not aware that so many people wanted to have sex with educators, nor that there were so many ways to misuse leather everything. She would have loved to just delete it all, block everyone, and toss her laptop out the office window. But that would be unhinged, and while she’s fraying at the edges she’s certainly not at that point. Yet. 

    Tissaia has not had a good day. One could argue that there are very few things that could occur to make it worse, actually. She is going to go home, attempt to cook something without hurling a frying pan out her window, and then she is going to go to bed. And if anything messes with that plan that she may cause it great amounts of pain. Huh. Maybe her modified subscription list is affecting her even more than previously anticipated. 

    She passes What’s-her-name’s door on the way to hers and notices her note has been removed. Tissaia grimaces. Perhaps she was slightly out of line. She’d slept through her first two alarms after having some downright horrifying dreams involving herself, her neighbor, handcuffs and a gag so maybe she was a bit cranky when she finally woke up with thirty minutes to get to class. Perhaps this had led her to be far pettier than was justified. Because if the pervert next door would just keep her...escapades to a reasonable volume, then her subconscious mind wouldn’t be sticking parts of her environment into her dreams, and everything would have been normal. None of this is her fault. 

    On second thought, her pettiness was beyond justified and she’s not apologizing. She stands by wondering how on earth the girl next door is such an enthusiastic exhibitionist and wishes with all of her black and withered heart for her to develop chlamydia. Maybe that would encourage her to cease her youthful shenanigans.

    She reaches her door and frowns. There’s what looks to be a used cocktail napkin stuck to her door, and in smeared blue ink is the message “Did you enjoy your surprise?”    

    It takes a solid five seconds for her brain to engage. The second she realizes what the “surprise” was, Tissaia finds herself screaming in incoherent rage for the second time that day. She was aware undergraduate students were prone to idiotic hijinks. She knew living next door to one was a recipe for trouble. But she did not expect prank calls and pornography, nor does she appreciate the gesture.

    She throws the door open and grabs the first pen she can find. “Dear 42B, if you ever try to surprise me again I will sue for harassment. Good day. -Tissaia de Vries.” Lawsuits are not her area, but she’s positive they aren’t What’s-her-name’s either so with any luck she will take this improvised cease-and-desist order and disappear into her apartment never to darken Tissaia’s doorway again.

    She marches into the hallway, slaps the message to her neighbor’s door, and slams her own upon reentry. She will not be leaving the rest of the night. Maybe she’ll even unpack a bit. Later. After she eats her weight in pasta because that’s all she has the energy to cook.

    She does her best to straighten up while waiting for the water to boil. The couch in a box sits on her floor in a depressing heap, screws rolling about in a way that is sure to lead to Tissaia stepping on them later. The parts are arranged by size and are each the exact same distance apart because it helps her feel in control of something at the very least.

    She has not eaten plain spaghetti for dinner since she was an undergrad herself. The memory is less than soothing. When she was an undergrad, she was living in a dump of an apartment just like this one with the boyfriend that would later become her husband and then a cheating swine. When she was an undergrad, she wasn’t exhausted all the time and considering murdering her neighbor. She had an actual life and her TA wasn’t the person she spoke to the most on a regular basis. Gods, she’s pathetic. And lonely. The sheer glee she got from potentially irritating her obnoxious neighbor is the closest thing to actual excitement she’s felt in ages.

    And then, of course, the neighbor had retaliated. To a ridiculous degree. The correct response to a somewhat passive-aggressive note on your door was to at the most send one back, not sign someone up for email lists of fetish pornography she wasn’t aware there was even a market for using their work address and to convince them they were homeless. If she were still in undergrad, Tissaia would interpret that stunt as a declaration of war and act accordingly.

    ...Well. There was an idea.

    That she would not be implementing. Her neighbor was young and impulsive and would likely grow bored of this game within a week unless Tissaia encouraged her. She was the adult in this situation. And so like an adult, she did the dishes and collapsed into bed by ten pm because she didn’t have anything better to do and she may as well sleep while it was quiet.

Her body is in the earlier stages of a complete shutdown when she hears it. There’s no music or pounding headboard this time, just a breathy sigh on the other side of the wall. And then another, just a bit louder. She freezes. That noise has become intimately familiar over the last few days, and somehow knowing that the menace in apartment 42B is all alone and touching herself is tempting in a way that Tissaia does not appreciate.

“Fuck...”

And the cursing is back. Wonderful. Just when she thought her night could not possibly improve. Tissaia buries her head beneath her pillow and makes a conscious effort to ignore any and all noises coming from the wall. She is not meant to hear this. She does not want to hear this, no matter how pleasant the burn in her abdomen that grows with each moan may be.

“Tissaia!”

She takes it back. She is meant to hear this. Likely as her penance for the last note. And she’ll admit it’s very effective because even if she could sue for the little stunt of this morning there’s no way she’ll ever bring this into a courtroom. Yennefer moans loudly, and Tissaia contemplates whether beating on the wall as some sort of signal to shut up would be appropriate. It’s not like the current situation is in any way proper. Would acknowledging it make things worse, though?

“Oh, gods…”

That’s it. She can feel herself flushing in sheer embarrassment and certainly not any arousal at the situation, which is ludicrous because if anyone should be embarrassed it’s the crazed exhibitionist next door. Tissaia raises a shaking hand and slams her palm into the wall.

That may have been a mistake. The other woman calls her name again, this time louder than before, and falls against the bed. There is blessed silence for a solid two seconds.

“Come join me. You must be awfully hot and bothered right now.” That’s an interesting way of saying “burning alive in your own fury.” Which is what’s happening right now. Tissaia is not turned on by that little...display. At all. She is enraged, and if this woman is going to be such a nuisance than it’s Tissaia’s duty to get even. Or something like that.

The fact that she feels truly awake for the first time in ages is not lost on her. But that’s not because of this. It is only logical that she’s been tired. She is getting divorced. She works with her ex. It’s not like the only things that don’t bore her now are work and her neighbor.

That would be insane. Which she isn’t.

Chapter Text

Twenty-three calls. Since lunch. Fringilla has had to dear with twenty-three calls from some crazy bitch who wants to talk to Professor de Vries and she’s losing it. Her boss flinches every time the fucking phone rings and keeps asking her bizarre hypothetical questions like how she, an undergrad student, would most effectively torment a neighbor and Fringilla has both concerns and the phone numbers of several excellent psychiatric clinics ready to go should the professor need a mental health break. 

    Her boss is an anal-retentive control freak who hates her uncle with a passion equaled only by her dislike for lateness and stupidity, so they’re not friends by any means, but if her resume gets fucked up because Professor de Vries has a nervous breakdown and can’t write her recommendations for law firms at the end of the year there will be a reckoning. 

    So whoever keeps calling the gods-damned office and trying to convince Fringilla that she’s a landlord or faculty member or fucking grad student needs to quit it or drop dead already. They don’t have caller ID, because budget cuts have left university workplaces stuck in the eighties, and at this point, she’s tempted to start declining the calls as they arrive because she’s at her wit's end and ready to set this chick’s hair on fire. 

    As if sensing her foul mood, the phone rings again.

    “Hello. This is the office of Tissaia de Vries, how may I-”

    “Hi! I’m-” She hangs up. Fringilla knows that voice, and she is not whomever she’s about to claim to be. So she hangs up, and if she calls again then perhaps Fringilla will call campus security. Just to liven things up. Usually, the professor is suitable entertainment, either because she’s a total genius and Fringilla is learning a lot from her even if she’s a terrifying force of nature and Fringilla hopes to reach that level of ice queen behavior someday, or because she’s just gorgeous and Fringilla could stare at her until graduation if need be. Her husband is the biggest fool on the continent and if she weren’t afraid of getting fired Fringilla would be delighted to demonstrate just how much the gayer sections of humanity love older women.

    The phone rings again, interrupting her attempts to peek into Professor de Vries’s office and make sure she hasn’t gotten into a screaming match with tech support again. Whoever fucked up her emails is a sadist, though they have excellent taste. They are also in dire need to consult a priest, according to Tissaia. She could livetweet this entire incident and probably make enough for a semester’s tuition in ad revenue, not that she needs the money.

    “Hello, office of Tissaia de Vries, my fridge works fine, we don’t want to buy tickets to an orgy, fuck off.”

    A very male, very testy throat-clearing occurs on the other end of the line. Fringilla can feel her hair turning grey during the silence. That is not whoever has been calling the office. She has no idea who on earth this is. She is so fired.

    “Please tell Professor de Vries that her annual budget reports are due. That is all.”

    The line clicks dead. Fuck. This is why they need caller ID. And a block button. And for Professor de Vries to be given an actual secretary with a separate line for lawyer-calls and weirdo-with-a-cell-phone calls. Because, you know, Fringilla is supposed to be taking calls from Tissaia’s students, who it is her job to handle, and not randos with a vendetta.

    The phone rings again, and the cheerful noise is enough to make Fringilla’s skull ache. 

    “Hello. This is the office of Tissaia de Vries. How may I help you?” Please let this one be normal. Please let this one be normal.

    “ Screeeeeeeech! ”

    That...is most definitely not a person. She has no idea what ungodly abomination is making that sound but it is not a human being.

    “Hello?” She wants to hang up. She would give her right arm to know that hanging up would have no consequences, but after mentioning orgies on a phone call with what might have been the budgeting department and therefore fucking them over for next year, she’s playing it safe.

    “ Fwaaaaaaaat! ”

    That is an airhorn. Someone took their limited time and funds to purchase a fucking air horn for the sole purpose of making her day slightly worse. Or the professor’s day. Which is almost impressive, because she’d bet her tuition money that half of the campus is terrified of Professor de Vries. Enough to leap out of her way in the halls and park several blocks away before daring to take her space at the front of the law building. Whatever asshole is doing this has guts, Fringilla will give them that.

    And possibly a death wish. If only she had the ability to grant it. Slowly and painfully.

Yennefer gets home from class at about seven with a small gaggle of acquaintances. Jaskier is an absolute dickhead but they’re forced to get along because they’ve both dated the same guy at one point and against her better judgment, Yennefer had remained friends with the man long after they had the “So it turns out I’m gay and have a thing for that twink you introduced me to so I think we need to break up” talk. Although since it’s Geralt, it had come out more like “Fuck. I’m gay. Sorry.” That was fine. She loved him to pieces as one does their large, beefy ex who beats people up for her on a regular basis, and that was that.

    It also meant Jaskier and his parent’s money regularly made their way into her life in the form of free weed, which was good by her. And so here they were. Her ex, his boyfriend, her sort-of sister, and sort-of-sister-sort-of-rival, all in the same room and planning on getting high as balls.

    “Yen, how do you even live here?”

    With great patience and more than a little alcohol, Sabrina. Not everyone has rich parents willing to rent them a house.

    “The views.” Specifically, the one that moved in five days ago, because hot damn is she nice to look at. That face belongs on a movie screen. Or in the Louvre.

    “Which view is that? The fast-food places or the filthy alleyway?” Yes, thank you, Jaskier. Her place was a dump. She was aware. 

    “Or is it the one of the hot neighbor lady?” 

    “What hot neighbor lady?” This sentiment is echoed by most of those present because unlike Triss, they do not get regular text updates of Yennefer’s life. 

    “The one that Yennefer has a major crush on, and-”

    “I can and will kick all of you out.” Not that she will until she is in a state of intoxication to rival a seventies rock star, but the point stands. 

    “Fine, give the hag some weed and we can ask her later.” She flicks her middle finger at Jaskier but accepts the joint because it’s free and it’s Thursday. There’s a bottle of cheap vodka on her coffee table, she has no classes tomorrow because she’s not stupid and didn’t do her schedule while high this time, and if her dear friends want to probe her for information on Tissaia then they can do so after she’s utterly fried her brain.

    And then banging starts. Her door is all but quaking in its frame, and if she has to replace that she’s going to be pissed. The intrusion is strange because one of the few reasons Yennefer actually doesn’t hate her apartment is because the landlord is so lazy that she’s never actually seen him since she moved in. However, there are four people in her apartment, and she’s not sure how long it’s been but Sabrina has fallen off the couch giggling and Jaskier is singing about abortion so they’re all far pretty gone, and she has no idea whether this could fuck up her ability to continue her lease. There’s only one thing to do.

    “Everybody onto the fire escape! Now!” She’s never actually been on the fire escape because even though she barely passed some stupid architecture elective Triss had pressured her into taking with her, she can tell it is not structurally sound at all. This does not matter to the small herd of intoxicated morons on her worn-out sofa. They shamble out the window with varying degrees of comical clumsiness, Jaskier’s crotch getting stuck on her windowsill for a very tense couple of seconds until Sabrina shoves him through it onto his ass. They then proceed to stand like a flock of confused flamingoes exactly in view of anyone in the living room because they’re a bunch of idiots, and Yennefer has to shut the blinds to prevent them from being very visible to whomever her visitor is. Unless Tissaia has decided she needs a good lay, it’s probably the landlord. Which is bad, to review.

    Sure enough, when she opens the creaking door she is greeted by a balding, half-blind old man and not her attractive yet icy neighbor. 

    “Hey, Mr. Shaw. How can I help you?” Please let her not have been short on rent again. 

    “Huh.” Huh? Huh was not helping her decide how much she should be irritated by this surprise visit. Huh was actually pretty goddamn vague, come to think about it. “Maybe there really is a gas leak.”

    Gas leak? A gas leak? However senile you need to be to think about five joint’s worth of cannabis is a gas leak, she’s happy Mr. Shaw has reached it. 

    “What gas leak?” If there really is one Yennefer can crash on Triss’s couch for a few days but she’s not going to be happy about it. 

    “41A called. Said she smelled gas. Maybe she’s not crazy.” He has got to be kidding her. Tissaia smelled weed and decided to call it in? The reason four people are standing on a rickety metal stand outside her window and several floors above traffic, freezing their balls off while waiting for Yennefer to let them in, is because Tissaia decided to rat her out?

    She didn’t think the bitch had it in her. The level of sheer pettiness that takes is kinda hot, actually, and she can’t say she doesn’t deserve some sort of retribution. She’d just expected more post-it notes or something.

    “I don’t know, sir. She seemed beyond unstable when we met. Enjoy your day.” She shuts her door before he can identify the “gas leak” is coming from her apartment. She pulls the blinds open to see her dear imbeciles huddling for warmth around Geralt like penguins. She waves. She could just let them in, but this is more fun, and-And Jaskier is threatening to throw his cell phone through her window so perhaps she should open it so as not to lose her security deposit.

    “So guys. I need your help and I need you not to judge me.” If Tissaia wants to recruit outside forces for this little game, she’ll bet she has more friends with more time on their hands. They are winning this, damn it.

Chapter Text

Tissaia has not been enjoying her Friday. As weekdays go, they tend not to be her favorites due to the massive slump in student productivity they tend to involve, but this one is beyond atrocious and it has only been Friday for four hours. 

    That’s right. It is four in the morning, and Tissaia is once again on the verge of tossing what remains of her delicate sanity out of her window and screaming bloody murder for no other reason than it might make her feel better. Her hair is sticking out of her bun at odd angles, her eyes are bloodshot, and her nails are digging into her palms hard enough to leave marks.

    She doesn't know what, exactly, is occurring in her neighbor’s apartment. She does know that a few minutes after her landlord grudgingly agreed to check for a gas leak in the hallway, the noise level quadrupled. There have been air horns. Screams. At one point she’s fairly certain she can hear a large group singing something about abortions and she refuses to go over there and make sure she is not hallucinating. That is probably exactly what dear What’s-her-name wants. Ugh. She should find out what to call the menace at the very least. She’s been in Tissaia’s thoughts often enough to merit a better label than “That Creature I Want To Dismember.”

    The menace is at present seeming like a test sent from the gods to determine whether Tissaia can be pushed to murder a hapless twenty-something in cold blood. The answer is still no, but she does enjoy imagining it. Just a little. It’s only been twelve times in the last hour.

    Her cell phone rings and she almost drops it. Fringilla had kept her well-appraised of Menace’s antics this afternoon, and she’s almost nervous that the girl has somehow gotten her hands on Tissaia’s cell phone number.

    It is not, of course, her neighbor. It is her ex. Which is almost worse, because she doesn’t want to hear anything that man wants to say to her that isn’t about their divorce papers. She hits decline and powers the phone off before he can call back and returns to wearing a hole in her floorboards from pacing like a caged animal. 

A loud thud sounds off next door as if someone were just catapulted into a wall, and she sighs. What was the phrase her students were so fond of? “I ain’t get no sleep cause of y’all, y’all ain’t gon’ get no sleep cause of me”? Well, the principle certainly applied. Her dear pain in the ass needed to shut up or Tissaia would be coming after her sleep schedule next. Yes, actually. That was exactly what she was going to do. Stoop to the level of an immature undergraduate half her age who had somehow dragged her into a prank war she’s decades too old for. 

    Tissaia freezes mid-step. She’s having a midlife crisis. That’s exactly what this is. And instead of cheating on her spouse, she’s acting like some kind of idiotic frat boy and calling in fake gas leaks. She sighs and collapses onto her very misshapen couch, wincing as she hears the telltale crack of something inside of it falling apart. Screw it. It’s not like she had guests coming over any time soon. She hurls her purse onto the kitchen table and relaxes, letting the noise of whatever drug-fueled orgy the degenerate next door has organized filter through her brain. It was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

    “For fuck’s sake, Yennefer! You can’t sleep with a professor!” Tissaia grimaces but starts listening more intently. She has no idea which one of them is Yennefer, but she has no doubt that not a single faculty member in their right mind would ever consider such a thing. Unless that faculty member was the one in charge of military history and used to live with her. 

    “Not with that sort of attitude I can’t. Pass me the apple juice?”

    Oh. Oh. She knew that voice. So her menace was named Yennefer and attended the academic institution Tissaia worked at. Well. She could work with this. Everything truly was going to be fine. It was going to be fine because she would bet anything that she had a great deal more money, brainpower, and spite to draw from than the buffoons next door, and if they were so intent on starting something she would finish it. So there.

Yennefer wakes up at noon on Friday. This is an ungodly hour to be awake after staying up till six with four other people to torment the bitch next door. Everyone was really eager to help after she’d explained that Tissaia was the reason they were all locked outside for so long.

    Except for Jaskier, who’d turned white, muttered something about Professor de Vries being Satan, and that the bitch was going down. So maybe Yennefer didn’t hate him so much after all. He’d even managed to get Geralt into it, which was impressive.

    Their plan was less awe-inspiring. If Tissaia hated being woken up by them so much, then they were just gonna go out of their minds on various substances and be as loud as possible. Jaskier had even brought his violin. It was a perfect group bonding session.

    Well, until Sabrina had thrown Jaskier into a wall “by accident,” but no night is without mishap. And she could convince someone in the theatre department to plaster over the dent in her wall. Probably.

    After all of this bonding, Yennefer had planned to sleep until about four pm minimum. Instead, she is awoken by what sounds like her neighbor’s entire kitchen exploding. That, or she was secretly a witch and enchanted all her pots and pans to get into a fight. That was the only explanation. 

    The voice she hears could certainly be magical. Tissaia is singing at what Yennefer will assume is the top of her lungs. She has never heard whatever song this is in her life but it may be her new favorite. The horrible thud of the pans plods along to the beat like she’s using them as instruments, and she wants more than anything for them to stop. The cookware ensemble is no way on Tissaia’s level and drowning her out is a crime that probably violates the Geneva convention. Yennefer sinks into her pillow, mentally cursing the existence of her bedroom wall. She’d happily forgo sleep to be able to hear Tissaia better, see the curve of her lips as her voice goes up another octave until it seems possible for her to shatter glass. It really is quite beautiful. 

    Unfortunately, Yennefer is beyond hungover, and no matter how much the discovery of Tissaia’s apparent musical talent would be valued on any other day, right now the thud of her metal torture devices is making Yennefer feel like her skull is about to cave in. How did Tissaia have the energy for this bullshit so early in the morning? Did law school teach you how not to need sleep? 

    The song fades to an end, and Yennefer celebrates the loss of her headache while mourning the disappearance of Tissaia’s little concert. Neither of these feelings lasts long. The thudding goes from nonexistent to infinitely worse within a single second as Tissaia gets her second wind, no longer bothering to stick to a beat as the slamming gets borderline frenzied as she begins screaming what is maybe a song and maybe a death threat.

    Upon further examination, she’s singing Yennefer’s music from the other night. Fuck. How had she even had the spare brainpower to memorize the lyrics? She groans. She’s awake now, and even if she had the hope of going back to sleep that would require Tissaia growing bored of acting like a toddler in the kitchen. Yennefer knows she was asking for repercussions to her actions because she did escalate the situation so much further than it had been at first and so she totally deserves this, but still. Just because people deserve consequences for their actions doesn’t mean they get them.

    “Good morning, neighborhood menace! I’m sure you’re awake by now!”

    Yennefer would guess by neighborhood menace, Tissaia means her. She’s almost a bit proud that she’s merited a title. 

    “Please remember that other people live here, or I will be forced to forget as well! Exactly like this! Every goddamn day!” She’s shouting at the top of her lungs and Yennefer can hear her voice crack just a little. No way will she last much longer without losing it, not after speaking for hours every day to her students. Unfortunately, she doesn’t think Tissaia will lose her pans without a robbery occurring, so the threat is probably a valid one. Shit.

    She should probably surrender now. A hot lady had shown up at her door, she’d behaved poorly, and had been too excited to cause a little chaos and make her blush to remember things like the rules of common decency. Totally her fault. She should apologize, probably.

    “And if you sign me up for any more email lists I will have you expelled, Yennefer. ”

    Shit. Could she actually do that? Yennefer had never read the student handbook, so she didn’t know if what she did was illegal or anything, but Tissaia sounded quite angry and extremely sure of herself. Well, that was her homework for the night. Yennefer didn’t appreciate being threatened. Adults on a power trip weren’t things she tended to like in general, although she did have this fantasy of Tissaia coming over and making Yennefer ride her until she collapsed...Anyway. If she found out sweet Tissaia was bluffing than she was going to escalate this so far the other woman would either move or have a heart attack.

Tissaia is standing in her kitchen with two cooking pots tied to her feet and her set of frying pans in her hands, which are beyond sore from the rather unpleasant force of slamming them together. She has been cackling maniacally for several minutes before she stops to consider that perhaps she ought to seek professional help. However, this is more fun than she’s had in months, and frankly, she deserves to be impractical for the day. There’s a delightful feeling of energy coursing through her limbs that gives her the urge to do something ridiculous like vandalize Vilgefortz’s car or go to a club and get beyond drunk, and while she knows neither of those things are good ideas in the slightest the impulsive thrumming in her brain isn’t fading.

    She’s having fun. In her truly heinous apartment, doing what may be permanent damage to both her cookware and her floor, deliberately harassing her neighbor. And she’s enjoying it. But why not? The girl is a menace! And hitting on her! Why not let a little havoc into her life for the hell of it?

    Actually, if she’s doing the math right, she’s done two things to annoy Yennefer while Yennefer is up to at least four. Really, Tissaia owes her one more act of insanity at least. Something big. Something ridiculous. Something that will wipe that stupid smile off of her oh-so-perfect lips and shut the little brat up for a few days so she can sleep.

Chapter Text

Yennefer opens her eyes at what her alarm clock informs her is ten am on a fucking Saturday to the sound of someone knocking at her door. Which is beyond annoying, because she had to actually read the student handbook and so many other things last night and it’s not like she’s illiterate but lawyer language is so boring and even though Jaskier is technically taking a bunch of law classes he couldn’t help and neither could Geralt because he refused to. Which was stupid. Tissaia wasn’t that scary, just really repressed and in need of a good lay. Yennefer was still happy to provide one, for the record. Tissaia’s shrieks of outrage are fast becoming her favorite sound in the world and she’d love to be able to make her scream without the wall between them.

    It turns out that pranking someone’s email isn’t illegal but is totally banned by the university. But Tissaia was lying about being able to get her expelled. Give her a disciplinary citation, maybe, but expel her no. 

    Whoever is knocking at her door gets louder and Yennefer resigns herself to getting out of bed if only to make them get the fuck off her doorstep. She will shoo them off with her barely-used broom if need be. No one should be awake at ten am on a Saturday besides people with babies or dads insisting on mowing the lawn.

    She climbs out of her nest of clothes and blankets, marches across her kitchen, and opens the door still in the clothes she slept in only to come face to face with two very shocked looking young men in white button-ups with identical haircuts. 

    “Hello! My name is Elder Smith, and we are here from the church of Jesus Christ and Latter-Day Saints.”

    She slams the door. Because she just opened it to two Mormon missionaries in her underwear. Not particularly sexy underwear, but the principle remains. How did Mormons even get into the building? Mr. Shaw may be useless at a lot of things but he did keep anyone who wanted to knock on doors and sell things out. So they’d need someone to let them in, and-Is Tissaia fucking kidding her right now?

    “Hey! I know you’re in there!” She screams in the general direction of her bedroom wall because if she had been the mad genius to think this up she’d stay around to watch the fallout. “You think this is funny?” Oh, it was. It was hilarious, and whatever tiny crush she may have had on Tissaia before is multiplying in size. 

    “Yes, actually. Good morning, Yennefer.” Her voice is a bit muffled by the wall. Yennefer started pressing her ear against what she assumes is Tissaia’s level at some point. Because she is a bisexual disaster and she really likes Tissaia’s voice.

    “Are you trying to save my soul now? Because living in sin is too much fun to stop. I’d love for you to join me, though. I could come over right now and we could spend the rest of the day in bed.”

    Just like that, she can hear some loud thumping noises as if someone decided to spring as far away from their wall as possible and fell off their bed in the process. Point to Yennefer.

    There is a knock on her door, which is shaking in its frame a bit. This time she throws on a robe before answering it. If it’s Tissaia she’ll happily whip the thing off again but if it’s Mr. Shaw about all the noise she’d rather not flash the old geezer.

    “Hello! We’d like to talk to you about the one true God-”

    She slams the door. Elder Whoever knocks again, and she almost wants to cry. She’s tired and her vision is blurry and she just wants some coffee but instead, she needs to deal with door to door religion salesmen.

    “Tissaia! Make them go away.” She sounds like a whining child but she doesn’t really care. Did she mention she was awake before one on Saturday? That should be illegal.

    “No. I shan’t. Consider this your penance for your delightful phone calls.” So the secretary or TA or whatever she was had ratted her out. That was rude. She’s going to keep calling now just for that.

    “Make them go away or I’ll walk out of here in my underwear and tell Mr. Shaw you’ve been forcing your religion on others. He hates that.” Yennefer has no idea if Mr. Shaw had any pressing views on religious conversion, but neither did Tissaia and hopefully, the other woman was feeling somewhat cautious today.

    “Go ahead, dear.” Well, fuck. Yennefer is famous for her inability to back down from a dare, and now? Now it’s almost personal. She marches over to the window, buzzing with undeserved confidence and adrenaline, and climbs onto the fire escape barefoot. This was not a good idea, because it’s cold and the metal is rusty, but she’s stubborn and no way is she backing down and dealing with her surprise guests in order to exit her room. 

    She can see Tissaia’s window. Her original plan was just to scare her by knocking on it before climbing to the ground floor, but it’s open , and Tissaia is likely in her bedroom because that’s the room it’s easiest to yell at her from.

    So obviously she climbs into her hot neighbor’s window in her underwear, even while knowing that technically this is breaking and entering and also that some of her friends are in Tissaia’s class. It’s fine. It will end up fine. Probably.

    Tissaia’s kitchen and living room are kind of a wreck. She clearly has no idea how to actually assemble furniture, because half of it is leaning at funny angles or has random bits sticking out. And there are boxes everywhere. Her cabinets have about three coffee mugs in them and that’s it, there’s no photographs or any personal items, and everything feels like it was purchased in a giant hurry or for another space. 

    She has minutes if that to form a gameplan before Tissaia shows up. She drops the robe, hurling it behind the couch, and her eyes light upon Tissaia’s one kitchen chair. She sits on the edge and leans backward, legs spread and chest out. She has made people forget how to speak English like this. So Tissaia’s reaction should be payback for the missionaries at the very least.

    Tissaia walks into the room on autopilot, hands smoothing out her hair, and freezes the second she sees Yennefer. She glances up at Tissaia through lowered lids, batting her eyelashes and making sure the older woman has a fantastic view of her cleavage.

    Tissaia doesn’t blink. Her jaw is slack, and her brow creases in clear confusion as if she just can’t fathom what she’s seeing. It’s so cute. Yennefer has the urge to kiss that look off of her pretty face and smear her lipstick across Tissaia’s jawline.

    “Well then. I should call a doctor. Now.”

    When presented with a half-naked woman half your age in your apartment, “I should call a doctor” is not a response that Yennefer would have gone with. She doesn’t think it’s a response anyone would have gone with except Tissaia, who is searching for her cell phone in the couch cushions and otherwise ignoring her presence. Which is just stupid. She came here just for her after all.

    “Do you need help, Tissaia?”

    The woman jumps back and nearly falls. Yennefer leaps out of the chair to make sure she doesn’t hit her head and die. That would be a waste of both the perfect woman and the rest of Yennefer’s life because that’s probably a manslaughter charge right there. “Killed someone by showing them her tits.” What a way to become famous.

    “You’re not a hallucination, are you?” Yennefer almost expects a “please be a hallucination” at the end of that statement. Tissaia sounds as though she’d rather Yennefer be a figment of her imagination than actually here, and that’s almost offensive. 

    “Do you hallucinate me often? Because you could have the real thing any time you like.”

    Tissaia’s cheeks and neck are flushed a light pink. It’s a very nice color on her, and Yennefer wants to see if it can spread down the rest of her body but is blocked from checking by Tissaia’s shirt. Her eyes are wild, and there’s some choking noise coming from the back of her throat as that sexy brain of hers tries to formulate an appropriate reply. Yennefer is hoping for yes, personally. It’s clear Tissaia thinks she’s hot, the staring is a large and very charming clue, but a bit of confirmation wouldn’t hurt. 

    Instead of replying, she slumps onto her sofa, which makes a horrible creaking noise that Yennefer could fix in about ten minutes if Tissaia would only ask for her help. She’d do it, too. As a peace offering. Tissaia is so very attractive when she’s angry but making her that way was never her original intention. 

    “You’ve broken into my apartment,” Tissaia speaks slowly, puzzling over the words as they come out of her mouth like she is shocked they’ve come to this. Like she didn’t just send crazy people to Yennefer’s door and like Yennefer didn’t organize a group telethon last night to fill up her office’s voicemail inbox. Does Tissaia know she has several hundred messages about everything from dildos to professional wrestling waiting for her? She can’t wait to find out.

    “You did tell me to go ahead and talk to the landlord. And I didn’t feel like talking to the men outside my door.”

    “So you broke into my apartment.” She sighs, fingers steepled to touch her forehead. It looks like she’s praying for serenity. Or for Yennefer to be hit by a meteor. “Do you have any idea how illegal this is?”

    “Don’t tell on me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She approaches Tissaia, swaying her hips as she walks. The look on Tissaia’s face is priceless. Her lips are slightly parted as if awaiting a kiss, eyes wide and lids fluttering shut. She’s almost enraptured by Yennefer’s form, and she will admit it is doing wonders for her ego. 

    “You ought to be careful saying things like that,” Tissaia rasps, and Yennefer’s thighs clench in response. Her voice is hypnotic on the worst of days but right now it’s deeper and shaking from screaming for hours yesterday and Yennefer can’t help but think that this must be how she sounds after someone has fucked her. She wants to hear it under a different context so much.

    “Why would I need to be careful?” She places her hand on the back of the couch mere inches from Tissaia’s shoulder. Tissaia is too focused on what’s right in front of her to move away. Yennefer’s heart is thudding away at her chest and feels like it might break through her ribcage. She wants this. She wants to lean forward and kiss Tissaia, feel how fast her pulse is under her skin, rip off her office clothes and have her right here on this pitiful excuse for furniture.

    “Someday, someone like me might take you up on your little offers, and wouldn’t that just ruin all the fun?” Her eyes drop to stare at the floor and the spell is broken. Tissaia inches her way to the left, away from Yennefer as if all of a sudden her proximity is unnerving rather than pleasant.

    This is bullshit. She has no idea how Tissaia has gone from staring at her tits to looking at Yennefer as if she’s going to bite her, and granted the idea did cross her mind but still , and now she’s halfway across the room leaving Yennefer to wonder what the hell happened.

    “I think it would be way more fun if you said yes. Do you want to?” Tissaia’s head jerks towards her like Yennefer has slapped her. 

    “Very funny dear. I believe you know the way back to your apartment. I will call off the elders.” She begins moving towards the door as if that’s the end of it. Which, first of all, no it is not , and second of all, what? Whoever has convinced Tissaia de Vries she wasn’t the sexiest creature known to man and thus basically prevented her from getting laid today is going to die a slow and painful death. Women like that shouldn’t be insecure about women like Yennefer wanting to sleep with them. It just wasn’t fair like that, she thinks as she dutifully climbs out Tissaia’s window and into her own. Really, what she ought to do is double the flirting, because she was absolutely serious when she said she wanted to bang Tissaia’s brains out and it’s a crime that she didn’t believe her .

Chapter Text

After the events of Saturday morning, they’ve fallen into an uneasy truce. Yennefer hasn’t thrown any parties, and Tissaia hasn’t attempted to have her arrested for climbing through her window. Although she could. And probably should.

    She also asked if the girl was a hallucination, so for the sake of her pride, she will never be speaking to her again. Her brief foray into acting like a child is over. Done. 

    Someone pounds on her door. She amends her previous statement. If it is Yennefer at her door, she is back to acting like a child. Her voicemail box is a disgrace, and Fringilla threatened to quit after hour two of sorting through them all. If it is Yennefer at her door she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

    If her pace quickens as she approaches the door, that’s because she’s annoyed. It’s not like she’d be excited to see her again.

    It is not Yennefer. Her heart falls a bit upon this realization before rallying with torches and pitchforks. Because that is not Yennefer. But it is someone she also dreams of murdering on bad days.

    “You haven’t been answering my calls.” No, she hasn’t. That’s purposeful. When someone doesn’t take your calls, it means they have no desire to speak with you, and you shouldn’t just show up to their apartment like a stalker. Should she call the police now? Are they at that point? “I miss you, Tissaia.”

    “You should have thought of that earlier, then.” She moves to shut the door and Vilgefortz shoves his way into the frame and holds it open. She’s officially bordering on concerned.

    “Come on. I want to make this work.”

    “And I don’t. Good night.” The clear dismissal doesn’t seem to be having an effect. He just...stands there, pouting like a toddler who has been told they are not allowed to play with rat poison, and she feels nothing but contempt and the beginnings of a wicked headache that only compounds when she sees Yennefer step out of the elevator behind her estranged husband.

    “Babe! You’re home early!” Vilgefortz whips around so quickly she wonders if he’s thrown his back out again, but his need to gawk in shock and lust at Yennefer’s entrance buys her a precious few seconds to banish the confusion from her face. Because Yennefer is walking towards them with a radiant smile on her face as if she’s never been happier to see anyone than she is at this moment with Tissaia in front of her.

    She’s still frozen when Yennefer ducks under Vilgefortz’s arm and presses a lingering kiss to her cheek. “How was work, gorgeous?”

    Right. Her. She means Tissaia is gorgeous. “Work was…” What are adjectives again? How does one speak? “My students have all the brain cells of shoe leather.”

    Yennefer brushes a hand against her cheek, laughing like this is some joke that they share. “That’s what happens when Daddy buys your admission. Don’t worry, I’ll make you forget all about it.” Tissaia is lost in her eyes, the world constrained to shades of violet. She can smell Yennefer’s perfume, feel the heat of her skin, and maybe she’s flying or dying but either way, her brain is deceased.

    “Ahem.” Right. Obnoxious cheating louse of a husband at her door. 

    “Oh, hi. Tissaia, aren’t you going to introduce me?” Yennefer’s hands brush over her chest in a way that couldn’t scream “this is mine” any louder if she tried. Her nerve cells are delighted with this new development.

    “This is Vilgefortz. We are getting divorced.” She recognizes she is speaking like a robot. In her defense, the emergency services in her skull are still trying to maintain order in the chaos wrought by Yennefer’s appearance.

    “Is he the one that cheated, the one who couldn’t get you off, or both?”

    Any dislike she may have for Yennefer is fading rapidly as a wicked grin unfurls onto her face. “Oh, definitely both.”

    Vilgefortz is spluttering and vaguely purple as Yennefer kisses her again, closer to her mouth, and slips inside the apartment with a little wave. “I’m going to call Fringilla, tell her you’ll be in very late tomorrow. Please don’t keep me waiting.” The tone of her voices promises all sorts of inventive filth and the mental images invading Tissaia’s brain are not helping right now. But Yennefer is inside of her apartment with a cell phone. This is good. It means there is someone to call the police if this should escalate.

    It does not look as though things will be escalating. Vilgefortz stares after Yennefer with the expression of a man condemned. His handsome face is drawn and she feels almost pleased with this development.

    “I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone.”

    “How strange. That’s what I could have said to you a couple of weeks ago.”

    “Is it serious?”

    She sneaks a look over her shoulder, where Yennefer is watching avidly from the sofa. She waves her cell phone at Tissaia, 911 already dialed. A wave of fondness crashes into her full force, one she endeavors to ignore.

    “It’s...recent. Very recent.” In fact, she was only informed of its existence minutes ago. “Enjoy your evening. I know I will.” She slams the door and fastens every lock she’d purchased from the hardware store upon moving in. Is she locking herself into her apartment with a woman she is still rather aggressively irritated with? Yes. Is she currently riding high on adrenaline, spite, and a massive dose of hormones? Also yes. Logical thought may not be a possibility and she will find a way to live with that.

    Yennefer is smirking at her like she’s won some great battle, Tissaia’s cheek burns from where she kissed her, and everything everywhere is going straight to Hell.

    “So, babe , do you want help unpacking all of this?”

    She will admit her collection of boxes has not gotten any smaller since Yennefer’s previous home invasion. But that does not mean she’s willing to have her pawing through Tissaia’s things.

    “No. Thank you for your...assistance, but I do not require any more.”

“I’m sure. Where does this go, your bedroom?” Yennefer grabs a random box that Tissaia thinks might be full of winter clothes and starts to walk off. 

    “What, exactly, are you doing?” She yanks the box out of Yennefer’s arms. She cannot have this woman flouncing around her apartment. She will make sure Vilgefortz is gone, and then she will insist Yenenfer return to her own rooms, and this will cease to be an issue. 

    “I’m helping? It seems like you’ve had a rough night. Consider it me being neighborly.”

    She has indeed had a rough night. However, her limited patience is not being helped by Yennefer’s proximity. Her brain is still quite hung up on the kisses, actually, as much as Tissaia would like to move on from that moment. 

“In that case, I should repay you by teaching you to cook properly. No human should live on as much takeout as you do, and the fire alarm is getting annoying to hear every few days.” How Yennefer looks like she does when regularly forgetting that meals exist at all and then managing routinely to set off the fire alarm every time she tries to cook, Tissaia has no idea. She’s surprised the woman hasn’t starved to death.

“Do I get to eat the food off of you?” And she’s a spluttering mess again. Of course. Why would she expect any degree of manners from Yennefer?

She doesn’t enjoy the thought of Yennefer’s mouth on her at all . Or the image of those eyes looking up at her as Yennefer moves down her body. The way she might feel...Right. Not thinking about any of that. Now or ever.

“Or I could teach you how to forget an ex. Because that’s what this is, right? You moving here to run away from that?” She spits, motioning derisively towards the door, and her assessment of her husband’s approximate worth isn’t exactly incorrect.

“Thank you for your assistance in removing my husband from my doorstep. It is truly appreciated. However, I am tired and going to retire. I hope that you manage to maintain a reasonable volume this fine Tuesday night, although past precedent would suggest otherwise.” She defaults to speaking to Yennefer like she does her interns. Set clear expectations, show no emotion lest they get cocky, and remain as cold as possible.

“This isn’t how I wanted to tire you out. But sure. Go, sleep, dream of something sexy before you wake up with the sun to teach idiots. If you’d ever like a replacement model for your old boy toy I’m right here.” She blows Tissaia a kiss walking towards the door. She swears Yennefer is swinging her hips more than is necessary but because it’s working and she can’t look away there’s not much she can do to complain. If she even wants to.

Yennefer is the most vexing creature she’s ever met. Truly. But she is also capable of being...nice. And Tissaia isn’t sure what to make of that.

Well then. That’s the husband.

    Yennefer can’t say she’s exactly impressed. He’s far too easy to fluster. And if he’s responsible for Tissaia being so very shocked that Yennefer likes her, which would appear likely, then she really does not like him. It’s almost a good thing. If she hates him she won’t feel bad for seducing his wife, which she’s going to do because yes Tissaia has a whole broom up her ass but she’s gorgeous, smart as hell, and has a sense of humor Yennefer didn’t expect but is quite impressed by. So it’s settled. The husband can fuck off, and Yennefer will fuck Tissaia until she learns to relax a bit. 

    This could, of course, take several days and lead to both of them missing any and all classes for a while but it’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make. It is a shame Tissaia shooed her out so soon. They might have passed a very pleasant evening if Yennefer was given a little more time to make her case. 

    Or she could have helped the poor woman assemble her furniture. For someone with so many degrees and awards for being a genius, you would think Tissaia would know how to put a couch together. Or at least to call someone who does. Yennefer isn’t exactly a future contractor, but she can use a screwdriver and follow directions well enough, as evidenced by the fact that her cheap Ikea furniture isn’t looking like it has been through a hurricane.

    If that level of structural damage is the effect of a frustrated Tissaia given basic tools then Yennefer can’t wait to see what ends up happening to their visitor. He’s so dead. Whatever he did was clearly bad, especially if Tissaia hadn’t been joking about the cheating thing, and she can’t wait to watch the fallout with popcorn and then offer comfort and orgasms afterward.

    In the meantime, she’ll spend her Tuesday night actually doing homework instead of throwing a last-minute party. Because while Yennefer has never been married, she’d assume that your ex showing up to your door is a bit traumatic. Poor Tissaia probably could use some sleep.

    And if she happens to have the sort of dreams that would make Yennefer’s numerous propositions more difficult to resist, all the better.

Chapter Text

Yennefer gets bored with homework by eleven pm, but she is going to avoid making loud noises if it kills her. Never mind the fact that in this building, walking across your kitchen is audible to pretty much everyone. Unfortunately, her efforts to not antagonize Tissaia for the evening severely limits her options for other activities, as does her shoestring budget and the fact that most people are not going out on a Tuesday. She settles for burying herself in the large assortment of blankets in her nest of a bed and watching Netflix. With headphones, once she finds them in the mess of clothes and loose papers that is her floor because she’s aware of how thin this wall is. 

    So thin, in fact, that she can hear Tissaia, who is decidedly not asleep. In fact, she sounds a lot like Triss does when she’s having a pre-finals breakdown. There’s a muffled noise that sounds like someone trying not to cry, and every few seconds she can hear the creak of a poorly assembled bedframe as Tissaia tosses and turns.

    Well, crying over some idiot who cheated on you is usually something you do with friends and margaritas. She doesn’t have any margarita mix, but she can be very friendly. 

    “You okay in there?”

    Any and all noise on the other side of the wall stops for several moments. Tissaia must have decided that if Yennefer couldn’t hear her, she’d forget that she existed and was sad. Which was not the case, because she was not a T-rex. Although those were the ones that forgot you existed if you stood still. So not like a T-rex.

    “Tissaia. If you don’t respond I’m going to climb in your window again.”

    “That’s illegal. And it’s shut.” She can hear a pained laugh, which she counts as a major victory. Laughing while crying usually happened a minimum of five drinks in, after all.

    “I really don’t care. Now, I have really horrible alcohol, bad movies, and way too much time on my hands so you can let me in or I’ll get creative. Your choice!” If Tissaia is intent on wallowing on absolute bullshit, she shouldn’t do so alone. End of story.

    “...Go to sleep, Yennefer.”

    “Right. See you in a minute.”

She hops out of bed, shoves her feet back into her shoes, and marches over to Tissaia’s door.

    It is locked, to the shock of no one. But that has never stopped her from doing anything because growing up with shit parents means learning how to pick locks when you sneak off and get locked out rather than waking anyone up. 

    She bends over to examine Tissaia’s doorknob and is delighted to discover it’s identical to hers, which she has picked several times while locked out in a drunken stupor. Before she can shove a bobby pin into the lock, the door swings open and she nearly falls into Tissaia. Who is once again in pajamas. Yennefer can see every inch of Tissaia’s thighs in the shorts she’s wearing and she’s forgotten to put shoes on before beginning this little confrontation so she’s even shorter than normal. Loose brown hair falls over her shoulders in waves that she aches to wind her fingers into. Her eyes are puffy and her face is red and Yennefer has the uncontrollable urge to hug her. She’s never looked quite so vulnerable or quite so precious.

    “You are aware that this is your second crime in a week, yes?”

    “What can I say, I’m a dangerous woman. Gonna let me in?” 

    Tissaia steps back and allows her to enter, standing in what Yennefer could charitably call a living room but wants to call empty as hell as if unsure what she should do next. “What are you doing here, Yennefer?”

    “I heard you through the wall. And it’s all but the law that girls don’t let girls go through breakups alone.” She grins, unable to resist flustering Tissaia just a bit. “And really, tonight you’ve made me realize just how thin the walls are. I probably owe you an apology for some of the things you’ve heard. Let me make it up to you sometime, okay?” 

    Tissaia stares at her agog, eyes flitting about the room as if she’s searching for some clue to what the correct social response to that statement is. Yennefer doesn’t think there is one, but if Tissaia is having a minor gay panic she’s not busy being sad. 

    “I mean, you have this fancy office and like three degrees, and you can’t put a couch together. Please let me help you before you hurt yourself.”

    Tissaia goes from spluttering and terrified to snorting in laughter. Which she tries to contain, sticking a hand over her mouth and schooling her face into the picture of ladylike professionalism, but the damage has been done. She made Tissaia de Vries laugh, angels are singing the Hallelujah chorus from on high, and the world is generally at peace.

    “...Fine. I suppose that would be acceptable.”

    “Great. I’ll do that in the morning if you like. Now come on.” She grabs hold of Tissaia’s hand and drags her towards her bedroom. The other woman is instantly resistant to this plan, and Yennefer is reminded that she has sent her a lot of bondage porn and flirted with her incessantly and oh yes, she probably is getting the wrong idea right now. Which she’d happily make the right idea if Tissaia weren’t so against it. But still.

    “What on earth are you-” Yennefer grins at her before leaning backward and falling onto the bed, beckoning Tissaia closer.

    “Come on. You’re all sad. And you’re way too perfect to be sad over that. So just let me make you feel better.” She pauses at the flush spreading over Tissaia’s sharp cheekbones. “Platonically. I am not trying to fuck you right now. Promise.” 

Tissaia sends a glance towards the heavens as if praying for divine intervention. She then proceeds to sink down until she’s sitting on the very edge of the bed. Her sheer befuddlement at what is happening right now is so cute.

Yennefer sits up and throws herself over the other woman’s shoulders like a particularly affectionate scarf. Tissaia’s piercing eyes flutter shut and she leans backward against Yennefer, humming contentedly. She’d bet Tissaia has no idea she’s doing that, but it does confirm her theory that cuddling is a cure for all ills.

She puts up no resistance as Yennefer eases her back until she falls against the pillows, blinking sleepily as if confused how she got there. Yennefer throws an arm over her hips and pulls her close. Tissaia does look as though she wants to puff up like an irritated blowfish and demand an explanation, but she’s spent what seems like several hours crying and looks like an exhausted wreck and Yennefer is in no way surprised when she accepts the offered comfort. Her hair is so soft against Yennefer’s cheek, and she seems so small and fragile. This is probably how knights felt when they decided to go slay dragons they were unqualified to go near in the hopes of winning some fair lady’s favor, Yennefer decides. She isn’t stupid enough to go after a dragon for Tissaia, even if they existed, but perhaps an ex-husband would do. He works here too, after all. That must be the worst. And Yennefer is happy to make his life miserable if Tissaia will keep smiling more. She really wants another smile. Lots of other things too, but this seems like a good start.

Tissaia wakes up to sunlight streaming through the windows, a warm weight across her torso, and a sense of peace she thought she lost a long time ago. Her bed smells of lilac and gooseberries. Her blanket covers far less than she remembers and keeps moving. It’s altogether a bit unusual, though certainly not unpleasant, and so she takes her own sweet time to open her eyes and fully investigate the situation. 

    Her blanket is a person. That is the first thing she notices. A very attractive, female person with jet black hair that she aches to thread her fingers through and a hand on her chest.

    The second thing she notices is that her alarm went off thirty minutes ago. The accidental groping takes priority of course, but this is still not ideal in any way.

    The third thing is more something she remembers. Specifically, this is not just any random woman in her bed. This is a student. A student who she has considered murdering more times than she chooses to acknowledge. A student whose hand is squeezing her breast with no perceived intent of stopping any time soon. 

    Tissaia thinks she might rather die than wake Yennefer up and deal with this...situation. The issue with this is she is running exceptionally late, and Yennefer is almost entirely on top of her. Their legs are tangled together, one of Yennefer’s between her thighs, and every time she moves the friction is almost unbearable. Yennefer’s face is buried in her neck, hair falling over Tissaia’s chest, and the hand that isn’t currently causing her to wonder if she’s about to have an aneurysm has a possessive hold on her hip bone. In other words, she’s stuck.

    She attempts to sit up, only to realize that Yennefer, who is several inches taller than her, is also quite a bit heavier than Tissaia is going to be able to handle. Every time she manages to shift the girl so much as an inch, she grabs Tissaia tighter and pulls herself right back to where she was. Tissaia feels quite a bit like Sisyphus with his boulder, and the knowledge that to get to class on time she’s going to have to wake Yennefer up is beyond crushing. She lets out a defeated groan and moves Yennefer’s persistent hands away from her body for what feels like the hundredth time that morning.    

    “Yennefer. Wake up. Now.”

    “No,” Yennefer mutters in her sleep. She shifts into what she must consider a more comfortable position, hips grinding into Tissaia and causing her insides to throb and her brain to question all her life choices up to this point.

    “I’m late. Get off me!” There’s a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. This situation is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen, even if Yennefer was the one who shoved her way into Tissaia’s bed, and she’s perhaps panicking. 

    “I’d love to help you get off.” Yennefer’s voice is rough and lower than usual and Tissaia hates the effect that tone has on her more than words could ever express. Her body’s reaction seems to be doing a more than adequate job. 

    “Last chance.” She’s trying to reason with someone who is unconscious, which is not the high point of her life to be certain. The fact that the unconscious person keeps featuring in her dreams and offering to make them a reality is not helping her ability to be rational.

    Yennefer decides that the best response to Tissaia’s continued efforts to wake her up is to sink her teeth into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Tissaia yelps, shoving at Yennefer far harder than she’d intended. It’s more than a bit embarrassing that the body on top of her doesn’t even budge.

    “Oh. Good morning.” Oh, praise the gods she’s awake. That is not something Tissaia ever imagined she would think, but the past day or so has been full of unwelcome surprises. 

    “You need to get up.” She is running so behind schedule. If she really hurries she might be able to shower or eat before she’s due in class, but certainly not both and only if Yennefer relinquishes her newfound role of a human blanket and unmovable object.

    “Why? You’re comfy.”

    “I’m also late. Get off.” Yennefer’s eyes darken at her word choice. Tissaia cuts her off before she can even think of making things more ethically disastrous than they already are. “Do not speak. Stand up, return to your apartment, have a wonderful morning.” Yennefer raises an eyebrow but complies, and it’s the first time Tissaia can remember that she didn’t have some insubordinate comment to make. She rather likes it.

    The second her body is free she’s rushing into her bathroom. She can text Fringilla to get her coffee, put her appearance in order, and no one at her first lecture will know she slept with a student. Platonically! Non-sexually slept with a student.

    Fuck.

Chapter Text

Yennefer has decided on two things. One, Tissaia has the worst bed in the history of beds and two, Yennefer really enjoys sleeping with her anyway. And because Tissaia had boring adult things like work and responsibilities, she couldn’t freak out too much about how they woke up. She really couldn’t have planned it any better, because she didn’t plan this at all. It was entirely a spur of the moment decision, and holy fuck is she lucky it didn’t blow up in her face. Note to self: When your crush is sad, no matter how desperate you are to comfort them, remember that they’re insanely repressed and prone to histrionics. 

    Said crush should probably be home by now. Yennefer is coming back from her idiotic math class she has to take for “general education requirements,” which is stupid because the only math she should be taught is how to do her financial aid forms and to calculate a goddamn tip, not calculus. No one besides engineering people needed calculus, probably. 

    Or maybe lawyers? She doubts it, but there’s already a very questionable plan forming in her brain and really if it lets her see Tissaia then why the hell not?

    Instead of going to her apartment, she knocks on Tissaia’s door, making every attempt to look as overworked and pitiful as possible. Tissaia opens the door with a massive glare on her face and her hands clenched into fists, and Yennefer has to wonder if she pranked the woman while she was still asleep or something. And then her expression softens from furious to just tired, a ghost of a smile on her face, and Yennefer melts a bit.

    “May I help you?”

    “Actually yes. I need to…” Think of a subject she takes that Tissaia can help in. Think! “...understand my entire philosophy textbook by tomorrow or I may lose my scholarship and I really suck at it. You’re probably not surprised. And my tutor canceled last minute so I’m kind of fucked.” She doesn’t have a tutor or any sort of exam tomorrow. And she isn’t in danger of losing anything as long as she gets above a C in all her classes. She has a B- but that’s close enough for concern, right?

    “...I am a law professor.”

    Yeah, and she already thought of that! “Exactly! You’re a professor! And since you teach criminal defense you probably know a lot about arguing about ethics and...things. Right?” Of course right! So let her in already! She shoots Tissaia her best “I am five seconds away from bursting into tears” look. “If you help me I can fix your furniture.”

    “Fine. I suppose your grasp on what is indeed morally justified behavior couldn’t be much worse.” Yennefer follows Tissaia inside and makes no defense of her questionable choices. She’s too distracted. Tissaia is wearing glasses and a pencil skirt and while Yennefer doesn’t usually think about banging teachers this is a look and she’s having a gay meltdown.

    “Sit down somewhere. And give me your textbook. I’m assuming you took no notes whatsoever?” She was asleep. So no. She’s very awake now though. Tissaia is perched on her couch, legs crossed in front of her, and for one glorious second Yennefer is sorely tempted to sit on the floor and rest her head on Tissaia’s thighs. Because older women in skirts have always been a thing for her, but now? Fuck. She sits next to her instead, which is almost as good. Her blouse is a bit unbuttoned and Yennefer knows that looking is so far past rude but she’s only human. She can feel the heat coming off of Tissaia’s skin, and once again she did not think this through because her hormones are throwing a rave and generally being a nuisance.

    “Right. You have professor Vigo?” She nods. She thinks that’s the man’s name. She hasn’t been awake in his class since the first day and it’s really a miracle just doing the readings is enough at this point.

    “Wonderful. Horrible man.” Tissaia starts to say something else that she thinks involves a guy named Plato or Tomato or something, and that’s probably really important and she should be listening, but she’d much rather watch her mouth move and get lost in the sound of her voice. There’s a wisp of hair escaping from her bun and Yennefer wants to put it back in place so badly. The column of Tissaia’s throat bobs as she speaks and Yennefer can’t help but imagine it covered in love bites, of how she’d look with someone’s hand constricting around her neck. Her pulse is hammering in her ears and okay, this is inappropriate but her ability to reign in her dirtier thoughts about her neighbor has long since died, been buried in a shallow grave next to the highway, and decomposed. 

“Yennefer. For god’s sake.” She loves how Tissaia says her name. Yennefer wants to hear her screaming it as she-Someone is snapping their fingers in front of her face, and any thought involving Tissaia and strap-ons is going to have to wait.

“Sorry. I zoned out.” 

“I can see that. Not that I blame you, this class is insufferable and so is its teacher, but since you possess the attention span to cause as much havoc as you have I expect you to be able to concentrate for ten minutes. You’re better than this.” Yennefer isn’t blushing, but there’s a warm feeling in her chest. Compliments from Tissaia de Vries, even very backhanded ones,  weren’t things she’d expected from today. She especially didn’t expect them regarding her ability to cause uncontrolled chaos, but she likes it. 

    “Right. Yes. You were talking about…” Not sex. Think about anything other than sex.

    Her mind obliges by reminding her just how much she’d like to kiss Tissaia right now and no, that’s actually worse. She cannot turn into mush right now. So no kissing Tissaia. Or thinking about how cute the little noises Tissaia makes in her sleep are. No being soft! Stop it!

    “I was talking about your upcoming exam, but I feel as though I should pivot to the fact that your ogling is less than subtle.” She drops Yennefer’s textbook on her lap and begins buttoning up her blouse until it’s tight enough around her neck to choke her and nope, not thinking about that right now. 

    “What ogling?” She’s going to play dumb because there’s literally no way to salvage this and so maybe she’ll at least make Tissaia laugh.

    “...Yennefer. You’ve been staring at my chest for the last five minutes, and I don’t believe you’ve blinked. Behave.” She’s shocked she hasn’t been thrown out then. Either Tissaia is starting to like her, she’s super lonely, or the professorial instinct to save a troubled student is too strong, and Yennefer hopes it’s the first one but any of those will do.

    “You’re far more beautiful than professor Vigo.” Professor Vigo has not aged nearly as well as Tissaia. And he’s kind of a dick. So yeah Yennefer is happy to play favorites.

    “...Thank you. If you’re unable to focus, at least make yourself useful.” She knows Tissaia does not mean that in a sexual context but she would drop to her knees right now if Tissaia would just let her. “This couch is broken. Again. And you seem very confident in your construction abilities.” She rises to her feet before reclining in her single kitchen chair like it’s a throne instead of a very structurally questionable piece of wood. “Fix that, would you?”

    “Yes, ma’am. I promise I’m very good with my hands.” She throws a wink over her shoulder, unable to resist. If Tissaia hasn’t thrown her out yet, Yennefer doubts she will for one additional piece of innuendo. And who knows? Maybe she’ll be able to focus on philosophy with her new favorite distraction sitting behind her instead of right within view. 

Tissaia is yet again questioning at what point she will be forced to admit herself into a psychiatric ward. She has a student in her apartment, alone, and that student has made it very clear how much she’d like the situation to become sexual in nature.

    And yet Tissaia hasn’t done the logical thing and gotten rid of her. She’s put her to work reassembling furniture. Which was a mistake, because Yennefer is bent over on her knees and her backside is exactly in Tissaia’s frame of vision. She has tried holding a textbook in front of her face and attempting to ignore what she’s certain is a show being put on just to raise her blood pressure that extra bit, and it’s not working. Ignoring Yennefer’s antics is not and likely never will be an option. Ever. 

    She is at least paying better attention. Actually, she’s making connections between the rather scattered course material very quickly, it’s just beyond clear she doesn’t give a rat’s arse about the topic. If she applied herself she would not need to be invading Tissaia’s space this evening and instead could be destroying her liver like every other night. 

    Yennefer hisses several curse words under her breath, and Tissaia does her level best to ignore any and all sexual implications. Because no doubt the girl has just managed to injure herself doing unethical favors for Tissaia, which would then be her fault and not something she should get sexual gratification from. What the fuck is wrong with her today?
    “Are you alright?”

    Yennefer turns to face her, still kneeling, and this is a visual she does not need in her life. Yennefer’s position on the floor makes it far too easy to look down her shirt, which Tissaia is of course not going to do, but it is not helping her be professional. “Oh, I’m fine. Your couch has developed a taste for human flesh, but I’m fine.”

    Tissaia can’t help laughing at that. Yennefer is actually a rather pleasant companion in small doses when she’s not choosing to attempt to seduce everyone in sight. “You’re more than released from construction duty, then.” Of course, she shouldn’t have students potentially injuring themselves on her behalf. What was she thinking?

    “Why? Have some new way you’d like me to repay you?” Yennefer regards her from across the room, violet eyes lingering on her chest. Her intentions could not be clearer, and to Tissaia’s eternal shame, the thought of it doesn’t repel her. And it should. Because Yennefer is half her age. And a student. And so off-limits it’s not even funny.

    She’s also very beautiful, determined, and has pissed Tissaia off enough that there is a great deal of rather...aggressive imagery in her skull waiting in the wings to show up and annoy her at inopportune moments. Like this one. 

    “Teaching is my job. You’ll find the university compensates me very well.”

    “Then they should hire you a nicer assistant. And get better phones.”

    ...Yennefer may have a point about the phones. “Fringilla is not my assistant, she is my TA.”

    “Okay, then they should hire you an actual assistant. And you’re paid to teach at the law school, which I am not in.” She looks disgusted at the very thought. Tissaia is going to try not to be offended at that. “Don’t make that face, we both know I’d sleep through all the classes. Except if they were yours, actually. Those I would attend for fun.” Yennefer in her class? That is her new worst nightmare. She can’t sign up to take courses at the law school, can she? Tissaia is checking first thing tomorrow morning. 

    Something thuds loudly and Yennefer rises to her feet, pumping a fist in victory. “I fixed it.”

    “You did. And with only superficial injuries.” She isn’t at all bitter that Yennefer is so able to perform a task that has flummoxed her for at least a week. She isn’t!

    “Do you want me to fix your bed next? Maybe that’s why you need to go to sleep so early.” She would like to remind Yennefer that she is thirty-seven, and cannot stay up till the wee hours of the morning every single night like someone a decade and change her junior. She is about to when someone starts knocking on her door.

    That’s not good. There are only two people who come to see her with any regularity, and the only one she’s somewhat willing to talk to is already inside.

    “...Did you order takeout, or do you have a date? Because I’ll climb out the window if you need me to.”

    “Neither. Unfortunately.” Of course, he-who-must-not-be-named would show up the second she was beginning to enjoy her evening.

    “I’ll make them go away, then.” Wait, what?

    Due to their positions, Yennefer is closer to the door than she is and makes it there before Tissaia can stop her from flinging it open. And there is Vilgefortz. Again.

    Yennefer stands in the doorframe and refuses to budge like some sort of guard dog. She’d find it almost sweet if she weren’t a bit worried. Yennefer shouldn’t be dragged into her relationship’s implosion. It wasn’t her problem.

    “The ex returns. Is there something you want?” The temperature in the apartment seems to be dropping by the second as her nightly annoyance squares off with her husband. Yennefer almost looks ready to fight him. That would be a horrible idea. Oh, gods please don’t let her need to deal with any sort of assault trial on top of everything else.

    “I want to see my wife. I know she’s home.”

    “Well yeah. And we’re busy. We probably will be for the rest of the night.” She cannot actually see Yennefer, but the tone of voice she’s using, the one that causes heat to pool in her stomach and makes her shiver, is not something that leaves much to the imagination. Vilgefortz’s expression is thunderous and that makes her very smug. Even if she isn’t sleeping with Yennefer, she could be in five minutes if she said yes, and that seems to make her dear cheating scumbag very angry. 

    “She’ll want to see me.” No, she will not. She has no desire to go near the man, and in an ideal situation they would just continue living their lives, separately, and never speak again.

    “I don’t know about that. I mean, if I were married to someone who cheated I’d probably set him on fire. She didn’t even know multiple orgasms were more than a myth with you. You should be beyond ashamed for that, for the record. So yes, I really don’t think she’s aching for reconciliation.”

    Tissaia thinks she may be turning purple. Yennefer did not just say that. Did she? It’s not wholly inaccurate but she still shouldn’t have said it.

    She also thinks perhaps she ought to separate her two unsuitable suitors. She squares her shoulders and approaches the door, draping herself over Yennefer. Her front is pressed against Yennefer’s back, and she isn’t faking the arousal clear on her face with the girl’s perfect ass pressed against her hips. She winds her arms around Yenenfer’s neck, resting her chin on her shoulder, and grins. “You can leave now. I assure you I have plans for the evening. And the one after that. And the next. I’m rather booked, really. So if you could just leave before I call security?” Their building does not actually have a security team. The bravado and burst of matrimonial rage that inspired her to molest a student is fading fast, and she must officially be losing it because this is the worst idea she’s ever had, bar none. But Vilgefortz quits his fuming and marches off. So maybe the ends justify the means.

    “So I’m to keep you company every night?” The ends do not justify the means. She leaps away from Yennefer, but her skin still burns where they’ve touched and oh this type of torment is not worth it. “It’s an excellent idea, really. And you still have so many things that need to be assembled properly.”

    “I assure you, that is in no way necessary-”

    “Oh, I insist. I’ll see you tomorrow?” No. No, she will not see Tissaia tomorrow because then she may have an actual, literal stroke. But Yennefer has already flounced out of her apartment, hips swaying in her wake, and oh she’s so royally screwed.

Chapter Text

Tissaia wakes up in her creaking bed on time and alone. This state of affairs should not be disappointing in any way. There is nothing positive about waking up late and pinned by an amorous undergraduate student intent on running her into an early grave. And yet even as she’s able to go through her morning routine without staring at her watch and willing time to slow down so she can brush her damn teeth, she can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. Nothing is, of course, except maybe her husband. And without a doubt that would explain everything. She is lonely because she is getting a divorce. Nubile young women who make her want to sink through the floor and laugh so hard her ribs ache? Not a factor in the slightest.

    She gets to her door, opens it, and feels her heart constrict. There are flowers on her stoop. There is a card in the flowers that has a phone number and a lipstick kiss in the exact shade Yennefer always wears. The flowers are very clearly not from a florist, which means Yennefer likely just stole somebody’s garden to give to her, and actually, upon further examination, these are definitely from the dean’s front lawn. 

    She is not laughing. She is not laughing at the theft of the property of one of her superiors. Even if he is an ass. How did Yennefer even do this? She’d need to have snuck over there at three in the morning...Right. After Tissaia kicked her out, she decided there was nothing better to do at three in the morning than some light robbery. This is not charming. This should actually be very concerning!

    She is smiling anyway, and if she picks the offering up to place on the desk of her office? That is her business and her business alone. Fringilla can ask who they’re from between cursing at the phone, which Tissaia actually should talk to her about, as much as she likes. Tissaia isn’t telling her anything. And if Yennefer’s number goes into her cell phone in case she wants to shut her up without knocking on her door or resorting to petty shenanigans? Also no one’s business!

Yennefer wakes up to the third of eight alarms on a mission. Tissaia’s last lecture of the day is at one pm, and it is an introductory course so maybe Yennefer will be able to comprehend what’s going on. And even if she can’t, it doesn’t matter because she’s not taking the course, she’s coming to watch the lecturer and annoy Jaskier in his “Daddy and Mommy want me to be a lawyer and not a rock star” misery.

    She rolls up with Starbucks at exactly one, dressed in a cocktail dress because Tissaia is classy and maybe she’ll like it. She sits in the second row, in what she’s calculated to be perfectly in the view from the podium, and waits.

    “Oh no. No, no, no. What is she doing here?” 

    “Hello, Jaskier. Lovely morning, isn’t it?” She pats the seat next to her just to be a bitch. There’s no way he, someone trying to pass this class, will be sitting next to the professor’s future girlfriend.    

    As expected, he drags Geralt, who is not in this class but is very whipped, into the seats directly behind her. “Seriously. What are you doing here? I thought you liked to break laws.” 

    “And how better to get away with it than learning them?” Probably by hiring a good attorney. A very sexy, short attorney with a massive competitive streak and those eyes and...Okay. Right. Back to reality.

    “Good morning class. As outlined by your reading assignment, today we will be covering...plea bargains?” The reason Tissaia has lost her train of thought could not be more obvious, and Yennefer could not be more smug about it. Her eyes lock on Yennefer and her voice rockets up several octaves. She waves. Tissaia averts her eyes, and Yennefer watches as a menacing and very fake smile creeps across her face like frost on a window. “Right. As outlined in Casey vs. Richardson…” Tissaia starts talking about some law thing, but her gaze keeps flitting back to Yennefer as if to make sure she’s still there. It’s quite sweet and more likely is to make sure Yennefer isn’t holding a giant sign saying “We should fuck” or something similar, which she did think about but rejected as coming on too strong. She’s not here to prank Tissaia, just sort of stare at her in undisguised awe because she wasn’t aware Tissaia speaking authoritatively about things she’s an expert on was hot but it is.

    “You’re drooling.” Ah, Jaskier. Why did he have to be here? Couldn’t he just skip class and let her indulge her crush of somewhat concerning size in peace?

    She leans over her desk, shoving her tits up with her arms. Tissaia’s eyes dart downward for a split second the next time she checks on Yennefer and she’s going to consider that progress. There’s a pause at the lectern as Tissaia completely forgets what she was talking about even though her lecture notes are right in front of her perfect face, and okay that really is progress. Leaving Tissaia de Vries speechless could go on her fucking resume.

    “What are you planning, exactly? Because if she fails everyone in a fit of...menopausal rage, I am going to blame you!” Oh, dear. Tissaia and what feels like a quarter of the room is looking their way now, although most of them are focused on Jaskier.

    Not Tissaia. Tissaia is looking directly at her, and more specifically at the pen between her teeth. She crooks a finger at the poor woman as if to invite her into the audience and Tissaia jerks back into reality like a TV show at long last unpaused.

    “Stop flirting with her. You can’t fuck my professor, that thought alone is fuel for years of nightmares!” 

    “You. In the third row. Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Yennefer beams and reactivates her brain which had fallen into a bit of a stupor from twirling her hair and staring at Tissaia. She is not sitting in the third row. Jaskier is. And he looks like he wants to die.

    “Professor! I was, um…” That’s right. There’s nothing you can say to salvage this.

    She realizes a split second later that the charming little bastard probably knows this, and, because he is a messy dramatic bitch only rivaled by Yennefer herself, will be planning on meeting his doom with a bang. “I was just telling my friend here that she can’t have sex with- Fuck! ” Nothing like an elbow to the balls to shut a man up. Yennefer preens in her seat as the entire room pivots to stare at her. She will bet a great many people, some of whom are shamelessly staring, are very curious about who she might want to have sex with. And if Jaskier knows what’s good for him, he will not say anything about that and keep his mouth either shut or occupied with Geralt, either one worked, or she would make sure no one found his body. Rumors about extramarital relations with students might upset Tissaia, and that wouldn’t do, because Yennefer would like to turn those rumors into a reality and she can’t do that if Tissaia is suddenly oh so worried about little things like getting fired, sued, or both.

    “If anyone would like to have conversations about their sex lives or commit assault, they may do it outside. Now, back to the subject of the statute of limitations…” Gods, she’s pretty. And her voice. If she could just have Tissaia talk to her constantly that would be amazing. She can read the dictionary for all Yennefer cares. She’d never get anything done again but it would be worth it.

    Maybe Tissaia will let Yennefer film her? Final projects aren’t due till the end of the semester but maybe she’d appreciate Yennefer employing actual forethought. Maybe she’d let Yennefer film her for something that is decidedly not a school project and not meant for anyone’s eyes but theirs...Fuck yes. 

    She may have zoned out a little with the combined stimulus of Tissaia onstage and thinking about potential sex tapes because the next thing she knows, people are streaming out of the lecture hall like the devil is on their heels. And granted, intro students rarely stick around to talk to teachers but you’d think these idiots would have better taste in how to spend their time. She can’t think of many better activities than talking to Tissaia. Except maybe having round after round of wildly kinky sex with Tissaia, but only one of those things is an option right now unless the woman has gotten far more receptive to Yennefer’s advances in the last five minutes and also decided she’s an exhibitionist. That would be a delightful surprise, but also unlikely in the extreme. 

    “What are you doing here?” Tissaia looks harried. She’s reorganized her entire podium, leafing through papers as if one of them contains the secrets of the universe. She is looking anywhere but at Yennefer, which is a little rude. She’d dressed up just for her, after all.

    “I decided to change majors.” The look of sheer horror on Tissaia’s face is hysterical. Would that really be so bad, being her teacher? Actually, yes that would make their little flirtation into a potential scandal of epic proportions. She sees it now. “I came to watch you. Obviously.”

    “And interrupt my class?”

    “Jaskier was the one interrupting. I didn’t do anything.” And maybe she’s a bit of a traitor for giving Tissaia a name but he was out of line. Anything that could potentially upset Tissaia, who already has so much on her plate, is unacceptable.

    “You elbowed him in the crotch. In public. Wearing that. ” 

    “What’s the problem with this?” She twirls, and when she’s facing Tissaia again she notices that the woman is holding her forehead like Yennefer gives her migraines. 

    “The problem is that you are noticeable in the extreme. People will talk. More than they already are.” Well then. Tissaia will just have to write down the names of all the little gossips and Yennefer will make them rue the day they decided messing with a goddess was a good idea. And then Tissaia will smile at her again. It will be perfect.

    Tissaia looks exhausted. Having one’s students all too familiar with one’s ex must really suck. Especially when, in the words of Sabrina, the ex was “beyond dreamy.” Yennefer didn’t see it, but a good portion of the student body evidently did and wouldn’t shut up about his newfound bachelorhood. 

    “Do you notice me, then?” Granted, Tissaia is known for being a fantastic speaker according to almost every online review of her classes that Yennefer spent last night scouring, so the fact that she was so distracted today means that she had to notice someone, but she wants her to say it.

    “I noticed that you made a scene.”

    “Good.” Tissaia glares at her and wow, so this is what it feels like to be professor Vilgefortz. She’s frightened. She’s aroused. She’s considering buying an engagement ring. Holy shit. “Come on. You’re hot, young, and work with students. People are going to talk about you. If they switch to wondering who the hell I am, they’re not discussing how you’re getting a divorce and available for them to court.” It’s frustrating how many people have had the exact same idea she did. But Yennefer saw Tissaia first. So there.

    “People say that?” Uh, yeah. In pornographic detail. In-person and online.

    “I’m scarred for life by the things they say. Don’t search for your name on Reddit. Or Tumblr. Or Facebook. Or anything else, actually. Ever.” Tissaia stares at her with wide, innocent eyes that have clearly never been seen a comments section of anything. She really has no idea how gorgeous she is. Which is sad. Because if Yennefer were involved with her for any period of time she’s not sure she would ever be able to stop telling Tissaia how radiant she is. Even at seven am running around like a crazy person trying not to be late for a class she could have just canceled .

    “...I will keep that warning in mind. Do I want to know why you know what people are saying about me on these things?” Yennefer thinks it’s really a testament to how far they’ve come over the last couple of days that Tissaia isn’t demanding explanations but is in fact almost amused by her antics.

    “Probably not. I’d be happy to tell you, of course, but you’d give me a lecture on what is and isn’t appropriate to discuss in public.” Specifically, she has been taking down the more perverted usernames and attempting to determine if she has any competition for Tissaia’s heart and attention. The answer seems to be a resounding no.

    “Please keep all of that no doubt pornographic imagery inside your mind, yes.” Tissaia finishes packing up her things. Yennefer offers her hand to help the small woman off the stage that comes to her hip. To Yennefer’s shock, she actually takes it. There’s a single, precious moment when Tissaia has both of her feet planted on the ground and forgets to take her hand back that has Yennefer doing an internal victory dance. She likes holding Tissaia’s hand. In an annoyingly mushy way. She had started this pursuit wanting to screw the bitchiness out of her neighbor and now she has butterflies in her stomach and the urge to protect her from her husband and the horrors of the internet, cuddle her at night, and hold hands like some kind of elementary school child. This is not what she wanted. At all. But maybe she’s not going to try to get rid of the feelings she’s developed against her will. 

    “Where are you going next?” And can she come too?

    “My office, dear. I have work. I suppose I’ll see you tonight whether I choose to or not?” Yennefer nods, her brain still processing the input. Tissaia brushes past her with a bemused smile while Yennefer stays frozen in place for several seconds. Tissaia is giving her pet names now? Tissaia is giving her pet names now! She grins, exiting the lecture hall with enough of a spring in her step to be skipping and garners several judgemental looks from those not floating on a cloud of crush-induced ecstasy. Tissaia held her hand, of her own free will, and is giving her pet names.

    She doesn’t need to admit it out loud just yet but Yennefer is clearly growing on her.

Tissaia surveys her kitchen counters. She has been home an hour, and she has cooked lasagna, a chocolate cake, an entire chicken, and three types of vegetables. Not that she’s expecting Yennefer to show up. Not that she cares if Yennefer does. And she certainly didn’t cook all this because as an undergraduate student Yennefer is probably living on instant noodles. 

    There’s a knock on her door and she nearly trips over herself to answer it. Not that she’s so desperate for decent company that she wants to befriend her nightmare of a neighbor, who admittedly has become far less of a menace over time. 

    “How was work?” Yennefer swans into her apartment like she owns the place and plops onto her now-usable couch. It’s sickeningly domestic, not that she will say so out loud. 

    “Apparently, according to Fringilla, my students think I was high in lecture today. So thank you for that.” She had intended her thanks to remain entirely sarcastic, but her appreciation for Yennefer’s ensemble slips into her voice. And she did look fantastic. A very sick part of her brain imagines bringing Yennefer all dressed up to the next awkward and very mandatory faculty party she and her dear husband will be at, just to see everyone’s faces.

    “At least they don’t think it’s because you’re broken up over losing about one hundred and eighty pounds of some manchild during the height of his midlife crisis.” Trust Yennefer to bring things back into perspective. She is not “broken up” about that. Enraged and ready to see it done, yes. Sobbing her eyes out, not for a while now.

    “I would rather them think that then…” What is an accurate way to describe the effect Yenenfer’s little stunt could have?

    “That you got yourself a trophy girlfriend half your age?” She smothers a laugh. That’s not funny. At all.

    “Yes. That. Thank you, dear.”

    “...I may have some bad news, then.”

    Any color that may have appeared on Tissaia’s face imagining what having Yennefer as her girlfriend would be like drains away faster than reading student papers makes her weep for humanity. “What do you mean, bad news?”

    “So, some people may have made that assumption. And then the memes page picked it up.” The what now? How did those two things go together at all? “Anyway, now everyone thinks your husband is impotent and you left him for a woman half your age. So you win!” No. That is not winning. That is people besides Vilgefortz thinking she and Yennefer are dating, which is bad because she cannot date Yennefer. Not that she’d like to. At all. And her husband isn’t impotent, not that she’s going to contradict that bit of the rumor because it amuses her.

    “Were you in any way involved with the formation of that little story?” 

    “Not the bit about us dating.” Of course. The sheer immaturity of this latest round of hijinks had Yennefer’s signature all over it. And she can’t even be mad, because the way she smirks when she gets away with something does things to Tissaia and it was somewhat funny if morally questionable and she’s decided her ethics can go somewhere else for the day.

    “...Don’t do it again. Are you hungry? I can’t imagine the dining hall is any better this year after last week’s food poisoning scandal.”

    “Starving. Are we talking about food, or something else? I’m down for either, preferably both.” Tissaia sighs. The flirting is never going to end, is it? At least it’s somewhat toned down lately. A tiny bit.

    “We are talking about food. Just food. And perhaps help with any assignments likely to be the difference between paying the ridiculous fees for this school and not.” She may like Yennefer just a bit, but even if she didn’t she’d help her. It’s clear she’s very intelligent, just lacking any and all drive with subjects she doesn’t care for, and that potential combined with the fact that student loans are the most predatory industry she can think of makes her mind up for her. 

    And then Yennefer is hugging her. Which is...nice. Very nice. She fits against Tissaia perfectly, and it seems like a platonic thing to do so she relaxes into it. Yennefer is still wearing that dress, and the silk sliding against her torso is its own form of torture. She should let go. She should have let go after a few seconds, but now Yennefer is just holding her in the middle of her kitchen and she’s allowing it. So she’s going to move. In three. Two. One. Go!

    She does not move. She drops her head onto Yennefer’s shoulder and luxuriates in the feeling of Yennefer’s hands caressing her back. She’s missed this a great deal and she kind of hates herself for it but today has already gone to shit so why not?

    There is a very loud thud against her door and they spring apart. She resists the urge to groan. Hadn’t she dealt with this lunacy yesterday? Were the gods punishing her for her latest indiscretion?

    “Don’t answer it.” She’s not going to. She is going to wait until who she’d bet is Vilgefortz goes away thinking she’s not home. “I have an idea. Don’t freak out.”

    Well, she’s already freaking out at those words. Yennefer has never bothered to tell her not to react negatively towards her actions before going through with them, so this is a warning sign of epic proportions.

    Yennefer turns towards Tissaia and slowly takes off her dress, musses up her hair, and smears the lipstick on her mouth. She then marches towards the door. Tissaia, in a fair amount of shock due to the surprise striptease and completely, totally horrified that Yennefer is going anywhere dressed in so little is unable to stop her.

    “Oh gods, you again? She’s busy. Very busy. Go away.” With that, she slams and locks the door and beams at Tissaia like she’s done something excellent. Which makes no sense, given that-Oh. Oh no. With Yennefer in the state she’s in, he is obviously going to assume that...Fuck.

    “I want to talk to her, damn it. She can’t be telling everyone this shit.” Well, clearly Yennefer’s rumors had gotten to all the right ears. She’s the slightest bit smug about that. Yennefer shrugs her dress back on, motioning silently for Tissaia to zip her up. She obliges, still in a hormone-induced trance not at all aided by her view of Yennefer’s bare skin. As soon as she’s unlikely to suddenly fall out of her outfit, Yennefer walks into Tissaia’s bedroom, and whatever she’s doing now Tissaia is unable to comprehend anything but her own internal monologue screaming its pathetic little head off. Vilgetfortz is still banging on the door and not seeming like he’s going to leave any time soon so she may as well see what happens.

Yennefer climbs onto her bed and jumps, hard. The bedframe creaks ominously. And then she lets out the most obscene moan. 

“He is going to hear you!” She hisses, knowing this is likely the entire point. Yennefer responds by moaning louder and winking at her. And those noises are even more effective up close than they are when separated by a wall. Fantastic!

The banging on the wall decreases in intensity like outside someone realizes their wife is never, ever coming back home. Which is the case, but not for the reason Vilgefortz thinks.

And then a pillow hits her in the face at a very high velocity. She shrieks, and Yennefer grins at her. Oh, that little shit. She’s staring at Tissaia like some sort of predator and Tissaia has no idea what’s going on in her perverted mind, but she doesn’t care. A very immature part of her brain wants to pick the offending projectile up, climb onto the bed, and hit Yennefer with it as hard as possible but that is not going to happen because she is an adult. 

“Oh, gods. Fuck, Tissaia!” It’s somehow even worse than the second night of their little prank war when Yennefer decided to get herself off and put on a show for her. Because now she can see her, and while she’s not doing... that, she looks like she’s enjoying herself immensely. Tissaia is deeply ashamed that she’s getting aroused by this. 

“Enough. He’s probably left by now.” Indeed, any and all pounding of doors rather than bedframes against walls has ceased. 

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. Now, you promised me dinner?” She did. But that was before Yennefer had decided to cause her to asphyxiate on her own tongue.

“Come on, then. You’re fixing that bed next, after the damage you’ve caused the thing.”

“And I’ll cause lots more if you’ll let me. But feed a girl first.”

...She is not charmed by this at all. She’s going to keep telling herself that until she feels less like a filthy liar. Because Yennefer is getting under her skin far faster than she’d like and there’s no way that can end well for either of them.

Chapter Text

When Yennefer gave Tissaia her number, she didn’t think the woman would actually use it. Mostly because if Tissaia wanted her attention, all she had to do was sound distressed or horny in her apartment and Yennefer would be right over. Or, you know, she’d show up anyway because Tissaia needed to talk to actual people who didn’t work for her. That’s what the internet said about healthy social lives, so if Tissaia tried to tell her to “leave immediately” she’d be able to show her sources and all that stuff professors were obsessed with.

So yes. When her phone buzzes from an unknown contact, stating with perfect punctuation and grammar that if it wasn’t any trouble, would Yennefer please make her way to Tissaia’s office as quickly as possible because there was a minor situation with an ex? Yennefer was on it. 

What kind of creep shows up to his wife’s office when she told him to fuck off at her apartment? Three times?

It is Friday afternoon, and that means Yennefer has been drinking just a smidge. So maybe, just maybe, that’s what she can blame her somewhat flawed train of thought on. She is not showing up to dispatch Vilgefortz in sweatpants. Obviously, if she’s officially playing Tissaia’s sexy trophy girlfriend, she should look the part. Which is why she decides that perhaps she should wear her favorite “It’s the third date, we should fuck” dress. And a full face of makeup. And heels, because nothing annoyed fragile men quite like when Yennefer was their height.

She also calls Triss to make Sabrina get her functioning car out of the garage, pick up some flowers, and drive her to save her girlfriend from mortal peril. Or, like, a major inconvenience. They arrive in under ten minutes, Sabrina’s tires screeching against the pavement and Triss waving a bouquet of roses at her from the front seat. Bless her overly romantic heart.

Sabrina takes one look at Yennefer and her pale eyebrows ascend into her hairline. “So. Is the major inconvenience getting turned on at the office? Because-”

“Her ex showed up.” Silence descends as the urge to obey the girl code seizes the car’s occupants. Yennefer gets into the car and takes deep, calming breaths to prepare for the harrowing ordeal that is Sabrina’s driving.

“Right. So what’s the plan? Her ex gave me a C in his stupid class and he’s going down. ” Hell hath no fury like a Sabrina annoyed, as is evidenced by the violent turn the car makes as Sabrina merges onto the street. Oh, how she loved her friends. The pedestrians on the way to Tissaia’s office might not be as fond of them as Sabrina breaks every conceivable traffic law and skids through lights that are far more red than yellow, but they weren’t on an epic quest for love so they could just continue scurrying away in fear and leave them alone.

    They made exceptional time, for the record. The GPS says that the trip should be a twenty-minute drive, but Sabrina skids to a halt in the parking lot in seven, which is actually pretty terrifying when Yennefer isn’t tipsy and ready to fight a man. She darts out of the car in her six-inch stilettos feeling more than a bit like wonder woman about to bash someone’s face in. The receptionist is staring at her slack-jawed and terrified as she enters, which is convenient because technically this is private property and she does not have an appointment.

    “Tissaia de Vries’ office?” The woman points and Yennefer runs off, heels clicking against the tile and chest threatening to fall out of her dress. Note to self: rescue missions are often cardio-heavy events and are not suited to formal attire, no matter what her very male film teacher thinks.

    She hears Tissaia before seeing her. It goes something like this. “If you could just calm down and stop acting like a buffoon-”

    “I will not calm down!” Well. No wonder she wanted a rescue if she’s been dealing with this for the last fifteen or so minutes. Wonderful. Time to make a dramatic entrance, get the girl, and save the day.

    “Babe!” Both Tissaia, Vilgefortz, and some tired looking girl who must be this Fringilla lady’s heads all snap towards her. She beams, strutting into Tissaia’s office like she’s absolutely been here before and this isn’t a giant charade. “I’m forcing you to actually take your lunch break. And I got you these.” Well, Sabrina paid for them because Triss made her because she’s obsessed with Yennefer’s love life. Same thing!

    “Thank you, dear. That was...Very sweet of you.” Tissaia places the flowers on her desk. She’s smiling enough that Yennefer can see her dimples, and her heart combusts. However, Tissaia is doing that thing she does when her sexy brain is malfunctioning and she has no idea what to say. Which is why it’s lucky she has Yennefer to make cover stories for her.

    “Come on. I promise I’ll have you back before anyone notices you’re gone.” She takes Tissaia’s hand in hers and pulls her towards the door. An evacuation is probably not what Tissaia intended, but it’s probably easier to have security throw someone out on their ass if you’re no longer in the way.

    “Last time you said that we were gone for three hours. People did, in fact, notice.” Oh. Oh. So Tissaia wants to play Horrify The Husband. Well, Yennefer is great at that game. The very best. 

    “Tell me it wasn’t worth it. You need to learn to relax, and I’m going to help you no matter how difficult you make it.” She’s staring directly into Tissaia’s bright eyes and maybe getting a little too truthful, but fuck it. She drops Tissaia’s hand and slings an arm around her hips, leaning in close enough to kiss her. “Besides. They’re probably just bitter they’re going to die alone.” That bit is said to Vilgefortz, whose weird fake-soulful expression takes an immediate turn towards the almost tearful. This makes Yennefer quite happy. Because yeah, she’s just rubbing it in now. She is going to trick Tissaia into falling in love with her and then they are going to live happily ever after. Because she said so. And Vilgefortz can be sad and alone like he deserves for not appreciating the divine being he married.

    “Be that as it may. I do have work. And someone has interrupted that enough today.” Vilgefortz has the decency to look ashamed, which just makes him that much more annoying. What is it with respecting a girl’s paperwork schedule but not her boundaries? What was happening in that marriage?

    “Fine,” She whines, bottom lips trapped between her teeth. “Do I at least get a kiss?” She is playing with fire and she knows it. But Tissaia is nodding and okay, she had thought there would be a playful rejection and then she and Vilgefortz would be shooed out but this is so much better. 

    Her hand reaches up to cup Tissaia’s cheek of its own accord. Her skin is so soft, and she melts into the touch. Yennefer pulls them closer. Tissaia’s eyes drift shut and a dreamy smile spreads across her face. Either she’s a phenomenal actress or she’s getting into this despite her insistence that she’s uninterested. 

    She is fairly certain something bursts into flames as their lips meet. She can feel the deep red of her lipstick smearing and just knows Tissaia will be covered in it by the time they come up for air. Her hands cling to Yenenfer’s neck like a lifeline. They fit together perfectly in Yennefer’s opinion, Tissaia’s body flush against hers. She can feel every single curve and it is giving her all sorts of ideas but the only thing she wants to focus on is Tissaia’s mouth on hers and the little mewl of pleasure she gets when she sucks on Tissaia’s bottom lip. She hadn’t intended this to start to look like the build-up of a movie sex scene but it wasn’t all her fault and she wouldn’t give up this moment for anything. 

    “Are you two done yet? He left.” The girl whose name she thinks is Fringilla is now her least favorite person on the planet. Right after Vilgefortz, anyway. She’s staring at Yennefer like she’s been advocating for mass genocide instead of making out with her boss, and oh right she probably recognizes Yennefer’s voice from all the calls she never stopped making. Well, this will be fun to explain.

    “I can explain.” Can you, Tissaia? She’s looking a bit distracted. Her lips are swollen and stained red. Her bun is in disarray. Her blouse has come untucked from her pants and she’s panting just a bit. Yennefer is both very pleased with herself and furious she doesn’t get to have this every single night for the rest of her life. Not yet, anyway.

    “Listen, whatever weird sex thing this is, just make her stop calling the office. It’s getting ridiculous-”

    “No! This isn’t-No. She’s my neighbor. We’re not doing that.” Very convincing, Tissaia. Tell her you’re straight, next. 

    “...If you needed a fake girlfriend, couldn’t you have picked someone else? Anyone else?” Rude. And granted, if she were Tissaia’s glorified secretary, and oh the roleplay ideas that gives her, she’d be a little possessive too, but Yennefer is the best fake girlfriend ever so Fringilla can stuff it. And she’s going to keep calling!

    “It was a spur of the moment development. And she will stop calling. Won’t you, Yennefer?”

    “Yes, ma’am.” Tissaia’s “do what I say or else” voice is lethal. She can feel arousal pooling between her thighs, which is not good because she is not wearing underwear under this dress. Because she was in a rush to show up here and didn’t bother with it. She regrets that now.

    “Good. Thank you very much for your help on such short notice. I will inform security that he is no longer allowed in the building and hopefully, this will never happen again.” If she gets a kiss each time it happens, a selfish bit of Yennefer hopes security in this office sucks.

    “Any time. I mean that!” 

    “Eww. Okay, can your stalker leave now? Not that this isn’t entertaining, but I feel like I’m going to choke on the sexual tension.” Fringilla is the worst. She’s not wrong, but Yennefer hates her a lot. Mostly out of envy. She gets to spend all day with Tissaia in sexy authoritative mode and gets paid for it. Did TAs get paid? Whatever, she was still a lucky bitch.

    “Fine. Have fun at work, babe.” She can’t resist the parting shot just a bit. “If you get bored with grading essays tonight, you know where to find me!” Apparently, Tissaia was one of those teachers unwilling to foist all the grading off on her TA. This meant that now that all her students had turned in their first paper she had to cancel their dinner to be a grading hermit. It wasn’t fair. But she’d still be quiet tonight so Tissaia could be done faster and go back to paying attention to her.

Tissaia tosses her pen down and sighs. Her focus is shot. And it is one hundred percent the fault of the girl on the other end of the wall.

    Well, at least eighty percent. She was the one foolish enough to accept a kiss, and just like accepting gifts from otherworldly creatures, it had blown up in her face. Yes, she got rid of her ex, but at what cost? All she can see every time she closes her eyes is the look on Yennefer’s face right before their lips connected. Fringilla won’t stop making horrible jokes about what Tissaia may or may not be doing in her spare time. And to top it all off, she can’t grade these stupid essays, which are for the record horrible, because her cunt is throbbing and she’s halfway tempted to tell Yennefer that fine, she surrenders, just come in and fuck her.

    She is, of course, not doing that. She admits it, she genuinely likes the girl when she doesn’t want to strangle her. But she is still a student, and Tissaia is still technically married, and it’s a giant mess of ethical quandaries she doesn’t have the emotional energy to navigate. She may love how Yennefer’s arms feel around her or just how domestic it can get having dinner together, but she is not indulging her pathetic crush on someone at least a decade younger than her.

    She’s going to sleep. It is eleven pm, so certainly if she knocked on the wall Yennefer would appear, but she cannot deal with seeing her again, this time without a chaperone. Thank goodness for Fringilla’s intervention or she may have ended up letting Yennefer take her right there.

    The thought of that only makes her problem worse. Fine, then. She shoves her papers onto a pile on the couch and marches to her bedroom. She collapses into bed, unfastens her pants, and strips them off. She clearly needs to get laid, but in the absence of a partner that isn’t a massive lawsuit on the rise, this will have to do.

    She thrusts three fingers into herself far harder than she usually likes, but she wants all images of Yennefer and herself out of her head now. It doesn’t matter. As the pleasure builds all she can see is violet eyes and Yennefer’s body on her own. She lets out a keening whine as she imagines Yennefer’s fingers inside of her, that sweet mouth on one of her breasts. It’s driving her insane and she doesn't want to think about this but she can’t make herself stop. She wants her in every way imaginable. And when she finally falls over the edge, panting and wrapped around her own hand and far less satisfied than she would like, it’s to the image of Yennefer bent over her desk in her head and the girl’s name on her lips.

    The afterglow is marred with a deep sense of shame and more than a bit of frustration. Because she could have that. Any time she wanted. She’s never hated her morals or adherence to rules quite so deeply.

    “Well, that was hot as fuck.” Yennefer’s voice trails off into a sigh and Tissaia’s heart rate triples.

    Oh, gods. This is not happening. Please, someone, tell her this is not happening. She can feel tears of frustration in her eyes but suddenly, as if reacting to Yennefer’s voice, her body wants more and she hates this.

    “Just to remind you, whatever you’re imagining the two of us doing? The real thing will be so much better. You don’t even need to get out of bed. Just say the word and I’ll be right there and happy to do anything you say.”

    Tissaia doesn’t respond. She’s embarrassed and aroused and more than anything angry at herself, though whether it’s for getting caught or letting things get this far in the first place she can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. It will never happen again. She’s going to tell Yennefer the flirting needs to stop the next time they meet, if only for her sanity.

Chapter Text

Tissaia has been avoiding her. She knows this because it is Monday, and she has not heard a peep from Tissaia de Vries since the unintentional show she put on Friday night. 

    Yennefer really had thought that after the kiss and that, maybe Tissaia was ready to give in. She was clearly attracted to Yennefer! And they were sort of friends, and the campus thought they were dating and nothing bad had happened. So a complete and total surrender was the next logical step. Right? Wrong!

    She has tried texting her. She has tried monologuing through the wall about everything from her attempts at cooking to how badly she wants another kiss in the hopes that Tissaia will get so sick of the sound of her voice she’ll respond. She even considered climbing in through the window before realizing that would be pulling a Vilgefortz and no way does Tissaia need two stalkers in her life. So fine. Tissaia is embarrassed and thinks they shouldn’t get together for some reason or another, probably something silly like “people might gossip” or “you’re too young to know what you want” or whatever other soap opera reasons women panicking about potentially getting hurt again after a breakup use to avoid new relationships. Because it seems to Yennefer that might be what’s happening.

    She won’t force Tissaia to talk to her because that would be bad and creepy. But she will make it very easy for the woman to do so! That’s why she’s blowing off Monday’s philosophy class to roll up to Tissaia’s eleven am lecture in all her glory. She’s moved away from the cocktail dresses because that didn’t seem to work too well. Instead, she showed up at Sabrina’s door on Saturday when she was too drunk to object and raided her closet. She isn’t sure why Sabrina even owns a suit, something about a themed event, but the shirt is just the right level of too tight across her chest and black is her color so she stole it. She looks a bit like she’s about to join the mafia, but everything that needs to be covered in order for this to be appropriate is covered. See, Tissaia? She is perfectly capable of looking good while not making a scene. She’s learning.

    Yennefer is sitting in “her” seat of the lecture hall for all of five minutes before she realized that actually, she is once again making a scene and people are still staring at her even though she’s in no danger of flashing them. It’s good to be appreciated, but she did not wear this for the students of criminal defense 201. She wore this for the professor, who is made of ice and terrified of her own emotions and may need a good hard shove in the right direction.

    “What are you doing here?”

    “Um, what are you doing here? This isn’t even your class.” She made sure of that by texting Geralt and asking for Jaskier’s class schedule. Because she refuses to repeat the last lecture’s mistakes.

    “My professor hates me. Apparently, she thinks I lack dedication. I aim to prove her wrong.” Yennefer is pretty sure he means “My professor is pissed because I tried to bring up her potential sex life in class.” But of course, Tissaia would call that a lack of dedication. Professional people were strange.

    “Prove her wrong quietly, then.” If he fucks this up for her she will castrate him.

    Jaskier sits behind her and is dead silent, thank the gods. Because she will elbow him in the crotch again. Without a sliver of regret.

    Tissaia shows up at exactly eleven. The click of her heels on the wood floors heralds her appearance like fanfare and Yennefer can feel herself salivating just a bit because that’s just her response to being near Tissaia these days. It’s very justified, she realizes as she gets to take in the vision that is walking towards the stage. 

    Tissaia’s composure and hair are equally flawless and she wants to ruin both. Her skirt is tight and black and frames her ass far too well for Yennefer not to stare a little. It matches her waistcoat, which is something she wasn’t aware people wore anymore but they should make a comeback immediately. And as if she knew Yennefer was going to show up and decided to torture her, she is wearing stockings, which isn’t something Yennefer has ever seen her in but can she please remove them with her teeth? 

    She was not aware Tissaia Withdrawl was something a person could go through, but she’s hit by how much she’s missed this beautiful, rigid disaster genius like a runaway truck. Yennefer can only hope Tissaia has missed her a fraction of this much. If so, they’ll be planning their wedding by noon. Not that she’s had any sort of dreams about Tissaia in a wedding gown. Because that would be insane. They’re not even dating, and she is twenty-two. She is too young to get married, even to a woman like that, and...Actually? She takes that back. If Tissaia wants to make an honest woman of her, she’ll drag her to a chapel today. 

    Tissaia ascends the stairs to the stage and turns to face her adoring audience. Yennefer can count three people drooling in her row alone, and none of them are her. But Tissaia likes her the best. She knows this because Tissaia hasn’t moaned anyone else’s names while fucking herself, and that is a pretty good metric for judging attraction in her mind.

    “Good morning, class. Today, we will be going over your midterm. This is should fill you with great quantities of fear.” She scans the room for any signs of dissent in the ranks and sees Yennefer, who does not wave because she isn’t drawing any more attention to herself today. Tissaia’s face darkens. “There will not be a curve. Do better.” 

    Oops. She has a feeling Tissaia may not be happy to see her after all, which hurts. She had thought that they were getting along great, even with Tissaia maybe being pissed about Friday. The class explodes into objections before Tissaia glares at them and okay, Yennefer didn’t even take this class and she’s feeling guilty for disappointing Tissaia. Holy shit. 

    “...Is what I would say if the departmental policy didn’t forbid it. Instead, because this is not, regrettably, a weed-out course, there will be a second take-home exam which I’m sure you will all cheat proficiently on. Those of you who need to do so, I would suggest transferring to Professor Stregobor’s class on criminal prosecution. Moving on…” She has no idea who professor Stregobor is, but if he suddenly burst into flames from that burn Yennefer wouldn’t be shocked. It’s also clear that Tissaia is angry at her even though she was the one avoiding all contact after a stupid moment that didn’t even need to be embarrassing and is taking it out on her students, but it’s hot. Like, angry Tissaia is a whole new level of sexy and while she should be planning on how she’s going to deal with this new and exciting journey of emotional repression she also kind of wants to stick a hand down her pants. Would that make them even? She doubted that was the root of the problem and not just an excuse for Tissaia to avoid her at all costs, but still. Would it help? Because she would do a lot of things to stop Tisaia acting pissed at her for no reason. Her occasionally questionable self-esteem does not like that at all.

    Her internal weighing of the pros and cons of further distracting the professor is stopped in its tracks as the lecture hall doors fly open. Tissaia’s face goes from “I want to terrorize the young and stupid” to “burst into flames already, you disgusting slug of a person.” Yennefer whips around to see who the fuck it is so fast her neck cracks in five places and oh gods no. This is not happening. She is supposed to talk to Tissaia today, not hold her back from decapitating her husband with a goddamn laser pointer.

    The husband is staggering around like an extra in a zombie movie, so either he’s drunk or Tissaia snuck out last night to break his kneecaps. And if Tissaia stopped talking to her to plan out a felony? Okay, great! If the police ask Yennefer’s head was between her thighs the entire time and they’ve got the wrong woman. She would be a great alibi!

    “Are you fucking kidding me, Tissaia? A sexual harassment claim?” Oh god. Oh god. No wonder she was in a bad mood. 

    And however bad it was before, now they are bordering on apoplectic levels of rage. Really, Yennefer can’t blame her. She wouldn’t want her ex to drunkenly show up when she was filming and this is about eight hundred times more public and messy than that. Tissaia is frozen on the stage. That makes sense. What did one even do in this situation? 

    “I can and will call security. You are embarrassing yourself. Leave.” Oh, the robot voice had made a triumphant return. If Vilgefortz didn’t get the fuck out then Yennefer was going to have to do...Something, because that voice meant Tissaia was about three seconds away from reaching a breaking point and if that happened at work then she’d probably never talk to Yennefer or Vilgefortz ever again on principle. It spoke volumes about her level of obsession that she knew that.

    “We’re married and you filed a harassment suit. You could get me fired. ” Oh no. What a shame that would be…

    “She told you to leave.” Yennefer is fully aware that if her goal was not to make a scene she’s just failed. But every instinct in her very immature brain is screaming at her to get between Tissaia and the unpredictable drunken idiot who is screaming at her, so that’s what she does. 

    “You stay out of this.” He attempts to push his way past Yennefer, which is a mistake because she is fucking pissed about today and hyped up on adrenaline and he is not getting near Tissaia. Ever again. Even if she needs to shoot him and hide the body in the prop room.

    Maybe she’s possessed by the spirit of whatever mobster Sabrina bought this suit from, but her fist slams into Vilgefortz’s jaw with a sickening crack. And ow. Punching people was so much more painful than it looked in fight scenes, but it appeared that getting punched was accurately portrayed because Vilgefortz is on his ass. Possibly due to his intoxication level but Yennefer is ignoring that because then she can say she knocked someone over with one punch.

    “Holy shit. Professor de Vries has game! ” People are staring. And filming. Tissaia is going to be furious that people are filming this, but she’s probably even more furious that her students may be under the impression that she’s seduced a woman half her age who then got into a public fight with her husband. And that’s exactly what happened, but Tissaia didn’t seduce her on purpose so it isn’t her fault at all.

    “Attention everyone! The class is dismissed. I will send out today’s notes.” She climbs off the stage and this time, no way is she letting Yennefer help her off. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Tissaia hisses at her as she brushes by. And fine, she has plenty of reasons to be angry, but she can’t blame this whole thing on her. That’s just fucking unfair.

    Tissaia marches out of the lecture hall, already calling for security without a backward glance, and Yennefer’s heart cracks a little. Because evidently she has one and she accidentally gave it to the most emotionally unavailable woman she’s ever met and is now facing the consequences.

Tissaia is having a breakdown. She is in a public bathroom and she is having a breakdown . She’s not even sure why. Anything today could have done it. What was she even thinking, filing a complaint-Oh right, she was thinking that her lunatic ex had shown up to both her home and place of work. And now she’s regretting it because of course Yennefer lost her mind and decided to punch the man. Why wouldn’t she? She had no impulse control whatsoever. And now she could be expelled! And it would be entirely her fault. She was the one who brought Yennefer into the rapidly unspooling insanity that was her personal life, and yet it wasn’t her who would face the consequences.

    Fuck. Fuck! There are tears on her face and she hates it. Why can’t she stop crying lately? Why does she have to be so emotional and useless and unable to control herself? Because if she could just keep her hormones reigned in like the adult she is instead of acting like some kind of sex-crazed teenager and ignore how pleasant it was to have Yennefer constantly insisting she was still desirable, then this wouldn’t be an issue! 

    But it was. And she was going to make sure that Yennefer wasn’t seen as the villain of this little incident, although it would be difficult to see her as one given the horrendous amount of video evidence to Vilgefortz’s disgraceful state and level of aggression, and then she was ending whatever little pseudo-relationship they’d dropped into that was once again all her fault.

    The thought of not seeing Yennefer anymore hurts more than anything else. What the hell was wrong with her? She nearly ruined a very promising young woman’s life today and she’s sad because she won’t be able to ogle the girl anymore? That’s it. She’s making a therapist’s appointment. 

    Well. At least Yennefer will be able to continue her party schedule unimpeded. Tissaia is going to find a new apartment if it kills her, but in the meantime, she will not be knocking on Yennefer’s door even if she decides to host a music festival and orgy at the same time.

Chapter Text

Today is day one of never speaking to Yennefer again after she made sure the disciplinary board had no intention of punishing her. The price of this was that they were also not punishing her husband for his invasion of her classroom. This is a price she is more than willing to pay but she has informed Frigilla that the new policy for Vilgefortz appearing within twenty feet of her is to call security on sight. She will insist she feels fine. That would be a lie. She feels like shit, which turns out to be the theme of this day.

    Fringilla was kind enough to volunteer to help her carry a massive pile of student papers from her lecture hall to her car because she made the mistake of asking for paper submissions, which she will never do again. They’re teetering towards the elevator, stacks of essays up to their necks when everything decides to veer onto the highway to hell.

    “Professor? You may want to walk faster. Now.” Tissaia turns to look behind her at whatever Fringilla would like to avoid and oh shit. Right. Of course, Vilgefortz would like to have a word with her after the little drunken altercation of yesterday and the sexual harassment suit she refuses to drop. She decides to walk faster, though with the massive stack of papers “faster” still isn’t that fast.

    She gets into the elevator, shoves her stack into Fringilla’s overburdened arms with a muttered apology, and slams both the “floor up” and “close door” buttons as quickly as possible. Please let it close. Please let it close!

    Vilgefortz sprints forward and there’s no way he’s not going to make it in. This means Tissaia should flee and leave both him and possibly Fringilla trapped in the elevator together, which is not the brave or morally acceptable thing to do but she’s not at her best and she’s choosing herself for once. She’s just about to dart out when a soft weight slams into her chest and bowls her back into the metal coffin as the doors shut.

    “Hey, baby. Fringilla. Asshat.” Oh shit. Yennefer looks down at her through long lashes, satisfied grin on her face. Everything about her expression suggests that Tissaia has some explaining to do and is otherwise completely screwed. But while Yennefer is very rightly upset with her for the actions of the past few days, she doesn’t show it to their audience. She plasters herself to Tissaia’s side instead, because of course she’s keeping up the fake dating charade and unless Tissaia would like to deal with Vilgefortz she’s going to need to play along. Fuck. Fuck!

Yennefer has made a lot of impulse decisions over the past few days, so when she sees Tissaia shouting at an elevator door to “close already!” with her husband in hot pursuit, she can hardly be blamed for defaulting to “Tissaia cannot be alone with the ravening lunatic whose job she is now threatening.” And she had come here to talk to Tissaia anyway, so it’s a win.

    So yes. She may have accidentally screwed up Tissaia’s escape attempt. But they’re touching and Tissaia looks more or less unharmed and she can’t avoid being flooded with uncontrolled joy at the circumstances. She presses closer, both because she’s missed this since Tissaia decided to stop talking to her after her accidental performance and because this is a very crowded elevator.

    So crowded, in fact, that there are two people in the corner she forgot to greet. How rude. “Hello, Geralt. Geralt’s boyfriend.” It’s hysterical how quickly Tissaia and Vilgefortz whip around to notice their sheepish, very uncomfortable audience. 

    “Hello, Yennefer. Professor. Fringilla. Another professor.” The awkwardness is palpable. Jaskier looks like he’d like to sink through the floor, and Yennefer would likely be in a similar state if she weren’t cuddled up to Tissaia, but she is so she’s happy as can be.

    And then the elevator shudders to a halt. The doors, however, remain shut. They’re stuck. Six people in a very small elevator, most of whom hate each other in varied and exciting ways, and they’re stuck.

    It’s pretty funny how fast different factions form. Geralt and Jaskier were already pretty cozy in their corner, but now they’re basically merging into one being in an attempt to be as physically far from the Tissaia/Vilgefortz/Yennefer cyclone of violence that is likely to occur. Yennefer may shove Tissaia into a corner as far from Vilgefortz as possible, and Fringilla nods at her approvingly before placing herself between the pair and everyone’s least favorite cheating scumbag. Well, she may still not like her, but they seem to have a common love or admiration for Tissaia and a common enemy so, for now, Yennefer will consider Fringilla an ally. Vilgefortz is trapped in the middle, as no one wants to be near him. And they stay like that as Fringilla jabs at the “call maintenance” button until the noise starts to make Tissaia’s eye twitch and she stops.

    “So, Yennefer. When did you start liking MILFs?”

    “Excuse me?” Oh shit. Tissaia does not look pleased, and Yennefer isn’t sure when Jaskier went from “let’s prove to my professor that I’m awesome” to “let’s infuriate her” but it probably has something to do with fucking up Yennefer’s life being more important than his grades. Asshole.

    “Jaskier. Shut up.” Geralt surveys those assembled, and Yennefer would guess he’s trying to determine if anyone is going to smack his boyfriend for that. Yennefer is tempted, but again, she’s very determined not to leave Tissaia’s side for this entire incident because they are having a talk the second they leave this elevator, damn it!

    “It’s not a bad thing. Professor de Vries is very attractive, and I could see how women of a certain age do tend to be the most...Experienced, and-”

    Smack! 

Silence falls as Fringilla beats Yennefer to slapping Jaskier in the face. And while Yennefer is angry she didn’t have the chance, it also means Tissaia can’t get mad at her for slapping someone and she doesn’t need to move from her very comfortable position draped across Tissaia’s body. Jaskier looks shocked that his actions actually had consequences this time, and she may tolerate his presence on occasion but holy shit is he a moron.

    “So you’ve been showing your new toy off to students now?” Tissaia doesn’t say anything, but Yennefer hopes she can communicate through facial expressions alone that should Tissaia like, she will flatten this miscreant for her. “And you. She’s still married, you know.” Yes, Yennefer knows. She wants to fix that. Through divorce, through murder, she can be flexible.

    “I wouldn’t be if you’d just sign the papers. I had them sent to your office weeks ago.” Well then. Yennefer hadn’t known about that, but it makes her very, very happy. 

    “I’m not signing them. I made a mistake, but we can make it work! If you’d stop being a ridiculous witch and screwing undergrads!”

    “Look who’s talking!” She’s never seen Tissaia get in a screaming match with someone who isn’t her, and she wants to watch with popcorn but also wants to punch Vilgefortz again.

    “Maybe everyone needs to calm down-”

    “Shut up Jaskier! You started this entire thing!” This time Yennefer gets halfway to smacking him again before Geralt appoints himself the dolt’s human shield. She can feel the elevator carriage lurching as she lunges forward to get at this pimply-arsed idiot, but she is a honey badger and gives zero fucks at all and the whole thing can collapse for all she cares. She is vaguely conscious of Fringilla attempting to prevent a pre-divorce fistfight between Tissaia and Vilgefortz, so she abandons her pursuit of attempting to break Jaskier’s front teeth to shut the husband from hell up. He’s going on some tirade about Tissaia not wanting to have sex with him enough, and frankly who could blame her, and Geralt is doing his usual “fuck” and protect the moron routine and it’s a mess. As is this elevator. Fringilla had put her massive pile of essays on the ground and now they’re everywhere like some sort of bizarre nest of paper and oh, she knows Tissaia will be so pissed about that later but that just means she can’t run off until she’s collected them all. And Yennefer is happy to help!

Professor Stregobor waits for the elevator to arrive with his group of alumni and potential donors. He is sweating slightly. He is sweating because they have been waiting for quite some time, and recently the elevator has started making some rather concerning noises.

    By noises, he means shouting, and by shouting he means accusations of adultery, professors sleeping with their students, acts of assault and sexual harassment, and many swear words. It does not paint the school in the best light, to say the least.

    “Well. The elevator appears to be encountering...Mechanical difficulties.” And a soap opera. He has no idea who is in it at this moment but he wishes they’d keep their personal lives behind closed doors. 

Yennefer is pressed against Tissaia in a way that is technically not obscene but certainly is more than friendly. This is mostly because where else can she go but also because Tissaia is kind of clinging to her because she’s the only thing between her and having to deal with her husband. Which she’s so okay with. And maybe her hand is right above Yennefer’s crotch but she hasn’t noticed and she won’t be telling Tissaia that because it looks like her the dear future divorceé’s head is gonna explode as he stares at them.

    To back up, Vilgefortz had been getting all up in Tissaia’s space and the poor woman may have acted on instinct when Yennefer did her best impression of a knight in shining armor. Or at least, denim and leather. It feels good, having Tissaia’s hands on her, and since making her feel better is sort of Yennefer’s purpose in life nowadays she couldn’t be happier. Meanwhile, Fringilla looks like she’s gonna murder Jaskier and Yennefer decides that maybe they’ll be friends after this even if she’s been torturing Fringilla over the phones for a while because he deserves it.

    “Professor! Control your madwoman!” Jaskier looks ready to shit himself. Tissaia doesn’t seem like she’s going to be controlling anyone any time soon, for the record, and while this wasn’t how Yennefer planned to spend her afternoon she’s kind of having fun. 

    "Are you trying to fail this class, or are you just talented?" Yup. She and Fringilla are friends now. She’s decided. 

    “You know what else is coming? Yennefer. And while I took her for a bit of an exhibitionist, I didn’t think-”

    “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s right. This behavior is obscene!”

    Tissaia removes her hand so fast Yennefer has to wonder if she didn’t imagine it. Granted, the ache in her core had to come from somewhere, but still. This is the worst, and she takes back what she said about having fun.

    “Don’t be a homophobe, asshole.” Granted, telling someone to stop feeling their partner of any gender up in a public space isn’t homophobic, but Vilgefortz has done an awful lot of shouting about Tissaia’s possible sexuality and he’s annoyed her. And she knows exactly what is going to happen in three. Two. One.

    “I’m stuck in an elevator with a homophobe? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Yennefer? I support your indecent relationship with my professor.”

    As one would imagine, this declaration sets off a whole new round of shouting. Vilgefortz insists he’s not a homophobe. Yennefer is intent on insisting that nothing about this is indecent, thank you very much, so there’s no reason for Tissaia to run for the hills after this unfortunate incident. Fringilla is just indulging her new hatred for Jaskier and her ability to verbally eviscerate is art. It’s almost a little arousing, and if Yennefer weren’t already halfway in love with Tissaia she might be tempted to go for it.

    “All of you shut the fuck up!”

    It is a testament to Tissaia’s shouting ability and teacher voice that everyone in the elevator falls silent. And then the doors open.

    Had the hallway been empty, they could have all scuttled out and went on their merry way while Yennefer dragged Tissaia to the nearest empty room to chat. The hallway is not empty.

    There is a small mob of people outside staring at them, and Tissaia’s grip on her body tightens in a way that Yennefer interprets to mean she’s not thrilled to see them. It would appear everyone involved in their impromptu passion play is equally unenthused. Throats are cleared on both sides as the herd of traumatized elevator survivors all attempt to shove their way out of the elevator at the same time and get rather stuck while the mob of viewers decides to perhaps take the stairs.

    “So. How soon can you two get married after the divorce?” Fucking Jaskier. This is beyond Yennefer’s very limited threshold for not responding to mockery. So she does what any pissed off and overly caffeinated person would do. She jumps him in the middle of the hallway to hang off his back with his neck in a chokehold. 

    “Get her off of him!” Oh, Geralt is on it, and Fringilla is on trying to get Geralt off of her. It’s like the world’s most bizarre and unpleasant conga line. Tissaaia and Vilgefortz seem very alarmed by this turn of events, mutter apologies to the crowd, and attempt to break things up.

    If Vilgefortz thinks that grabbing her legs will get her to peacefully desist he has another thing coming. Two of them actually. Yennefer’s two feet to the face, to be specific. Unfortunately, the man takes one look at the gleam in her eyes and decides that perhaps letting Tissaia handle this one might be a good idea. Coward. 

    “Get down from there this instant.” Yennefer drops her hold on Jaskier. Tissaia beats an annoying man in her priorities. Always. 

    “Oh good, she’s a frigid bitch with you too.”

    Yennefer sees red just a bit. Tissaia was not a frigid bitch and even if she were, that is Yennefer’s future wife he’s talking about!

    “Maybe if you knew how to get a woman off she’d be a bit calmer. Don’t you have an affair to conduct?”

    “Be quiet. Please just be quiet.” 

    “I agree with the frigid professor, Yennefer. You should shut up.” She’s not going to deck Jaskier as he scurries off. Or Vilgefortz. But she wants to. So badly. And then Tissaia decides that perhaps someone ought to try to make this look less bad, seeing as the alumni look terrified and the old guy with them looks like his head is about to explode.

    “Stregobor. Everyone. This isn’t what it looks like.” They nod along because no one in that damn elevator wants to face repercussions for starting a fight in the hallway and if Tissaia can save them by doing what lawyers do and getting them off scot-free, they will follow her like the Messiah.

    Except for Vilgefortz, who has in Yennefer’s opinion realized he has nothing left to lose and is going to go out with a bang like some kind of older Jaskier. “What, exactly, is it then? I find I’m quite confused.”

Tissaia freezes. She figured there would be no dissension in the ranks since nobody wanted to get expelled or fired for this shit, but no. Her husband was an idiot. 

    This should hardly be surprising. She is having the worst day of her life, and that includes the evening when she attempted to surprise her husband at the office and found him balls-deep in his TA. Her dearly detested colleague is staring at her, Yennefer has committed a truly alarming amount of assault, and she is probably singlehandedly responsible for alumni donations tanking this fiscal year. She needs to think.

    This Jaskier creature is unlikely to press charges for Fringilla and Yennefer slapping him, given that he’s the frequent acquaintance of one and terrified of the other. No one at any point assaulted her husband, the person most likely to cause legal issues. And she and Yennefer are not sleeping together, although given that her husband is still employed after committing exactly that offense she doubts her job would be in danger even if they were. She can salvage this.

    “How about my psychotic ex decided to chase me into an elevator and some of my students, who were privy to your delightful visit yesterday, felt the need to intervene?” She is absolutely throwing Vilgefortz under the bus for this. He started it, he can hang for it, and if there’s anyone Stregobor hates more than her it’s her husband.    

    “In that case, perhaps your heroic associates ought to move along to attend their next classes? Surely they have no further place in this incident.” 

    Tissaia has never hated Stregobor less. She sends a warning glare towards those assembled, daring them to argue with the clear and very merited dismissal. The fact that this idiot just helped her escape a very awkward and emotionally taxing discussion with Yennefer is in no way lost on her. And it’s not lost on Yennefer either if the pouting as she turns away is anything to go on. Tissaia is going to need to sneak out a window to avoid running into her later.

    “Now. I’m sure neither of you would ever like to discuss this unfortunate incident ever again. And I have no desire to explain to budgeting why my tour group fled the building. So perhaps if none of us ever speak of this afternoon ever again and go on our merry way?” 

    Tissaia is far too happy with that to say anything and flounces off. That was entirely too close to both getting Yennefer in trouble for her sake yet again and ending up cornered by the girl. She is going to have to be far more cautious, because clearly, Yennefer hasn’t given up on her, and that almost makes what she’s doing hurt more but it’s necessary. She hates so much that it’s necessary. 

Chapter Text

Yennefer is officially really fucking mad. She’s not a possessive lunatic, and she knows Tissaia may want space, but this is getting ridiculous. It’s like she decided that the solution to a few unfortunate incidents is to never speak to Yennefer again, which is ludicrous. So she’s worried. She’s really worried about Tissaia, who will not talk to her and, in fact, locked herself in her apartment before Yennefer got home from classes and won’t come out. 

    Yennefer decides she hates feelings. Feelings suck. And what do we do when we don’t want to feel our feelings? We drink alcohol! And if Tissaia gets so annoyed by the mob of drunken college students in her room she feels the need to recreate the night they met, Yennefer will make sure she’s way nicer this time. She just needs to see her stupidly pretty face and know she’s not crying alone again. Because somehow the thought of Tissaia being sad makes her sad and it’s the worst.

    “So the suit didn’t work? Maybe you’ll let me lend you something with actual colors next time.” Did she mention Sabrina was the worst? Because Sabrina is the worst, but she has rum, and that means Yennefer will deal with her.

    “You know, I really think it was more that I punched her husband, who really is acting like a creep who expected his wife to just let him have an affair, and then got into a fight in front of her coworkers than the fact that I was wearing black.” 

    “Maybe she should take him back if you’re the other option-Ow!” Jaskier needs to learn to shut up or Yennefer will have whatever twig is inside his overly tight pants nonfunctional by graduation. He has caused her enough trouble today, actually, and if it weren’t for the fact that Geralt forced him to apologize via bribery she wouldn’t have let him in.

    “Are you okay? Is Tissaia okay?” Triss grabs Yennefer’s hand and begins examining her bruised knuckles from the whole “I’m going to try to fight several people in an elevator after punching someone” incident. “You should really ice this.” Yes, well she had been busy at class because Tissaia needed to cool off for a bit and then she’d been trying to check on her without freaking her out and it had slipped her mind, okay? She had bigger problems than a bruise.

    “I don’t know.” Her voice quivers and she hates that because she would rather die than let Sabrina or Jaskier see her cry and both of them at once is just torture but her throat is doing that stupid thing where it closes up and then you start crying and everything sucks. 

    “Hmm. That guy sounds like a dick.” 

    “He is. Fucking bastard. I should show up to his apartment, see how he likes it with a psycho at the door.” 

    “Well, you are definitely psycho. And drunk.” They’re all drunk because the first order of business when the gaggle of them had shown up to her door was to do shots and now Yennefer is just numb and sad instead of frenzied and sad.

    “You’re psycho too, Sabrina.” There is a murmur of assent, because Triss is always right, and Sabrina is indeed psycho.

    “Great. Then we’ll both go. He’s a dick.” Did she say Sabrina was the worst? She takes it back. Sabrina is her favorite when they’re drunk because she always helps Yenenfer escalate things.

    “You two are not driving like this.”

    “I’ll call an uber because it would be truly heinous to miss the opportunity to watch this.” 

    “Thanks, Jaskier. Who else is coming? Raise hands.”

    Everyone’s hand except Geralt’s immediately shoots up. He grunts and slowly joins them because there is nothing he wouldn’t do for his idiot boyfriend.

    “One thing. Does anyone know where he lives?” This certainly gives them pause. Yennefer knows she can’t exactly ask Tissaia. And she has no idea where his apartment is.

    “What about his office?” Sabrina is beaming and feral, and okay, Yennefer isn’t scared of her, but she sees why other people are. “His office hours were so boring, but I remember where they are, and I bet Yennefer’s more plebian skills will let her pick the lock.”    

    Excuse her. It’s called being a badass. “Yeah, I can pick it. Let’s go. Just one quick thing.” She marches into her bedroom, downs one last shot for good luck, and proceeds to start yelling. “Hey, Tissaia! We’re super drunk and gonna go torture your husband! Come out and stop us!” Nothing. Tissaia probably assumes she’s kidding to try to get a response, but the joke’s on her because Yenenfer is not kidding, and she’s going to get a little revenge on Tissaia’s behalf, and it will be glorious. “Okay, I’m done. Can we hit Walmart, though? Cause we need supplies for this shit.” And if Yennefer can trick Sabrina or Jaskier into paying for her groceries, all the better. 

“Also, we need masks or something because I’m not getting expelled because your crush is mad at you.” Once again, Triss saves the day. All hail Triss.

Tissaia is officially very, very concerned. 

    She had assumed, like any sane individual, that when a drunken Yennefer began screaming about her plans to commit a felony, she was joking.

    She forgot, in her depressive fugue, that Yennefer is rarely, if ever, kidding. And next door has been silent for several minutes now after a large amount of what sounded like elephants clamored out of Yennefer’s apartment. 

    She’s starting to think this isn’t some practical joke to lure her into the open and that Yennefer was serious. This means as a responsible adult, she needs to prevent her from getting arrested. She’s contemplating calling security to be on the lookout for drunken imbeciles near the history department so that Yennefer can be gently dissuaded from whatever immature prank she’s planning. And then her phone buzzes.

    The text is just a picture of a shopping cart and a smiley face emoji. It is full of an industrial size container of apple juice, what looks like very illegal firecrackers, a package of ski masks, a crowbar, surgical gloves, spray paint, and oh dear gods, where did she get her hands on a crash dummy? It’s dressed in a suit and has a large fake mustache stuck to it, and okay, so the dummy is meant to represent her husband. This is bad. This is very bad, and she swore to never talk to Yennefer again, but she has fireworks and a crowbar and a crash dummy. There is nothing legal Tissaia can think of that she could be doing with those objects!

    She picks up her phone and presses the call button before she can think about it. Yennefer picks up on the second ring, and she can hear people hooting and making lewd noises in the background. Yennefer slurs at them to “shut the fuck up before I have you castrated.” So maybe she’s not that drunk? She seems to have retained her rather colorful vocabulary, anyway.

    “Hey, gorgeous. How’re you?”

    ...What? “Return the fireworks this instant. And the crowbar. Do not invade my husband’s anything; do not get arrested. I mean it.” There. Simple, to the point, no feelings or encouragement involved. Yennefer is not getting in trouble on her behalf again, not after Tissaia so narrowly convinced the head of security that she was protecting her and not assaulting a professor yesterday. And then she had to rely on Stregobor of all people to keep his mouth shut about their escapades today.

    “No. He deserves it for this shit. No one gets to hurt you. And I’m gonna take care of it if they do.” Oh, wonderful. She thinks she’s being righteous and protecting her. And granted, some little piece of her scarred heart softens a bit at the thought. But she’s still not using those fireworks.

    “...Please, Yennefer. Whatever you’re doing isn’t worth it.”

    “Love it when you say that. And I promise I won’t get arrested since you care so much. Don’ worry. M’ fine.” 

    That is not reassuring. “Is there anyone soberer you could put on the phone?”

    “Nope! You gotta talk to me. Cause I like you. A lot. And-”

    The phone must have been pulled out of her grasp because it’s no longer Yennefer’s drunken purr she hears. Thank god. She shouldn’t have heard whatever Yennefer was saying, shouldn’t be talking to her at all, so thank you, random stranger.

    “Hi. I’m Triss-No, I’m not. I’m not Triss. And I’m not drinking underage.” Poor Triss, as Tissaia is positive the girl is called, sounds mortified at the thought of getting caught intoxicated. Which in her mind means that she’s found someone who could be talked into calling off an illegal stunt. Thank the gods.

    “Right. Not-Triss. You should get your friends home immediately before they do something questionable.”

    “I should-I mean I’m going to. I’m going to bring them all back to my place. And force them to go to sleep. Because this is illegal.” She’s never met this Triss, but she is now Tissaia’s favorite person. Because it is three am on Wednesday morning, and she does not have the energy to handle this. “Get some sleep, professor. Good night.” 

    Tissaia collapses into bed the second Triss hangs up and drifts off into unconsciousness, clasping a pillow to her chest as a poor replacement for an overly affectionate menace.

“You aren’t gonna try an’ take us home, right?” Because no way Yennefer was leaving the Walmart only to not use these delightful new explosives.

    “...No. I just didn’t want her to worry.” Yennefer grins and pulls Triss into an unbalanced hug. Triss is wonderful, and of course, she doesn’t want Tissaia to worry either, and she should make sure someone else gets blamed for this, so she doesn’t have to. It’s a perfect plan!

    Their uber driver doesn’t even blink at the overcrowded car, the crash dummy in Geralt’s lap, the fact that they’re all wearing ski masks and gloves, or that it’s three in the morning. He drops them off in front of the History building and drives away, leaving them standing on the sidewalk with dummy Vilgefortz, a small arsenal of explosives, and Yennefer’s groceries. They leave the groceries outside.

    They creep into the History building, which has a super basic lock that Yennefer gets open in under thirty seconds. It’s empty, and the lights are out, which are both probably good signs.

    “Come on. He’s upstairs and down the hall.” Of course, there had to be stairs. Getting the dummy up the stairs is easier since they have Geralt’s massive arms on their side, but he’s also quite intoxicated and nearly decapitates Triss with Dummyfortz’s feet. They do eventually get up the steps, and now it’s time for the crowbar because fuck just picking his lock.

    Yennefer isn’t thrilled to let Geralt have the honors, but in the interest of efficiency, she hands her new toy over with a minimum of pouting. And then Geralt braces his massive bulk against the handle, and the door flies open with a satisfying crack.

    It’s a very tacky office. There’s a massive animal head and crossed swords on the wall like the owner is some medieval knight and the whole place just reeks of old leather and man.

    Dummyfortz goes behind the desk. Sabrina is delighted to discover that Vilgefortz has left a few personal items in his office, and so the dummy soon gains a festive hat and scarf. Triss is given the spray paint at first, but she takes one look at the wallpaper and begins drawing flowers and it starts looking like a mural. A very pretty one, but still. 

    Jaskier takes over and soon the flowers look a lot more like penises, which was the original intention. Geralt has been stationed outside to act as a very intimidating lookout, which leaves Sabrina and Yennefer to play with explosives and for Triss to make sure that nothing human explodes. It’s a good system.

    They had actually remembered spray paint was flammable, so when they’re done festooning the furniture with strings of firecrackers and actually plan to light them, Triss makes them stand outside. It’s a good thing she did because holy shit that’s a bigass explosion.

    Like, it burns out in four seconds because Triss made sure that nothing was going to catch by soaking the really flammable looking shit in water or moving it, but for those four seconds the office’s interior is a fucking fireball and it’s so awesome. Dummyfortz looks very deceased, and while she’s not threatening Vigefortz by, you know, burning a replica in his office if this makes him go away she’ll take it.

    “This is-This is arson. If we get caught, we will be arrested for arson.”

    “Well, then it’s a good thing we’re not going to get caught.” Yennefer pulls out the last can of spray paint, shuts the office door, and begins to envision her masterpiece. The way she sees it, lots of people hate Vilgefortz, but some of them are just assholes and deserve what they get.

    Anyway, if she sprayed the name of one of the more misogynistic frats on the door as a sort of artist’s signature? She’s sure that they’ll be able to donate a new library or something to get away with it, but the point was no one was gonna blame her. She has an alibi. Sort of. Even if she sent evidence of the crime to Tissaia.

    She’ll just hire Tissaia to be her lawyer. There’s that attorney-client privilege thing, right? And then Tissaia will have to talk to her again.

Tissaia is just arriving to work, gloriously lecture-free for the morning when a harried-looking Fringilla announces that apparently a small mob of frat boys burned her husband’s office down last night, and would she like Fringilla to file a restraining order?

    Tissaia winces. She would bet anything that it was not, in any way, any boys at all who did this. Though if the gentleman at Alpha Pi Whatever actually face consequences for any actions, even those they didn’t technically commit, for once in their lives? She has no complaints.

    She tells Fringilla it’s fine and shuts herself in her office. Yennefer’s little friend had lied to her, and she’d gone to sleep while Yennefer did this. And it was a wonderful thing that she wasn’t getting caught because she didn’t think Yennefer could afford a lawyer. But she was right in deciding it was time to end this little relationship if Yennefer is pulling this sort of shit in her honor. Their association was only going to get a young woman she had accidentally begun to care for in serious trouble. And that wasn’t going to happen. She deletes the text from last night and vows that no matter what Yennefer says, from here on out, she’s not getting involved. Because Yennefer’s instinct to seek vengeance on her behalf has gone too far.

Chapter Text

“Just tell me you’re okay. Please?”

    Tissaia pushes her laptop shut and leans back. She’s been home and, she will admit, in hiding since she got off from work. Yennefer had arrived home at around eight and had kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation since then. And because Tissaia is some kind of masochist, she hasn’t put in earplugs or turned on music or anything else to tune her out.

    “I know you’re ignoring me. And that’s...fine. Whatever. But I’m worried about you and this is stupid. So just. Say something?”

    Tissaia looks at the wine bottle on her kitchen counter. She hasn’t decided to drink her feelings since law school, but she will admit she’s tempted. She’s even more tempted to respond, but it seems like every time she breaks her little vow of silence Yennefer takes it as encouragement and everything falls apart. So she’s going to stay quiet this time. No matter how raw Yennefer’s voice is, no matter how badly she wants to break into Yennefer’s apartment and comfort her just like she’d done for Tissaia so long ago, she’s staying right here on this couch and she will not move or speak. No matter how much her chest aches with every time Yennefer’s voice trails off in defeat. Because she’s causing her grief on purpose, and she hates herself for it more than she can say. There’s a single tear near her mouth and she swipes at it, disgusted. This is how far she’s fallen. Crying over a woman she’s known for a little more than two weeks in an almost-empty apartment because she’s too pathetic to stop listening and prolonging her own misery. For god’s sake. 

    She can hear Yennefer pacing, whatever impractical shoes she’s chosen clunking against the floor. There’s a small screech like furniture scraping across the floor and then a large thud. She can hear something glass shattering, and then Yennefer’s apartment is dead silent. She pauses, ear pressed to the wall and praying for some sort of obnoxious cursing fit to begin. 

    There are a solid thirty seconds of nothing moving. Tissaia is getting quite anxious, brain repeating every single unpleasant scenario possible like a deranged hamster on a wheel, while she waits for Yennefer to make a triumphant and no doubt very loud return. Maybe she just bumped into something. And it fell over. And she dropped a bottle of something. No one is hurt, nothing is wrong, she’s fine.

    She’s quiet, though. And given what Tissaia knows of Yennefer’s habits, the only reason for her to be this silent is if she is dead to the world or deciding to play a very cruel practical joke. 

    “Yennefer?” She gives in. Screw avoidance, it wasn’t working anyway. She gives in if Yennefer will just respond! “Yennefer! Are you alright?” 

    The irony that their positions were flipped mere minutes ago, Yennefer calling to her for hours as she sat here stewing, is not lost on her and the guilt sits heavy in her gut. And Yennefer still isn’t moving. “Fuck!” She’s out her door before she can bother with shoes, wrestling with Yennefer’s doorknob. No matter how limited the structural integrity of this apartment complex may be, the door holds fast, and Tissaia wants to scream. Of course, Yennefer locked her door. Her crazy ex has been showing up several days in a row and knows where she lives and also, she’s a sane adult. Of course, the door was locked. 

    Although. Tissaia’s door is also always locked, and Yennefer has found her way inside plenty of times. And granted, many of those times Tissaia welcomed her inside with open arms, but the one time she didn’t is seared into her brain and will be until the day she dies.

    Tissaia never imagined climbing out her kitchen window onto the rickety fire escape in hopes of committing a crime, but here she is. She thanks each and every conceivable god that she decided to wear pants today, unable to imagine trying to get through this very small window in a skirt. There’s adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream and her heart rate is high enough to be more of a steady hum than any sort of beat and if Yennefer’s window isn’t open, she’s breaking it. She can pay for the damage. 

    Yennefer’s window is indeed open, and Tissaia is committing her first felony seconds after noticing. Yennefer will be proud. And she’ll allow the girl to tease her about it incessantly once she determines that this was all a big misunderstanding and that she’s fine and Tissaia just overreacted.

    Yennefer’s kitchen is a mess of scorch marks and empty liquor bottles and is conspicuously Yennefer-free. She creeps into the living room next and stops short. 

    Yennefer is lying on the floor, dark hair fanned out about her face like a halo. She’s on her back and surrounded by broken glass, flakes of it shining like glitter around her. She must have been holding a bottle of something when she fell, and Tissaia has no idea how hard she went down because that black mane hides the telltale red of blood. She grabs a jacket thrown across the couch and hurls it over the worst of the glass, kneeling on top of it to examine Yennefer’s head. She runs her fingers through soft hair looking for wetness and finds nothing to her intense relief. She’s not bleeding. She’s on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and reeking of alcohol, but at least she’s not bleeding. Tissaia finds herself chucking at the thought, cradling Yennefer’s peaceful face in her hands. There are tear stains on her cheeks and Tissaia knows she’s the cause and she despises that they’ve come to this. Even in all the insanity of the past two weeks.

    “Yenna. Wake up.” Yennefer doesn’t budge, and Tissaia’s heart drops. She’s breathing, that much can be seen from the steady rise and fall of her chest, but there’s so much that could still be wrong and she doesn’t know how to handle this, damn it! “Yennefer. Open your eyes right now!” She sounds hysterical because she is, and she feels no shame in that. Yennefer needs to wake up this instant so that she can do whatever you’re supposed to do with drunk people who fell on their heads because otherwise, she is going to lose her shit. Yennefer isn’t allowed to be hurt. She forbids it. 

    The mass of hair in her hands shifts imperceptibly, and Yennefer lets out a soft whine. Tissaia has never gone from crying to crying and laughing so fast in her life, hands brushing the hair away from Yennefer’s face as her eyes squeeze shut and her brow furrows in obvious discomfort. “I need you to wake up. You need to go to the doctor. Or the hospital. Both? I don’t know yet, but first, you need to wake up because I can’t carry you to my car.”

    “Nuh-uh. Sleepy. C’mere.” A hand rises from the floor like a reanimated corpse and flaps in her general direction, though Yennefer’s accuracy is impeded by the fact that she refuses to open her eyes. She manages to grab at Tissaia’s upper arm and attempts to pull her onto the floor beside her, which will not do both because Yennefer is going to a doctor right now or else and because her floor is a massive safety hazard right now.

    “Wake up this instant. I will start singing again. Remember how irritated you got when I did that?”

    A sleepy grin appears on her face as Yennefer’s hand settles on her thigh. Tissaia does nothing to remove it. The girl is barely conscious, she can hardly be held responsible for her actions. “Tha’ was pretty. Not the pans though. Those sucked.”

    “Fine. Open your eyes or I will go fetch them. And more Mormons.”

    Yennefer opens her eyes for a single instant, gazing up at Tissaia in slack-jawed awe, and then allows them to flutter shut. “There. No pans. Or Mormons.” Even when injured she’s a menace. Of course, she is.

    “You need to get up. We need to go now.”

    “Don’ go?” This time her eyes stay open, both hands clutching at whatever parts of Tissaia she can reach. Her quest to prevent Tissaia’s departure forces her into an upright position, and she all but collapses into Tissaia’s arms with the exertion.

    “How about you come with me instead, hmm?”

    “Like a date?” There’s undisguised hope in her voice and Tissaia loathes how it makes her heart flutter. She does not deserve this woman’s affections, nor can she accept them with a clear conscience, but perhaps Yennefer won’t even remember this lapse of judgment in the morning. And she’d agree to so much to get her off of the floor.

    “Yes, like a date. But that means you need to stand up. Let me help you, dear.” She helps Yennefer wrap her arms around her neck, hauling her up as she stands. Yennefer is wobbly on her feet, and they barely make it to the elevator without her collapsing. “Wait here for two seconds. I need to grab my keys.” Because she was a dolt and left them in her apartment. Even though it’s just barely a hallway away, it feels like the longest time before she’s sprinting back to Yennefer’s side, trying to get her shoes on her feet. She’s just where Tissaia left her, leaned against the wall and groaning in pain. But still awake, which she will take as a massive victory at this moment.

    This elevator ride is just as tense as the last one she’d endured with Yennefer and involves just as much contact. Drunk, possibly concussed Yennefer is an amorous creature, clinging to Tissaia like a koala to a tree. Her fingers trace the line of her jaw in wonder, cheek pressed against Tissaia’s hair as if that’s just where it belonged. “You’re pretty.”

    “Thank you, Yennefer.” If she’s talking she’s probably not concussed. Right? Is that how those worked? Tissaia didn’t go to medical school and feels wildly out of her element, but Yennefer not being comatose seems like a good sign. Even if the things she’s saying are questionable at best. 

    “No, like...Really pretty. You’re perfect. An’ I wanna kiss you again. So much.” She is not hearing this. She is not hearing this, and she will not allow herself to enjoy it. Yennefer is hurt and drunk and so many other things, so it doesn’t matter if she’s having some sort of pre-menopausal meltdown, she’s ignoring all of this. “Can I do that? Cause this is a date?” And here humoring Yennefer has officially bit her in the ass. But the elevator is on the ground floor and Yennefer is allowing Tissaia to manhandle her into the parking garage. As long as she can get her into the car, then Yennefer can say or do whatever she likes, but they will be on the way to the hospital. That’s all that can matter right now.

    “Sit down for me?” Yennefer plops into the passenger seat like a sack of potatoes, and Tissaia has to fasten her seatbelt for her when Yennefer proves herself far more interested in staring at Tissaia’s face than moving. She makes sure none of the girl’s limbs are in danger of being hit by the door and shuts it, taking a sigh of relief as she’s able to climb inside and start the engine. She may not be a doctor, but she can drive a car. The situation is under control.

    “Have you ever fucked anyone in here?” Tissaia chokes on her own tongue. She had not, for the record, engaged in intercourse in her car. That sounded quite impractical and very public. She pulls out of the garage and prays the lights and the sounds of the city will distract Yennefer from her current train of thought. “That’s a no, huh? I’d fix that. Make it so you think of me whenever you drive it.” Right. Perhaps she ought to turn on the radio. She’d even listen to what Yennefer considers music.

    The radio does indeed cause Yennefer’s current topic to fizzle out, if only because she’s decided to take a nap. Which she can’t do, because Tissaia had heard somewhere that people who may have concussions weren’t allowed to sleep.

    “Yennefer. Wake up.”

    “But I’m tired.” She locks eyes with Tissaia, lip pushed out in a pout. “Can I sleep with you again? That was nice.” She cannot say things like this at the hospital or Tissaia is going to be accused of dating her.

    “We’re going to go to the hospital, and then do whatever they say.”

    “So I should ask them?” 

    “No! Just-Just stay awake, and we will deal with potential sleeping arrangements later. In private!” Yennefer slumps against her shoulder and Tissaia groans. This is just her life now, isn’t it? She made a decision to shut the bratty undergrad next door up so long ago, and here she is as a consequence. Wonderful.

    “Mmm. I like it when you talk to me.” Fantastic. That is something she can do! That is in no way inappropriate. Perfect! Now think of something to tell her about. Anything. 

    “I think Fringilla may be plotting your murder. I have no idea what you said on the phone with her, but it left quite the impression.” Yennefer hums contentedly and snuggles against her. Her eyelids are half-closed but she’s still very much conscious. “Did you really think you’d be able to convince her you were my boss and that we were both fired? Did you think that through at all?” She likely didn’t. She was likely drunk, just like she is now. Yennefer stares at her in a way that is clearly meant to communicate “What the fuck do you think?” Tissaia thinks that she sees ambulances parked in front of the building they’re rapidly approaching, and she’s never been happier to hear the wail of a siren. Yennefer, whose head must be in considerable pain, is less enthused.

    “I wanna go home.” Of course, she does. Why would she want to go to the hospital with a head injury? 

    “After this. I promise.” Unless they want to hold her for observation, in which case Tissaia had better think of a suitable bribe to keep her from checking out against medical advice.

    She flags down the nearest EMT, who is kind enough to lay Yennefer out on a gurney and carry her inside, leaving Tissaia to deal with parking and what she suspects will be a truly heinous amount of paperwork. But that’s fine. She’s just accidentally become the person in charge of Yennefer’s health by default, but everything is fine.

Chapter Text

Yennefer hates the hospital. Her head hurts and the walls are too bright and it’s far too loud. There’s an annoying man waving another light in front of her face and telling her to follow it with her eyes, but she doesn’t want to do that, she wants to close her eyes and nap. 

    “I promise we’re almost done.”

    Yennefer smiles at Doctor Whoever. She likes being done. “And then Tissaia can come back?” She remembers Tissaia not talking to her, but now she was and she had said yes to going on a date with her, sort of? Yennefer really wants to go back to that. And she doesn’t want Tissaia to leave again. So someone needs to go get her.

    “And is Tissaia your emergency contact?” Nope. Yennefer hasn’t got one of those because her parents are dicks, she’s not forcing Triss to handle that, and everyone else is an idiot. Tissaia should be her emergency contact. That’s the best idea the doctor has had all day.

    “Not yet.”

    The doctor looks at her and frowns. “Not yet. I see. What is your relationship to this Tissaia?”

    What was her relationship with Tissaia? They were friends. But they hated each other a little first. She wants to date her and punch her husband and protect her from the world, but Tissaia stopped talking to her only to suddenly start again. That didn’t sound like any relationship Yennefer can think of, so she just tells the honest truth and lets the smartass poking at her head figure it out.    

    “I’m gonna marry her someday. She doesn’t know that yet.”

    “...So your girlfriend, then?” Sure. Tissaia is her girlfriend. That sounds perfect. Now if someone would just go make sure Tissaia gets with the program while she falls asleep on this table…

Tissaia is chatting aimlessly with one of the nurses on break when a very harried looking orderly comes into the waiting room and announces that if anyone named Tissaia is dating a patient named Yennefer, could she please come to room 203 immediately?

    Tissaia groans. Because she would guess she is the only Tissaia who brought someone named Yennefer to this hospital on this fine Thursday night, but they are not dating. Either way, she stands up and prepares to be hauled into whatever hijinks Yennefer in her somewhat questionable mental state has concocted.

    “Yes, I’m Tissaia de Vries, I brought Yennefer here.” Technically not a lie. “Is she okay?”

    “She said you were her emergency contact. This is not on file, but given that no one else is…”

    Of course, Yennefer doesn’t have an emergency contact. Whoever her parents are, Tissaia will be having some very strong words with them when they come to pick her up at the end of the semester. “Yes, we hadn’t gotten around to that yet.” That is a massive lie. But she feels no guilt whatsoever because Yennefer is in no position to deal with paperwork and health forms and insurance companies, but that is Tissaia’s entire job and that means she can actually do something useful instead of hearing more about nurse Simone’s toddler.

    “Great.” The orderly pulls her down the hallway, to what she hopes is wherever Yennefer is being kept. “The doctor will fill you in, but she’s a bit out of it.” With that very cryptic warning, the young man opens the door and waves her through to face whatever horrors lie inside.

    “Hey, baby.” 

    Oh, no. Yennefer waves in her general direction, eyes quite unfocused and pupils blown wide. The doctor is staring at her in open relief, and she feels his pain. 

    “You are Tissaia?” She nods. She is indeed called Tissaia. She is just lying a bit about being Yennefer’s girlfriend and emergency contact, but since Yennefer started it then technically who’s going to call them out? “Great. She has a concussion and a sprained wrist. She’ll need to be on bed rest for at least the next forty-eight hours. No screens, no vigorous physical activity. Will you be taking her home with you or should we wait for someone else?” 

    Shit. Well, Tissaia has two options. Option one is correct the poor doctor, announcing that Yennefer is quite delirious and that they are not dating, and flee while someone else takes care of her. And option two involves Yennefer and she living together until the girl is able to take care of herself.

    “I will be taking her home with me as soon as possible.” Because Yennefer looks miserable and Tissaia knows that the longer she is in this bed, the higher the likelihood that she tries to escape and injures herself further. She hates that she knows this with greater certainty than she knows the sun will rise tomorrow, but that is just their relationship these days.

    “Is sex vigorous activity?”

The doctor and Tissaia wince in unison. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“That’s a dumb rule. Tissaia, tell the doctor he’s an idiot.” Tissaia does no such thing, wordlessly accepting Yennefer’s medical paperwork and signing the form announcing that she will be cared for upon discharge. Thankfully she has a student insurance plan because otherwise, this would become not only a bit illegal but illegal and likely to actually be discovered. Private insurance companies were tricky creatures. 

They bundle Yennefer into a wheelchair, shove her at Tissaia, and rush off to deal with an incoming load of frat boys who decided that having a drunken football match on a roof was a good idea. Tissaia can’t take it personally. Understaffing is a curse, and Yennefer is in no danger of death, so they’re to be rushed off. She makes it to their car before saying what’s been on her mind since the waiting room. 

“Yennefer. We aren’t dating.” The obvious question at the end of that statement is “Why did you tell a room full of tired medical professionals we were dating?” If she’s confused enough to have distorted the reality of the situation, then Tissaia is officially quite concerned.

“I didn’t. But we should. We’re dating now. But what I said was that I was gonna marry you, which is also true.” She does not have the energy to deal with this. But she also has no choice but to do so, because unless she’d like to throw Yennefer to the wolves by fleeing the scene and leaving her in the hospital parking lot like a baby on the steps of a church, avoiding it is not an option.

“We are not dating now. Can you stand? I need to get you in the car.” Yennefer shoves herself to her feet and then flops into Tissaia like a fish out of water. Tissaia props her up with most of her body while flailing to reach the door handle, finally yanking the door open and allowing Yennefer to collapse onto the seat before buckling her in. Or at the very least attempting to. Yennefer is less than cooperative in this regard, snaking her limbs around Tissaia each time she gets within range to pull her closer. She’s a menace through and through, and Tissaia just wants to buckle her goddamn seat belt so she can get home and go to sleep and also get the remaining shards of glass out of Yennefer’s hair and clothes. But nothing is simple anymore, and it takes several minutes of wrestling with Yennefer before she hears the glorious click of the metal buckle locking in place.

“If we’re not dating, does that mean we’re engaged?”

Tissaia nearly drops her car keys as she attempts to wrest them into the ignition. Engaged. The two of them engaged. What a thought. 

“Do you see an engagement ring on either of our fingers?”

“So if I buy you a ring we can be engaged?” Tissaia nearly swerves into oncoming traffic. She had thought the journey to the hospital had been bad, but this is infinitely worse.

“Do not buy me a ring.” Yennefer’s face crumbles and even though they are not in any sort of romantic relationship, which Yenenfer will remember when both the alcohol and head trauma wear off, she feels the need to backtrack. “Really dear. Everyone knows not to shop for things while intoxicated.” This cheers the little disaster right up, and she’s all too happy to nod along like Tissaia is the smartest person to ever be born. “Right. I’ll do that later then.” Later meaning never, so yes. That is acceptable, and Tissaia will leave it alone for now.

Getting Yennefer back up to her apartment is much easier than getting her down, though she has no issue with expressing how much she hates the wheelchair. It is, in Yennefer’s mind, utterly unacceptable that she can’t be touching Tissaia at all times. She wished this was surprising information.

She’s decided keeping Yennefer in familiar surroundings is for the best, which means squatting in her apartment for the time being. She’d left the door unlocked in her hurry to get Yennefer to a doctor, and there’s glass everywhere in addition to the general disaster area that is her kitchen, and Tissaia feels the urge to clean everything set in. She will do that after Yennefer is in bed and sleeping.

Yennefer is not resistant to Tissaia helping her get ready for bed. She volunteers to brush the girl’s hair out, just to make sure that all the glass she’d been lying on isn’t still there, and Yennefer seems to be enjoying the experience immensely. Her eyes are closed, there’s a contended grin on her face, and she is very vocal in her appreciation.

“Fuck, Tissaia. That feels so good.” And she was glad, really, but if Yennefer could stop sounding quite so pleased about it that would be fantastic. This is not meant to be sexual in any way, and while that has never stopped this woman from doing anything, ever, some part of Tissaia had hoped that in the wake of a brain injust her one-track mind might begin to behave itself. She had been wrong.

    Yennefer’s sweatpants and the tank top under her shirt seem damage-free, so Tissaia is going to consider them appropriate sleep attire because she’s not stripping Yennefer like this. Or ever, to be clear. She helps lift her out of the wheelchair and tuck her into bed, resigning herself to a night of frenzied cleaning until the adrenaline wears off and she falls asleep on Yenenfer’s couch. It looks very similar to hers, just older and with a great deal more wine stains.

“Where’re you going?” Yennefer’s voice is a piteous mewl and oh no. They are not doing this right now.

“To clean up your kitchen. It’s a mess, dear.”

Yennefer reaches a single arm towards her, beckoning Tissaia closer. “I don’t want you to leave. I hate it when everyone does that.” Fuck. She was really playing this card right now? Tissaia hates that it’s working. Yennefer appears to have this innate talent of melting her mental defenses and now is no different. In fact, the separation has made the effect far worse.

“I won’t leave, then.” She searches for somewhere appropriate to sit and watch over Yennefer in vain. This room has Yennefer’s bed, dresser, and a makeup counter. The rest of the space is a riot of discarded clothes, and there is nowhere she will be able to perch for longer than a few minutes. Yennefer must know this because she’s patting the other side of the bed in a clear demand that Tissaia has no choice to comply with. Well, Yennefer has spent a night in her bed, this is almost fair. And she may still be so angry with her, but the little smile on her face as Tissaia joins her still makes her heart do cartwheels. Her hand reaches out and takes Tissaia’s, and if the contact went any further she’d feel the need to object but she can’t deny Yennefer something this small. Instead, she watches Yennefer’s eyes drift shut, a small smile on her face as she is lost in sleep.

Chapter Text

Yennefer wakes up in her bed with Tissaia in her arms. So she’s not quite sure if she’s dreaming or not, but she’s going to go with it! Her head rests on Tissaia’s chest, and she can feel her skin against her cheek and this is utter bliss. She’s wrapped around Tissaia like in her sleep she’d mistaken the woman for a teddy bear, and the two objects are roughly the same size so it’s an easy mistake to make. She can smell the faint traces of the shampoo she uses. Yennefer recognizes smelling a person while they are asleep is not her highest point in life, but her head is killing her and she isn’t sure if it’s from the hangover or falling over her coffee table after drinking a bottle of vodka by herself but if Tissaia weren’t in her arms on purpose Yennefer would be wishing for death. But she is, and so Yennefer will suffer in silence forever to avoid waking her up. 

    Tissaia’s hands rest on her back, almost like she’s hugging Yennefer in her sleep, and it is enough to make her heart crack a bit. She’d missed her so much and all it took was getting drunk and hurting herself a little bit to get her back? Why hadn’t anyone told her she could just hit her head and wake up with Tissaia above her, making demands and insisting they go to the hospital immediately? She would have done this sooner!

    Tissaia shifts in her sleep, arching her back and pulling Yennefer against her body. She lets out a pleased murmur and Yennefer has no idea what she’s dreaming of but she wants to see. Right now. Because she feels like death warmed over and even the sounds of traffic from outside hurt her head but she wants more of those noises and she wants them now. She almost understands why her husband has been so desperate to get her back. If Yennefer had gotten to wake up to this every single day? Fuck. She’s not even getting laid in this scenario but she’d pull out a ring right now.

    A faint memory of offering to do that very thing pops up, and she has to hold back giggles. Tissaia hadn’t even said no, she’d lectured her about shopping online while intoxicated. Which is just...So Tissaia. And so adorable. Gods, she’s going crazy over this woman, but in her defense when you meet your dream girl things just sort of spiral. This is the lesson taught by every single romance film she’s ever had to sit through for professor Foltest’s class, and while she hates the entire concept of losing your mind and acting insane for “true love,” she is more than willing to use it to write off her more questionable behavior. Which Tissaia hasn’t brought up because she’s sick, or something. 

    ...Maybe she should be sick forever. It’s probably the head injury talking, but Yennefer decides that if Tissaia feels the need to take care of her when she’s sort of helpless and a mess, then maybe she should just stay that way until she can trick Tissaia into forgiving her for punching her husband. And Jaskier. And then the firecrackers. She makes bad choices while drunk, okay? And in the meantime, she’ll enjoy the steady rise and fall of Tissaia’s chest under her head and resist the urge to stare creepily at her face and/or tits until she wakes up.

Tissaia wakes up and is hit with an immediate sense of deja vu. Yennefer is on top of her again, face buried in her cleavage to escape the ravages of the rising sun. And since she is concussed and thus even more averse to light than usual, Tissaia can’t be mad at her. Her hands rest on Tissaia’s hips, and she’s straddling her thighs. In other words, while she’s not being felt up this time, which is indeed a good thing, she is going to really need to think in order to avoid waking the poor thing up to get out of this bed and start cleaning. And cooking breakfast. And anything else the internet tells her to do for someone is concussed before she leaves to teach for a couple of hours. She could grade from this bed if need be, even with Yennefer on top of her, because when she was married that had happened with great frequency, but she does need to be in her eleven am lecture.

    It is five am. She is not worried. 

    Her first order of business is getting Yennefer off of her without waking her up. This was not an option the last time they’d ended up having an accidental sleepover, but she has ages to do this and she is not waking up the person who is concussed. Sleep is important for healing, or something like that. She pushes herself up on her elbows inch by inch until there’s some space between her torso and the bed. She then begins to slide sideways as much as is possible with Yennefer’s center of gravity pinning her hips to the mattress. The goal is to be able to stick a pillow under Yennefer’s head and then prise herself out from under her.

    And the first part of that plan goes well. Yennefer is no longer buried in her tits, which she will never speak of again and purge from her memory as soon as possible. The second part goes less well because Yennefer is grabby and the friction against her must shift some part of her brain into sex mode because the next thing Tissaia knows, Yennefer is moaning softly and rubbing against her. And it may be the slightest bit arousing, lying in Yennefer’s bed as she makes more of those perfect noises for her. But again. She’s on a minor deadline and she is here to take care of Yennefer, not “take care of Yennefer.” 

    The first thing she does with her newfound freedom is close the blinds so the sunlight can cease its invasion of the bedroom. Which she aches to organize because that is just her natural instinct, but has to prioritize the kitchen as a much larger safety hazard. Even though Yennefer could trip over so much of this, and-Nope. She is not staying here. She might wake her up.

    It does not take long to realize Yennefer has no cleaning supplies besides a questionable amount of disinfectant and trash bags. If she didn’t throw so many parties, Tissaia would assume she was a serial killer. This means that by the time the glass is off the floor and the kitchen no longer looks like a biohazard, it also looks a bit like Tissaia has decided to move in or start some sort of undergraduate cleaning service. Whatever. Yennefer’s cupboard under the sink is basically empty and it looks like she’ll be staying a while anyway. May as well keep things out of the way.

    The next thing she is forced to confront is Yennefer’s refrigerator. Her cabinets are full of colorful, sugary cereals Tissaia has not consumed since she was a small child, microwave noodles, mac and cheese, plus a great deal of chips and similar items that she will assume are for the frequent guests because no one needs an industrial-sized package of pretzels for themself. She thinks. Yennefer is a strange and often mysterious creature whose dietary habits are appalling, and at this point, nothing would shock her.

    She’s forced to make another trip to her apartment for basic ingredients, but Yennefer will eat a meal that didn’t come wrapped in plastic for once if she needs to walk to the grocery store in yesterday’s clothes, much less raid her own fridge.

Yennefer wakes up for the second time with no Tissaia, which is a bigger tragedy than a nuclear explosion in her mind. Her entire apartment smells like melted butter. She grins and nestles back into her blanket nest. She didn’t leave, she got up to cook Yennefer breakfast. That was super fucking domestic, and Yennefer decides she loves it. But she’s also not getting up until Tissaia shows up and makes her because holy shit it feels like she put her brain in the blender and this is the worst.

    She maintains this opinion until Tissaia enters her room with a plate of pancakes, wearing her pajamas from last night, and Yennefer’s brain turns to goo. She’s not wearing any makeup, her hair is in a loose ponytail, and when she sees Yennefer is awake she’s got that little exasperated “You are such an idiot but I like you anyway” smile on her face.

    “Good morning. Eat this, do not use your phone, I emailed your professors and cleaned the kitchen, and I have to leave for a few hours but I’ll return this afternoon. Do not get up unless it is necessary, do not drink alcohol, do not smoke, do not burn anything, anywhere. Is this clear?” That is...A lot of information for her to process when she could stare at Tissaia and drool instead. She cleaned her apartment and cooked for her and got her out of schoolwork? Fucking hell. She’s staying. Forever. And once Yennefer is back to being functional she’ll work on finding a suitable way to repay Tissaia for being a literal angel. She also realizes that Tissaia is still steamed about the whole flaming office incident, so she’ll have to make up for that, too. What was a cheap bribe that hot women liked?

    “...How are you real?” It’s a valid question, though not the one she’d meant to ask. But being taken care of is a new sensation, and she really likes it. 

    “Well, many, many years ago, my parents loved each other very much and-”

    “You’re mean.” Yennefer grins up at her and tries not to say anything stupid. “Do I get painkillers? Because-”

    “I’m afraid not. Something about blah blah blah opioid crises and then something about neurons. I asked for them, though.”

    Tissaia is even more precious when confused. Yennefer wants to take a picture of the befuddled look on her face and frame it and then kiss her. “Thank you for trying. And for all of this.” She’s cut off by a yawn, even though she’s literally just woken up, and dear god concussions suck. 

    “You’re welcome. Now, can I trust you to behave yourself for four hours until I return? All you need to do is eat, nap, and not cause any explosions. I did not think that the last part would need to be said, but here we are.”  Yup, she’s still pissed. Well, she’ll deal with it after she demolishes the pancakes, which have actual fruit in them and didn’t come from McDonald’s. 

    “Have a good day at work, honey!” Tissaia rolls her eyes and marches out of her room, probably to go get changed into her professor clothes, and dear gods would Yenenfer like to see that transformation every morning. But first breakfast. And then more sleep. And then plotting to win Tissaia over again, because she’s being nice to her right now but once she’s better then Tissaia may do something dumb like ignore her again and they can’t have that!

Chapter Text

Tissaia returns home to the sound of laughter. Not home! To Yennefer’s apartment. She frowns as the shrieks of girlish laughter hit her ears. This does not sound like Yennefer is resting.

    The door is unlocked, and as she opens it the two strange girls on Yennefer’s couch and Yennefer freeze, mouths open mid-sentence in comical shock.

    “Babe! You’re home early!” She is not “home.” She isn’t! Though she is early. Fringilla had been kind enough to insist that she “has the attention span of a squirrel today” and that whatever is bothering her, she should go deal with it instead of pretending to be working while really just worrying at her desk. That girl deserves a truly stellar recommendation.

    “You are supposed to be resting .” 

    “The internet said that I was supposed to avoid screens and physical exertion. This is neither.” Yennefer is reclined over her friends’ laps, an ice pack on her head and a sleep mask over her eyes. She looks ridiculous, and Tissaia is torn between laughing and hugging her. Which she will not do, because she is still very angry at her for acting so irresponsibly over the last few days. She could have died because she was busy throwing her little temper tantrum! And it is technically her fault, so fine, she will avoid implementing such extreme solutions as complete avoidance in the future, but still. There are boundaries. 

    “And did you summon them here without your phone?”

    “She’s got you there. Are you the hot neighbor lady? I’ve heard so much about you, most of which I wish I could forget. Please tap that ass already.” The girl under Yennefer’s legs says all this very fast. She’s blonde and quite lovely, but the careful set of her face and void behind her eyes makes it seem like she’s spent ages crafting this specific face and expression to be put on like a mask whenever she meets someone she’s unsure of. If anything, it reminds Tissaia of her own behaviors. The shock value to her speech is entirely her own, however, and Tissaia is unsure of the best way to respond.

    “I am indeed Yennefer’s neighbor. And you are?” She refuses to comment on Friend #1’s insistence that she and Yennefer have sex. 

    “That’s Sabrina. Ignore her. I’m Triss, and if you cooked the food on the counter then please adopt me.” Tissaia’s attention immediately pivots to the little liar that facilitated the great office burning of Wednesday night.

    “Very nice to meet you in person, Not-Triss.” Triss’s sunny expression takes a sudden turn towards guilt and discomfort. Well, at least she matches Tissaia now. 

    Sabrina stares at Triss’s crumbling face and allows a faint expression of alarm to cross her own, faster than a lightning strike as she contemplates the consequences of Triss having a meltdown over committing a crime in front of a professor. She grabs the other girl’s arms and drags her onto her feet, nearly upending Yennefer, who voices her objections to the sudden movement loudly and with great profanity. “Well, it was lovely to meet you. I do hope Yennefer will remember to invite us to the wedding. Have a great day, Professor!” They’re out the door before she can blink, leaving nothing but a loud slam in their wake. Young people these days, with their wedding demands and lack of manners. 

    “...Well. You have very interesting friends.” It’s the only thing she can think to say, really. Yennefer isn’t moving from the couch, so she sits in the armchair next to it and pretends like everything is normal.

    “Ha. Wait until you meet Geralt for real. He’s the big, hot, muscular one who tried to prevent me from committing a justified murder on Tuesday.”

    It in no way bothers her that Yennefer finds this Geralt creature hot. Although he isn’t. He smells, as she noticed when forced into such close quarters with him, and wears entirely too much leather. But if Yennefer has a crush on the boy, so much the better. Perhaps they’ll pair off as the young are so eager to do and leave her alone. Which is what she wants! If she has a sudden desire to make sure he fails her class, if he even takes it since she seems to have so many uninvited guests lately, that doesn’t mean anything.

    “The one who seemed incapable of speech? I’ll pass.” She sounds much sharper than she intended, and Yennefer pulls off the eye mask just so she can stare at Tissaia in disbelief.

    “...Are you okay?”

    “I am fine. Merely worried for you.” Her health, she means. Not her relationship status. Of course not. Because yes, she’s fond of Yennefer and very attracted to her, but that doesn’t mean Yennefer is hers to have and she will just need to accept the girl pursuing other options.

    “Right. Well, the only threat to my well being is dying of sexual frustration because I get to see that perfect ass of yours but can’t touch you.”

    Tissaia’s brain whirrs to a stop, promptly pivots to billowing smoke, and ceases all logical output.

    “I mean really. It’s like dangling meat in front of a dog. You’re a cruel woman.”

    Tissaia is still processing that second comment, which is what she will blame on what comes out of her mouth. “So you want to eat me, then?”

    Yennefer’s mouth drops open. She’s staring at Tissaia like she’s never received a better gift than this, and Tissaia is aware she ought to have said nothing in this situation. “Yes, please. When can I start?”

    Well. When confronted with innuendo and hormonal overloads, talk about something else. “If you’re so hungry I can cook lunch, though your choice in groceries is atrocious. I’ve never seen so many products spelling the word cheese with a Z in my life.” How are Yennefer’s organs not in acute distress by now?

    “...Way to change the subject. And Geralt and I aren’t dating, just so you know, so you can stop plotting murder in that pretty head of yours.”

    “Excuse me?” She is not-She wasn’t-Fuck! 

    “I’ve never seen you look that grouchy, oh my god. Jealousy is a good look for you!”

    “ I am not jealous of the wannabe member of a biker gang! ”

    “Okay, well he’s also the gay wannabe member of a biker gang, and I’m totally calling him that next time he annoys me. He and Jaskier are dating. We broke up in our sophomore year when he came out. But we should talk about why the thought of me dating him annoys you so much.”

    “I was only worried you might catch some sort of bacterial infection, dear. I had to wonder if the man ever bathes.”

    “Well. If you want to guarantee my safety from whatever gross fungus may be growing on Geralt, and I’d have to ask Jaskier about that, then we could always just make it official. It seems like you could use someone holding you at night anyway.” Wonderful. So Yennefer must have woken to see their sleeping arrangements at some point. That was fantastic. 

    “They’ve created antibacterial soap for a reason. You are a grown woman, you can make your own decisions, poor as they may be.”

    “If I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions, and you look like you want to stab someone when I say an old friend is hot, then why the fuck won’t you let me decide to date you? This is a needlessly complicated situation, Tissaia!” Well, Yennefer is feeling better, then. That’s good. Not for her sanity, but in general.

    “Must we have this conversation right now? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

    Yennefer grins at her, holding out a hand to invite her closer. “By all means, take me to bed. But I still want an answer.”

    Fuck. “I am still technically married,” is what she says. What she means is “I was married for over a decade and look how that turned out. You’re young and lovely and have the attention span of a flea, and no matter how charming you are now, you’ll run off too eventually and I may not be able to pick up the pieces twice.”

    Yennefer hauls herself off the couch with a grunt of pain and Tissaia rushes to catch her should she lose her balance. And she does, grabbing Tisaia before flinging herself back from whence she came. Tissaia comes hurtling after her, stuck on Yennefer’s furniture in a forced cuddling session. “Am I to assume that means it’s too soon after that whole shitshow to start a new relationship, you’re afraid of getting hurt again, or that you are under the impression that marriage vows are still legally binding after someone cheats? Because that sounds like a cop-out, and-”

    “Yes. Not the last one.” Of course, Yennefer is freakishly perceptive when properly motivated. 

    “Fine. Congratulations, those reasons aren’t bullshit.”

    “Does this mean you’re going to cease your pursuit?” Does she want her to?

    “Fuck no.” Tissaia relaxes against her, studiously ignoring the flood of relief in her chest. Because logically this is a bad thing. She just can’t make her feelings remember that. “I can be patient. Sometimes. When I want something badly enough. And guess what? That’s you now.”

    Tissaia’s traitorous heart thumps faster in obvious approval and she doesn’t know whether to kiss this girl or scream, and nothing has changed since they met, has it?

    “No more fights, then. Or fireworks. You can’t irritate me from jail.”

    Yennefer leans forward until her lips brush Tissaia’s ear, and she shivers. “Till death do us part, then.”

Yennefer figures she has about a week before Tissaia moves back to her own damn apartment, which means she has a week to seduce her. That is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, not long enough to repair the emotional damage left by a cheating spouse and a messy divorce. She has taken one singular psychology class, but she knows this. It’s really a common sense thing at this point. So her strategy is going to be more “I’m perfect for you, stay forever” then “wait patiently for Tissaia to open up a bit.”

    This may not be the most healthy choice, but Yennefer never promised to start caring about things like that. Just that she would stop doing things that were illegal, which is for the best. And there is nothing illegal about trying to convince your sexy new roommate that you acquired by accident that the two of you are soulmates.

Obviously, Yennefer spends about twenty minutes while Tissaia is cooking lunch hiding her phone under her coffee table and googling “Reasons women hate their husbands.” Because she’s going to prove she’s the better option by a landslide. Even though since she isn’t planning on cheating on Tissaia ever she already wins.

So anyway, that’s why Yennefer ends up offering to help cook even though her track record with that activity is worse than the school cafeteria. But if “unequal domestic labor” is such a large problem, then maybe she can just convince Tissaia to marry her by doing a normal amount of chores and forcing her to relax.

Tissaia takes one look at her and her limited standing abilities and drags her to bed, which in another context would be fulfilling dozens of fantasies she’s developed while being well-behaved and quiet so Tissaia can sleep. But no. It has to be because blah blah medical things and for her health. 

“Can’t I stay with you?”

“No.” Tissaia attempts to free her arm from Yennefer’s clutches, but she’s not letting go. Holding Tissaia’s hand is fun, holding Tissaia’s hand hostage is even more fun.

“But I’m so bored! I can’t do homework and I can’t use my phone because you took it. That’s quite rude, by the way. And now you just want me to lie in an empty room?”

Tissaia sighs and levels a very disdainful glance her way. “You’re not cooking anything. I have no desire for both of us to be indisposed due to food poisoning. And I cannot spend every moment entertaining you.”

“That’s fine. Watching you is plenty entertaining.” Tissaia refuses to meet her eyes, and there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. Yennefer likes that very much. “You should let me film you, sometime. I’d probably get an A just from having such a pretty subject.”

“Enough, Yennefer.” Tissaia flees for the kitchen, Yennefer stumbling along after her to collapse on the couch the second it’s in range. 

“So I shouldn’t ask about making a sex tape?” Tissaia nearly drops a frying pan on her foot. Yennefer will take that to mean no, which makes sense but is still unfortunate. She wonders if that’s the same pan Tissaia used in her short-lived one-woman band. If so, she should probably stop teasing her. She does not want to hear metal objects slamming together right now. She would prefer to sit through Jaskier’s next gig.

 She has a very nice view of Tissaia and what seems like her entire apartment’s worth of cookware making her lunch from her current perch. But Tissaia shouldn’t be doing everything for her, because even if she’s kind of fucked in the head right now, she wants Tissaia to be her wife and not her mom. “Can I help with any of this? Not the food bit, but I’m pretty sure concussed people can still do dishes.”

“Concussed people, as you put it, should be in bed with the lights off according to the internet. And unless the concussed people would like me to remember this fact I suggest they be silent.” Fine. Yennefer can do silence. Maybe. And granted, the ability to keep staring at the column of Tissaia’s neck or the gentle curve of her hips in the pants she’s wearing is really good motivation. But asking her to be around a woman this amazing and not mention it every five seconds is quite the reach.

That’s going to be her excuse the next time Tissaia tells her to shut up. Her reaction should be adorable at the very least.

Chapter Text

Tissaia wakes up on Saturday morning in her own bed, wearing her own clothes. Because Yennefer was feeling much better if her speech patterns were anything to go on, and therefore was not in a state where she could guilt Tissaia into sharing her bed.

    This is what Tissaia will tell anyone who asks. The reality of the situation is that she had attempted to extricate herself from Yennefer’s apartment to do work, had been informed that should she do that, Yennefer may choose to climb out the fire escape in search of entertainment, and decided to work in Yennefer’s apartment so as to avoid leaving her unattended. This was what Yennefer had wanted in the first place, she’s certain, because subtlety and Yennefer rarely go together, but she doesn’t entirely mind. Yennefer makes decent coffee, even with a sprained wrist, and is content to sprawl out on the couch and mock her students with her. Not that she decided to share the papers of her students with their peers, because that would be against the code of conduct. She’d just been getting a headache from attempting to decipher something written in what looked like Sanskrit mixed with Latin and Yennefer had insisted on reading it for her. Out loud, with very dramatic gestures, because the girl was as theatrical as they come. And it was funny, but she wasn’t supposed to be reading anything at all, so the compromise was that if anyone wrote anything particularly horrible it would be shared with the audience. The audience of one person. Who eventually fell asleep on the couch, and then had to be hauled to her own room by Tissaia, who then grabbed her and refused to let go, mumbling something about Tissaia making her sleep better and okay, she knows that allowing herself to be coerced into putting on a spare T-shirt of Yennefer’s and staying was a bad idea but it happened and that’s that. So what happened next was not entirely her fault, except that also it most certainly was.

    Tissaia wakes up late in an empty bed. She’s beyond shocked by that. Every time this has happened, she’s had to pry Yennefer off of her with a crowbar, and after her...Unfortunate confession of the day before, she’d expected something similar. So perhaps she’s still puzzling out the confusing but not unfortunate circumstances of the girl’s absence when she walks into Yennefer’s bathroom on autopilot.

    Tissaia is hit by a cloud of steam the second the door opens, obscuring the view inside for mere seconds before dissipating. And oh, what a view it is. Yennefer stands before her, naked and unabashed. She makes no effort to cover herself, watching Tissaia’s brain cycle through a dozen stages of hormone-soaked panic. Her hair clings to her back in a shining plume, and the skin on display is still glistening and wet. The smell of her shampoo fills the room, and Tissaia freezes like a deer in the headlights. She’s hypnotized. And how wouldn’t she be? There is a goddess before her, and Tissaia is dumbstruck.

    “If you’d like to keep looking, would you shut the door? You’re letting the hot air out.” Tissaia moves to do exactly as she’s bid before realizing that no, she should not be doing that. She should be making her exit this instant.

    “I-I am so sorry.” She turns away and is struck by their reflection in the mirror. Yennefer is staring at her in open exasperation, and Tissaia looks like a lovestruck disaster. This is the worst and best way she has ever started her morning, bar none.

    “Don’t be sorry, come here. You can touch me if you’d like.” Oh, she’d like. She’s certain she can’t under any circumstances, but she forgets quite why. Did she have a reason? 

    Yennefer places a damp hand on her shoulder and eases Tissaia around to face her. They’re so close. She could reach out and touch her, pull her close or capture her lips in a kiss. It would be so easy. 

    Yennefer steps closer, and Tissaia can feel the heat of her skin. She strokes Tissaia’s cheek and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek that steals her breath. And then she’s gone, and Tissaia doesn’t know whether to feel frustration or relief.“You’re so cute when you’re frozen. Take a shower, I’ll go make coffee.” 

    And then she flounces out of the room like this is a completely normal thing to do with one’s forced roommate. Tissaia leans against the wall and groans. Yennefer had one thing right. She needs a shower like a student needs ramen. A very, very cold shower. Because if Yennefer had decided to push the issue, she’s not certain she would have been able to say no. Truth be told, she’s not certain she wants to, but she certainly doesn’t want to fling herself into this with no plan, no idea of what on earth it is, and no safety net. That is not happening. So Yennefer will just have to keep that very perfect body somewhat covered for the foreseeable future so that she doesn’t agree to something of an undefined nature because she saw some tits.

Yennefer listens as the sound of the shower fills her apartment and begins to question her life choices. Because that was possibly the most difficult decision she has ever made. And she knows it was the right one because Tissaia is one of those weird people who cares about labels and adult discussions and probably would have freaked out if they had sex in her bathroom just then, but still. Her libido rules too much of her brain for this. She wants Tissaia too much for this, and for the first time, Yennefer has to question whether Tissaia will inadvertently murder her via sexual frustration before giving in. A few days ago, she would have insisted her darling repressed professor would absolutely crack before she did, but Yennefer is starting to think she underestimated just how stubborn a human being can be. And how much she cares about said stubborn human being. She’s usually so damn good at ignoring boundaries to get what she wants but that’s not working for her this time and it’s quite frustrating!

    So she ambles into the kitchen to beat her coffeemaker into submission. Tissaia seems to have a greater caffeine addiction than she does, which is both astounding and makes Yennefer truly concerned for her health. If she staged an intervention, would that count as crossing a line? She feels like it might.    

    The machine finally starts making encouraging noises, and Tissaia is still hiding in her shower, so Yennefer begins looking for other tasks a person with one hand and one brain not quite working properly can still do. Cooking breakfast is a solid no for health reasons. She isn’t going to fuck with Tissaia’s mindboggling paper organization system because she values her life. And everything in her apartment is spotless because Tissaia stress-cleans a lot . 

    But she wants to make Tissaia’s life better somehow and so maybe, just maybe, she gets creative. Tissaia said she couldn’t do anything illegal. She never said anything about encouraging Sabrina’s more extra tendencies over the phone.

    So, anyway, that’s how Professor Stregobor’s car is gonna end up on the roof of the medical building as soon as Sabrina figures out where to rent a crane. She hangs up and stuffs her cellphone behind her back as Tissaia stumbles into the kitchen, hair still wet and pinned to her head. She is wearing Yennefer’s clothes. And of course, she is, because the options were probably to wear Yennefer’s clothes, dirty clothes, or a towel, but still. She really likes Tissaia in one of her shirts and a pair of sweatpants that are clearly rolled up because Yennefer’s legs are far longer than hers.

    “Why do you look as though you’ve done something?”

    Because she has, and it is so cute that Tissaia knows it. But she has a feeling admitting to that while there’s still time to stop Sabrina’s small army of sorority girls or admitting any fault at all sound like ways to make Tissaia upset, and so she’s not doing that. “...I made coffee and considered folding the laundry. Am I not allowed to do either of those things?” 

    “How, exactly, do you plan to fold anything with one hand?” 

    “And that’s why I’m not folding laundry.” Also, because she figured if anything of Tissaia’s ended up in her laundry basket then she might not be able to resist the temptation to prance around in one of her button-downs and very little else. That seemed to do something to people. 

    Tissaia pours herself a cup of coffee and zones the fuck out because the cup is overflowing by the time Tissaia snaps back to reality and stops feeding the floor. There’s a faint flush on her cheeks and she’s refusing to look at Yennefer, so she has a pretty good idea what Tissaia’s been thinking about. 

    So the logical thing to do is to take the pot out of her hand, sit her down with her very full mug, and press a quick kiss to her forehead before grabbing some paper towels. Tissaia is just too sweet when she’s flustered and if she wants to get lost in what could have happened fifteen minutes ago, that’s probably a good thing for Yennefer’s plans and future relationship status. Yennefer de Vries has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? She nods to herself. That sounds rather perfect. Now she just needs her darling, distracted professor to use that sexy brain of hers and realize that Yennefer’s main goal right now is to keep her deliriously happy for the rest of their lives, say yes to having a functional relationship, and let Yennefer get a ring on her finger by the end of the year.

Chapter Text

Living with Yennefer half the time is an adventure, that much is for certain. And granted, much of it has been quite tolerable. However, Yennefer has her drawbacks. Like prancing about in minimal clothing simply because she can. And telling Tissaia she’s beautiful incessantly. Which isn’t so bad as it is distracting. 

    That leads her to this afternoon. She’d insisted on sleeping in her own bed, so she wakes up alone to handle her ever-growing pile of emails while she waits for Yennefer to wake up. That started several hours ago, but it was way too easy to get wrapped up in work while she was still able to focus on it. It’s getting late now, and while Yennefer is no longer at risk for developing a lot of very concerning medical things she’d been too panicked to remember properly, she’s still injured and Tissaia feels a bit responsible for her. So when it’s noon and there’s been minimal movement from her apartment, Tissaia decides that perhaps she ought to check on her.

    She has a key to Yennefer’s apartment now, so there’s no need to climb through the damn window like some deranged burglar. She’s delighted to find no broken liquor bottles or unconscious young women on the floor upon entry. Instead, everything is still and silent as a tomb. Even though it is noon, and Yennefer hasn’t exactly been her party-prone self, and she really ought to eat something.

    So she strolls into Yennefer’s bedroom like this isn’t overstepping at all. She’s out cold, a small smile on her face, and a truly alarming amount of clothing thrown over her blankets like she had some sort of secret fashion show last night. It’s a disarming sight, and she’s far too distracted to realize there are so many objects at her feet until she trips over a bong with a loud thunk and Yennefer’s eyes fly open.

    “I’ve got a gun!” 

    “You have what ?” 

    “Oh. Um. Hi baby. Come to kiss me awake?” She’s going to file that comment under “sleep-deprived nonsense” and move on with her life. 

    “Do I need to confiscate any firearms, dear?”

    Yennefer sits up on the bed and Tissaia is treated to the sight of that rather glorious chest in a silk camisole and nothing else. She’s overcome by the urge to lick the girl’s collarbone, and this will not do at all. “I thought you were an intruder. I panicked. I don’t have a gun. What’re you doing here so early?” That is probably a good thing for society at large. And Tissaia’s nerves.

“Yennefer. It’s noon, and you fell asleep at ten.” Specifically, she’d dared to attempt to do work in Yennefer’s apartment and ended up with a very talkative woman leaning against her and insulting everyone who dared contact her until she fell asleep against Tissaia’s shoulder. It was not adorable at all. “You have no reason to sleep for fourteen hours.” And it’s probably not healthy for her to try. Maybe? She’s not a doctor.

 “I mean. We could fix that.” The silk falls down her chest to expose several additional inches of cleavage that Tissaia’s brain did not need. Yennefer leans against the headboard of the bed and beckons her forward, and dear gods what sort of test was this?

“We most certainly shouldn’t, though. Some of us are required to be teaching by nine each morning.” Granted, she writes her own schedule, but that little fact has no place in this conversation because it seems as though she’s forgotten how to say the words “I don’t want to sleep with you,” which would hopefully solve this entire problem.

Yennefer’s reaction to this sensible pronouncement is to jam a pillow over her head and collapse, groaning dramatically. “You’re no fun.” 

“Oh, I assure you I can be a great deal of fun.” Yennefer’s head rockets up so quickly she may get whiplash. Tissaia winces. This particular tone of voice was not one she’d intended to use, but it appears her menace is no longer particularly interested in sleeping all day. So why does she feel like she’s losing?

Yennefer climbs out of bed with a theatrical moan of complaint, blankets falling to the wayside, and her bare legs are on full display with no warning whatsoever. They seem to go on for ages and look very soft. Tissaia, of course, does not want to touch them at all. That would be very bad! 

If she’s being perfectly honest with herself, it seems more and more like the universe is attempting to apologize for her husband turning out to be a philandering asshole by giving her Yennefer instead. This is more than an acceptable gift...Uh. Is what she’d say if she were considering giving in to the girl’s elaborate attempts to get into her pants. Which she’s not. For reasons! There were reasons not to at some point! But Yennefer is brushing past Tissaia and strutting out into the living room like what she is wearing is perfectly appropriate, and maybe Tissaia is having a stroke as she stares at Yennefer’s backside covered only by her underwear, but the ethical boundaries of this entire situation seem to be clouding slightly.

Clearly ignoring Yennefer made both of them miserable, after all, and didn’t have any sort of positive effect. So that was out. But surely dating her would still be bad, if only due to the age difference?

“Babe, can you make pancakes again? They were really good and I only have cereal, which you told me to stop eating.” No, what she’d said was that pouring a bowl of cereal, eating all the marshmallows that came in it, and calling this act of hubris “breakfast” was not acceptable for anyone over the age of twelve. But she will leave it alone. And make more pancakes as requested, if only for Yennefer’s health.

Yennefer is having the time of her life. Making Tissaia smile has become a full-time job and one that she takes a great deal of pride in. And if she also gets to make the other woman’s pupils dilate until her eyes are almost black and see her throat bob as she struggles to inhale? That’s nice too, and the exact reason she’s not getting dressed this fine morning. She likes knowing, for all of Tissaia’s blustering, she likes what she sees. Yennefer likes her too, for the record, as she’s said on multiple occasions. 

She’s doing some sort of black magic involving butter and the bag of chocolate chips Yennefer had found under a container of pretzels, there’s a tiny bit of flour on her cheek, and holy hell she looks so goddamn adorable. Yennefer is by no means a morning person or even an afternoon person, but Tissaia waking her up? And then getting to play “how much of my body can I show off before she has a heart attack?” and Tissaia not fleeing? And she certainly can’t forget Tissaia de Vries willingly making a statement that could be taken in a sexual context. She’s making excellent progress! 

Maybe it’s a bit too tempting to take a short video of Tissaia humming some song or another under her breath while flipping a pancake over her head with more grace than Yennefer thought possible. Because, you know, flying food usually only ended in heartbreak and the need to shout about the five-second rule, but if you were Tissaia then the laws of frying pan physics just stopped existing?

“Put the phone down. The doctor said no screens. How many times am I going to have to tell you this?”

“Can’t you amputate something instead?” She needs her hands, both because she hopes she’ll eventually be able to use them on the angel in her kitchen and because operating a camera without them is rather challenging, but maybe losing a foot wouldn’t be the end of the world?

“No. Hand it to me, please.” It’s very clearly not a request. And so Yennefer sends the video to the group chat to crow over how pretty her future wife is, shuts off her best friend in the whole wide world, and hands it over to Tissaia before she can see whatever rude comment Jaskier has no doubt posted.

The phone chirps in Tissaia’s hand and her eyes go wide. She’s not sure what, exactly, has been said, but if it’s causing Tissaia any sort of mental distress she will find whoever sent it and...Do something drastic. She’ll figure it out later. But right now Tissaia is sliding her a plate with a bemused sigh and her stomach is reminding her that actually, she’s really fucking hungry, and the dining hall has nothing on Tissaia so she’s just going to take advantage of this while she can.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Tissaia sits across from her, not touching the food on her plate and scrutinizing Yennefer’s expression like she’s been tasked with getting her to confess to a crime.

“Um. I think your hair looks really good when you keep it down. I think we should date, and I want to kiss you again. Much more than that, really, but you don’t strike me as an oral on the first breakfast date kind of girl. Your fans have gotten really creepy on Reddit since I stopped crashing your lectures and there’s a video of you insulting Stregobor that I didn’t take going viral, but some of the fanart is actually really good. I think-”

“Allow me to rephrase! Why is someone in your contacts list named ‘That Revolting Cow,’” Tissaia’s eyebrows rise into her hairline as she processes the nickname, “Why is whoever that is insisting you get your head checked again? Has it been bothering you? You didn’t tell me, and you certainly should have. I can book an appointment for today.”

Right. So Yennefer is going to slap Sabrina. But it is really cute that Tissaia cares so much and makes her feel very warm in lots of unexpected places. “My head is fine, Tissaia. Though you’re breaking my heart here.” She really thought the fanart comment at the very least would get some sort of reaction. And granted, there is this one really pretty sketch of Tissaia during office hours, head resting in her hands and grinning ear to ear, that she sort of wants framed. But the rest of it is really perverted. 

It’s sweet she ignored all that in favor of making sure Yennefer was okay. But come on! She offers to eat Tissaia out and the woman doesn’t even bat an eye? Does that mean she’s getting more comfortable with the idea, or just doesn’t take Yennefer’s flirting seriously anymore? 

“I’m sure you’ll live. You’re positive it isn’t bothering you? Because the amount of medical advice you’ve actually followed is negligible.” That...Is not false. But she’s fine. The only thing wrong with her brain is that it won’t stop obsessing over Tissaia when she’s in class, and that’s just called being a bisexual mess.

“Will you kiss it better for me? Just to make sure?” Tissaia shakes her head, but there’s a faint smile on her face and a soft look in her eyes and Yennefer’s desire to kiss her goes from the usual two or three to a solid ten. “Please? I think it would help.”

“Yennefer! I am not kissing you. Period.”

“But you want to!” She’s admitted it and Yennefer is never going to let that one go. Ever. Not until the stars burn out.

“...Perhaps. It doesn’t matter.” She turns away to start clearing dishes that are still technically full as if perhaps that will make everything snap back to whatever she considers “appropriate.” They really need to have a chat about the stress-cleaning. There are so many better ways to relax.

“It matters. What you want matters. It doesn’t mean you have to agree to marry me! But, you know. Baby steps.” She is fully aware that declaring her intentions to be Tissaia’s second lawfully wedded spouse would not be taken well. But maybe girlfriend is a slightly more achievable title right now?

“And assuming I was open to this little...Proposition. You are aware that you are a student and I am a professor?”

“Yeah. In a completely different department. I’m an adult, you teach at the law school and not the college. Try another excuse!” If Tissaia can actually get the words “I’m not interested” out of her mouth, she’ll back off. But that’s not happening, so maybe she’s finally getting through the massive wall of deliberate isolation and emotional repression. Maybe. “You think I’m hot, I’m crazy about you, no one’s going to get arrested. Why not live a little?” She sneaks up behind Tissaia, takes the pile of dishware out of her hands, and spins her around to face Yennefer. She’s aware this is maybe bending her own rules of not pushing too hard, but really. Tissaia isn’t exactly trying to escape. In fact, she’s examining Yennefer appraisingly and losing the battle to keep her eyes above chest-level.

“If I kiss you, will you behave?” She’s not entirely sure what Tissaia means by behaving, but yes. Whatever that means. She could put a collar on Yennefer and insists she obeys her every command and-Okay. Getting off-topic. But she wants her kiss.

“Fuck yes. Is that an actual offer?”

Tissaia glances up at her and pauses for a split second before standing on the tips of her toes and pressing what could generously be called a kiss to Yennefer’s mouth before flouncing off and out of the apartment with no explanation, most likely to call tech support and ask why her hormone inhibiting chip wasn’t working. Which was just cruel. But still. Tissaia kissed her on purpose, and if that means it only lasted a second if that, she will take it. Progress!

Tissaia would like to speak to the manager of her hormones and common sense. She would like to speak to the manager and possibly throttle them. Because she kissed Yennefer today. On purpose! Without any excuse to do so! Impulse decisions are not her strong suit, processing them even less so, but still. She’s freaking out. Because Yennefer may have made some very valid points about there being very few reasons to avoid doing so and granted, she wanted to, but still. This is probably when a normal woman would call her friends and proceed to get very intoxicated while squealing about her crush to all who will listen, but Tissaia has a small dearth of female friendships. So who does she call? Calanthe. 

    Calanthe is one of those people who should have died by twelve after jumping out of a window with a grocery bag as a parachute. She’s impulsive, loud, and Tissaia’s complete antithesis, but she hates Vilgefortz enough that Tissaia has witnessed her nearly punching him and coaches the girl’s basketball team and she might have some idea what Tissaia is supposed to do now. 

    So that’s why she’s in a cheap bar on a Sunday drinking what she thinks might be an attempt at white wine but mostly just tastes like vinegar, getting made fun of by a woman still on the right side of thirty-five who has had at least three beers since they arrived thirty minutes ago.

    “So you just left ?”

    She nods, resting her forehead on her palm. In hindsight, that was a poor choice. Yennefer might be quite upset at her for just vanishing, but she really needed to process whatever just happened and she did not need a pants-less Yennefer in her face while she did so!

    “Well. That’s fucking stupid.”

    “I. Am. Aware. Now what?”

    Calanthe slams her empty mug against the bar top and grins at her, leaning against the bar like she holds the secrets to the universe. Tissaia will assume she’s just smug that a vaguely friendly acquaintance is begging her for help with girl problems while she has been happily married-but-not-legally-married to the dean of student life since forever.

    “You go back to her apartment with a bottle of wine and get laid? This isn’t a complicated situation.” Yes. So she has been told. By the very woman that they’re discussing, in fact. So why does it feel far more complex than everyone says it is?

    “I am not just showing up and seducing her.” Not that she thinks it wouldn’t work. She’s positive that so much as mentioning sex around Yennefer would be enough to get her to cooperate, no seduction required. She’s just not sure she’s at all comfortable with some bizarre hookup for the sake of it. Even though she could also be dating Yennefer, so why is her brain like this ?! It’s incredibly irritating!

    “...You need a stronger drink. And to grow a pair. Not in that order.”

    “The woman who still claims she is not dating Eist Tuirseach does not get to talk about growing a pair.” And granted, Calanthe was still winning the “Who’s Relationship Makes More Sense” competition, but hopefully, she would just not mention that.

    “Right. So what I’m hearing is you agree that you need better booze. Bartender! We need vodka!” It is a strong testament to Calanthe’s charisma that Tissaia does not immediately veto drinking hard liquor at two pm on a Sunday.

    She hasn’t done shots since her sophomore year of undergrad, but she’s had three and feels great ! In fact, the entire reason she’s in this bar doesn’t seem scary at all. Calanthe and she are going to be friends, Tissaia has decided as the other woman shoves the fourth drink into her hands. She’s great too! 

    “So. You gonna stop being a pussy and get your girl?” Calanthe’s voice is a pleasant slur, though Tissaia is probably worse. They’ve started leaning on each other a bit, and while Calanthe’s muscles are intriguing her brain keeps going back to the woman half her age she just kissed. Because she is a mess.    

    “Huh. Should I?” Calanthe looks at her like she’s an idiot. And maybe she is. Because going home and sticking her tongue down Yennefer’s throat is a pretty great idea, come to think of it. She should do that. But she shouldn’t drive, and neither should Calanthe, so they should get an uber. But what if Yennefer has friends over? That would be embarrassing!

    “Yes, you should. For fuck’s sake, gimme your phone!” She hands it over without really thinking about it. Calanthe types...Something, and then hands it back with a smirk. “Fixed it. Now you just gotta go home.”

    “Wait. What did you send her?” Was it bad? What if Yennefer got upset? Calanthe really wasn’t the most diplomatic person on this planet, Tissaia has determined from the four times they have run into each other before this.

    “A text. Nothing bad, promise. Works for Eist, anyway.” Oh. Well, that was a heterosexual relationship that involved zero cheating and that man was besotted with her. So that’s great! Surely whatever Calanthe sent Yennefer will work decently, and then she’ll go home to their apartment and kiss her again, and then...Something. She’ll figure it out. 

    She just needs to remember how to walk in heels first.

Chapter Text

When Yennefer’s phone chimes from its lonely perch on her counter where Tissaia had left it, it takes Yennefer a solid twenty seconds to answer. Because she had promised to behave. But since Tissaia did not actually outline what she meant by that, then perhaps Yennefer wasn’t liable for any hijinks that occurred when Tissaia was absent and sulking or doing whatever it was she left to do.

    So yeah. She gets up to check her phone and then promptly drops it on her foot. Because this text is from Tissaia. And it was not the sort she’d ever have expected from her straight-laced neighbor. Well, maybe she’d misread Tissaia a bit. If so, then holy shit this is the greatest day ever. Because on her screen, in poorly-punctuated text speak that is so unlike Tissaia it’s not even funny, is the announcement that Tissaia will be home, and she’s actually referring to Yennefer’s apartment as home now, in thirty minutes and Yennefer ought to be undressed and ready for her when she does.

    So Yennefer does what any overjoyed person receiving sexual texts from their crush does: she walks into her bedroom, strips out of what little she’d had on, and sends Tissaia a selfie of herself lying in bed, hand toying with one of her breasts. 

    She can see Tissaia start and stop typing several times, and she can’t help but feel a bit smug at managing to fluster her. Marching out on her was a bit mean, after all, though this new authoritative side of her more than made up for it. But Yennefer is somewhat petty and more than a little willing to show off, and she really doubts Tissaia is going to complain about receiving nude photos given the amount of staring she’s done lately.

    Her phone chimes again. The text-speak is gone this time, though the words are now rife with misspellings, and she must have had a greater effect on Tissaia’s fine motor skills than expected. The message is very simple: Touch yourself and show me.

    Fuck. Well, who would she be to argue?

Tissaia is drunk off her ass. She has come to this conclusion because dropping Calanthe off at “her” house which is also dean Tuirseach’s house became attempting to help Calanthe figure out how keys worked and falling into Calanthe’s house on top of Calanthe. She thinks that means they’re probably friends. That, or they should sue each other for accidental assault because Jesus she has a lot of unexpected bruises in unusual places now.

    She’s a bit surprised when a picture of Yennefer’s naked body shows up on her phone, because she doesn’t remember that happening before, but she’s not complaining. Yennefer is glorious, an almost shy smile on her face as she bares every delicious curve to Tissaia’s gaze, and she is tempted to bribe her driver to break the speed limit enough to get back to Yennefer’s apartment before she can put her clothes back on. Because that would be a crime against humanity. There could be a trial, even, for committing such an atrocity.

    She knows she’s supposed to say something back, but the whole sexting thing never made much sense to her and now her brain is less cooperative than usual. And she can’t think of a single polite way of saying “Don’t you dare get dressed, keep taking photos for me even though they make me inconveniently horny in this rideshare car.”

    She tells Yennefer to get herself off instead, because that appears to be something she’s not at all shy about, and given the times Tissaia has had to hear it, she wants a visual. Now. And she gets one. 

    Yennefer’s fingers are soaked with her own arousal, halfway buried in her cunt, and Tissaia is squeezing her phone hard enough that she worries she’ll crack the screen. Her legs are wide open, and there’s come painting the insides of her thighs. She wants to lick it off. And it looks like Yennefer would let her. 

    The driver pulls up outside of her building and she’s out of the car before it even rolls to a stop. She strides inside on wobbling legs to slam at the elevator buttons, thankfully avoiding another incident involving being stuck for ages. Yennefer has kept the door unlocked for her, and she stumbles through, slamming the thing shut before heading straight for the bedroom. She drops her coat along the way, starting on the first few buttons of her shirt before pausing in the doorway to lean heavily against the frame, her body no longer quite remembering how to remain upright with such an incredible distraction. Yennefer’s reaction to her appearance is to stop what she’s doing and leap out of bed, which is equally exhilarating and disappointing. She would have been delighted to watch Yennefer get herself off for the rest of the afternoon, but she also wants to touch her, and perhaps it’s better that the girl made that decision for her.

    “You have got to be shitting me.” Well. That’s...Not the response she expected. Truth be told, she’s not certain how to respond. “You’re fucking wasted.” She blinks up at Yennefer, wondering where this is going. Way to state the obvious, dear! “That’s what you did? You kissed me and then drank an entire bar? Are you planning on acting like me now, because if so I have so many ideas but also what the hell.”

    “It was Calanthe’s idea.” And she didn’t drink an entire bar. Just a glass of wine. And some shots. And then maybe a beer or two? It gets blurry towards the end.

    “Right. Well, whoever that is, I’m glad you had fun, but holy crap she should have cut you off.”

    “She said I needed to not be a little bitch. And then we did shots.” Yennefer’s face does a funny thing where she looks like she’s begging the universe to provide an instruction manual to handle this new and horrific set of circumstances. Which is how Tissaia feels all the time, and oh how the tables had turned. This side of things was so much more fun. “C’mere. You deserve a better kiss than before.” Tissaia wants another one, whether Yennefer deserves it or not. And why shouldn’t she just take what’s been offered so many times? 

    “You’re right. I do. But it’s not going to be better if you can barely stand. Get in bed, Tissaia.” The bed Yennefer was just fucking herself on, that hopefully will have Yennefer in it once again? Sure. That works for Tissaia. She climbs in, eyes drooping shut the second her head hits the pillows. Her skull weighs more than her paperwork pile, and it’s so irritating because there is a very beautiful, very naked woman right there who really deserves her undivided attention and Tissaia’s body has the nerve, the sheer audacity to make her want to sleep instead.

    “You coming?” Yennefer likes sleeping in the same bed with her. If she has to go to sleep, she wants to at least be able to cuddle her. She’s really perfect, after all.

    “Let me put some clothes on first. Fucking hell, why is this happening?” That last part is more of a whisper, and Tissaia doesn’t think Yennefer expects a response. 

    “You don’t have to wear clothes. I like you without them. And with them. In general. You’re great.”

    “...Thank you. Please don’t hate me when you sober up.”

    “M’not gonna hate you. I tried that. Didn’t work, remember? Now I just wanna kiss you.” Yennefer lies down next to her, arms crossed over her stomach as if she’s unsure what behaviors are still allowed in this situation. The answer, of course, is “all of them,” but the respect for any boundaries Tissaia might still have is sweet.

    So she decides to latch onto Yennefer and use her as a pillow because that’s only fair after all the times Yennefer has done it to her. “You feel nice. I should keep you.” She can feel the steady thrum of Yennefer’s heartbeat under her ear, and it’s so soothing. 

    Yennefer’s hands smooth the hair along her temples, humming contentedly. Tissaia is just drifting off when she finally replies. “You’ve already got me. Just stop running from it.”

Chapter Text

Tissaia thinks she died in her sleep. The only explanation for the pain she is in is that she’s gone to hell. That, or she was dumb enough to try to keep up with Calanthe in a bar, which would be almost as stupid as sexting Yennefer or announcing, in a drunken haze, that she was a bit besotted with the woman. All of those actions would be immature and disastrous, which is why no one in their right mind would try any of them, much less on the same day.

    She hopes she’s in hell. If that is the case, she doesn’t need to open her eyes. If she doesn’t need to open her eyes, she will not have to acknowledge that her pillow is beyond the shadow of a doubt, not a pillow but actually Yennefer’s shoulder. She will not have to deal with the inconvenient fact that someone, by all logical reasoning Yennefer, is stroking their fingers along in her spine in a way that feels wonderful but means her bedmate is very awake. She will not need to, therefore, deal with an awake Yennefer who no doubt remembers each and every embarrassing thing she said yesterday. Or today. She has no idea how long she’s been out. 

    Actually, maybe this is just her version of hell.

    “I know you’re awake, Tissaia. You started frowning again.”

    Tissaia squeezes her eyes shut in a somewhat childish effort to force the circumstances to improve. It does not work. She is forced to open them for the sake of her wounded dignity and is greeted to the sight of Yennefer smiling down at her. She doesn’t look at all smug about the situation. Her violet eyes are warm and her hands are so gentle. It’s...Nice. Very nice. And so maybe Tissaia doesn’t decide to flee for the perceived safety of her own apartment and allows Yennefer to keep touching her.

    “Not moving? You must feel like death.” She does. It’s not why she’s staying in place, but she mentally thanks Yennefer for the convenient excuse anyway.

    “I’m never drinking with her again.” Ever. Full stop. And actually, she feels the need to send some questionable texts to dean Tuirseach from Calathe’s phone to even the scale a bit, because while her homecoming is a bit fuzzy she remembers gratuitous nudity and figures whatever that first text Calanthe sent from the bar was the reason. Or should she thank Calanthe? She’ll decide based on how this little melodrama turns out later.

    “I mean. You’re sexy when you’re drunk. Very...Commanding. Nothing happened though, I promise.” She would not refer to coercing Yennefer into sending her obscene photos as “nothing” but she does understand the intended sentiment, and it is kind of Yennefer to attempt to spare her the embarrassment. 

    “Good. I can die in peace.” She closes her eyes and shifts against Yennefer’s smooth skin, preparing to stay in this exact position in silence for the next several hours. That sounds wonderful.

    “Babe. It’s, like, dinner time. You can’t go to sleep yet.” Oh really? Who and what army is going to stop her?

    Evidently, Yennefer is. She takes it back. “Just stay there. I’m going to get you an ice pack and some aspirin. Try not to pass out again while I’m gone or...I’ll hide your phone somewhere.” Yennefer stirs and attempts to make her escape, but Tissaia has never been this tired in her entire life and doesn’t feel like moving. So she’s hardly going to cling to Yennefer using energy she doesn’t possess, but she’s also not going to help her pillow leave. “Are you trying to teach me a lesson about my sleeping habits right now? Because if so, it’s not working and you have three seconds before I just stay with you and forget about fixing your head.”

    Tissaia doubts there is any validity to that statement because Yennefer is being very nice lately, but she obliges and moves her head to an actual pillow. It’s not nearly as warm, which is a travesty. It is an even greater travesty when Yennefer returns with ice for her throbbing skull and some painkillers, only to inform her that since Tissaia is indisposed, she is going to walk and pick up takeout and that Tissaia should stay just as she is.

    Tissaia has no desire for Yennefer to need to take care of her as if she’s some sort of child. She’s supposed to be taking care of Yennefer! But she’s also in no condition to chase her down, so she swallows the pills and resigns herself to laying in bed until Yennefer makes a triumphant return with whatever she considers an appropriate dinner. Though she does concede that given Yennefer’s party schedule, she likely knows what to buy for a hangover.

    She blindly reaches for her phone, intent on entertaining herself somehow and possibly tearing Calanthe a new one over text, only to discover the woman has already contacted her. She’s decided that using all capital letters and no punctuation whatsoever is an ideal method of communication and informs Tissaia that her students are “fucking perverts, but artistic ones.” There are several links to what Tissaia will assume are the perversions in question.

    She lasts a good ten seconds before clicking the top one and is brought to a very detailed drawing of herself, looming over a restrained woman facedown on a bed. The woman has very dark hair, and the illustrator has helpfully informed all viewers that this is meant to be “Professor de Vries and her hot new girlfriend.” She should look away because while she may have imagined Yennefer like this a few times when she still wanted to murder the girl, this feels unethical. Granted, she doubts Yennefer would mind, and she did mention she knew about this particular internet den of depravity, so maybe she wanted Tissaia to see it? It’s a flimsy justification, but the image won’t leave her head. Because she likes the idea of Yennefer helpless beneath her, forced to stop acting like a human hurricane and do as she’s told. 

    She moves on to the second link, face burning. This one involves herself, her husband, and Yennefer and she exits it too quickly to see what exactly is happening. She does not want to think about that at all. That is just traumatic, and if that sleaze bag so much as looks at Yennefer she’ll murder him and hide the body in Stregobor’s office.

    And so it goes. Apparently, her students take far too much interest in her personal life and are under the impression that whoever she may be screwing, and there are many warring factions debating the issue with great vigor, a great deal of that sex must take place in her office and specifically on her desk. And perhaps she spends a bit too long admiring a sketch of Yennefer spread out on it for her. But in her defense, the artist is rather good and she’s only human.

    It is only after witnessing a very graphic drawing and an accompanying piece of literature regarding herself, Yennefer, and Fringilla of all people that she decides that she should stop looking at this and yell at Calanthe. Who has texted her again, informing her that given the lack of response, she hopes Tissaia is enjoying herself and if she wants more than she should just search her name on Tumblr.

    She is going to kill her. For so many reasons. But when she types out this very credible threat, the response is a great deal of laughter and the suggestion to take her frustrations out on her girlfriend. Which she does not have, for the record! If anyone out there cares! Which they seem not to, given that she now knows what a “Yennaia” is and that it is a lot of people’s “OTP.” She had to google that last term and now she wants to know exactly how much of this Yennefer has looked at. And approved of. Because she really needs another cold shower or some privacy in her own apartment. Or Yennefer’s face between her thighs, but that last one is not going to happen.

    It’s as if this errant thought summons the little monster. She can hear Yennefer struggling with the door and she smiles a bit through the pain. “Honey, I’m home!” The door slams as Yennefer enters, and Tissaia attempts to purge any trace of guilt from her face. Because she knows if Yennefer heard about how she just spent the last thirty minutes of her life, she’d very likely be beyond unbothered, pausing only to ask if Tissaia saw something she’d like to replicate. And the answer to that is yes, but she’s not admitting that. It’s too early for that sort of thing at the very least, even if her litany of other excuses seem to be abandoning ship. It is far too early in whatever this relationship may or may not be to bring in lesbian fetish art!

Yennefer knows that technically this is not a date. She’s had dinner with Tissaia before, after all. But this time it’s after Tissaia kissed her on purpose and then confessed to having feelings for her. Twice. So forgive her if she wishes it were a date.

    That’s why instead of buying burgers and other delightful grease-filled products, she went to get takeout from that fancy Italian place that is so far outside her budget it’s not even funny. Tissaia may not even appreciate this because holy shit is she gonna be hungover, but it’s the thought that counts.

    Tissaia stumbles into the kitchen, still in her work clothes that she allowed to become drinking clothes and then pajamas. The point is that her button-down is very wrinkled, she’s not wearing shoes, and her hair looks like she decided to get into a wrestling match or something. Yennefer really wants to take it down for her and then maybe just keep her hands in it for several hours. This is probably a creepy thought, but Tissaia has pretty hair and Yennefer just wants to touch her everywhere at all times.

    “Sit down before you fall over, babe.” Tissaia looks a bit like a zombie. A very hot zombie, but still. This must be how she used to look when cramming for finals as a student, and if Yennefer had gone to college with her she probably would have tried very hard to distract her from her studies.

    Tissaia does indeed sit down, though it’s really more of a controlled collapse into one of Yennefer’s kitchen chairs. The chipped white paint looks far too shabby next to her clearly expensive skirt, but as Tissaia rests her elbows on the table, cradling her aching head, Yennefer has to think about how domestic and settled it all looks. She likes Tissaia all ruffled and in her kitchen.

    “I bought a pasta thing, a salad with god knows what in it, what I’m pretty sure is chicken, and no wine because you do not need that. Grab a fork.” She has no idea what she’d ordered because she didn’t want to leave her drunken professor alone for long enough to escape. So she’d just pointed to some random menu items and went on her merry way after they were shoved at her. But Tissaia doesn’t seem horrified by her choices, and Yennefer thinks that whatever the vegetables she’s eating actually are, they taste good and that’s all that matters unless Tissaia has any surprise allergies. Shit. 

    Tissaia is dead silent as she attempts to drown her hangover in cream sauce, and Yennefer is more than happy to allow her to eat before starting any meaningful discussions. Tissaia was always cranky after talking about her feelings, doing so while hungry and hungover was just asking for an argument. 

    “So how long have you been drinking buddies with coach Calanthe?” It seems like a safe topic, and she will admit she really wants to know how that happened. Because of all the people Yennefer has imagined Tissaia befriending, the coach famous for that time she broke her daughter’s thirty-year-old, basically a pedophile boyfriend’s nose with a basketball during a halftime show? That’s not one of them.

    “Since today, I suppose.” Okay then. That gives her more questions than it answers. 

    “How long have you been friends, then?” Tissaia frowns like she’s attempting to do calculus in her head and she wasn’t aware this was a difficult question so what’s happening?

    “I don’t know if we are. She tried to punch my husband once. I technically broke into the dean’s home with her today. She stole my phone. Does that count?”

    What? What? “You broke into dean Tuirseach’s house?” 

    Tissaia groans softly, eyebrows knitting together, and Yennefer both feels sorry for her and wants to go drinking with Tissaia immediately. “Calanthe required assistance getting inside. Heaven knows how she can still play darts but forgets how to use her keys.”

    ...Right. Calanthe is going to convince Tissaia to drink with Yennefer someday. It’s happening. “So you went drinking with someone you may or may not be friends with, committed some light trespassing, and passed out in the afternoon? I’m rubbing off on you.” She’d like to rub off on Tissaia in a different sense. One involving far less clothing and one of her thighs between Yennefer’s legs. But that wasn’t important right now.

    “I will admit my behavior was questionable. I believe I owe you an apology, both for fleeing the apartment and forcing an injured person to deal with my...Condition.” Tissaia will not meet her eyes, and Yennefer feels frustration rising in her gut. She doesn’t want an apology, she wants Tissaia to do that exact thing while sober!

    “Uh, your behavior was fucking hot and you are welcome to repeat it. And I believe you said you owed me a better kiss, so you’re welcome to do that as well.” She’s not going to bring up the nudes, because she feels like that might cross the line between Tissaia blushing and perhaps giving in, and Tissaia fleeing the university to join a nunnery. She’s more than willing to take smaller steps with this if that’s how to get results.

    “I do not remember any of that.” Oh, yes she does. Yennefer can tell from the firm set of her jaw, the way she grits her teeth as she attempts to hold back any further comments. She can tell from the harried look in Tissaia’s eyes and the way her chest sticks out as if she’s banking oxygen for a potential screaming match. She’s brilliant, but it’s oh so obvious whenever she’s uncomfortable from feeling too many things. 

    “No? None of it at all? You should check your phone, then, and make sure you didn’t text anyone else.” If Tissaia is going to play the drunken amnesia card, maybe Yennefer will have to push her, just a tiny bit. Because Tissaia is staring at her cell phone as if it might bite, and that says that she remembers what’s sitting in her messages, what Yennefer would be delighted to show her in person if she just stops thinking so hard.

    “...Right. I would like to apologize for that as well. Commanding you to do...Any of that was coercive and utterly inappropriate. I will delete the photos and it will never happen again.”

    Is this a joke? Is Tissaia serious right now? “Babe. The photos are yours, keep them. And trust me, there was no coercion involved. I’ve shown you my body before if you haven’t forgotten.” Tissaia’s hands fidget with the silverware, throat bobbing as she struggles to find a proper reply. She clearly remembers the little incident in Yennefer’s bathroom, perhaps as fondly as Yennefer does, if the shallow rise and fall of her chest is any indication. “If you really want to make it up to me? I’ll take that kiss. A proper one, this time. And then we never need to speak about what you may or may not have done again.”

    “Deal.” 

    Wait, seriously? She had expected a full retreat and snarky comment, but more and more often Tissaia has been saying yes to things and it makes a flock of pissed-off crows start flapping around in her stomach. Butterflies just weren’t big enough to do this justice.

    Before she can think much further on it, Tissaia is rising to her feet, and Yennefer surges up to join her, throwing an arm around her waist and pinning her between the kitchen table and Yennefer’s body. Her hands come to rest on Yennefer’s collarbones, just above where she’d really like them, so lightly that it seems like she’s expecting to be told off. Yennefer resists the urge to take them in her own and move them over her breasts just to see Tisssaia’s face. Instead, she leans in, admiring the flecks of grey in Tissaia’s eyes before they shut, and then Tissaia is kissing her again. Her lips are soft, and Yennefer can smell alcohol on her skin which is just hysterical because that’s something she’d never really expected. Her hand starts to creep higher until she’s got it in Yennefer’s hair, forcing her closer to Tissaia’s height. Her fingers twist in the dark strands, using them to control the way Yennefer moves against her, and of course, Tissaia is a control freak even when she’s kissing someone. Her tongue presses against Yennefer’s lips and she’s quick to part them, welcoming the intrusion. She’d meant to pin Tissaia to this table and ravish her a bit, but clearly, she has other plans and Yennefer is loving them far too much to object.

    When they finally break apart, Tissaia is dazed and panting. Yennefer feels quite proud of herself for that. She looks so confused as Yennefer reaches for her again, expression melting into fond exasperation as Yennefer starts taking out her now unsalvageable hairdo. She’s a creature of impulse, after all, and she can hardly resist the excuse their proximity has lent her.

    “So. You gonna stay now? Because between your new love of booze and my head injury, we both ought to be taking care of each other, and your apartment sucks.”

    “I-What?”

    “Stay. You like sleeping in my bed anyway. I won’t even claim we’re dating now. Just stop thinking so much and start living in my apartment so I can kiss you more often.”

    “We are not dating. That is not what this is.” Yennefer nods along, even though technically they’ve been on a lot of dates and have kissed quite a few times now and also Tissaia asked her for nudes. So. It seems like a relationship in her eyes. But she won’t bring that up to little Ms. Post-Divorce Commitment Issues. “And you’ll hate me waking you up for classes every morning. This is not a practical arrangement.”

    “Fine. I’ll be practical.” She steps forward until her hips pin Tissaia in place. The woman looks less than uncomfortable, staring up at Yennefer with need-dark eyes, and dear god please let Tissaia crack soon. “Living together would be way cheaper. I could stop eating cheap takeout if I having you cooking for me. I can remind you to eat and make your coffee and do the laundry when you’ve gone into a weird academic trance. And let’s not forget that I’m much quieter now. I could always go back to partying and directing porn in my apartment for grocery money if I get bored, and-”

    “You’ve been doing what ?” Tissaia is staring at her in undisguised horror, and oh shit this is bad. “Call your parents. You should not be paying for any of this and I will be having very strong words with them.”
    “You want to yell at my parents?” That’s the only part of this she can really stick on. Tissaia is horrified on her behalf instead of at her behavior. No one does that sort of shit for her. No one’s ever offered. And yet here’s Tissaia, holding a butter knife like she wants to use it to eviscerate her father. 

    “I want to disembowel your parents. With that not being an option, yelling will do.” That’s...That’s hot. She likes protective Tissaia a lot.

    “Yeah, we’re not doing that. And put that down. And then move in with me.”

    “I’m sorry. Move-in here ? Yennefer, how many people have had sex on your furniture? No, you’re moving in with me.” Well okay then. It’s probably a good thing she’d fixed Tissaia’s bed before her little meltdown.

Chapter Text

“So. I just got a call from Professor Stregobor.”

    Yennefer tries to hide her smirk and focuses on the textbook in her lap. It’s been a few days since her unfortunate head injury, she feels fine, she’s been allowed to do non-screen-related homework instead of helping Tissaia unpack the last of her shit because “You have no organizational skills at all, dear.” Such a joy. She’s a fucking film major so the whole textbooks on philosophy thing is kind of bullshit, but at least Tissaia is home now and can maybe make this less dull. It’s better than attempting to decode how Tissaia’s laundry sorting system works. She’s pretty sure color coding and the Dewey decimal system or witchcraft are involved. She was a bit distracted by some of the racier pieces she didn’t know Tissaia owned but now fervently wishes to see her in and never really finished trying to figure it out.

    “Yennefer. How did you even do this?” 

    She plasters on her very best innocent grin. Tissaia tosses her keys onto their kitchen table and crosses her arms, awaiting an explanation Yennefer does not have. “I’ve been here all day. Reading for philosophy, of all things. And I have no idea what I’m accused of doing.”

    “So you have no idea how Profesor Stregobor’s car found its way onto the roof of Virufil Hall and filled with, of all things, fake blood?” Sabrina probably would have needed a crane and a distraction, but beyond that, she has no clue. So no. The blood was a nice touch. It would be way too sticky to ever come out of the upholstery properly and probably wasn’t covered by insurance.

“Do I look like I’m in any condition to move a car?” She waves her left arm, still in its stupid brace, for emphasis. If she can’t have sex, according to the asshole doctor, she can’t move a car.

“So you admit you had accomplices?” Okay. So this is what it’s like being interrogated by Tissaia in court. She will admit it’s kind of sexy.

    “I don’t admit anything. Except that you’re hot when you’re mad.” Tissaia glowers at her, which is a strange way to react to a compliment and a disappointing way to react to Yennefer’s attempt at distraction. She’s not even sure why Tissaia is upset. It was a harmless prank and there is literally zero evidence tying Yennefer to it. Her injuries are a pretty good alibi!

    “...You realize this sort of self-destructive behavior is going to hurt you one day, right? How long do you really think you can keep acting like this before there are actual consequences?”  That sort of already happened, though she supposes Tissaia was there to pick up the pieces and get her to a doctor and also prevent her from getting charged with assault that one time. But if Tissaia weren’t intent on ignoring the fact that she has human emotions, that wouldn’t have happened in the first place, so is this really all her fault? Probably yes. Shit.

    “Okay, but he’s an asshole, and technically this could only hurt Sabrina. That’s progress, right?” She’s guessing it’s not, because Tissaia is doing her favorite “I have a headache” pose. “Listen. Not even you can turn me into a responsible adult in a week. If you even want to. I think you like my chaos, remember?” Tissaia groans, pinching the bridge of her nose right below where her forehead always creases and squinting her eyes shut as if Yennefer will magically become less of her usual self if she can’t see her.

    “Of course I want to. If I didn’t, I’d let you keep causing absolute havoc on my behalf and get yourself expelled!” 

    Right. And her solution to Yennefer causing havoc was just brilliant, wasn’t it? The ethics may be cute some days but right now they rub Yennefer entirely wrong. “Your method of making me get my shit together was to just pretend I didn’t exist and hope I started behaving. That was absolute bullshit and sounds pretty similar to you being a giant emotional coward.”

“It seemed like the best idea at the time.” Well, it clearly wasn’t. It was the worst idea ever because Tissaia leaving hurt a shit ton more than say, her dad taking off because Tissaia was fucking amazing even though she made really stupid choices on how to handle her feelings and he was an asshole. “Let’s face it. You didn’t like that I make that heart of yours start beating again, and so you decided to hide in your apartment like that would make the problem go away. And that’s fine. That’s completely understandable because you have been through some shit, but please don’t pretend it was all for my own good.” She drops the textbook and stalks forward. Tissaia refuses to cede ground and soon they’re standing chest to chest. She can feel the heat of Tissaia’s skin, see the urge to lecture her fading with every inch closer Yennefer gets. She smiles, reaching out to place her hands at Tissaia’s sides. She really is incredible. An incredible disaster in some areas, but still.

    Tissaia leans closer before remembering that she had something to yell at Yennefer about. She straightens, drawing her “I am in charge of you, so there” persona around her like a cloak. “You are the most insufferable, frustrating, perfect woman I have ever met and I hate that I love-that I care about you.” 

    Hold up. Hold the fuck up.

    Tissaia stares up at her as if daring her to comment on that little lapse, and she should really know better because this is Yennefer, who hasn’t backed down from a dare since the third grade. This is the point, looking back later, where the potential argument derails. First of all, Yennefer has no desire to have a big explosive argument unless it leads to make-up sex and cuddling. Second, that little admission from Tissaia, especially given her special brand of emotional constipation makes them so hard to come by, makes it so that she will be forgiven for any and all questionable comments for the next few hours. “You’re a deranged control freak and I’m pretty sure you should be on sedatives, but I also am pretty sure you’re a goddess in disguise. And I’m not letting you ignore what you just said so don’t even bother trying.”

    “...Fine. My feelings for you are inconvenient, but appear to be unavoidable. This does not mean any sort of relationship would work out right now, and-mmph!”

    Yennefer grins against Tissaia’s lips, shoving her against the kitchen table. Tissaia gives up any attempt at fighting it seconds later, melting against Yennefer’s torso and wrapping her thighs around her waist. This time there’s no audience to fool or deranged TAs to interrupt them, and kissing her in their apartment that they just live in together is even better than kissing her in Yennefer’s. Tissaia’s tongue demands entrance to her mouth and Yennefer has never been happier to just give her whatever she wants. Her hands tangle in Yennefer’s hair, rough and desperate to keep her close. She’s never wanted anyone quite like this, ever, and that’s probably what makes her step back because her sex drive is way less important than keeping Tissaia happy and emotionally stable. 

    “I’m crazy in love with you. Just for the record. So yeah, I threw a fit when you left and did some stupid shit. That was bad. And then I did some more stupid shit to people who make you angry, which I will stop doing because it’s not helping your blood pressure. But that does not mean I’m sort of self-destructive disaster you need to stop talking to for my own good.” Tissaia nods, though it seems like her brain isn’t fully in it quite yet. That’s fine. She can keep talking. “You like me. Quite a bit, clearly. And I’m a mess, but you’re also a mess, so for fuck’s sake can we just be messes together and figure it out from there?” 

    There’s a long pause where Tissaia just stares at her and Yennefer begins to wonder if she’s said something horribly wrong. Was any of that offensive? Did she fuck up?

    And then Tissaia is rolling those pretty blue eyes and pulling her in for a soft kiss. She’s so delicate under Yennefer’s hands, and okay, she likes this even better than kissing Tissaia to shut her up. She’s still so short, even sitting on their kitchen table, and kissing her like this is a mild struggle but it’s worth it because there is absolutely nowhere for her to go unless she’d like to lie on top of the thing and let Yennefer touch her like that. That would be hot, but also probably a great way to get lectured about kitchen sex being unsanitary. So maybe she should move them. Just in case.

    Tissaia takes her hands out of Yennefer’s hair and then seems unsure what to do with them. Her kisses grow distracted, and Yennefer is about to ask her if this is too much too soon when she grabs Yennefer’s hands and places them on her chest. Yennefer is going to interpret that to mean that Tissaia is just fine. She squeezes the soft skin under her hands and Tissaia groans, back arching to press herself closer. 

    Yennefer isn’t quite sure whether or not she’s died and gone to heaven and she gives zero fucks. She’s far too interested in kissing Tissaia’s neck. Her head is swimming with the smell of Tissaia’s shampoo and the little mewling noises she makes whenever Yennefer’s teeth brush somewhere especially sensitive. Tissaia’s hands grasp at her back, dragging her in closer and possibly leaving some interesting marks because her nails are digging in quite a bit, but she likes the idea of Tissaia on her skin so she doesn’t object. When she pulls away, Tissaia’s pale throat is stained red with her lipstick and she’s never been prouder of any artwork in her life. 

    Tissaia hops off the table and Yennefer has to wonder if that’s it, and this weird game of “we live together but we’re not dating and also sometimes we kiss but then everything is normal again” has just gotten to a whole new level of frustrating. Then Tissaia grabs her hand, expression almost shy, which is not something Yennefer would usually associate with her, and starts walking towards their bedroom. Yennefer, for once devoid of all snarky comments, surges after her. Her patience is hanging on by a thread, and if this is Tissaia saying yes then she’s not sure how long she’s going to be able to keep it together before tearing her clothes off and seeing how much it takes to make Tissaia scream her name.

Tissaia has no plan, and that in itself is quite nerve-wracking. She hasn’t had a plan since she had derailed her own “don’t commit grand theft auto” lecture to possibly confess that she might maybe have accidentally fallen for Yennefer a bit. And then there was kissing and some other things and clearly, she had lost her mind with this but it’s not like her life could get much crazier and she deserves to have nice things so here they are. Alone. 

    Yennefer shuts the door behind her and leans against it, staring at Tissaia. She’s not sure what Yennefer is waiting for. It’s been a very long time since she had to do the “sleeping with each other for the first time” song and dance, and she’s forgotten how it goes. The last time she’d done this, she hadn’t been nearly so terrified of her partner being disappointed by what was under her clothes, but she’s sleeping with a woman half her age who could have anyone she wanted and it’s making her a bit nervous. 

    Instead of attempting to say anything, she grabs Yennefer for another kiss. She likes kissing Yennefer. It’s easy, and it feels so good, and when her knees hit the bed it’s almost a relief. She lets Yennefer nudge her backward until she’s sitting on the edge, and then she pulls away. This is disappointing until Yennefer stands up and pulls her shirt off and tosses it into a corner. 

    She has seen Yennefer without a shirt before, likely more times than she technically should have. She has seen Yennefer naked. This is different, because this time she’s not trying to look away and dear gods, why had she ever done that? That was stupider than filming porn to pay one’s rent instead of just getting a roommate, which she will be teasing Yennefer about until the day she dies.

    Yennefer winks at her and unclasps her bra, and Tissaia can feel her face getting hot but she really doesn’t care because Yennefer is climbing into her lap, and like this, she towers over her so those perfect tits are right at eye level. It’s very hard to think about anything else.

    “You gonna touch me this time? It seems like every time we do this you run for the hills- Fuck! ”

    The face Yennefer makes as Tissaia’s hands brush over her chest is priceless. She captures her nipple between two fingers and rubs gently, soaking in the way Yennefer writhes against her. Her pelvis grinds up against Tissaia’s stomach, and Yennefer’s eyes never leave her own. They’re such a dark purple she could mistake them for black, bright and focused on her alone. She’ll admit that’s a rather nice feeling.

    “This isn’t fair. I want to touch you.” Yennefer tugs at her shirt collar in a very clear demand for Tissaia to remove it. She can’t wipe the smile off her face, pulling Yennefer down for another kiss before replying.

    “Then touch me, dear. No one is stopping you from doing whatever you like.” This is where Tissaia loses control of the entire affair. It occurs to her, as Yennefer is shoving her back to attack the buttons on her shirt, that perhaps she ought to have remembered that she is sharing a bed with the most impulse-driven woman on the planet and perhaps giving her blanket permission to do whatever she pleases was not her wisest choice.

    As the clasp of her bra opens and Yennefer lunges forward to claim her prize, wrapping full lips around her nipple, she amends this statement. Her entire issue with Yennefer has been overthinking things. She can do whatever she wants, and Tissaia will stop thinking at all, and everything will be wonderful.

    Yennefer isn’t satisfied with just getting her shirt unbuttoned for long. Soon, those clever fingers are shoving the thing down her arms and off to some part of the floor, bra following soon after. And then she’s grabbing at Tissaia’s belt like it’s done her some great personal offense.

    “Why the fuck is all your clothing so complicated?”

    “Yennefer, when I got dressed this morning, I was doing so for work, not this!” If she had known she would end up with Yennefer on top of her, pressing hot, open-mouthed kissed to her stomach while unbuttoning her pants, she would likely have had a nervous breakdown over what, exactly, she ought to wear for that. She still might, actually, because while Yennefer’s reactions to her body have been nothing but encouraging thus far she is painfully aware that Yennefer is, well, human fantasy made flesh, and she is just human.

    You wouldn’t know that, once she’s naked and sprawled out on the bed. She crosses her legs in some sort of attempt to cover herself, only for Yennefer to gently but firmly push them apart. 

    “Just stay like that for two seconds. Okay?” Tissaia nods, not sure what else to do, while Yennefer backs away to lean against the foot of her bed and stare. She wants so badly to throw a blanket over her torso, unused to being exposed and studied like this, but Yennefer is biting her already-swollen lip and grinning like this is the greatest gift she’s ever received and her nerves gradually calm from “maybe we should change our name and move to New Zealand” levels to “Make her get back over here right now.”

    “Okay, I definitely need to get you on camera someday. If only to prove I’m not hallucinating all this.” She gestures grandly in Tissaia’s general direction. “Are you certain you’re real?”

    She is certain she’s real, because to the best of her knowledge, soulless copies of human beings are incapable of feeling this flustered. Yennefer’s attention is flattering, very much so, but she’s not an exhibitionist by any means and she’s not sure how long she’ll be able to handle Yennefer just watching her like this.

    “Come find out. You’ve got a lot of bragging to live up to if I recall.”

    “It’s all very justified. When’s the last time someone ate you out?” Even though she is naked in front of Yennefer, who is also missing a great deal of clothing, the question manages to catch her completely off guard. 

    “I don’t recall?” It’s not like she kept a calendar of this sort of thing, after all! Yennefer stalks forward like some kind of predatory animal, teeth bared in a smirk. Her hands brush over Tissaia’s calves and up to her thighs, Yennefer settling between them to hover over Tissaia. Their faces are close enough to touch, and she’s beyond lost in her eyes and her scent.

    “You’re going to call in sick tomorrow. I don’t care how long it takes to convince you. And then tomorrow, when you should be up to your pretty neck in paperwork, you’ll be here with me between your thighs, making up for all the sexual frustration I’ve caused you. How does that sound?”

    Tissaia can feel arousal pooling between her thighs, the rough denim of Yennefer’s jeans pressing against her center in a way that is beyond delicious. She wonders if Yennefer can feel how wet she is, and dearly hopes she can’t. “That sounds quite impossible. I have actual responsibilities, and you have class.” She thinks it’s a near certainty, actually, but Yennefer is being quite smug for someone with one hand she can’t use and the stamina of someone with a healing concussion. So forgive her for perhaps riling the girl up. It’s only going to benefit her in the end, after all.

    “Maybe if my teachers looked like you do naked I’d be more motivated to show up.” She begins to push herself down Tissaia’s body, lips and tongue dragging over her skin as she goes. “Do you taste just as good?”

    She has no idea how to even begin answering that question, not that she’s going to be able to. Yennefer’s tongue flattens against her clit and she may remember that she had been asked something, but what it was and how to respond are suddenly far too hard to recall. Tissaia’s hands settle in dark hair, at first just to keep it out of her face, but as Yennefer continues lapping at her she tightens her grip until she’s holding Yennefer exactly where she wants her. She moans against Tissaia’s center as her grip tightens, and the vibrations are enough to make her squeal. She’ll mourn the death of her dignity later. Right now, all she can do is look down at the beauty between her legs, so very dedicated to pleasing her. Yennefer is angelic like this, face buried in Tissaia’s cunt like she’s prepared to suffocate herself, and the urge to pull on that silky hair until she shrieks hits her from nowhere. Tissaia blames her new fanart addiction.

    “Use your fingers, darling. And stop acting like I’m made of glass.” Yennefer’s hands are shoving her knees further apart mere seconds after the words come out of her mouth, fingers digging into her skin. She can feel Yennefer’s short nails leave indents in the tops of her thighs. She drags one of Tissaia’s legs over her shoulder to force her open and then her fingers are teasing her entrance. That won’t do at all. She’d told her to use them, after all, not make her wait.

    “I will take care of this myself if you’re not up to the task- Oh god! ” Goading Yennefer does indeed get results. More than she’d anticipated. Yennefer has been rather sweet with her so far, but now her fingers set a rough, punishing pace inside of her. Even without direction, she finds every sensitive spot inside of Tissaia so quickly, and she isn’t known to be loud in bed but finds herself hissing profanity anyway. 

    Her orgasm hits her like an oncoming train. The last time she got off, she was interrupted by Yennefer’s tendency to monologue immediately afterward. This time, the woman fucks her through the aftershocks, keeping her hips pinned to the bed as she tries to move away in her oversensitive state. Her clit is throbbing and Yennefer’s tongue is suddenly far too much against her, but the endorphins hitting her brain have her mind blank and body limp. Yennefer releases her after she stills, resting her head on Tissaia’s abdomen with her lips still shining. The room smells of her arousal, and once again she feels she ought to be embarrassed or something, but Yennefer’s fingers are still inside of her and her hair falling over Tissaia’s inner thigh tickles her skin and she’d really prefer not to use her brain right now.

    “You okay, babe?” She’s very okay. She has forgotten how to form coherent thoughts, but that will hopefully fade in a few minutes. Maybe. This is an unfamiliar side effect of sex and she’s not sure how to handle it, settling for releasing her death grip on Yennefer’s hair and wiping the arousal off her chin with her thumb. “Mmm. I wouldn’t bother doing that. I’m only going to get covered in it again once you recover.” It occurs to her that Yennefer is far too pleased with herself. It’s annoying. And also quite sexy, which is why their first meeting had been so very electric. So no, she is not letting Yennefer just plow her into the mattress until she passes out from exhaustion because she doubts she’ll ever hear the end of it. 

    “Come up here, Yennefer.” The girl doesn’t ask why. She lies on her side next to Tissaia with a tender hand rubbing circles on her stomach. It’s like she’s allergic to letting go of Tissaia, even for a few moments.

    “You look so perfect like this. I just want to kiss you, like, all the time. Do you want to ride my face next? Because otherwise, you may end up pulling my hair out, which is totally worth it but may not be a good look for me.” She does have nice hair. Thick, glossy, and so much fun for Tissaia to play with. And even nicer suggestions, though she’s going to have to wait her turn.

    When she gives Yennefer’s shoulder a light push to indicate she should lie on her back, she’s quick to acquiesce. Tissaia straddles her hips, holding Yennefer’s hands above her head and admiring the way they frame her face. As interested as she may have been in giving Tissaia a second orgasm, she seems more than happy to cooperate with this new plan, letting out an adorable moan as Tissaia drags her nails down her neck.

“You’re going to keep your hands there or I’m going to stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor.” She’s not sure how she feels about her title in Yennefer’s sweet mouth and the reminder of just how frowned upon this will be that it brings. The girl almost looks guilty as it escapes her lips and her eyes lock on Tissaia’s face, waiting for a reaction. 

    “I recommend you avoid calling me that unless you’d enjoy being treated like one of my students.”

    “Okay, but it’s really hot when you yell at them. I like your teacher voice, Professor. ”

    Oh, that’s adorable. “Do you really think baiting me is a good idea, Yennefer?” She doesn’t wait for a response. Tissaia presses her thigh against Yennefer’s center, rubbing against the fabric of her jeans. She bucks her hips, eager for more friction. Her eyes drift shut, a low growl of pleasure sounding deep in her throat as Tissaia finds an angle she likes. Her hands curl into fists, but she doesn’t move from the position Tissaia had placed her in.

    Until Tissaia stops touching her, anyway. Her eyes fly open and her thighs clamp together to keep Tissaia in place, but she’s already just a bit too far out of range. The pout on her face is just delicious, and Yennefer really ought to blame herself for mentioning all the sexual frustration she’s purposely caused Tissaia over the past few weeks. She really deserves it.

    “Take the rest of your clothes off. Now.” The words hang in the air as Yennefer stares at her, eyes shimmering with delight. She shoves her pants and underwear down her legs and tosses them at Tissaia’s chest with a challenging smirk before falling onto her back and carelessly bringing her arms back above her head. She’d look far less pleased with herself with her panties in her mouth as a gag, but now is really not the time for that. She thinks. There’s some first-time etiquette somewhere, she just doesn’t quite remember what it is. 

    “How do you want me to touch you, sweet girl?” She’s more than willing to figure it out for herself with trial and error, but making Yennefer wait is so very satisfying. The way she ruts against the mattress in some attempt at soothing the burning between her legs is just too much fun to watch.

    “I want you inside of me. Please, Professor?” She really is going to have to do something about Yennefer calling her that. Possibly. It’s not like she minds, but there are boundaries. Somewhere.

    That can be dealt with when she doesn’t have an otherworldly goddess asking to be fucked in her bed. That would take precedent over the apartment burning down around her ears, much less a minor confusion over titles.

    Yennefer is soaked and so desperate for her. She wraps her legs around Tissaia’s body until it’s almost impossible to move her hand, much less get off of her. It would be endearing if it weren’t making things so much more difficult, though “being difficult for no reason” is Yennefer’s purpose for being, so she’s hardly surprised. 

    She is not even attempting to be quiet. At the first stroke of Tissaia’s thumb over her clit, she releases an obscene groan that Tissaia is positive their neighbors can hear. She knows this from firsthand experience, but now that she’s the one eliciting those noises she can’t bring herself to care. Only just this once, of course. After that, she’ll need to buy a gag or convince Yennefer to shut up so they don’t get evicted.

    After deciding on an appropriate deadline, it’s only wise to enjoy Yennefer’s cries while she can. She kisses her way down Yennefer’s neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone, and begins to curl her fingers against her walls. Yennefer throws her head back, inviting Tissaia to claim her with her teeth, and at this point, she’s all out of impulse control so if Yennefer is walking around tomorrow with a few strange bruises, that’s not Tissaia’s problem. The loud sob she lets out when Tissaia moves to her breasts is sheer perfection, as is the way she rolls her hips against Tissaia’s hand. She’s so responsive, and while it’s been ages since Tissaia took another woman to bed, she’s missed it more than she realized. Or perhaps that’s simply the effect Yennefer has on her. 

    “Oh fuck. I’m so close. Harder, please Professor!”

    Tissaia grins down at her, slowing the movements of her hand, and Yennefer’s moans trail off in a disappointed whimper.

    “Say my name, Yennefer. And ask nicely.”

    She’s never seen this particular expression on Yennefer’s face before. Her eyes are wide, with the pupils dilated farther than she thought possible. Her lips are parted, breath coming in ragged gasps that get faster each time Tissai shifts on top of her. She’d once thought Yennefer incapable of blushing, or any form of being flustered at all, but there’s a faint flush on her cheeks that didn’t just come from exertion and she realizes that Yennefer enjoys being told what to do a bit more than anticipated. That’s intriguing. Very much so, in fact.

    “Please, Tissaia? This feels so good. I’ll do whatever the hell you want after just please make me come!” Yes, this was exactly what she wanted. Yennefer, tamed and pliant in her bed, begging for release. 

    She begins slamming into Yennefer in earnest, headboard smacking into the wall with each harsh thrust, and she’d be concerned that this was hurting her if not for the frenzied stream of half-coherent praise and pleading that comes out of her mouth. This isn’t something she’d heard back when Yennefer was doing whatever she was doing at the events she used to host, and it makes her very smug. 

    “Let go for me, love. I think you’ve earned it.”

    Yennefer comes with a guttural moan, spasming around Tissaia’s fingers. Her hands do not move an inch. Tissaia smiles down at her and slows her movements, curling up next to her as her unfocused eyes gradually lose their dazed appearance. Yennefer is still and silent except for her breathing, and there’s an irritating wave of affection that she can’t smother growing in Tissaia’s chest.

    “Gimme a minute. I’m not done with you.” Tissaia believes it. Such are the benefits of youth. Yennefer is already bouncing back from her previous exhaustion, staring up at Tissaia with an appraising grin as if wondering what position to have her in next, and perhaps calling in sick is actually a rather wise suggestion. After this, anyway. Whatever Yennefer ends up planning. Attempting to deny her anything she wants is utterly futile, after all, which means that with any luck her life is not going to go back to normal ever again.

    Normal was boring anyway. This is infinitely better.