#yennefer of vengerberg x reader

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH3

After Mommy has disciplined you with the cane, you feel the need to properly apologize to her, which was Daddy's idea, who promises you a reward if you do so.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Pet names. Dom/sub undertones. Domestic discipline/caning. Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Cuntwarming? Vaginal fingering. Squirting. Subspace. Aftercare. Unprotected piv sex. Creampie. Cockwarming. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 8.1k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: This chapter is a direct continuation of Chapter 1 and a summary of the dynamic you can expect from the rest of the story: a love triangle with F/F and F/M and F/F/M intimacies. I will note what you can expect in each chapter (indicated by the color of the header image and by the different colors in the warning tags), but just remember that our Reader is bisexual/bi-curious, so we'll have a multitude of different sex scenes here. ⚠️Also warning: it starts a little rough, sorry. Speaking of: before you hate on Mommy in this chapter, remember: 1) this is an established (fictional!) BDSM relationship with implied established boundaries and rules, 2) she is a Domme, 3) she is human and can have bad days too, 4) this is fiction, 5) please keep reading, it'll all get resolved! This is a HURT and comfort story after all!

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

Several months later

You startle awake to loud voices. It takes you a long moment to realize where you are. In your bed, on your stomach. Mommy's voice in your ear, muffled, and suddenly you remember why your butt hurts so bad.

It's hazy, there were a lot of tears and pleading words, apologies and desperate cries, and it all started with a baking tray and flying cookies, the smell of burnt dough in the air, heat all around you, a stumble, a crash, herbs and soil raining to the ground.

It wouldn't even have been that bad if Mommy hadn't come into the kitchen at the exact moment you had lost your balance and dropped everything, your surprise for Daddy ruined as well as her precious herb garden. You knew Mommy cooked sometimes, but why she'd been so upset upon seeing the broken pot and plant, you had no idea.

But she was furious, screaming at you as you shrunk away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you cried, trying to clean up your mess, but all you did was make it worse. You even burned yourself on the hot sheet, destroyed the rest of the plant by stepping on it, and it was Mommy's flat hand on your cheek that brought you out of the headless panic and into a deep-rooted shock.

“Take a breath,” she ordered, staring at you. “And another. Okay? Good, then clean this up. Now.”

And you did, with shaking hands, but you somehow managed to scoop up burnt cookies, dirt and plant remnants, threw it all into the trash, then wiped the floor and washed the baking sheet. And Mommy watched, with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes darker, her face a stoic angry mask. As soon as you were done, you looked at her, and couldn't help but shed a new batch of tears, and some more, until you were back into your hysterics, sobbing and apologizing.

“Go to your room,” she told you. “Wait for me.”

Through the tears, you nodded and shuffled away, barely making it up the stairs. You felt horrible, and her cold demeanor wasn't helping, it only made it worse. You knew that look of disappointment all too well, had seen it on your own mother many times. You were a failure, you knew it, you'd forgotten it for a while, distracted by Mommy and Daddy's care, but you remembered now.

You were a failure.

And you sat in your room and waited, crying soundlessly, your lips tingling, feeling numb and way too much all at the same time. She came to you ten minutes later, in her hand a thin wooden stick. You blinked, your breath hitching. You knew what it was, had seen it on her wall, had seen videos of it being used on others. And it scared you. A lot. She'd disciplined you before, but only with her hand, not with that thing.

“Mommy?” you whimpered, staring at her.

She only shook her head and pointed to the floor. “Take off your pants and underwear and kneel on the floor, head down, ass in the air. Come on, don't make me wait.” Her voice was harsh, and all you could do was follow her words.

But as you knelt there, waiting for your punishment, the panic came back full force. You were shaking so badly you could barely stay in your position. More of your own pathetic pleading and crying and whining noises filled your ears, your heart beating out of your chest, your throat tight, lungs burning. Mommy ignored you.

When the first blow hit your rear, you screamed and jolted away. “Stay where you are!” she said sternly. “And count with me, come on! One.”

“One...” you croaked out. The cane cut through the air again and met your soft flesh. “Two,” she said, and you repeated it barely able to speak. “You deserve this, don't you? It's for your own good. You need this. Embrace the pain, think about what happened,” she explained between hits, three, four, five, you were shuddering on the floor, sobbing helplessly into your folded arms as the pain crashed through you, every impact making you flinch badly.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. She eased her blows a little as she talked between them, her voice strangely calm despite the relentless flick of her wrist. “You ruined something that was very dear to Mommy. I know it was an accident, but you were clumsy and careless. You could have hurt yourself as well. We can't have that.”

Ten, eleven, twelve. The thirteenth blow was particularly hard again, seemingly cutting into your skin, making you jerk forward with a pained yelp. “And you fell into old habits. We did not spend all that time trying to make you better if it only takes one stupid mistake to bring you back to square one.”

Fourteen, fifteen. You were a gasping mess on the floor, knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your weight on them. Sixteen, seventeen. Your whole body was aflame, your mind spinning, words repeating, every new hit adding to the already existing pain, and it wouldn't stop. You tried your best to breathe through it, like Mommy had taught you, but the thin wooden stick hurt more than you could have imagined. Your lungs ached with every sharp inhale. Eighteen, nineteen.

For the last one, she suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you to your feet before she pressed you face-first into the wall, holding you by your nape. “Think about what you did and what you can do better. If you can't breathe through your attacks, I will use pain as a distraction again. Maybe it'll help you more than whatever Daddy does to you...” She paused, then said: “Twenty.”

The hit came with a sudden whoosh, and you screamed, jolting forward against the wall, legs shaking, your skin burning, tight and bruised and hurting. “Tw-twenty...” you croaked out, holding your breath, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down your face.

As her words echoed in your head, you had to give it to her: you were indeed distracted. The stinging pain spreading just beneath the inflamed skin of your buttocks was thrumming through you in an unrelenting fashion, scorching pulses that burned through any other concerns or thoughts or doubts, emptying your mind. You couldn't even pick up on the slight poke at Daddy's seemingly useless methods of helping you through your anxiety attacks. Nothing mattered: just the cleansing sharpness of Mommy's cane.

“Good. You took it like a big girl,” she said behind you, her hand easing down your back, hovering above your warm skin. “Better than I expected. Doesn't look too bad either. Now take a cold shower, it'll feel better.”

With that she exited your room, leaving you trembling. At least you'd stopped sobbing now. For a long moment, all you could do was lean against the wall, trying to calm your erratic heart. Your throat was dry, cold sweat made you shiver. Your focus was still on the burning welts on your skin, horribly pulsing streaks all across your butt cheeks. You remember them vividly as you'd eventually inspected them in the mirror.

The cold shower was another torture, but afterwards you did indeed feel better, clean, cleared of your doubts, knowing that Mommy was right. You needed and deserved every single hit for making such a mess, for breaking down about it. As cruel and cold as she had been, you saw reason in her actions. She had to know what she was doing, of course she did, she was your Mommy, she only wanted the best for you.

In her own way...

Looking back though, you have to agree with Daddy. It has been too much. 'That sounds a bit excessive for a simple act of clumsiness,' he'd said. It has been, but of course you hadn't told him everything. Not as detailed as you'd liked. The anxiety attack, the uncontrollable sobbing, the hysterics. The inevitable tumble into the dark abyss, unable to come back out on your own. Mommy's cleansing slap and those cane hits... they had helped, brought you back, but...

But it still has been too much. And it has been different too. Usually when she disciplines you (she always tries to avoid saying punishment because you're not being punished for being anxious but disciplined for falling back into old patterns and allowing the anxiety to control you again), when she uses pain as a distraction, she cuddles you after, tells you what a good girl you've been, makes sure you're okay, but that time... she has just left. Something has definitely fueled Mommy's anger.

Shifting under the covers, trying not to put pressure on your butt (though whatever Daddy has put on your skin did help a little), you listen a bit closer to the voices from across the hall (you shouldn't, but it's hard to ignore them too). They're loud, as is usually the case when Mommy fights with Daddy. She is the fiery one, while he is the calmer counterpart, though he can be angry too, and loud. This morning, they are both equally agitated.

“She was being hysterical!” Mommy screeches.

“And you think twenty fucking cane hits will help with that? That's not how we should deal with her anxiety!” Daddy says, more or less calmly, but you can hear the emotion in his voice through the walls.

“She was calmer after...”

“Of course she was! Because she was in pain!” He is getting louder.

And she is getting quieter, which only means she's getting more emotional. “She can handle it...”

“You overdid it. It was too much. Don't let your frustrations out on her...”

“I did not let my – Ugh! I can't do this right now...”

There's a pause, then a door opens and shuts with a bang. It opens again. Now the voices are directly in the hallway in front of your door. Daddy's voice is quieter.

“What's the real matter here, babe?”

“Nothing...” Mommy sounds defeated.

“You don't just snap like that. Tell me.”

“I just had a bad day, it happens...” You hear footsteps pacing the wooden floorboards.

“Not like that. What happened?”

“Nothing, it's fine. I'll apologize to her, okay?”

“Good. But I'm not done with you...” His tone changes, even quieter, softer, a little challenge behind the words. A smirk.

Mommy gives a soft laugh, a bit flat but there's the same smirk in her voice. “Later, papito...”

When one pair of footsteps leaves along the hallway, your door is being opened quietly. You press into the covers, pretending to sleep. Your mattress dips, a hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Rise and shine, pumpkin,” Daddy whispers, leaning over you to brush his lips against your temple, the only part of you peeking out from under the blanket.

You turn slightly, blinking your eyes open, giving him a tired smile. “Morning, Daddy,” you mumble. He smiles back and gives you another peck, slowly working his way down your face until he meets your lips. He's braced over you, hovering inches away, and you sigh softly into his kiss.

After he comforted you last night (by letting you come on his thigh), he'd washed you and himself with a warm wet cloth, then tucked you into bed and left, promising to talk to Mommy. He didn't seem to have gotten behind her unusual burst of anger, but you trusted him to dig deeper. All in good time.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, carefully rolling onto his side, cradling you in his arms.

“Better,” you whisper. Your butt still hurts, is tense and tight and throbbing, but it'll be okay. You're sure.

“Wanna make breakfast with me? I'll supervise, you work?” he mutters, nuzzling your neck. You nod with a soft giggle. “I think Mommy would like a nice smoothie. Should be easy enough, right?”

He helps you out of bed, picks a soft yellow sundress for you to wear (decides on a white lace thong that sits comfortably between your bruised ass cheeks), then brushes your hair and puts it into a long braid that falls down your back. He tells you to brush your teeth, and you do, and when you're done, he takes your hand and leads you down to the kitchen.

There he raids the fridge for fresh fruit and vegetables and gives them to you to chop up before he helps you pour it all into the blender with some oat milk. It's fun to do this with Daddy, standing next to him as he lets you hit the button, as you watch how everything turns into a rather unappealing green slush. After filling the thick drink into a tall glass, he puts a metal straw into it and holds it, then nods for you to follow him back up the stairs to Mommy's room.

Your heart beats faster when you approach the door. He stops and hands you the drink. “You can do this, pumpkin,” he tells you and leans down to kiss your cheek. “It'll be fine. Anyone can have a bad day, so we shouldn't hold a grudge, right?” You nod, looking up at him with a timid smile.

Then he raises his hand and knocks on the door. You flinch at the noise, inhaling sharply. “Come in,” you hear Mommy's voice through the wood.

Daddy gives you a gentle nudge, whispering “See you later, kiddo.”, and then you open the door and slip into her room. She's sitting at the large vanity, watching the door through the mirror, a brush in her hand, her long black hair cascading down her back.

“Good morning, Mommy,” you whisper a little intimidated. “I... I brought you breakfast...”

She turns around on her chair, watching you, before she gives you a soft smile. “Oh honey, that's so sweet of you, come here,” she says and holds out her hand.

You walk towards her, placing your hand onto her palm. She pulls you against her, taking the smoothie from your other hand and putting it down on the vanity. “Listen, sweetheart, Mommy is –”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” you say at the same time, biting your lip. She smiles at you, her eyes crinkling softly.

“I know you are, baby girl,” she says. “But I am too. I shouldn't have disciplined you like that, it was too much. Mommy just had a bad day. I'm sorry for taking it out on you,” she adds quietly, wrapping her arms around you as she buries her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

You hug her back, still a little stiff, perched between her legs. “I didn't mean to disappoint you,” you murmur into her.

She shushes you. “It's alright. Water under the bridge, okay?”

A hum escapes you, and for a moment you just stand there, holding her as she holds you, her warmth seeping into your stiff limbs. Eventually you take a deep breath, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils, before you tilt your head a bit to look at her.

“Mommy, I... I want to make you feel good, uh, better,” you say in a breathy whisper. “If you have time for it...”

She chuckles softly. “I always have time for you, sweet girl. Might be best to take the day off anyway.” She pauses, then sighs. “Well, I can stay home, but I have to work through my emails. But that shouldn't be an obstacle, right, kitten?” she whispers, then slowly leans you back fully and smirks at you.

You feel your cheeks burning up, already sensing a little throb in your core at the prospect of making her feel good. Her hands grab your waist and push you away gently, allowing her to stand up. You realize she's wearing a black silk robe (and only that), open in the front, giving you a good glance at her perfect breasts and her smooth mound. You force yourself to look up into her face.

“Come with me to my office,” she tells you and grabs your hand, taking the smoothie with the other, and then guides you into the adjacent room.

You've been here a few times before, usually perched under her desk, so the rest of the interior doesn't really matter to you. It's a bright room though, large windows, floor to ceiling, letting in the already warm rays of the morning sun. There are bookshelves lining one wall, and a wild array of other stuff in front of another. You always wondered what it is that Mommy does, aside from being a successful business woman and establishment owner.

She definitely has a lot of hobbies. There are mannequins, a sewing machine, an easel and a bunch of canvases stacked behind it. A low table with painting supplies. A camera in another high shelf next to large books probably filled with photographs. And then there's the corner you don't like to look at often, where the cane hangs from a hook, next to a flogger, a whip, a paddle and other tools like gags and harnesses and belts. Sleek black leather accentuated with wooden elements.

Mommy sure is a woman of many talents. But none of that matters to you now as she motions you to crawl under her desk, a large space made of a long wooden tabletop sitting on two drawer shelves, it's open enough to allow whoever enters the room to have a good view beneath. It's where you spent your time before, whenever she works from home and asks you to keep her company.

It's been a strange request at first, but seeing her relax due to your presence and ministrations is always something you're looking forward to. As you crawl under the table top, she puts the smoothie down next to her laptop and sits down in her chair. Despite her chaotic corner of numerous activities, her desk is surprisingly bare. No clutter, just a lamp, some pencils and a notepad, her laptop and phone on it.

You settle right in front of her, and she doesn't waste a second before she spreads her legs, her robe falling open even more as she gently guides you between them. Her warmth and scent radiates off her when you get closer to her center. She shifts on her chair, getting comfortable but allowing you to reach her just fine. Her hand remains on your head as she tilts it so you can rest your cheek on her thigh.

Looking up at her, you see her smiling, her eyes warm and already darker than usual. “You really wanna make me feel good, baby?” she whispers, watching you closely. You nod eagerly as you shift on your knees, the heels of your sock-clad feet poking into your rear. The pain and tightness of the welts is still there, but you can ignore them for now as you focus on the woman in front of you.

She leans back, opening her legs further, her hands resting casually on the armrests of her leather chair. Her eyes stay on you as you approach her core, your hands reaching up to caress her inner thighs. You hold her gaze, your face already flushed from what lies ahead. Swallowing the excess saliva gathering on your tongue (your oral fixation flaring up), you lean in and up and press your lips to her flat stomach, slowly working your way lower.

She's calm, watching you closely, and eventually you break eye contact and close your eyes, focusing on kissing along her pelvis and down her smooth mound, going by feel and warmth alone. Your hands move around her waist as you settle between her legs, holding onto her as you bury your face in her sex. There's a slight shiver when your tongue teases along her slit, your lips brushing against hers, so soft and warm.

You pepper her labia with kisses, tilting your head slightly before you ease your tongue between them, dipping into her slick. Breathing into her, her scent filling your nostrils, you feel more little twitches, her thighs pressing slightly against your sides. You retrieve your arms and rub your palms against them, noticing the hint of goosebumps on her skin as you continue licking up and around her lower lips.

When you press your tongue against her hooded clit, she gives a soft little moan, enough encouragement to keep going, to dig deeper, to kiss and lick and nibble on her soft flesh until you feel her clit throbbing against your lips. You keep your focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking your tongue against it, closing your mouth around it, sucking it hard, and she grows more vocal, her hips jerking against your face.

She taught you early on how to properly satisfy a woman, not always on herself, teaching you about your own body as well. As awkward and embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, you are grateful to know what you know now, and you find pride in being able to get her off this easily. It only takes a few concentrated licks and nibbles, a bit of teeth grazing and a pointed tongue prod, and she is shaking in her seat, thrashing her head back as she claws at the armrests, loud moans echoing through the room.

Her first orgasm comes in waves, twitches of her thighs, her cunt pulsing against your chin as you keep sucking on her clit. You look up then, watching her come undone in front of you, under your ministrations. It sends deep shudders down your own body, settling low in your stomach, a throb to your own clit as you stimulate Mommy's.

You keep going, because she'd usually tell you when to stop, and it takes more than one orgasm for her to be fully satisfied. With your hands rubbing over her trembling legs, your mouth suctioned to her throbbing clit, you watch her, waiting for any indication, any hint of what she wants now. She's breathing harder when she meets your gaze, red spots on her cheeks, her bare chest rising and falling faster.

One of her hands moves down to your head, caressing your hair, playing with the braid. She doesn't say anything, just gives the tiniest of nudges, and you follow the hint and move from her clit down to her slit. She's a lot wetter now, and you lap up every drop you come across, savoring the sweet taste as you move your tongue between her labia, teasing at her entrance, the little flutter to her cunt not going by unnoticed.

You take long strokes from her hole to her sensitive bud, filling your mouth with her taste and essence, feeling her clit thrum and her cunt clench. Tilting your head down, closing your eyes, you press firmer against her, her labia enveloping your cheeks as you push the tip of your tongue against her entrance. She mewls softly, the hand in your hair tightening, as you start pushing your tongue in and out in quick succession, moving the muscle up and down, creating obscene squelching and slurping sounds that ring loudly in your ears, a motion she's taught you, shown you, done to you so many times.

You feel the drop of your own arousal in your underwear, your body tensing as you focus on the reactions of hers. With your tongue buried in her pulsing pussy, you use your nose to push against her clit in a steady rhythm, your whole face warm and wet by now as she clenches around you. Your hands curl around her legs, trying to hold them open, but she's twitching so hard you feel the tremors against the sides of your head as she tries to close her thighs around it.

It doesn't matter, you're in too deep, literally, only focused on her pleasure, her pleasure giving you pleasure, she could smother you right that instant and you wouldn't mind. Your head is blissfully empty, all you feel and taste and see and hear is her. She's getting louder, shifting on her chair, grinding her pelvis against your face as she fucks herself on your tongue, harder, faster, a desperate little dance you volunteered for.

And when she comes, she throws herself back into the chair, gasping breathlessly, her whole body spasming against you, thighs tight against your ears, taking another sense from you as you almost drown in her juices. Her cunt clenches hard around your working muscle, and you slowly pull your tongue out when she relaxes, lapping up what she gave you. You savor the little twitches, the uncontrollable jerks of her hips, the deep exhales from above you.

As you're still licking at her slit, she moves her hands to brush stray hairs out of her damp forehead. You look up at her, lips closed around her clit, when she smiles at you. “Well done, sweet girl, thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and raspy, the low cadence sending shivers down your spine. “That's enough for now.”

You lean back almost reluctantly, licking your wet lips, blinking your clumped eyelashes apart. You feel her hand wiping at your face, her thumb pressing into your mouth. You give it a tentative suck, your eyes on her. She looks calm again, relaxed, serene.

“Mommy's gotta work now,” she tells you, pushing her thumb harder onto your tongue. “Do you wanna stay with me while I do?”

You don't even hesitate when you nod, your hands finding her wrist as you suck on her thumb, the motion pulling you deeper into the safe space you enjoy so much.

“Do you want a toy to play with?” she asks, your mind momentarily wandering to the lowest drawer of her desk, filled with vibrators and dildos and smaller items to entertain you (and her). It's a tempting thought, but you shake your head, hollowing your cheeks as you give her digit another deep suckle.

She chuckles softly. “But I do need my hand, sweet pea,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a wink.

You blink at her, your mind too empty to comprehend her words. She caresses your face, then slowly withdraws her thumb. You're at least alert enough to lick up the excess drool dripping from your now unoccupied lips. Swallowing hard, you look at her, but she already knows the empty gaze you shoot her and guides your head back between her legs.

“Keep me warm and wet, hmm, baby girl? Can you do that?” she says softly, and you nod, already pressing your lips against her throbbing clit. “But don't make me come. I gotta concentrate.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you mumble against her, leaning your cheek against her thigh as you inhale deeply, taking in her scent. She closes her legs a little around you, caging you in, holding you tightly, and you melt into her, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good girl,” she says, patting your head before she shifts on her chair one last time. Her praise almost drowns out the quiet noises of her fingers flying over the keyboard as she starts working.

You relax into her, sitting on your knees, the hurt on your butt forgotten, the drying wetness on your face ignored, the tingle between your own legs unimportant. Occasionally you give her labia a few kisses or a gentle suck, licking up along her seam, but as your mind grows silent, you slip more and more into what Mommy and Daddy call subspace, a state of mind where there are no worries, where you're not anxious, where nothing matters but the warmth of the person next to you.

It's a peaceful place where you lose all sense of time. Snuggling into Mommy's cunt or suckling on Daddy's cock, no matter where or how or when, it's your personal reward for making them feel good, for allowing yourself to let go, an escape you wished you'd known about sooner. But now you do, and it's enough. A beautiful, blissful void, and you're floating, weightless, soft breaths and a steady heartbeat, sunken into yourself.

How you come out of it is usually a blur. A gentle caress to your cheek, a little nudge, some sort of physical touch that grounds you back to the place you've initially drifted off in. A deep exhale against warm skin, your cheek pressed between wet flesh, your own thumb wet and numb between your tight lips. Your eyelids flutter when you feel another caress, nimble fingers digging into your hair, soft presses to your scalp, a soothing little hum you slowly recognize as Mommy's voice.

“Wake up, mi amor,” she whispers from above you, her accent an extra vibration through your skull.

You inhale deeply, smacking your lips, or trying to, slowly lowering your hand as you blink your eyes open. Mommy's cunt is right there, soft and sleek, and it's an instinct to raise your hand again and caress her puffy labia.

“No need, sweet cheeks,” she tells you, but you keep pushing your fingers up and down her mound, head resting against her thigh, watching the lazy movements of your digits.

Mommy sighs loudly, but doesn't do anything to stop you after all. So you continue, dip your fingertips into her slick, teasing at her clit, as she relaxes into her chair, her hand stroking the side of your head. You rub and caress, prod and poke, eventually pushing a finger into her entrance, feeling the tight clench of her walls. Her soft mewls sound in your ears, when a sudden knock disrupts the peace, making you blink and realize you're knuckles-deep in Mommy's cunt.

Mommy just issues a noise akin to a sigh or groan, and the door to her office opens. You remain focused on her, plunging your digit in and out, curling it slightly, rubbing the pad of your finger along her squishy flesh until you feel her twitching against you.

“Is she still at it?” Daddy's voice sounds from somewhere behind you.

“She just came back,” Mommy whispers, her voice just a deep breath. “You know how she gets after, the insatiable little thing...”

You don't really register what they're saying, doesn't matter, all you see and feel and smell is Mommy. You add another finger and continue your motions, pushing in slightly faster, slightly deeper, pressing harder against her sensitive spots. She shifts in her seat, her hips bucking against your hand, her breaths more labored.

Footsteps round the desk, and as you blink against your haze, you notice Daddy's head next to Mommy's. He winks at you before he presses his lips to her cheek. She turns her head and uses her free hand to grab his nape, keeping him bent over to capture his mouth for a deeper kiss. “So you like me again, hm?” Daddy hums against her, and instead of answering him, she just kisses him harder.

You watch them as you finger Mommy, her wetness rivaling your own as they continue to make out. You squirm on your knees, chewing on your swollen lip, your fingers moving in and out of Mommy's clenching hole, and fueled by their soft groans and moans, you dive in again and close your lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves in front of you.

Mommy gasps, jerking against your face, and you keep watching her from under your lashes. Daddy holds her face while propped onto one arm, resting on the table above you. The way their lips and tongues meet is a sensual dance you enjoy watching more and more (which wasn't always the case). Now it only arouses you more, seeing them so intimate.

With your mouth tight around Mommy's clit and your fingers deep in her spasming cunt, you shift on your knees until you can press the heel of your foot against your own throbbing core, the sudden sensation making you moan softly. You keep a steady rhythm, dipping your fingers in and out, sucking on her clit, rubbing yourself against your foot, feeling how your arousal drenches the fabric of your panties, creating a delicious friction that makes your empty head spin.

You come at the same time as Mommy, though while your orgasm rolls through you like a gentle wave, hers is a ravaging waterfall, cascading down with power, and as you keep pumping your fingers into her, her cunt convulses, spraying you with jerky jets of her essence as she moans loudly above you, barely contained by Daddy's mouth, and even though you were quite irritated the first time she's squirted right into your face, you barely flinch now, lowering your mouth to lick up everything you can catch.

She shudders on the chair, slowly relaxing, and it's Daddy who appears next to you as he pulls you away from her quivering core. Her chair rolls away, and he kneels beside you, wiping a cloth over your drenched face.

“Well done, pumpkin,” he says softly, smiling at you. You blink your eyes into focus, your lips trembling without Mommy's warmth against them. “I think Mommy feels a lot better now, don't you, babe?”

A soft groan sounds from behind him in response. “Oh yeah...” she sighs.

“You earned yourself a reward, baby girl,” Daddy whispers, as he helps you crawl out from under the desk.

When you stand, he has to hold you, because your legs feel numb and tingling, fallen asleep from sitting on them for so long. The aftershocks of your own orgasm definitely add to the little unsteadiness as well. His hands cup your warm face as he looks down at you. You still feel like floating, head too empty to fully focus on him or the change of position.

A slurping sound echoes in your ears, and when you look past him, you see Mommy closing her lips around the straw in her smoothie. She winks at you when you meet her hooded gaze. Slowly you come back to yourself, a soothing warmth flooding your limbs and core. Daddy pulls you to the side, and you notice him sitting down on the edge of the wide desk, his hands on your waist as he nudges you between his legs.

“You with me, pumpkin?” he says softly, tilting his head.

You look up at him, your hands resting on his strong thighs. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, giving him a timid smile.

“My good girl.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before you tilt your chin up a bit more to meet his lips. As he moves his tongue against yours, slowly, sensually, you feel a presence behind you. Mommy's hands rub up and down your back, smoothing out your dress, before they disappear under the hem, and you gasp against Daddy's mouth when you feel her fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties.

She pulls them down slowly, crouching behind you, and you lift your feet automatically to step out of them. “Hmm, you enjoyed yourself already, didn't you, sweet girl?” she muses, leaning against you after she's straightened up again, her firm breasts pressing against your back.

Without breaking your kiss with Daddy, you move your eyes to see her dangling your drenched underwear on her finger. Heat crashes into your cheeks, slowly seeping down your body, and the arousal that's been draining into the bit of fabric of your thong, now drips out of you unrestrained. A garbled mewl escapes you as you rub your thighs together and squirm on the spot.

“Oh don't worry, darling, Daddy's gonna take care of the little itch, hmm, won't you, papito?”

Her voice is silky smooth in your ear, letting your eyelids flutter as your tongue wrestles softly with Daddy's. He watches you out of hooded eyes, his grip on you firm and strong, unrelenting. With Mommy still pressed against your back, sandwiched between them as you are, you feel her hands rubbing down your arms before she guides your hands between Daddy's legs, right to the not-so-subtle bulge in his pants.

He finally breaks the kiss, moves his lips along your cheek to your ear, his beard scratching along your soft skin, causing you to take a shuddering breath as you fill your lungs with air again. “Are you ready for me, pumpkin?” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips warm and wet, his breath even warmer. You shiver, and before you can answer, Mommy's hand slips around your front and down between your tight thighs, dipping right into your slick.

“Oh she's ready alright...”

“I've been asking her,” he says sternly, still nuzzling your neck, but clearly addressing Mommy, who sighs loudly and pulls her hand back.

You turn your head to look at him, biting your swollen lip, before you nod.

“Say it,” he whispers, meeting your eyes.

“I'm ready for you, Daddy,” you reply quietly. He raises an eyebrow.

You blush deeply, knowing what he wants to hear. Swallowing hard, you look down to where your hand is resting on his groin. “I'm... ready for your...” Another deep inhale, that flicker of shame rolling through your mind before you push it away again. “Your cock,” you whisper.

You look up at him, but he still watches you with a certain expectation, his eyes dark, his jaw set.

“I'm ready for your cock, Daddy,” you say again, still quiet, but it's finally enough for him. A smile breaks on his handsome face, and he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Do you think I'm ready for you too?”

You give his bulge a little squeeze, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric. “Yes, I think so,” you whisper.

“Let's find out, hm?”

He gives you a wink, and you start unbuckling his belt, then fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. Mommy is there, leaning in from behind you, helping with the task. Daddy stands for a moment and lets his two women pull his pants and underwear down his long legs before he sits down on the edge of the desk again. Mommy leaves you as she gathers his clothes on the back of her chair.

You look up at his face instead of at his angrily bobbing cock, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes. His hands tighten around your waist, and in the next moment he lifts you effortlessly, and you end up straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips, legs spread (almost) impossibly wide over his thighs, your crotch pressed tightly against his. Your hands find his shoulders as you adjust on his lap.

“Dress off?” you hear Mommy's voice from behind you.

“Hmm, what do you think, baby girl? Do you want Daddy to see how you bounce on his cock? How your little cunt swallows every inch of him?”

You inhale sharply, deep shivers crashing through you as he talks like this. “Yes,” you breathe out, and as soon as you do, Mommy's hands are there to pull the sundress over your head. Without it, you are left completely naked because he's (deliberately) forgotten to put a bra on you this morning. A tingle goes through you.

You shift on his lap, fingers curling around his broad shoulders again. He watches you, his hands rubbing along your sides before he puts them large and warm and heavy on your waist, his long fingers almost teasing your spine while his thumbs rub over your fluttering stomach. Behind you, another set of hands eases along your thighs back to your rear, and when Mommy touches the welts on your ass cheeks, you feel her lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, mi amor,” she coos. “I thought it wouldn't look so bad. Does it still hurt?”

You meet Daddy's gaze before you turn your head and try to look at her out of the corner of your eye. “It's okay, Mommy, it's already feeling better.”

“My brave little girl,” she whispers, planting more kisses along your back while her hands fully cup your ass now, the pressure sending jolts of pain through you but you force them down, try to ignore them as you bite your lip and take a shuddering breath.

“Look at me, pumpkin,” Daddy orders, and you do, stiffening on his lap. “This is for you,” he starts, his hands holding onto your waist as Mommy lifts your hips until you hover just above Daddy's cock. “You take what you need from me, okay? You decide the pace. Me and Mommy will do anything to take care of you.”

You smile softly at him, bracing on your knees, your thighs trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shoulders. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for being such a good little girl for us,” he replies, tilting his head as you squirm slightly on top of him, the tip of his cock brushing between your labia as you do so.

Before you can fully focus on indulging him (or letting him indulge you?), a last speck of doubt crashes into your mind. You blink at him, lips trembling, opening your mouth to protest, knowing you haven't been a good girl at all yesterday and have the marks to prove it, but he shakes his head, his dark eyes so intense any words dissipate right off your tongue. You close your mouth and swallow, nodding slightly.

And then you concentrate on him, looking down as one of your hands moves to close around his shaft as you guide him towards your entrance. It's taken you many months to get accustomed to his length and girth, a lot of training, a lot of tears, but by now you know that your body can handle him. Inhaling deeply, relaxing while also bracing yourself, you shift your hips (with Mommy's assistance) and lower yourself slowly, his tip pressing in, and with a sharp gasp you feel him slipping deeper.

They both guide you as you take it slow, steady up and down movements to ease him into you, small rolls of your hips, Mommy holding you from behind, Daddy's hands tight around your waist. He watches you, you can feel it as you focus on where his cock vanishes inside you. The strain and pressure is still a bit painful, especially since you let gravity do most of the work, but once he's settled deep in your core, filling you out completely, his tip pushing right against your cervix, you exhale a shaky breath and look up, seeing him smiling at you.

Mommy wraps her arms around your stomach, her warm cheek between your shoulder blades, allowing Daddy to cup your face and pull you closer. “Look at you,” he coos softly, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “How wonderful you fit around Daddy's cock. You were made for this, pumpkin. Made for me. My perfect little girl.”

You close your eyes, breathing against the tightness building low in your belly, your hands moving back up to his shoulders before you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of it. You focus on the way he smells, how his large hands cradle your head against him, how Mommy clings to you, their warmth all-consuming. And the way his cock sits inside you, warm and hard and pulsing, how another kind of heat throbs through your straining ass cheeks.

And you realize it is all meant to be. You are meant to have relapses, you are meant to be anxious sometimes, you are meant to disappoint them, it's only human to do so. What matters in the end is that they still love you, still care about you, still treat you like their little girl. They'll continue to discipline you, push you further and further out of your comfort zone, and it will only make you stronger.

As you start moving on top of Daddy, leaning back, facing him, using his shoulders as leverage to bounce slowly up and down, you can't believe how lucky you are to have found these people (or for them to have found you). All they ever did was take care of you, in a way nobody has ever cared for you before.

Warmth spreads inside you with every slam against his hips, your walls pulsing around him, your breaths hitching, your heart beating faster. Mommy guides you, Daddy holds you, their soft words of praise and encouragement like lullabies in your ears, your own mewls and moans leaving your trembling lips in rapid little puffs of air.

Your thighs are shivering under the strain, but it's easier with Mommy's hands under your rear, pushing you up gently, while Daddy moves you down again, every bounce going deep, filling and all-consuming, and soon you find yourself floating, the friction, the steady pain/pleasure mixture, the warmth and strength of their grips, it all adds to the flickering lights, and when they suddenly all explode into a million smaller lights, you throw your head back, letting out a drawn-out moan, a deep shiver, stiffening for a second before your body starts shaking badly as your orgasm crashes through you.

You slump against Daddy's chest, arms around his neck, your hips jerking against him, and now it's up to him to keep going. His arms are tight around your back as he shifts on the edge of the desk, Mommy's hands move around your front, rubbing down your fluttering belly before you feel her fingertips drawing tight circles around your clit. You come again, with another croaked moan, spasming against Daddy as he starts thrusting up in a steady rhythm that accelerates quickly.

Sandwiched as you are, you can only take it, and you do, it's what you do after all, you are theirs to play with, and it gives you strength and pride, a safety you need to keep your mind empty and your thoughts clear of doubts. Whimpering softly as Daddy hammers his cock into your convulsing cunt while Mommy practically bullies your clit, you slip from pleasure into bliss and back, always floating, wave after wave of soothing sensations rolling through your trembling body.

Low grunts fill your ears, Daddy's deep voice vibrating through you as he suddenly stills, holding you tighter, throbbing deep inside you before he empties his balls into your quivering depths. You gasp into his neck, feeling every twitch of his cock, knowing he's painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum. You relax into him as he relaxes beneath you, his warm breaths playing with stray strands of your hair.

You rub his back as Mommy rubs yours. For a long moment you just sit on his cock until it stops throbbing and softens slightly, the only sounds your rapid pulse in your ears and your combined breaths, before it's Mommy, who brings you back to reality. “Thanks for the show, you two,” she says as she walks around you. “I think I need a cold shower now.” You feel her hand rubbing along your ass cheek before she gives it a soft slap.

You jerk against Daddy, who groans, unfolding his arms from around you to lean them onto the table beside him. He inhales deeply, and slowly you lean back too, looking at him, knowing you probably look as disheveled as you feel. He smirks at you, moving one hand to brush a few hairs out of your sweat-slick forehead.

It hasn't always been this easy to let go and look the part and not be ashamed about it, but you learned to ignore it and enjoy the moment instead, the aftermath, the soft caresses and soothing words and gentle smiles enough to distract you. You lean in and press a kiss to his bearded cheek, savoring the scratch against your lips and the little hum he issues at the touch. He cups your face, thumb under your chin, and guides your head to meet his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Are you okay, pumpkin?” he whispers against your lips, his hooded eyes boring into yours.

You nod, leaning into him, shifting on his lap. “Yes, Daddy, never better,” you breathe, moving in again, and he lets you, a smirk playing around his lips.

You haven't always been as confident with him (or Mommy) as you are now. It's been a long, winding road, over potholes and embarrassment, around bends and back in a loop towards old patterns, up steep hills and down rough slopes, through shame and discipline, hurt and comfort. A journey that started in darkness, before these two people showed you just how bright life could be.

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

End notes: For now, this marks the end of the present-timeline, which was just a peek at what's possible within the confines of this story. Starting with the next chapter, we will continue the backstory arc, and Reader's journey into the world of BDSM and specifically Dd/Md/lg dynamics.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After you agreed to be their little girl, you're starting your first day in your new life. Surprises await!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Meeting Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Witcher warnings, mentions of death and pregnancy loss

Meant to post this a while back for October buttt I just came around to finishing it. Divider by firefly-graphics!

~~~

Geralt had long grown used to people's scrutinizing stares and hateful glares when he strolled through their towns, even while carrying the monster that'd been plaguing them for days or weeks. He received their coin with scoffs and murmurs rather than thanks for risking his life to help them but it hardly bothered him after so many years of the same repeated cycle. It was his duty, the job placed upon his shoulders the moment he stepped out of Kaer Morhen as a witcher for the first time.

Even then, as he listened to the stuttered directions of the young man pointing him toward where their monster was last seen, he felt the glares piercing his back. He ignored them, per usual, and climbed atop Roach with a grunt, his hands curling around the reins and tugging the horse in the direction he'd been pointed in. The townspeople claimed a ferocious beast roamed the town at night, snarling about with snapping jaws. They said chickens and goats turned up dead most often but some mornings, they found the torn corpse of an unlucky drunk. Many monsters came to mind but only one stood out to him amongst others.  

Roach snorted and stalled, her ears flicking about nervously and hooves stomping into the mushy dirt beneath them. Geralt slipped off the saddle and ran his hands along her neck, soothing her into calming down as he studied the woods surrounding them. With night quickly descending, he expected to hear the noise of nocturnal animals beginning to clamber out of their dens and homes, but he only heard the distant call of an owl and the quiet chirping of insects. 

"You'll be alright," He whispered to Roach as he tied her reins to the nearest tree, ensuring to give her mane a few more comforting strokes to ease the anxious stomping and huffs. "I won't let it hurt you." 

When night draped a blanket of darkness over them, Geralt fed sticks into his small fire until it grew bright enough to light the area around him. He waited, seated on the leaf-covered ground with his arm propped on his knee and one hand tightly clutching the handle of his sword. His ears picked up the crunching of sticks, loud enough to be purposeful but gentle enough to not belong to the fearsome creature he heard so much about. His attention darted to Roach to study her form, taking in her twitching ears and the way she began tugging at her reins with a certain desperation prey animals only had when around predators. 

"I heard there was a witcher in town," A voice murmured, and Geralt twisted around to look at the owner of it, eyes narrowing when the man drew closer and out of the darkness. To the inexperienced, he appeared as normal as a human but Geralt caught the glowing amber eyes before he stepped into the light and they morphed back to a shade of (E/C). His stance appeared casual but his eyes remained locked on him, barely paying Roach any attention as she grew rowdier. "I was under the impression the kikimora problem had been solved a year ago. What brings you here?"

"A monster," Geralt responded gruffly, his muscles tense and senses on alert. "It roams the night and frightens the townspeople."

The man stared at him in silence for a beat, the crackling of the fire and huffing of Roach filling the air until the corners of his lips curled upward, mockingly. The leaves and twigs crunched beneath his boots as he strode forward toward him, the light of the fire casting a warm glow over his figure and making him appear almost... angelic. "What makes a monster a monster, I wonder? Strigas will kill humans to feast but when a hunter kills a buck, no one calls him a monster for feeding himself. When you, Geralt of Rivia, are attacked and have to kill, they call you a butcher, but when a knight kills to protect himself he is a hero worthy of many titles and ballads."

"Why do you kill humans then, werewolf?" The man gave a quiet laugh, dropping down to his knees beside Geralt with a wide grin that exposed his four sharpened canines. Werewolf bites were hardly as potent as stories made them out to be but he'd heard the painful tales from witchers and hunters who'd been unfortunate enough to cross paths with the beasts drunk under the light of the full moon.

The werewolf's head tilted downward toward the sword Geralt held tightly and he reached out with a hand that grew (H/C) fur and nails that extended into claws meant to slice through flesh cleanly. He dragged the tip of his claw along the blade until he reached the handle, his hand returning to its human appearance and brushing over the back of Geralt's hand. No werewolf created from a curse or bite could control their abilities so finely, Geralt recalled from the teachings and stories, but one born from another werewolf could.

"To feast or to protect?"

"A group of humans will kill a family of werewolves, even an unborn child, under the guise of getting rid of a plague and be called fearless heroes... but a wolf avenging its pack and pup is a monster, even when he leaves innocents alone." 

Geralt's grip on his sword loosened and his shoulders sagged, with pity or perhaps relief, he wasn't so sure. His mind flickered back to Blaviken, to Renfri and her tale of vengeance on the man who'd taken everything from her. He'd advised her then to leave Blaviken and continue forth with the familial bonds she'd created amongst her men but she refused. His eyes flickered downward to Renfri's old brooch mounted on the hilt of his sword, a prickle of sympathy swirling in his chest.

"Tell me, witcher," The man's hand pressed over his, his thumb pushing and running over one of the veins along his skin gently. Geralt looked back at him, unable to rid himself of the caution still etched in his body despite his soft touch. Only silver could truly kill a werewolf, and this one had his hand near Geralt's only means of defense. Still, his eyes were alluring, and curious as they flickered over his rugged features. "Would you not wish to avenge your parents if they were slaughtered? Or your lover and child?"

"Witchers cannot have children." He thought of Cintra, and the Law of Surprise he'd accidentally stumbled right into with Duny and Pavetta. What had come of the child, he wondered. His unwanted destiny.

"Still, would you not believe it is justified?" 

Grinding his teeth, Geralt looked toward the fire. "What will you do once you have your justice? Killing those who've hurt you will not bring your family back, and the town will simply look for another hunter." He spoke, tentatively raising his hand away from his sword and resting it over his thigh to escape the warm touch. It'd been weeks, perhaps months, since he'd last felt a gentle caress. He found it easily addictive. 

"I will return home.. to the mountains in the north where I was born and raised. If the town chooses to repeat history, then I will gladly accept their vengeance for what I did to them." The man responded, scooting himself closer and nudging the sword away with his fingertips. His hands took Geralt's arm, fingers tracing some scars along his skin delicately and still curious. Geralt couldn't help but watch his fingers move so gingerly, fingers capable of transforming into powerful weapons. "You and I are the same, Geralt: despised for merely existing in a cruel world. Humans will always fear us for things we cannot control. I will always be a monster of the night and you will always be the Butcher of Blaviken."

"Then we leave these people and their town alone. We prove there is more to us than being monsters." It'd failed with Renfri, trying to persuade her away from what Stregobor made her out to be. From the way the man paused his movements and glanced at him, Geralt expected the same outcome. "You return to the mountains and live with the memories of your family until you create a new one." 

The werewolf frowned with knitted brows and peeled his hands away to unclasp his cloak, letting it slip down his back and pool around him. His fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, once white but now dirtied with mud and hints of dried blood. With the light of the flickering fire and his enhanced vision, Geralt spotted the scar along his abdomen. A silver weapon, or otherwise it would have healed as if it'd never happened. He took Geralt's arm once more, pressing his calloused hand against the scar but Geralt's focus drew to the warmth naturally radiating from his skin. 

"The men of this town did not care to learn about us. They did not care that my mother embraced my father despite his curse, despite knowing it'd pass onto their children; they did not care to learn that they named me (Y/N) when I was born and lived in constant fear that I'd be taken from them; they did not care to learn of how I warned Esra to stay away but she did not care whether I was man or monster... they did not care to learn we wished to have a daughter so we could name her after the aunt that raised Esra. They did not care for me, I will not care for them."

A steady silence consumed them both as they stared at one another, as Geralt battled internally between encouraging him to leave or accepting he'd do the same if he were in his position. (Y/N)... he seemed genuine but he thought back to the body he'd been shown. The image of a belly sliced open would forever be burned into the minds of the townspeople.

"Why haven't you killed all of them? You've killed three thus far and are still here. It would be easier than waiting to take them all out at once." 

"There are two more.. one seems to have figured it out and keeps to himself in his home. The paranoia will devour him eventually but the other... the other is away and I will not leave until he returns. I'm going to turn him into my kind, even if it takes more than one bite, and once he is cursed as my father once was.." (Y/N) grinned again, the angelic and almost innocent appearance disappearing, replaced by the look of someone who reeked of trouble. "The townspeople will take care of him for me. He will know what true fear and hatred is from those he once called his friends."

"Allowing you to infect a human with lycanthropy is-" 

Geralt knew he should have expected it, sooner or later, for werewolves were notorious for their speed and strength. In the blink of an eye, (Y/N) lunged at him with enough strength to knock the air out of his lungs and force him onto his back, pinning his forearms beneath his knees and holding the tip of his blade over his forehead. With his back to the fire and shadows cast over (Y/N)'s face, his eyes naturally gleamed with amber to adjust to the darkness.

Geralt stared up at him, his chest rising and falling as his mind caught up with what'd just occurred but unable to push away the thought of how startlingly beautiful he appeared.

"He took my Esra from me, my child.. be thankful, witcher, that I have not taken his wife and son. I don't wish to hurt you or anyone else but I will if you get in my way." 

The sword plunged into the soft dirt above Geralt's head and (Y/N)'s clawed hands came to rest above his shoulders, his knees sliding off Geralt's arms. Conflict bubbled and spread through Geralt's chest, threatening to fill his throat and make him choke. He had a duty, a promise to uphold to the townspeople and by extension the men, but he remembered the pure rage that'd flooded his veins when Renfri died in his arms with teary eyes and choked words.

(Y/N) peered down at him, vibrant eyes studying his face. "It's a shame, witcher, that you've come all this way for nothing. Under different circumstances, on a different night, I may have made it worthwhile." 

A breathless chuckle escaped the witcher, surprised to find a similar longing in his veins despite his position. His casualness in touching his hand and arm made sense to him now. How long had it been since he lost his lover? How long had it been since he craved to be held and desired? Tentatively, Geralt pushed himself up, forcing (Y/N) to slide further down and settle over his thighs. He'd sworn off involving himself in personal business the day Renfri died in his arms but now and again, he wondered what could have happened if he'd helped her in her cause against the wizard.

"I will be done with unfinished business soon, Geralt of Rivia. Grant me this without a fight and when the time comes, you may ask a favor of me in return." Despite his friendly offer, Geralt knew he had little choice. A single slice from his claws in the right place would kill the infamous witcher, leaving his body to be found by whichever courageous townsperson dared venture out in search of him. (Y/N)'s hand crept up to his face, reverting to their human appearance before pressing against his cheek. "Werewolves are good friends to have." 

"You say the one you wish to kill is away," Geralt recalled. "Track him down and be done with it away from this town, and I won't have reason to harm nor stop you."

(Y/N) pursed his lips, the glimmering amber fading into (E/C) as he considered his words. "Very well, then." He nodded, legs moving when he went to stand, only to surge forward and capture Geralt's lips. He pulled away before Geralt could react but not before a sharp canine caught his bottom lip, leaving a prickle of pain he hardly noticed. (Y/N) grinned, tongue swiping at the droplet of blood staining his lip.

"It's a deal, witcher. Safe travels."

The woods were eery and desolate, scarce of any noises that would otherwise entice one to trek through it in search of serenity. Yennefer's ears searched for noise, for the songs of birds or insects and the rustling of wildlife trekking through the brush. She recalled a saying, one about never entering silent forests, for it meant something was lurking within. 

She held onto the reins of the horse Ciri rode, tight and firm in case she needed to tug and usher the horse away from danger. After everything they'd gone through, she'd be damned if she let anyone hurt or take Ciri away from them. 

"Where are we going?" Ciri asked quietly, but despite the softness of her voice, it sounded as if she were speaking normally. 

Geralt remained silent, his muddied boots crunching down bushes for them to walk through until he stopped to crouch down by one. He plucked a patch of fur free from a branch and rolled it around between his fingers, wrinkles forming between his brows as he knitted them together. He stood and let the wind carry it further into the forest before he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and released it from its sheath. 

"We're almost there." He grunted, sparing them a glance over his shoulder. "Stay close."

Yennefer's mouth pressed into a line but she warily followed, pulling on the reins and offering Ciri a reassuring nod. The younger girl swallowed thickly and tightened her grip on the saddle, her green eyes beginning to flicker around the forest wildly. Yennefer hardly blamed her. She felt a pit of anxiety naturally forming in her stomach, her instincts beginning to urge her to turn around and return to the safety of the treeline. 

Then, she heard it, distantly at first and she almost wondered if she imagined it. But when the horse planted its hooves firmly in the dirt and refused to move no matter how hard she tugged on the reins, she knew it was very much real. "Geralt," She exhaled, twisting the reins over the horse's head so Ciri could take them into her hands. 

"Don't run," Geralt instructed them, both hands wrapping around his sword as he came to a stop a few feet ahead of them. 

In the distance, and growing closer, sounded like thundering footsteps belonging to something big. Whatever approached them was quick and the sound of wood creaking and snapping made goosebumps spread across Yennefer's limbs.

The horse neighed and stomped, tugging on the reins with enough strength to make Yennefer stumble. She pressed her hand against the horse's neck and muttered a quiet incantation under her breath, feeling the tense muscles relax beneath her palm. 

"Ger-" Ciri choked on her words and Yennefer whirled her head around to look forward again, her heart lurching at the sight of the beast pressing its paw over a thick log and snapping it in half. 

It approached them on all fours with bristled fur and bared teeth, its pink gums visible and sharp teeth on full display. Each step was heavy and left an imprint in the soft dirt, the branches of the brush around them taking soft clumps of fur as it walked by. It stopped two feet ahead of them and rose to its full height on its back legs, easily towering over them. 

"You remember me, don't you?" Geralt asked the beast and took one hand away from his sword to lift it toward the beast, slow and cautiously. "We met a while back." 

The beast's nostrils flared with a huff and it lowered its head toward Geralts hand. For a fleeting moment, Yennefer expected to snap its jaws around his wrist and tear it off his arm, but instead, it lowered back down to all fours with a soft thump.

A smile graced Geralts face and the werewolf stopped snarling, the spiked fur along its back lowering with a quick shake. Its ears remained perked and it eyed them curiously, its nose twitching with each deep inhale it took as if memorizing their scents. 

"You remember that favor you owe me?" Geralt asked as he ran his fingertips over the top of its snout, a rumbling sound emitting from its chest. "I need your help." 

Yennefer could only exchange a bewildered glance with Ciri as they began following the beast- (Y/N)- back to his home further up the mountain. Geralt provided them a simple explanation, a quick summary of how'd they met almost a full year prior before he'd met Yennefer or taken Ciri in. 

The trees eventually gave way to a clearing with a decently sized cabin in the center, and Yennefer's eyes naturally gravitated toward the grave markers near the treeline by the garden. She grimaced and looked away before her staring could be noticed. Part of her knew she wouldn't have to ask what happened; it was always the same tale.

Swinging one leg over the side of the horse, Ciri slipped off and landed beside Yennefer with a puff of air. "Is this where we'll be staying?" She asked, tucking her ruffled tunic back into the waistline of her pants and observing their surroundings.

(Y/N) turned his head back toward them and then mustered up the most unimpressed look Yennefer had ever seen on an animal when he looked at Geralt. The witcher gave a small grin, the first relaxed one Yennefer had seen in a while, and offered a half-shrug.

"You never specified what type of favor." 

[nnightskiess]

everytime you leave, part nine

₊° - 𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.

everytime you leave, masterlist

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𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

Yennefer's jaw tightened when Tissaia addressed the class the next day. She hadn't been able to put all the pieces together of the rambled words that had left your mouth through your sobs, but she'd caught enough to know that Tissaia de Vries had at least played a part behind them. She felt jittery, fueled by both her frustration and disappointment in herself for thinking Tissaia had warmed up to you both. Tissaia would praise the two of you in the confinements of her office, but then treat you like nonentities outside of it. It irked Yennefer to no end. And that, atop of how distraught she'd seen you, had switched something in her. Though, perhaps more than one thing had changed the night she'd awkwardly comforted you. Not only was she now as wary as ever of her rectoress, but she felt a sudden need to be mad at the woman in thousandfold in your name.

It was as if Tissaia had heard the young mage terrorise her in her head when she directed her next words to Yennefer.

"Tell me, Yennefer, what plant should never be used when the moon is in its last quarter phase?"

Yennefer nibbled her lip, not wanting to answer Tissaia, but not wanting to look like she didn't know the answer either. She had already looked enough like an incompetent fool.

"Datura."

"And when can you use it?"

"During a new moon. It can only be plucked and handled during that time. Once you've installed it into a potion, it can be drunk whenever."

"And what-"

"It alters the mind of the drinker, rendering them insane until the next moon cycle. Its link to the moon is why it has been closely examined in lycanthropy studies, but witchers have not endorsed the usage to kill such beasts, nor studied its effectiveness."

Tissaia gave her a thorough look, sizing her up, and then went on with her lesson. Yennefer couldn't help it when the corner of her mouth quirked up into a lopsided grin— her rectoress hadn't been able to catch her slacking off and embarrass her.

Her temporary gloating was crushed soon enough when she heard her classmates' giggles beside her. She was half expecting them to make fun of the eagerness with which she had answered, so it was a surprise to hear your name drop in their hushed conversation.

"You think she'll come back at all?"

"I don't, she's missed too much, and she was already a horrible mage to begin with."

Before Yennefer could interfere this time, Tissaia had already beaten her to it.

"What was that?" Tissaia's mouth was set in a hard line, eyes surveying the girls whose faces flushed.

Daena's cheeks reddened to the colour of a beetroot.

Tissaia pressed, "Enlighten us?"

Daena looked to her friends for confidence, desperately hoping that the lie she was about to tell would sound believable, "We were just worried about when Y/N will return to class."

Tissaia lifted her chin and looked down at the girls, having neared their desks, "Since you're so curious about her recovery, you will make notes for her during tomorrow's botany class. If she fails the task, then that will be on you for not paying attention."

"Like Y/N will learn shit from Daena."

Immediately, Tissaia's attention, and that of the whole class, was back on Yennefer. They watched with bated breath as student and rectoress were locked in a scrutinizing stare.

"And you think she would learn more from you?" Tissaia mused.

"Better than a mage who can't even differentiate elder runes from the new phase runes." Yennefer bit back, fixing both Daena and Tissaia with a teary glare. Daena's face flushed even worse— even she couldn't deny that perhaps she wasn't that much better in class than the girls she'd bullied. The first few weeks she had been able to pass each class with flying colours, but as they were starting to advance into more difficult stages of magic, she had begun to struggle.

"Enough," Tissaia seethed, eyes boring into violet ones. Yennefer huffed and slouched back in her seat, ignoring the stares from her classmates still directed at her. She'd said what she had wanted to say and put Daena in her place. And the whole class, including Tissaia, had heard her.

Yennefer trudged through the hallways, feet dragging across the floor in the uneven cadence of her steps. She passed the doors leading to the dormitories and up the spiral staircase to Tissaia's wing. The door to her office was already open, and Tissaia sat perched against her desk, waiting for her.

"That was quite a statement you made in class," Tissaia started, and Yennefer scrunched her face in confusion when the woman gave her a half-smile, "Well done."

"Well done?" Yennefer's voice was small.

"I heard all that they said. You did, too, I suppose?" Yennefer nodded, "Being part of the Brotherhood means sticking up for your fellow mages... it means showing bravery and speaking up when one is being unjust. You showed you had what it takes."

Yennefer knew she should've accepted the compliment, but her expression hardened, "If you heard them, why didn't you correct them? Aren't you meant to look out for us as our rectoress?"

"Their punishment is not of your concern, Yennefer. But since they're so inclined to help Aretuza rid of inept mages, they're going help me with a chore tonight."

Yennefer sat up on the edge of her seat, ready to speak up when Tissaia lifted her hand and gave her a look of finality— the conversation was over. At least, the topic had changed, for she narrowed her eyes during her next words,

"The boy you met... upon your arrival at Aretuza," She drawled out, taking her time, making Yennefer the slighest bit uneasy of where she was going with this, "The one you've gone to see now and then..."

"Istredd?" She wondered what the Ban Ard student had to do with this, or how Tissaia even knew about him at all. Though, perhaps she shouldn't question the reaches of Tissaia's eyes and ears any longer. Nothing went past that damned woman.

"What do the two of you talk about?"

Confused, and a little defensive, Yennefer said, "I thought we were encouraged to have good relations with the Ban Ard students?"

"What do the two of you talk about?" Tissaia repeated herself.

"Aretuza. History... the Continent. Chaos. The Elves."

"The Elves?" Tissaia reiterated, "Does he ask you things?"

"What things?"

"About your classes, your teachers, your fellow novices. Perhaps about new girls that came in? Or maybe things about yourself?"

Yennefer made a face, unsure why any of that was of relevance.

"Does he?"

"No, no, he doesn't, I don't-"

"I am going to give you a task. Do it well, keep it between us, and you'll gain more than my trust."

Yennefer perked up, captivated with her promise, awfully aware that a woman like Tissaia wouldn't just make a task like this if it wasn't serious. And if it was serious... it meant she already had a part of Tissaia's trust, for why else would she assign her with the task?

"Yes...okay."

"I want you to keep your ears open whenever he asks you something too personal, something out of the ordinary. When he sticks his nose where he shouldn't. Can you do that for me?"

"You think he's ungenuine?"

"I think that he's been asked to do the same."

Yennefer frowned, "What? Spy on me?"

Tissaia only nodded.

"Why?"

"Because that is what happens. Here. At Court. All around the Continent. You are no longer a nobody in a pigpen, you are a mage and part of a Brotherhood. Do not act so surprised."

Surprised was an understatement. Yennefer was stunned at the significance and secrecy of what her rectoress had just told her. But what she had asked her, was plaguing her that much more. In theory, it was a simple question, able to be answered by a quick yes or no. And what was asked of her was, in fact, simple too— she only had to keep her ears perked and run to Tissaia if there was anything to inform her. Though, that meant that she, from now on, had a double agenda whenever she was going to see Istredd, the young man who had been accepting of her from the very start. Had all that just been pretend?

Tissaia woul've been able to read the worries on Yennefer's face, had she not heard the girl's voice echo in her own mind. She had to give her an incentive.

"Show me you're capable and I'll take your help into consideration when you ascend."

Immediately, all doubt disappeared from Yennefer's mind, "When?" It had only been a matter of if in her mind, up until now.

"When," She confirmed, "Is that a yes?"

Yennefer nodded, words disappearing on her. Rectoress De Vries was offering her the out she had dreamed of years before she even knew Chaos existed within her. She sighed, the realisation that, finally, she would get the chance to be beautiful and start over was nigh.

Tissaia's mouth curved into a gentle smile, "Now take this scroll to Y/N. I want her to prepare for her return next week."

Yennefer stood in front of your door, uneasily toying with the scroll in her hands. The last time she'd stood there, she'd heard you cry and her morality had been put to the test. Her ears perked in case she heard any more sniffles so that she had a reason to run away, but something was keeping her standing and having her knock on the wood. Out of the handful of times she'd been here in front of your door, feeling curious, frustrated or calm, she'd never felt what she was feeling right now— nervous.

It stayed silent, so she knocked again, adding,

"Y/N? I have something for you. It's from Tissaia. For your return to classes next week."

Yennefer had not needed to announce her presence, for you had felt her energy approach the second she'd entered the hallway. You'd noticed the change whenever she walked by or into class after the first few days of being at Aretuza. The air would change, your Chaos always had a mind of its own, and a soft buzz would ring through your ears.

With careful steps, you approached the door, opened it, and peered outside to see Yennefer's crooked and unsure smile greet you. You remembered when you'd last seen her, how she'd awkwardly shuffled out of your room once your tears had dried. She hadn't said a single word. It seemed she thought of the same moment, her eyes examining you from head to toe to make sure you were in a better predicament this time.

You opened your palm, expecting her to deliver whatever she had for you and be on her merry way again, but she shifted her weight to her other leg, unsurely, and asked,

"Can I come in?"

"Why?" Left your lips before you could think about it, and Yennefer sighed in exasperation, patience gone with the wind.

"Because it's important. Will you?"

You further opened the door and Yennefer walked past, waiting until you had closed the door to weed out any unwanted listeners to turn around and face you. She discarded Tissaia's scroll on your desk and looked at you, her expression a little indifferent when she shrugged,

"You missed a lot," Yennefer stated, matter of factly.

"I'm aware of that."

"Too much, in fact." She went on, making you uncertain why she was here, if not to make you more insecure and worried.

She started to awkwardly fumble with the sleeve of her blue garments, put her hand in there and wiggled something out. She held her shaking hand outstretched— three small pieces of parchment were crumpled up in her hand.

Albeit confused, you took them, releasing them as notes and tips scribbled down in Yen's handwriting.

"Botany class about the use of Datura in potions."

"But you hate botany?" You looked at the notes, sparing her a quick glance, unsure why she would willingly write this down.

Yennefer chuckled wryly. You were right. She did. Chewing plants and mixing stems with leaves was a yawn fest at best, but when Daena failed to show up during the class where she was supposed to take notes for you, a slight worry had started to set in. Without Daena's notes, you would fall behind even more, which would inevitably lead to problems with Tissaia, which was never a good thing and could maybe even lead to... another disappearance? The thought had made her make up her mind in an instant.

A breathy laugh escaped you at her sudden, but welcome, act of kindness, "Why help, though?" You gave her a look, "Not that I don't appreciate it, I do, I really do, but I vividly remember you telling me that the less competition you had, the better."

It was true. Yennefer had said that. To your face, during one of your one-on-one study sessions all those weeks ago when you'd asked her for help. In fact, she'd still say it... but to anyone else but you. There was a kindness... a tenderness to you that none of the others had shown her. Sure, Anika had shown her empathy, but was that because she was on the bottom of the chain too and Yennefer was her last resort of a friend, or because she genuinely appreciated having her around? Because she'd seen you be put to the test on your first week. If she remembered correctly, and she always did, you had stuck up for her in front of two of the most popular girls in the school without even properly knowing her. It still bugged her. You had been different from the start. To think that you thought she wasn't on your side, worried her. Had she really been that harsh towards you?

Her voice was meek and the shy Yennefer peeked through, "You think I see you as competition?"

You looked at her, a mock scowl on your face, but saw Yennefer hadn't said it with her usual snarky bite, or the sarcastic quips she used as soon as she went into defence.

"Wait, you're not helping me so that I'm in your favour, right? Because whatever you're up to— no, I'm not into it." You tried to push the pieces of parchment back into her grasp, but she pushed your hands back.

"I was actually counting on you helping me tear this entire place apart." The indifference with which she spoke, had you worrying a bit.

"You still want to leave Aretuza?"

Maybe she once had but, no, not any more.

Yennefer shook her head, "No. I've come to realise it's of no use to leave before I've learned everything I can. If I want to be powerful, I need to stay." She watched you carefully, examining the tiniest changes on your face, "You?"

"I can't leave, I told you."

"And why's that?"

"Same reason." You shrugged, turning to walk to your desk—  the scroll Yennefer had brought you suddenly seemed extremely interesting.

"The truth now, please." Yennefer rolled her eyes, approaching you and reading along with you over your shoulder. Tissaia had given you a scroll about elemental magic again? How air could help put out-

You turned around to block her view the second you felt her behind you, eyebrows rising in surprise at her proximity, "It is the truth." You fought with the strap to tie the scroll close, "And... well, I've got friends here now."

Yennefer's face contorted in disgust, "Who? You call those girls your friends?"

"No, but the ones that bring me notes from class... I do consider friends."

The raven-haired girl turned away from you, not wanting you to see how badly you'd taken her off-guard with that, but her silence and distance were proof of their own.

A gentle hand on her deformed shoulder made her turn. You stood there, mouth twitching into a gentle smile, the large book Tissaia had given the two of you weeks ago to read together tucked against your chest.

"I've done some reading," You strode to your bed against the wall in the corner, then gestured for Yennefer to follow you when she kept staring at you goggle-eyed, "I can share my notes with you, too."

"Why?" Yennefer wondered.

"Because that's what friends do."

Yennefer grumbled as she pushed against the door with her shoulder. It was stuck in the frame for the umpteenth time, and she'd had enough. With her palm outstretched and a muttered incantation, a gush of telekinetic wind as powerful as a Witcher's Aard blew the door off its hinges. It clattered against the wall on the other side, where it fell into several pieces.

"Gods- Yennefer?!" You gaped at your friend who stepped in and made her dramatic entrance, a twinkle of mischief and pride in her eye from the stunt she'd just pulled.

"Are you going to tell Tissaia what happened to my door or will you let me suffer that one on my own?"

Yennefer waved you off as she looked at the mess she'd left, "You should thank me. Now they have to fix it."

"I quite liked it getting stuck... it kept out unwanted visitors," You bit back, but Yennefer noticed the ghost of a smirk dancing on your lips as you flipped through your book.

"Hmpf," She kicked a broken wooden slat out of her way and approached you. You were sitting on your bed again, against the wall, the place you'd made your own and the place she usually found you at, despite your perfect four-legged chair.

You put the book you were reading down on your lap, "You do know how cold it gets here during the night, don't you? These halls aren't part of the heating enchantment."

"Maybe you can room with Florence or Sabrina, now that Jutta and Daena still haven't returned after realising how shit they really were." She gave you an amusing glance, but the mention of them warped your attention.

"Don't you think it's weird, though? That no one ever said a word about it?"

"That's because they're afraid they'll be next. This place is fuelled by fear. I'm just grateful for the fact we no longer have to deal with them at all. What's that, there?"

"A book," You showed her the cover, ignoring how she rolled her eyes at her implied stupidity, "About the Isle of Thanedd and Gors Velen."

"Why would you ever read that voluntarily?" She plopped down beside you.

"Well, the weather's getting softer, so I figured Belleteyn must be close. I wanted to know if it's celebrated here. I don't think we ever celebrated it properly back home, but there was always a bonfire on the outskirts of our village and we feasted on our latest harvests. And we decorated our house with the first flowers of the year, too."

Yennefer watched you gush, your mind away in a fond memory.

"Belleteyn?" Her voice was barely above a hushed whisper, something like hurt softening her words. Then she exhaled loudly, frustrated and fed up, "It's a shit holiday." She grumbled, ignoring how your enthusiasm had faltered.

"You don't like it?"

Yennefer made a sound of indifference and folded her arms together, staring out your window at the clouds travelling through the clear sky.

"Have you ever celebrated?"

"No."

You rolled your eyes. This was typical Yennefer— judgment at the ready for almost anything. If she had her mind made up about something, there was no coaxing her to see things differently.

"Then how-"

Yennefer turned to face you, swiftly, "I don't want to fucking talk about Belleteyn, okay?!"

Her sudden change stunned you, but only momentarily, for you were no stranger to such bursts from Yennefer now and then.

"Hells, fine then." You stood up to close your window, stopping the breeze of the sea below from getting in, "If you only come here to destroy my door and yell at me, then I'd rather you just leave."

Yennefer looked up at you and nibbled her lip, the gesture making her already tight jaw even more tense. She realised she'd been too harsh... again, and though you usually forgave her outbursts and had started to find a way to work around them, she was afraid if she pushed too hard, there would come a day when you wouldn't be so tolerant anymore.

"I just don't like Belleteyn." She clarified, a little less agitated now. You knew better than to ask why, so you watched and waited to see if she'd continue on her own. Ever since becoming cautious friends with Yennefer, you had started to read her tells and quirks. You knew when she was testing you, and you knew how you could test her in return. It was a soft push and pull, like a dance to see who would be the first one to come out blank on the next move. Despite your lack of experience, you had always liked to play and dance. That was exactly how you could now see she was going to start retaliating soon.

Yennefer picked up a random book from the pile on your bed and started going through the pages. You sat down next to her again, keeping silent, and continued with your study work, glancing her way every so often to see how she had buried her face in the book, away from your view.

"I don't like Belleteyn," She mumbled into the pages, and you sensed the continuation of her sentence wasn't far away, "Because it was the day I was born." She revealed, and continued, leaving you no room to reply to her pathetic confession with questions or comfort, "And aside from the fact that my life's been shit ever since then, we also never celebrated."

"Your family didn't do something for you on your nameday?"

"My step-father's a pig farmer, he didn't want to spare a single coin on all that nameday fanfare."

"That's not a good enough reason," You frowned, slowly pulling the book down so you could see her, "My parents grow... grew," You swallowed, pushing the thoughts away for the sake of comforting your friend ", vegetables on our little patch of land to sell, but my father always made me a little figurine from wood on my nameday and my mother baked the most delicious-"

"I get it. You were loved. I wasn't."

"That's not what I-" You gaped at her, realising your mistake, "I'm sure your mother-"

"If she loved me, she wouldn't have let my step-father treat me the way he did. Nor look the other way whenever he treated me like the fucking cattle he sold." Yennefer scowled at you now, pleased it had shut you up. You had tried to comfort her, but you didn't know her past. She bit on her lip to keep it from quivering, not wanting to show her weakness.

"I'm sorry." Was all you could offer her.

Yennefer jumped when you squeezed her arm.

"I don't need your fucking pity. I just need you to never bring up Belleteyn again."

You bit the inside of your mouth, trying to school your features and mask the worry and the hurt you were feeling. Yennefer scooted away from you and your comfort. Again.

"Did I hear Belleteyn?" A voice drawled before a figure appeared in your doorway, cutting the moment short, though the tension still lingered. It was Celestia. The light-haired mage dawdled, warily eyed the broken door on the floor before turning back to the pair of you, "It is such a lovely holiday...if you celebrate the way it should be celebrated."

She saw the puzzlement on your faces, "You know...it's the beginning of summer... a harvest holiday, yes, surely," she rolled her eyes, "When really, it's the holiday to find new romances. To celebrate love, lust and fertility. Oh, did you not know? Have I ruined it now?"

Celestia grinned mockingly, "Of course, that's not how you celebrate where you boors are from, but it's how we do it in the cities."

Yennefer balled her fists, and you sat up straighter, eyes narrowed at her judgment. Sure, you hadn't lived in a city like Novigrad or Toussaint, but you'd loved your life in the countryside. It was simple, often tough and challenging, but you'd had freedom. You'd had nature all around you. And, most importantly, you'd had the comfort of your family. You didn't need fancy buildings, cobblestoned roads, market stalls and bards from all over to be satisfied.

"A couple of other mages and I are sneaking out into the city. I'd ask you two to tag along, but I'm not sure you have the guts to do so behind Tissaia's back."

"I do."

You pulled Yennefer back by her sleeve, "Don't." You hissed.

"On second thought...hm, I don't think I should." Celestia tutted, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips, anticipating whatever she was going to say next, "I fear you'd get lost in such a city, you know, without any sense of direction. There'll be no heaps of manure to place where you are," She waved her rude comment off, "I jest. Truthfully, the reason I shouldn't is because you're way too young and innocent for such a festival filled with love and lust. Well, you are." Celestia nudged her chin your way, and as her eyes turned to Yennefer and clearly observed her deformities, it was unmistakable what she was insinuating— Belleteyn wasn't a place for girls with hunchbacks, crooked jaws and an uneven step, because there wouldn't even be a single person interested to lock lips with such a monstrosity.

"And you... well, I'm sure we'll find a willing donkey."

In an instant, Yennefer reeled forward with a growl. You sprung to pull her back immediately. Yennefer yelled and protested to be let go, but you tightened the grip of your arms around her middle, watching as Celestia disappeared into the hallway again after a final smirk and a wave. Yennefer struggled against your hold, cussing out both you and Celestia in the same breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed yourself against Yennefer's back, "She's not worth it, Yen."

Yen...

A name you had never called her before. No one ever had. Not even Istredd, who had stuck to calling her Yenna. She'd let him, because she didn't like the abbreviation of her name anyway and it was better than all the other names she was used to. But Yen... Yen was sacred to her. She didn't know why, but maybe it truly was because no one had ever called her that. It had only ever been crooked girl, piglet, lunatic, and all the other names she rather forgot about. It had never been just Yen.

Her chest heaved, still, but you felt her muscles relax. When you deemed it safe, you let Yennefer go. She pushed herself off you with a heavy force, almost sending you stumbling into the wall.

You held your hands up, sensing you hadn't yet pulled her out of it.

Yennefer stared at you in bewilderment and fury, her eyes swimming with emotion. She was ready to whirl out a plethora of horrible words and magic spells. And she was going to, hadn't she looked at the sincerity in your eyes. You seemed upset, but not so much at her, but at the fact she was upset, at the fact that someone could be so vile and hurt someone else. Yennefer's head reeled, thousands of thoughts and emotions all pierced through her at once. It was too much, too much for one person, and certainly too much to handle now. She stopped herself from making the upset frown on your face grow and stormed out of your room instead.

Hours later, you hoped that Yennefer had calmed down enough to let you check on her, but she didn't answer her door. Either she wasn't ready to let anyone in, or she was where every other mage currently was. It was a place you hadn't been in a while, with your small inconvenienced break from classes— the central hall during supper.

You weren't too keen on having a plethora of eyes locked on you, so instead, you peaked through the curtains of one of the alcoves, eyes scanning the many heads seated around the tables. You weren't ready to face the others yet, but you'd seen the pain in Yennefer's eyes when she had once again been hurt by one of your peers, and you'd felt uneasy ever since. Surely it was your own anger at the situation that made you jittery and itchy. It was starting to make you restless, and you hadn't even been the one at the brunt of Celestia's comment. So, if you wanted to quell your worries, you needed to find Yennefer. But there was no raven-haired mage sitting in the central hall. There were others with black hair, but none of them gave the familiar blue and green shimmer of Yennefer's mane whenever the light reflected just right.

She wasn't there, though you'd known that before even walking in. There was always a certain hum in the air when Yennefer was around. You'd noticed so during your many hours spent trying to tackle Tissaia's tasks in her office. It wasn't an annoying hum. More like a soft one in the background, ever-present but calming, like the waves lulling you to sleep every night.

You walked through the halls of Aretuza, in search of said hum, stopping on every corner to recalibrate your sense of direction. You knew Yennefer often disappeared, but where to, you had no inkling. Despite the gap between you two growing smaller and smaller each week, you figured you would grant her that space and privacy. Frankly, you didn't even want to know where she was when she disappeared. You wanted her to have her own place to unwind, a place where no one could disturb her and where she could be herself. That, and, you weren't so sure how she would take it if you were to find her sacred place.

Then you sensed it—  the hum. It was accompanied by a faraway buzzing you could feel in your ears and throat, and your feet listened to the way they got pulled left, right, up the stairs, outside and-

You stopped within an instant.

The wind made your hair fly in your face and your garments danced with every gust. It was a kind of wind that could be considered way too feisty for mid-April. It was cold too, despite the sun being out mere moments before. Its chill nipped and cut at your face with each blow, and it made the wooden bridge connecting the settlement of Aretuza to the Tower of the Gull in front of you wobble. The water, though far and far below you, crashed loudly against the shore. It smelt fresh, and yet it also smelt of a brooding storm—  dark, ominous and earthy.

Then there it was again—  the pull. You didn't want to let it guide you. And you shouldn't want to, not when it would lead you out of the safety of Aretuza. Yet, you knew you ought to. You needed to know. To indulge in the feeling even further. To dip your toes and then maybe your entire foot. To wrap yourself in its warmth.

Abruptly, an uncontrollable urge washed over you, engulfing you and making you take your steps forward. The rope of the bridge was tattered and rough as you held on when the wind made the bridge bounce through its breaths. None of that seemed to truly matter now, not when you could feel yourself closing in on something.

During a momentary relapse, a sense of realisation, you managed to look backwards. Panic struck you as you realised you had almost crossed the entire bridge already. No one was out there, not even one voice was screaming your name to get back in an instant. You knew you weren't supposed to wander through Aretuza on your own, even if it was your new home. Then again, they hadn't exactly locked doors or passageways to constrict you from going somewhere. And no one would miss you. You were in your room. Resting.

Your hands trembled as you reached out to the door of the tower. It was engraved with swirls that were meant to duplicate the whirls of wind and the waves below. The doorknob was that of a gull with its wings outstretched, its head and beak a means to open the door. Only, the door was already open. Slightly ajar, but open nonetheless.

For a second, you waited, ready for the inevitable spell that was protecting this place to force you back, but nothing happened. Your eyes wandered up to the tip of the colossal tower. It was even higher than Aretuza itself. You hadn't seen it up close yet, aside from the glances you'd taken through the window during some of your classes. The sound of the waves and the wind was deafening now that you were out on the open sea. It had numbed your ears to the sound of the familiar hum and buzz. So, you rushed inside, the wooden door behind you clattering shut in its hinges as the wind sucked it back out. The loud bang clattered against the walls of the space before you.

It was dark inside, aside from the occasional lit lantern. It was wet and draughty. Muddy, even. The smell reminded you of the riverbeds back home after a heavy rainstorm.

While your eyes adjusted to the limited light, you saw no fancy tiled floors or decorated walls. These halls were truly cut into the mountain. Maybe by magic, but perhaps by hand and shovel, going by the unevenness of it all. As you stood there, in near darkness, you realised your sense of direction had disappeared. The hum had evaporated into thin air the second the door had been slammed shut. You could only stand there now, letting unease start to creep in at the realisation of what you'd done and where you were. You were a mage, a student. You had no right to be in the Tower of the Gull, unsupervised and unannounced. Tissaia would be furious, if not see this as an act of defiance again.

Quick footsteps echoed across the halls, nearing... and fast. Was it coming from your right? Your left? Or from the dark hall in front of you? There was no hiding here. Still, you deemed it better to pick one, hoping the odds were in your favour. Then, the hum reappeared, and, without thinking, you hurried through the left lane. You didn't move about soundless, your feet stepping into puddles and on the pebbled floor beneath them.

The footsteps started to blend together with those of your own, your panicked breathing adding to the mix. Your shadows cast dancing figures on the muddy walls as you hurried through the cave-like hallway, until they started to dance with someone else's.

Shocked at the person suddenly dooming up in front of you, you reared back.

He let out a sound of surprise. When his initial fright had been subdued, he opened his mouth,

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" His tone was direct, demanding, yet curious all the same. However, he betrayed himself when you sensed his heartbeat thump in a way that could only mean he was afraid, too.

You couldn't see his features clearly in the dim lighting, but the fire from the lantern sparkled in his light eyes, his silhouette slender and poised.

"Did she send you?" He pressed when you kept silent, having been unsure of what to answer with. He grabbed the lantern from the wall and held it in front of your face, shining light on you to force you out of the dark. You squeezed your eyes shut, the light blinding you and making the person holding the lantern a vague and blurry figure.

"You're a mage." He noted, noticing your familiar wedgewood blue garments. Intrigue found his voice, before he announced resolutely, "You should go."

He lowered the lantern, and you could finally see the man. His face was as clean-shaven as a young boy before puberty, his eyes wise and kind, jovial even, but his clothes betrayed he was a Ban Ard student.

From behind him, the sound of rumbling and clattering could be heard. The young man looked over his shoulder, then back at you. Without another word, he rushed past you, head held down and steps as fast as how he had approached you. Clearly, he was eager to leave.

As the clattering commenced, you had almost made up your mind to follow his example and leave until you heard a growl. It was human. And it was filled with frustration and with pain. You recognised it— because it had come from Yennefer.

Your feet hurriedly led you towards the sound of destruction, and as the passageway neared its end, you stepped into a clearing. Rain clattered down through the opening in the middle of the rocky ceiling. Fires were lit here and there, dusty scrolls were scattered on a table dug out from the mountain.

Finally, after all this searching, there she was— Yennefer, with clenched fists, heaving breath and a wild look in her eyes. She looked enraged, but you knew it was only the reflection of her pain. A strangled sound came out of her throat before she let herself slide onto the ground.

You stood there, wondering if it was morally improper to turn your back on the young woman now. She had been there for you during your lowest moment not that long ago, and though, sure, she'd only awkwardly sat there with you, she had been there, doing her best.

Slowly, you approached, hoping she would hear you so that you didn't have to make the announcement yourself, but it seemed she was so caught up in her emotions that you had to put a hand on her shoulder to pull her out of it.

She flinched, turned around wide-eyed and crawled herself away from you across the floor. It was clear you'd been the last person she had expected there by the look in her eyes.

"Fuck off!" She spat, immediately shielding her face from your view as she fixed herself, covering it with a curtain of her raven locks of hair.

"I was looking for you," You stated, calmly, in a similar way to how one never handled a hurt animal with an iron grip either.

"Oh," She huffed, taunting you, "Come to tell me they found a willing donkey?" She shot back, teary eyes full of fire as she fixed you with a steely glare.

"Yennefer," You approached, but she stood up.

You took a small step closer, and you were grateful that she remained in her place this time, "I came to look for you to see if you were all right."

"Why do you care?"

"I'm your friend, of course I care."

"Friend?" She puffed, "Am I so pathetic that you think I need a friend?"

Your face fell, "Everyone does. You're human, we all want to have someone in our corner...and you can't just go on and pretend nothing ever hurts you."

She snorted at your empathic approach. You could hear she had been crying, going by her stuffy nose, and you could see the faint shimmer of tears still on her face.

She withheld herself from commenting on your sincere words and kept herself busy by reorganising the stack of scrolls, "How did you know I was here?" She quirked a brow, sneaking a glance your way. Only she and Istredd knew to meet each other there. Well, and Tissaia, however she had found out. That woman seemed to know everything.

"I don't know. I had a... feeling?" Sounding unsure yourself, you stepped to stand beside her, watching Yennefer's nimble fingers shake as they tied a string around one of the scrolls.

"You found me. Go now."

"Yen..."

"My name is Yennefer." She wiped the snot and spit off her face with her sleeve.

You gently pulled the scroll out of her hands, which were ice cold from having been in this damp cave for too long.

"Go!" She shouted upon the contact, rearing back like she'd burned herself from your touch, "And it would do you good to leave me alone unless you want to forever be associated with me." She spat through gritted teeth, pushing you away with her words. Still, she let you take another step closer. Step after step, you had managed to stand in her aura. And not even just now, you realised, but throughout the past few weeks, too.

Yennefer snarled when she came to the same realisation, but then her expression softened. She had seen your face change at her words, and she hated how she was hurting you. Having to let you down was adding to her pain, but she knew no other way, "I don't want to be your friend, and especially not because you pity me. Leave."

"That's not how I see you, why would I pity you?"

You'd made your mind up— you were not letting her send you away.

Yennefer growled at your refusal to leave her be and slammed her hands onto the table, "You're fucking insufferable!"

"And you're a delight?! You're acting like a child right now, you know that?" You crossed your arms and glared at her, having enough of her aiming that your genuine attempt to check up on her was but a mere trick. Then, your features softened when realisation dawned on you... people probably had tricked her. Often. Perhaps even all the time— masking their tricks as good deeds and promised friendships only to then laugh in her face at her pathetic faith that they were genuine about her.

"Yennefer," You began, hoping you could coax her to look at you, but she wasn't having it, "What she said was wrong. What they all say is wrong. How they have treated you your entire life is wrong. How they can't seem to give you a chance is immoral. But you are also wrong. Right now. You are." You gave a nod of finality, wholeheartedly keeping to your words.

Yennefer's gaze finally darted towards you. She was frustrated with you, yes, but she couldn't deny and say she wasn't a little intrigued as well. She kept quiet to hear you out.

"Because I'm not here to make fun of you later. I came here as a friend. Because... you are my friend, and quite honestly... my only one." Her face remained stoic at your genuine revelation, so you added, "And I don't like how they treat you any more than you do, but if you push me away too, you'll be your own worst enemy... for cutting off kindness when it's there for you to take."

She didn't react, though you could sense the cogs in her head turning.

"So don't lash out at me because of how they made you feel. I'm here because I'm on your side. You treating me this way... pushing me out when I'm trying to be your friend...makes me feel like you think of me and them as one and the same. That hurts."

Yennefer adjusted her stance, having had her entire posture tense up. It was starting to hurt her. She licked her lips, relaxed her jaw and stared into your eyes, albeit a little dumbfounded at your words. She bit the inside of her mouth as she stared at you still, long and hard, hoping she would catch your features betraying your statement. Seconds passed... but she couldn't find the fault in your expression. You were right— you were on her side, and perhaps you'd always been. You weren't like the others.

"You're sincere." She declared timidly after having read your eyes. She stumbled back a bit at the sheer force of realisation.

"I am," You nodded, voice curt and serious to show her you meant it, "So let's clean this mess up, go back and... and to hell with them."

Yennefer wiped at her face again, her cheeks burning from the dried tears and the rubbing, "They'll come for you. They already do. Behind your back."

"So?"

"So?" Yennefer chuckled bitterly, "You want more of that? Because that's what you'll get when you turn your back on them instead of on me."

"So?"

"Is that all the vocabulary you have? Are you short of a fucking marble?"

"Yennefer." You warned, eyes stern and arms folded. "Olive branch." You reminded her.

She assessed you for a moment, violet eyes meeting yours, giving you one last opportunity to opt-out. Maybe, just maybe, it would do her good to accept your act of kindness. If not now, then when?

Afraid this would otherwise be the last time you'd grant her some kindness, she extended her hand, the most careful smile appearing on her face when you accepted it and shook it with a small smile of your own.

She'd never had a friend before. How to maintain such a bond was unfamiliar, an ability she did not have. But she could learn. Perhaps she could really do this. Try this out. After all, she'd always longed to have a friend. A real one, who saw past her exterior and treated her for how she was on the inside. And, perhaps, this could finally be the start of something good in her life.

The class watched with bated breath as a shimmering, translucent circle appeared out of Tissaia's outstretched hands before it took form and whirled into a giant, buzzing hoop. This week had been difficult, as you had been thrown back into classes. The nose stares and prying questions with which your fellow novices had bombarded you been difficult, but what you were seeing right in front of you made it all worth it.

"This is a transportation portal, meant to transport you from one place to the other, as the name suggests. How is this possible, you ask?"

"Energy," Yennefer muttered from right beside you, eyes meeting yours as you glanced her way.

Tissaia turned to her, too, "Very well," She dipped her head in acknowledgement, "Energy. This portal is made from Chaos, which uses the energy of the Continent to find its shape. Energy is everywhere around us, in everything we touch, wherever we stand, therefore it is possible to travel between portals, wherever and whenever. It can be seen as a tiny conjunction in our time and universe, enabling teleportation through this magical rift."

Tissaia walked around her now bubbling and buzzing portal, her figure appearing wobbly and deformed through the thin sheen of the hoop on the other side, "A mage must know exactly where they would like the other end of the portal to exist, or they will face catastrophic consequences. They must have been there before or at least be able to see clearly where the portal will spawn, should they want to avoid losing their limbs or sanity."

"Can anyone travel through a portal?" You'd spoken before you'd realised Tissaia was about to speak again. You had cut her off, but she didn't seem to mind. She appeared from behind her portal, raising her brow at your eagerness, "I meant... is it possible for non-mages to travel through a mage-made portal?"

"Yes." Tissaia nodded, "It is. It is one of the things a mage serving at court is required to do, should the need arise to take members of their court and other important individuals to safety."

"And do they have to know the place where it will spawn? Or is only the mage at risk in such a situation?" You asked again, intriguedly taking in the shine and shimmer of the portal, missing the small smile Tissaia had on her face at your interest.

"They do not. However, they can experience nausea and vertigo. As can the mage, when the portal was created in a haste, or not in the utmost focus. It usually wears off like nausea normally does."

"So how do we make one without losing a limb?" Yennefer asked from beside you, her hand brushing against yours. You looked up at her at the sudden contact, but she didn't look back.

"If only you'd shown this eagerness during botany," Tissaia spoke, bemused, and not even close to the berating tone she usually would have sported. In fact, she seemed completely at ease.

You looked around at what was left of your class. A lot of girls had vanished in the weeks you'd been gone, and though curious, you had been too sceptical to ask where they'd gone. You weren't sure if the answer would comfort you, if Tissaia would even grant you one. Had they, perhaps, made deals upon their arrival at Aretuza too? Had they broken the deal? Was that why they'd gone? Was that what would happen to you if you broke your deal? It seemed that, with their departure, Tissaia's constant sour and cold moods had scattered slightly as well. It was strange, to see her without the expected strict pout and frown on her face, and you worried about what had caused that drastic change.

Tissaia resumed, "So long as you don't forget that botany can save your life as much as a quick getaway portal can. Because a portal is temporary. Chaos leaves energy behind. It can be traced by those powerful enough to do so. Like a hound finding its way home through scents, so can a mage when they know your energy."

"So it's not even foolproof? What kind of shit magic is that?" Yennefer huffed, her hand falling to her side. Once more, your hand brushed against hers, leaving your skin tickling from the surprise contact.

"The portal is foolproof, it can't be tracked... your energy can." Tissaia folded her hands across her stomach and glanced your way for a split second. You knew what she was referring to, "You can cloak your energy the same way you can cloak your thoughts to keep yourself safe."

"How do we do that?" Fringilla asked, and Sabrina perked up as well.

"All in due time," Tissaia let out a breathy chuckle at the intrigue and eagerness displayed on all of your faces. She was grateful and relieved, for she finally had a group of gifted girls she could mend and shape into fine mages. To help guide them and be proud of them years down the line, long after they'd all ascended.

"I can sense your Chaos hasn't replenished enough after the thought-cloacking lesson earlier, so we will get to this next week."

Fringilla and Sabrina sighed and groaned, gathering their stuff before leaving the room with the others, but Yennefer had plans to stick around. She glanced at you over her shoulder and walked close to the portal that was still buzzing, beckoning her forward. She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what she was seeing on the other side when Tissaia clapped her hands and the portal got swept away by an invisible gust of wind.

"Lesson one—  never step into a portal of which you don't know who made it, or where it leads to, for they can be used as traps too."

Tissaia stopped organising her belongings when she realised the two of you were still hovering around.

"Go, enjoy your time off," She instructed, not unkindly.

Yennefer gave you a look but you furrowed your brows in response, unsure of what she was trying to get you to understand. When you remained in your place, she sighed and opened her mouth,

"I was wondering..." She began, testing the waters with Tissaia, "I portalled here. As my conduit moment... but I'd never been here before. How was that possible?"

You raised your brows at her confession. It was apparent that you weren't the only mage who held more power than she was revealing, even if it was locked behind an emotionally unsteady wall of Chaos.

Tissaia tilted her head, examining Yennefer who was looking up at her with an expectant gaze.

"That is how you found me, is it not? Because you traced my energy. But you couldn't have known my energy because you didn't know me." Yennefer nibbled her lip before straightening her back as much as she could, "So your theory is false."

"What I would have told you in next week's class, is that portals made in magical places, always leave a trace, for you are tainting and disrupting that place with a magic of your own, a magic that contrasts with the magic already there. You transported to the Tower of the Gull, the most magical place in all of Aretuza, and you did so spluttering and stumbling like a tod learning their first steps."

Yennefer's face fell. The one-up she thought she'd had over Tissaia falling apart like a house of cards.

"But creating a portal as your conduit moment is as remarkable as creating a fire for your conduit, so do not forget your worth."

Tissaia looked at the both of you now, sensing the panic in you taking over.

"But that's not even possible," Confusion transformed Yennefer's face. She knew how scarce harbouring the skill of fire was among mages, let alone undiscovered ones. She watched the small smile on Tissaia's face as your rectoress looked between the two of you.

"Go, take your rest, Yennefer."

Yennefer could have protested but, in reality, she had peace with this. At least for now. And that had all to do with how her rectoress had stopped calling her by her degrading nickname, which had always reminded her of how she'd been treated back home. So, maybe, she shouldn't expect all of her problems to disappear all at once.

You were about to turn around to leave when Tissaia spoke again, "Y/N, you should stay."

"Why?"

Sounded from behind you, where Yennefer had already crossed half the classroom back to hover beside you again, the intrigue now replaced by something harsher. She hadn't forgotten how she'd found you in your heap of sorrow, and how Tissaia's name had been all she'd been able to make out from your mutters.

"Has your name changed to Y/N overnight?" Tissaia inquired, head tilted to the side, the same bite back to her tone.

Tissaia glanced at the two of you. She could sense it, feel it bubbling beneath the surface, despite your depleted Chaos. This wasn't good, the co-dependency. She'd noticed it more often now, the hovering around one another, the glances, the attachment, how your Chaos performed better in the proximity of the other. She faulted herself for never having noticed it sooner, though she blamed the gradual ascent of your bond and how it had slowly happened over time. This was not good, indeed. This wasn't the beginning of two powerful mages if you couldn't be independent. Your Chaos reacted to one another, most often a powerful tool when highly needed, but not when trying to control one's individual Chaos. Though perhaps she had been to blame herself, for putting the two of you together in the first place to kill two birds with one stone and get you both in line.

Now, she realised, it could very well start to stand between reaching both your potential. It was known to her that Yennefer and you had trouble handling the extremes of your emotions, such had been visible during moments of great frustration or sorrow, just like what had happened to your room the first week. When a mage is out of control of their emotions, they can't hone their Chaos the way they should. She needed to thread carefully now. But first, Tissaia knew, there were apologies to be made.

"Yennefer." Tissaia gestured towards the door, then paid her no further mind as she motioned for you to come closer.

Yennefer refused to leave until you whispered it was okay. Then still, she left unsurely, looking one last time into the room before closing the door.

Tissaia leaned against her desk, whispering a muffling smell as she was certain the raven-haired mage was listening on the other side.

"I owe you an apology."

You swallowed, knowing what she was talking about right away, but not keen on the situation being brought up again.

"I pushed you over the edge and crossed your boundaries. I wanted too much too soon from you after sensing your potential. For that, I apologise," She watched you, analysing your expression as she continued, "It was wrong of me to jeopardise your well-being and it was unfair to request your full discretion and cooperation when I was making that very thing harder by my doing. I have been pulling at both your arms at the same time, keeping you locked in place by doing so."

She walked over to you and gently pried your arms from your side to hold them.

"This Chaos inside of you, this power- it is one of your greatest strengths, but do not forget that it also makes it your greatest weakness. That is why I pushed you to heal, to accept and to move on, so that you could be in full control over your Chaos. The quicker that happens, the sooner we can start. I realise now that time will come regardless, and not because of my prodding. Perhaps especially not because of my prodding." Her hands moved down to hold yours and she squeezed them, "You will go places, my dear girl, I can see it as clearly as I can feel it... if you make your Chaos your biggest ally... but that can only happen once you've fully healed."

"How?"

"You have all the time in the world now, you'll figure it out."

"These wounds... I don't think they'll ever not hurt." Your lip trembled, remembering what had happened- what you had done, "I feel different...ever since that time."

"Different how?"

"Like a different version of myself. The old me is still here but... the new one's more prominent."

"Does that feel like a good or a bad thing?" Tissaia stared right into your eyes. You felt a pulling sensation between your brows.

"I don't know."

"Let me put it this way— which version would you choose right now? Which version would you let lead? The version that knew nothing of Chaos, or the version that does?"

Your answer filled you with shame, for the version that knew of Chaos, was the version that had unwillingly made you do unspeakable things, but the truth wanted to finally come to light.

"Both."

Tissaia grinned softly, "That's the life of a mage—  finding the balance in everything. Balance will keep you in control, it won't have you tip the scales to one side." She sighed, feeling sentimental, "Hold onto the old version of yourself, so long as you keep that close, you'll never feel truly lost."

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

[moneyonthesideee]

The Witcher Masterlist

Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Yennefer of Vengerberg x Reader

Renfri x Reader

Tissaia de Vries x Reader

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Fates Divine: Tomorrow is Another Day (Yennefer of Vengerberg x Reader)

Summary: Things never seem to go to plan.

Words: 2627

Warnings: Language, feelings, violence?

A/N: I'm in love with this story.

Series Masterlist

-X-

Drifting between the outer twilights of sleep, consciousness toeing the line of sleep and alert, you were awoken suddenly by pained whimpers and soft pleading. Eyes snapping open, gold leveled upon Yennefer slumbering a few steps away from you. Her long fingers were tangled up in the warm fabric of her blanket, beads of sweat clinging to her pinched brow. Her lips were moving – clearly trapped in a silent conversation – before another whine escaped.

Rising up from your bedroll, you cautiously ventured over to the sleeping mage. Settling on your knees before her, a gentle hand nudged her shoulder.

“Yen –”

Before you could finish her name, the air was stolen from your lungs, sending every nerve within you alight with adrenaline, as you stared into unseeing violet eyes, the taste of magic lingering in the stillness around you both. The unforgiving pressure tightening around your throat was stifling despite feeling no hand but you did not panic or flinch, forcing as much breath as you could through her unwavering magic. You could feel the familiar point of a blade digging into the juncture of your neck but she didn’t move.

So neither did you.

“It’s me, Yennefer,” you exhaled, relaxing slightly as the pressure softened somewhat. “You’re safe. It is just me.”

She blinked, realization dawning upon her slowly as she regained her senses.

“You were simply having a bad dream,” you promised, nearly gasping as the heaviness constricting your lungs disappeared abruptly.

Yennefer’s eyes were wide with regret, tears swimming in her waterline as she sat upright. “I am so sorry. I did not… I…”

Smiling kindly, you winked at the witch before taking a spot beside her. “This isn’t the first time a beautiful woman has held steel to my throat and I’ve always enjoyed a little choking here and there. Though it commonly involves less clothing.”

Yennefer laughed, though you could hear the emotion rippling through its steady burst. “Only you would say such things to the woman who almost killed you.”

“I have been known to prefer women that possess the ability to kill me,” you remarked with a smirk, shrugging nonchalantly despite the seriousness of the situation moments before. “There is something incredibly enticing about it.”

“You are an odd woman, Witcher.”

If someone else had spoken those words to you, you might’ve taken some offense to it, but staring into the moonlit violet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Maybe it was gentle affection glistening in her eyes or the intimacy of how she leaned into your side just slightly. Maybe you were growing soft with age.

Maybe she truly was just… special.

“Rest. Knotgrass Meadow will only be a few hours ride away come morning and we’ll need to be on guard if the rumors and bounties are true.” Gesturing for her to lie down, you did not move away even as she reclaimed her previously abandoned position. “I will stay here. No monsters shall harm you while I’m here.”

Her brow furrowed but you pressed a finger to her lips before she could argue your decision.

“Sleep.”

-X-

Knotgrass Meadow was a fairly calm town, home to many Halflings and other non-humans trying to avoid the idiotic persecutions they often faced. The inhabitants weren’t exactly happy to see a Witcher walking through their village but they overlooked it when you began inquiring about their werewolf problem.

Besides, Witchers were just as unfavorable to the humans so they could make an exception for you. Especially if you were willing to banish the monsters ravaging their home.

Yennefer lingered outside the town’s walls, stroking her newfound mare’s mane as she waited for you to return. Nimble fingers brushed through coarse strands, her mind wandering with thoughts of the Witcher accompanying her. You were an enigma to everything she’d ever known about Witchers. For a creature fueled supposedly by coin and nothing more, you certainly seemed… different.

“We should begin our search a little further north tonight,” you announced unexpectedly, startling Yennefer as you unwittingly dragged her from her thoughts. Offering her a loaf of bread you’d been gifted, you hungrily nibbled on the other. “A pack of ‘em are supposedly camped out in the woods not far from here. People keep hearin’ their howls. The halflings say we’re welcome to rest here until we drive out their beast problem.”

“A grand honor indeed,” Yennefer breathed, biting into the freshly baked good.

Grasping Lyrium’s reins, you led your companions towards Yrim’s Inn. The eyes of wary Halflings lingered on your form but you purposefully ignored them, refusing to give them another reason to be distrustful. It took everything in your power to ignore Yennefer’s warmth nearly pressed against your side, though, as she kept close to you in this unfamiliar territory.

Tying both horses to a post with ease, you gestured for Yennefer to step inside before following suit. As the inn doubled as the town’s tavern, a plethora of beady eyes landed upon you, the noise dropping to near silence while they waited for someone to react.

“(Y/N) of Vizima,” the barkeep greeted calmly, setting aside the ale glass she’d been meticulously drying. “It has been a long time.”

“Razmatha,” you returned the greeting with a smile, bowing your head slightly. “You look well. Not a scar in sight.”

The barkeep couldn’t contain her smirk, stepping around the edge of her bar to stare up at you. “Not for a lack of trying by that pretty silver sword of yours.”

Violet eyes traced the side of your head in confusion, baffled by the nonchalance you and the barkeep exuded. As if this was a completely normal interaction. It was impossible to tell if she was expected to be cautious or if she should be as relaxed as you seemed to be.

“Hey, I apologized! Bought you some good ale too. Can’t bygones be bygones?” you jested, grinning at Razmatha. “I spoke with the mayor. He said he would convince you to give us lodging.”

Her head lolled in acknowledgement. “He did. I did not realize, when he said Witcher, he meant you.”

Yennefer’s brows furrowed at the tone but you remained unfazed.

“What say you, Razmatha? Might we have a room?”

The Halfling’s face was impassive, studying every line and scar etched into your skin. You were different than she remembered. Calmer. Steady. As though your wild years had abandoned you, leaving behind a seemingly peaceful Witcher in its wake.

Gazing deeply into the unnerving gold peering back at her, she finally found what she was looking for and sighed deeply.

“There’s an empty room upstairs at the end of the hall. It’s all I can offer you and your… friend. Everything else is taken right now. Halflings have been coming through in droves hoping to get protection from the werewolves and humans alike.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. “I hope that we won’t overstay our welcome.”

“He did mention you were planning to hunt the wolves. I suggest waiting ‘til tomorrow night, if I was you. Save some energy. It’ll be a full moon and those ravenous beasts will be causing all kinds of chaos.”

You hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“The room you’re in has a tub. You should bathe, Witcher. I can’t imagine your companion will enjoy sharing accommodations with someone who smells like they’ve been sleeping in barns since last winter.” Razmatha grinned, though you could feel the pointedness of her words, eyes drifting along your dirty attire and over your smudged flesh.

Grimacing, you chuckled awkwardly. “Duly noted, ma’am.”

-X-

Wringing the water from your stark white locks, you carefully stepped around the partition separating the tub from roaming eyes. Yennefer was sitting on the edge of the bed, her newly washed hair still damp and shining in the candlelight. You couldn’t help but note the scope of the bedding, realizing that if you were both planning to sleep, you’d be entirely too close to such a beautiful witch.

Gods, what have I gotten myself into?

Discretely glancing about, you tried to find a viable solution but there was little floor space and nothing you’d risk sleeping on lest you break the downsized furniture.

“They never expect human-sized patrons, I suppose,” Yennefer commented, capturing her bottom lip in thought.

“We are the first allowed to sleep within their home, I believe.”

Tossing your towel aside, you settled beside Yennefer.

“I am fine sharing a bed with you,” she mumbled, a faint hue darkening her cheeks as she peered into the unlit fireplace. “I see the worry in your eyes. Though I understand if you don’t wish to share with me, considering what happened…”

A callused hand landed atop hers.

“I have no qualms about sleeping with you, Yennefer. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Wincing at your choice of words, you nearly apologized but decided against it.

After all, it was a true statement either way.

Yennefer’s blush deepened but she didn’t shy away from the contact so you took it as a minor victory.

“I say we listen to Razmatha and get some rest tonight. A full moon will grant you the most potent werewolf saliva and if we’re lucky, you’ll have some to spare afterward.” You squeezed her hand before rising, nodding towards the door. “How about a drink?”

Razmatha was swift to accept your coin as you grabbed two meads from the barkeeper, passing a mug to Yennefer before snagging a nearby table. It was a bit too small, knees hitting the underside of the wooden top so hard your drink nearly tipped over, but you didn’t mind as Yennefer giggled, a tiny sheen of foam clinging to her lip.

“Never thought I’d see a clumsy Witcher,” she teased, smirking at the scowl marring your features, though it held no fire.

“And just how many Witchers have you met, mage?” you bit back, eyes lingering too long on her mouth as you watched pink flesh swipe at the sticky foam, mind wondering into indecent territories.

With that, conversation began to flow like honeyed mead. Stories of Aretuza and Kaer Morhen passed between you, the hesitation and secrecy you bore slowly tumbling away with every new tale. You even dared to mention your childhood, insignificant pieces of your past that you cared little about. Those moments held no real meaning now, your life as a Witcher far more intriguing.

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, setting aside your empty mug. “You’ve met Geralt of Rivia? The king of broody men? Who names his horses Roach? Not just one but all of them?”

“I have. He was quite handsome though his personality can certainly be… off-putting, at times.”

Pursing your lips, you rolled your eyes at the notion. “Geralt, handsome? What a vile thought, though his little witch seems fond of him.”

Yennefer paused, mug nearly touching her lips. “Who?”

“Triss… something. Real pretty thing. Keeps the big man in line whenever he’s not questing about the continent.”

“Merigold,” Yennefer finished knowingly. “I am not surprised she took a shine to him.”

Leaning back in your chair, you watched Yennefer finish her drink. Her eyes were glossy, mead threatening to replace the blood in her veins as she swayed just slightly to the sweet crooning of the Halfling bard.

You’d never seen a prettier sight.

Always having believed fate to be nothing more than a fictional hope, you’d never considered the idea that maybe there were some things in life that were inevitable. But a sliver of you couldn’t help wondering if this was fate. Meeting this incredible woman; helping her when she was in need. What if, in all the fucked up things you’d gone through and survived, meeting her was the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel?

Shaking your head as the thoughts ran rampant, you stood. Extending your hand to the wide-eyed mage, you peered over at the dancing patrons, all drunk on mead and high spirits.

“May I have this dance? Might as well act like locals for one night.”

Yennefer met your unwavering gaze, weighing the cons of such a decision. It was a single dance but she feared the ramifications. She’d only known you a handful of days but she couldn’t deny the truth. You could unravel every wall she’d built; touch pieces of her soul that she deemed forever lost.

“Y-”

Panicked screams echoed just outside the doors of the inn, drawing your attention immediately as the music ended abruptly. Hand flying up to grab the hilt of your sword, you rushed out the door and into the fray of madness without a second thought, regretfully leaving behind your would-be dance partner. Senses sharp despite the mead, you noticed a lone werewolf tearing through the village and coming rapaciously towards you while the Halflings flung themselves into safer spaces, desperately trying to avoid the monstrous, hungry beast.

Growling low in your throat, you readied your blade. Sidestepping the fiend, fur drenched in fresh blood, you dragged the silver across its bulging side in hopes of slowing its riotous pace but it only served to infuriate the wolf. Anticipating its charge, your blade slid between its teeth, sliding backwards as it continued to push you. Sharp incisors repeatedly clash against the silver, unfazed by the inevitable sting but you never faltered.

The creature froze, head snapping back to stare at its hind leg and forcing you to do the same. Tendrils of magic were anchoring it to the earth, but it only served to fuel its hatred. Releasing your blade and slinging you aside, you rolled onto your feet in time to see fur flying towards Yennefer. A shield met it mid-air but the beast shouldered through it as though it were parchment, startling you both. Yennefer was by no means weak, which meant…

“He’s enchanted, get down!” you howled, time slowing as you forced yourself to move faster than the werewolf. All you could envision was Yennefer, caught in the monster’s teeth, forced into a miserable existence or an early grave.

Your shoulder slammed into the beast, feet losing ground as you sent the wolf and yourself crashing into a vegetable cart. Ears ringing and blood oozing from your temple, you didn’t have a chance to react to the mouth latching onto your side until it was too late.

“Fuck!” you screeched, bashing the hilt of your blade into its head repeatedly before shoving it into the side of the wolf’s throat.

A garbled wail escaped its mouth as it freed you from the bite, crimson spilling from the wound and painting the ground around you. It thrashed its head about desperately before stumbling into the darkness of the nearby woods. You tried standing, determined to end the beast before it could escape your sight, but the fire in your side forced you down, bare hand turning crimson as blood seeped through the cracks of your fingers.

“Stop, Witcher,” Yennefer chided, landing beside you and pressing her hands delicately onto the raw flesh. “You’re losing too much blood. Death will take you before you ever reach him if you do not tend to it.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grunted, choking back a whine as gentle fingers probed about. “He’s injured. Now is the best time –”

“No! Now is not the time. Not if it gambles your life too,” she argued, ignoring the hiss of pain as she helped you unsteadily to your feet. “Tomorrow.”

Peering about at the terrified Halflings, clearly distressed by the night’s events, you swallowed another gasp. You didn’t take pleasure in their fear and you certainly despised the apprehension blossoming from Yennefer, knowing the wound only served to worry her.

You refused to consider why it upset her so.

“Tomorrow.”

[swanimagines]

THE WITCHER AO3 SERIESES

EVERYTHING FOR THE WITCHER

Geralt of Rivia

Jaskier

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Lambert

Eskel (coming)

Tissaia de Vries (coming)

MISC

Preferences

(Any of the other characters don't have any requests written nor pending as for now, so I'm unable to have serieses for them as AO3 requires you to have at least one oneshot written to be able to add it to a series, and I can't promise serieses for characters who don't have requests pending/I have no ideas of my own for them)

For anyone who's concerned, THESE ARE NOT ONESHOT COLLECTIONS, they are made using AO3's "series" feature.

If you want to be informed about new fics for The Witcher or its individual characters, create an AO3 account and subscribe or bookmark any of those serieses listed above. There are buttons at the top right corner for those, or on top on mobile. I do not do Tumblr taglists anymore.

Also, if you're wondering, requests are ALWAYS open and you're welcome to leave one or multiple. Just remember to read my rules and pick a request type from this list.

[theuniverseofsg]

Why aren’t there more Imagines or Scenarios with Tissaia de Vries here?

I’m baffled. Please reply, tag, message me or whatever if you can find them :’( 

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

A/N: This blog no longer has a set list of fandoms, I'm just writing about the every big beefy boi i see (this week it happened to be Geralt). I felt like him and Jaskier (and you) deserved an enjoyable night for once.

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Tags: geralt of rivia x reader, geralt x y/n, The Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier/Dandelion, the Witcher, fluff

WARNINGS: minor mentions of sex, but nothing graphic

Summary: After slaying a village's flock of monsters, they throw a celebration for Geralt, Jaskier and yourself. Unfortunately for the Witcher, some of the entertainment is at his expense.

Or, you all sing everyone's favorite song, much to Geralt's chagrin.

Word Count: 1.9k+ (GIF credit to @thejingshi)

It’s a night of celebration.

After the slaying of a Harpy flock, the village you rode into just days ago is ripe with excitement. The tavern is full of who you assumed to be everyone in the village and their families, with a crowd spilling into the narrow dirt path outside. Ale flows plentifully, brought in by the barrel when word of the Witcher’s success first broke. 

In spite of it being a celebration of his aptitude for monster slaying, Geralt was unsurprisingly difficult to persuade into attending. Jaskier and yourself had spent well over an hour goading him, threatening a journey full of off-key singing and never-ending harassment if he didn’t. You'd like to think his affection for you has some bearing on his decision, but chances are he's far more concerned about being pestered for the foreseeable future. 

So along you go- The Witcher, his lover, and his bard. 

And no, the setup for a bad joke isn’t lost on you when your odd trio trots into the tavern. Though, jokes aside, the celebration is lively and cheerful. Jaskier finds himself herded to the front of the crowd, playing along with other local musicians. The tunes are upbeat and fast, and an impressive amount of townsfolk dance along. 

As usual, Geralt remains in a shadowed corner. His mug is half-full of ale and his lips stay pursed. He speaks softly to villagers as they stop to thank him and waves off frequent offers of livestock as additional payment. You kept him company for some time, but eventually let Jaskier drag you into the crowd for a sorry attempt at dancing. Needless to say, it lasts mere moments before you retreat to a table full of gossiping women who are unafraid to bat away the bard’s hands when he begins the hunt for a new dance partner. 

It grows late when you wander back to Geralt’s side and drop into the booth beside him. Your vision is bordered by a golden haze and warmth radiates from your ale-filled belly. Contentedness flourishes deep in your chest, and you’re determined to savor the rare taste of it. 

“You’re happy.” Geralt remarks. He lowers the mug and swipes foam from his upper lip. 

“Quite.” You drop your head onto his shoulder. “And quite tired, if I’m being honest.”

Quick to take note of your needs, Geralt squeezes your knee. 

“We don’t have to wait for the bard,” He rumbles, “he can find his own way back to the inn.”

The idea is tempting; Geralt’s warm body combined with a soft mattress beneath you sounds like heaven after a long couple of days. You nudge the toe of your boot into the floor as you debate it, pausing as the roar of the party quiets and everyone looks to the stage. 

Jaskier makes his way up the steps, lute in hand and quirky grin plastered on his face. He winks in Geralt’s direction, eliciting a groan from the Witcher. 

“Good ev- yes, yes, quiet down- Good evening, friends.” Jaskier is obviously in his glory with the audience trained on him. “I just wanted to give my friend, your saviour, a proper send off from this lovely celebration.”

You giggle at the exasperation that settles itself onto Geralt’s face. 

“I’d like to play a little tune for all of you, one that you may have heard already.”

Jaskier wastes no time plucking away at the opening notes to a familiar song. 

“When a humble bard

Graced a ride along

With Geralt of Rivia

Along came this… song”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. Geralt may hate the tune, but you are a fan. 

“...And so cried the Witcher...”

The tavern breaks out into song alongside Jaskier. You cackle as Geralt drains the remainder of his mug. He gently grasps your hand and pulls, maneuvering towards the door. 

“He thrust every elf, far back on the shelf…”

“Oh, don’t be a sourpuss, Geralt.”

You dig in your heels, knowing full well that he would continue to drag you if he pleased. The Witcher’s golden eyes sweep over you, pleading for escape in the most comical way possible.

Villagers swarm, and you spot Jaskier picking his way through throngs of bodies to get to you. He’s still singing, strumming the lute and keeping pace with the chaos. Geralt seems to resign himself to his fate, leaning back against the doorframe. You push onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Through all of his hunts for monsters and mayhem, he’s never looked as nervous as he does now.

“I love you.” You chirp as a preemptive apology, taking a step in the bard’s direction. “And this song.”

“That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed….”

“It’s not a great song.” Geralt quips as Jaskier thrusts a mug of ale into the Witcher’s bear paw of a hand. 

“Defeated the villain, now pour him some ale!”

Jaskier keeps the same hand free of his lute as the other string players pick up the beat. He reaches out to take yours, voice rising in volume for the crescendo of the song. 

“I thought you were tired?” Geralt tries as a last-ditch effort to keep you at his side, but slides down into the closest chair when you elect to go with Jaskier. One big hand scrubs down his face, apparently from embarrassment and vexation with his cohort. You swear there’s a tinge of red on his cheeks.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, Oh Valley of Plenty.” You join in with Jaskier and the villagers, singing loudly.  “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh…”

Jaskier twirls you around, forcing your feet into a sloppy jig that you’re sure would be much easier if he wasn’t just as inebriated as you. Geralt’s eyes never leave your spinning form, begging you to spare him from this public torture. 

As the final verse approaches, you break apart from the bard. Your hands find Geralt’s shoulders, surprise painting your face when he swings you in a lazy circle.

“Geralt, are you…. Dancing?” 

It only lasts a moment before his hands slip down from the small of your back, one hooking your opposite hip and giving a firm tug towards the door. Jaskier is out of sight, sucked back into the herd, though his distinct voice stands out amongst the chorus. 

“Only to get you to the door.” The Witcher murmurs, close enough to your ear to make you shiver. 

A chilly night breeze caresses your skin as he herds you out the door. You stumble on a loose stone, though Geralt’s quick hand captures your upper arm before you can go far. A drunken laugh slips out of your mouth as he playfully pushes you up against the tavern wall. Applause erupts from inside as the song closes out with a familiar flourish.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t even stay for the song written for you.” You admonish him even as he nuzzles his nose into your hairline. His breath smells of ale, and his feline eyes sweep over your face. “The champion of the village, as I heard the barkeep say.”

“Hm…” Geralt hums and presses his lips to yours. “I don’t want to be the village’s champion, I only wish to be yours.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, but you lean up to continue the kiss anyway. One of his hands anchors itself to the wall beside your head, and the other cups your cheek. Long fingers brush your ear and the sensitive skin of your neck while his tongue traced your bottom lip. You moan against his mouth and stand on your toes to kiss him properly . One hand slides beneath his tunic, massaging warm skin and taut muscles. 

“They would disappear while I’m trying to - oh, for Melitele’s sake!” 

You startle against the Witcher, head whipping to the side to find Jaskier with one hand covering his eyes. Geralt, usually so attuned to his surroundings, merely grunts his disapproval at the interruption. 

“Do you two ever stop? Or just wait until you get to the inn?” Jaskier’s hand falls away, and he gestures inarticulately at a few passing villagers as they exited the tavern as if they had any idea what he was on about. “They do this all the time!”

Geralt’s chest rumbles with agitation, the heat of his body still pressed close. Even with such dear friends, he always exudes dominance.  “Have you ever considered that maybe you just interrupt all the time?”

“Oh, well pardon me for just existing,” Jaskier’s voice is all drunken exasperation, and you withhold a giggle. “How I manage to keep my escapades private while you both flaunt it about is beyond me.”

You scoff halfheartedly at your companion. “Jaskier, I’ve accidentally seen you in compromising positions more times than I care to count. With various…conquests. You have no room to talk.”

He opens his mouth to retort before Geralt cuts him off with a single look. “Back to the inn it is, then.”

Once again, his hand cups your hip to pull you along. Torches guide the way, and Jaskier has no choice but to follow since you are all headed in the same direction. He mumbles his thoughts to no one but himself, fiddling around with his lute and bowing dramatically to the passing villagers who compliment his performance. 

“At least someone appreciates it.” 

So you laugh and poke fun at each other while trekking across town to the inn, tucked into the Witcher’s side. Eventually you join in with the bard’s antics and all is right in the world. You walk arm and arm to placate Jaskier, teasing him about his long list of female partners as Geralt walks behind you both as a silent sentry. A few paces away from your destination, discarded on the dirt pathway, you notice a lost gold coin lying near a flowerbed. Jaskier obliges your pause, dipping down as you bend to grab it. Mischief runs through your veins and mingles with the alcohol.

“Hey, Geralt.” You turn to the Witcher and use your thumb to flick the coin to him. “Found something for you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. “Toss a coin-”

“Absolutely not.” The Witcher grits, though he still tucks the coin away. “I’ve had just about enough of bards and song tonight.”

Geralt steals you away from Jaskier, making a beeline to the inn. All of his grumpiness is purely a front, made clear by his request to the innkeep to have a hot bath and a meal ready for both your shared room and Jaskier’s. As soon as you make it behind a closed door, his lips set out to memorize every hill and valley of your body. Rough but attentive, Geralt’s hands grope your sides, and you moan his name when lips trail down your chest and looped back up.

“Maybe I should toss a coin to my Witcher more often.” You tease against his mouth, lips curling up in a coy smirk. 

Geralt pauses only a moment before nipping at your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to draw blood. Pleasure simmers in your chest when he soothes the pain away with his tongue.

“You watch your mouth.”

Between labored breaths, with a hand tangled in locks of bone-white hair, you manage a response. 

“I don’t think I will.”

--

Thanks for reading, much love ♥

Masterlist

[wolves-and-dragons]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: A HotD/Witcher Crossover

PSA: the following story was originally posted on Wattpad and then on my previous tumblr account merlot-and-chardonnay. Due to suspect shadowbanning, I've created this new account and intend to post my content here from now on. If you wish to read the original story and can't wait for me to update on this site, you can visit Wattpad here.

The sister of the Bard Jaskier, and a talented bard in her own right, had came to Westeros initially to make a name for herself. In her ambition, she ended up catching the attention of a certain Rogue Prince whose ambitions may outweigh her own.

When the unexpected happens, she must return to the Continent to seek out the white haired witcher and hope their past history will garner reason to offer her protection.

But will the White Wolf's silver sword be enough to stave off the wrath and heat of the Dragon?

Self-reader insert style

Obligatory Disclaimer: House of the Dragon character belong to George R.R. Martin and Witcher characters belong to Andrzej Sapkowski.

General Content Warning: 18+ content here and there, MINORS DNI

Incest, DUB-CON/NON-CON, Mature Themes, generational trauma, r*pe related trauma.

Violence, swearing, sexism, slut shaming (plus/minus whore shaming) and power dynamics that are par to the course for both shows

Bonus Chapters FANART Prequel

Gwent

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1 Chapter 55

Chapter 2 Chapter 56

Chapter 3 Chapter 57 and 57.5

Chapter 4 Chapter 58 and 58.5

Chapter 5 Chapter 59

Chapter 6 Chapter 60 and 60.5

Chapter 7 Chapter 61

Chapter 8 Chapter 62 and 62.5

Chapter 9 Chapter 63

Chapter 10 Chapter 64

Chapter 11 and 11.5 Chapter 65

Chapter 12 and 12.5 Chapter 66

Chapter 13 Chapter 67

Chapter 14 and 14.5 Chapter 68

Chapter 15 Chapter 69

Chapter 16 Chapter 70

Chapter 17 and 17.5 Chapter 71

Chapter 18 Chapter 72

Chapter 19 Chapter 73

Chapter 20 and 20.5

Chapter 21

Chapter 22 and 22.5

Chapter 23 and 23.5

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26 and 26.5

Chapter 27

Chapter 28 and 28.5

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32 and 32.5

Chapter 33

Chapter 34 and 34.5

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38 and 38.5

Chapter 39 and 39.5

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49 and 49.5

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54 and 54.5

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH11

Mommy and Daddy have made up, and now you're in the middle of a very steamy threesome.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Shared shower. Mutual washing. Mutual masturbation. Vaginal fingering. Threesome. Unprotected, rough vaginal sex. Voyeurism/cuckqueaning? Cunnilingus. Overstimulation. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 5k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: RECAP: Reader (we call her Pumpkin) is in her 20s, has hair and female genitalia, suffers from depression and anxiety, and has agreed to become the little girl/submissive to a couple she's supposed to call Mommy and Daddy, who are in their early/late thirties. READ THE WARNINGS!!! The Daddy/Mommy AU continues, and now they've joined ranks. 🔴 Do you like moodboards? Here's some Pinterest boards of Mommy, Daddy and Pumpkin.

Chapter 10 🔷️ Chapter 11 🔷️ Chapter 12

While the shower really was unusually large (two tiled walls, one glass wall, floor-to-high ceiling, one giant door), you still felt crowded between the tall frames of Mommy and Daddy. It had been a blur how they'd stripped out of their clothes, then helped you out of yours (which seemed to be the easiest part as you were neither wearing panties nor a bra, just your sundress), and now you stood between a wall of muscles and two very impressive breasts, their warmth radiating off of them as the water cascaded down on you from the waterfall shower above your head.

But despite the awkwardness of being naked (which you'd experienced with both Mommy and Daddy before, just not together), you felt safe. They were so attentive, Mommy taking care of your hair while Daddy rubbed body wash over your skin, and they still stole the occasional kiss over your head or past your shoulder as well. It felt right, somehow, on a strange level, like loving parents should behave in front of their children (to some extent), but also like a couple welcoming you in their midst.

At first, it had been weird seeing Daddy kiss Mommy like that, and you couldn't deny the little tinge of jealousy, but he'd been right. You had to get used to this. You were part of a love triangle now, so to speak. And if you wanted to spend time with them, you had to adjust to them sharing affections as well. It was what you wanted, you didn't want to choose, no longer feel as if you'd ignore one of them by doing stuff with the other.

And it wasn't as if they ignored you then either, on the contrary, every kiss they shared, they gave back to you double. You felt Mommy's soft lips on yours and her hand on your chin, guiding you, before she moved back to tend to your hair, and then it was Daddy's turn, his hand on your face and his tongue in your mouth. Your head was positively spinning after only a few minutes of steam and warm water, kisses and cuddles, gentle touches and demanding grabs.

You stood there and let it happen, as was your role, apparently. Though the longer you passively shared the space with these handsome people, the more you wanted to touch them too. Feel Daddy's muscles twitch under his tight skin, trace the veins running up and down his arms and legs and abdomen, feel the weight of Mommy's breasts in your small hands, poke her firm nipples (and taste them?), but whenever you dared a look lower, you felt the heat crashing into your head.

The idea of Daddy's cock was still a little scary to you, even after feeling him and having him in your hands before. He seemed larger today, or maybe you felt smaller, more intimidated, as you stole glances at him while he rubbed his big hands over your back and stomach. Mommy wasn't as shy about it. Once she was done with your hair (having put it up into a tight bun full of conditioner), she grabbed the soap and started washing Daddy's chest, quickly moving lower, her hands grabbing his cock as if it was the most natural thing to her (which it probably was).

He let out a little groan, grabbing her chin and pulling her in for another kiss, their rough breaths mingling. “Let her do it,” you then heard him rumble against her lips. She exhaled loudly and nibbled on his bottom lip, giving him a little stare, before leaning back, letting go of him and turning to you.

You blushed in anticipation. “You've touched Daddy before, haven't you?” she whispered over the rush of water cascading down on all three bodies. You blinked, averting your eyes (trying to find a spot that was okay to stare at), then nodded. “Don't be shy then, just soap him up. It's alright, cariño.”

You swallowed, turning your gaze to meet Daddy's. He smiled softly, just standing there, tall and handsome and still slightly intimidating. It was Mommy who guided your hands to his groin, her fingers making yours curl around his shaft. He was warm and already harder than you expected. Slowly she moved your fist (or what fit around him) over his length, up and down, from the base to the tip, shifting his tight skin over his hardened core.

Eventually she let go to gather more soap between her hands, then focused back on his balls, while you kept stroking his cock, your tongue poking out between your lips as you concentrated. His hand came forth, gently curling around your wrist, moving your hand a little faster and more in a twisting motion. You looked up at him, noticing too late that your tongue was still out. He smirked, his free hand grabbing your chin as he leaned down to close his lips around the tip of your tongue, giving it a quick suck. You gasped into his mouth.

“You're so cute, pumpkin,” he breathed against your lips. “Never change.”

You smiled shyly when he straightened up again, the hand on your chin moving to cup your face and caressing it gently. You continued the up and down motions of your hand, the twisting turns, the curling of your fist around his tip, until he carefully pried your hand off his cock.

Mommy had moved on to soap up his broad back, standing behind him now. You watched with growing warmth in your gut as she rubbed her hands around his torso, her long fingers scraping over his pecs. He turned his head and looked at her, then let out a sudden laugh when she retrieved her hands and slapped his butt.

He turned around and leaned down to catch a kiss from her, his arm curling around her body, hand firmly on her thigh. “You naughty girl,” he muttered against her, and she snickered into the kiss. You noticed how his hand slipped lower, right between her legs, over Mommy's smooth mound. She cooed into him, arching her back, a little sigh escaping her lips.

“Pumpkin,” he addressed you then, his voice hoarse and rough enough to send a shiver down your spine, and you took a step closer. His free hand was extended towards you while he was still focused on shoving his tongue into Mommy's mouth. He grabbed you when you were in reach and brought your hand to where his own was rubbing up and down between Mommy's legs. “Show Mommy a good time, hm?” he hummed, holding your fingers to push them further.

He kept kissing her, holding her in place, while his hand hovered over yours. You felt a bit strange to touch another woman, even though the same woman had touched you in the same way at least twice before. You felt around a little blindly, your fingers slipping between her labia, right into her slick. A moan escaped her, quickly swallowed by Daddy's mouth. The angle was different from how you'd touch yourself, so you fumbled for a moment to find her clit, but when you did, she bucked her hips into your hand, sighing past Daddy's attempts to silence her.

You felt her nub throbbing against your fingertips as you drew slow circles around it, biting your lip as you watched Mommy and Daddy kiss deeply, Mommy melting more and more into Daddy's hold. They looked so beautiful like this, the handsome man and the gorgeous woman who should both be portrayed in one of those fancy magazines, but instead they stood with you in a shower, trying their best to make you feel included.

Daddy's hand eventually brushed against your leg, pulling you closer until he could reach around your rear where he rubbed it up and down and around your soft ass cheeks, fingertips teasing between them. You kept rubbing Mommy's clit, occasionally caressing lower to tease at her entrance, wet little squelching sounds echoing past the constant stream of water.

It was a wild tangle of hands, three bodies pressed together, two of them still engaged in a passionate kiss, and you wondered where Mommy's hands were – until you felt one of them bumping past your wrist, blindly fumbling to find your own crotch.

You angled yourself to make her reach it better, and unlike you, she immediately went for your core, dipping two of her fingers into your clenching cunt. You hadn't even noticed how wet you were until she slipped in with ease, pumping her digits in and out, making you stumble against Daddy, who held you closer, his big hand resting on your ass.

When your first moan ripped from your throat, he leaned away from Mommy's face and bent down a little to reach yours, and as soon as you met his heated gaze, you grabbed his arm in support and tilted your chin up, hungry to taste him too. He indulged you, kissing you just as deeply as he had kissed Mommy, and you could swear you tasted her on his tongue.

Your head was spinning, empty and full of cotton at the same time, breathless gasps and mewls slipping past your swollen lips. Mommy's fingers were relentless, pushing harder, faster, curling at just the right angle, until your legs were shaking and you had to fully lean against Daddy. You tried to keep up with her rhythm and mirror it on her own cunt, focusing on her clit, feeling her tremble as well, and somehow, with Daddy's strong hold on both of you, you remained standing when your orgasm washed over you like a gentle wave, hers following shortly after.

While your noises were muffled, hers echoed through the tiled room, a drawn-out moan, ending in a soft “Oh mi amor...”. She pulled her fingers from your still pulsing pussy and grabbed your face, prying you away from Daddy before continuing the kiss chain with even more fervor. He still held you and her, watching you (you could see him out of the corner of your eye, how he licked his lips and smirked, clearly enjoying the sight).

You leaned into Mommy's kiss, trying to mirror the rubbing and sliding of her lips and tongue as best as you could with how lightheaded you still felt. Eventually your eyelids fluttered closed and all you did was melt into the touches and ministrations, feeling as if you were floating, surrounded by steam and warm bodies, far away from any problems you might have ever had. Nothing mattered anymore.

You didn't even notice the loss of Daddy's hand until Mommy leaned back a little, breathing harder against your lips. “Don't you dare,” she whispered, and you opened your eyes in confusion. You realized Daddy had his big hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it lazily, while she pointed her finger at his chest, smirking darkly. “If you shoot that into the wind, I won't let you rest until you give me another load!”

“Come and get it then,” he teased, his eyebrow twitching.

You noticed how Mommy bit her lip, her hands still curled around your face. “Hmm,” she hummed, then looked at you. “Cariño, Mommy needs Daddy's cock now, is that okay with you?”

You blinked, not quite understanding what she was implying. Well, you did, she wasn't very subtle about it, but you didn't know why she was asking you for your consent.

“Don't be alarmed, little one,” she continued. “We like it a little rougher than your average couple, but don't worry, we will not be like that with you. You can stay and watch if you want... I'm just warning you.”

Now you were really alarmed, despite her words, because of her words. Daddy's hand came forth and curled around your waist. “She's staying,” he said, looking at Mommy. “I want you to stay, pumpkin, this is part of our agreement. You are a part of us now,” he added, his eyes moving to meet yours. Your heart beat faster.

Without really knowing what was going to happen, you nodded. Mommy gave you another peck before letting go of you, her fingertips trailing up Daddy's chest as she walked around him towards the wall. He was still looking at you, his gaze so dark and intense, a somewhat sinister smile curling his lips. He reached out to you, caressing your nape, pulling you against him.

“It'll be fine, baby girl, stay close to me, okay?” he whispered, and you nodded again, mesmerized by the strange energy radiating off of them. He gave you a wink, then turned to face Mommy.

She was leaning against the wall, backside to you and Daddy. He stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grab her hair. She cried out softly when he pulled her head back, his other hand curling around her throat, squeezing lightly. They looked at each other, Mommy blinking through her lashes, her face tilted up.

“I love you, remember that, yeah?” he muttered quietly, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose.

“I know, papito, I love you too,” she whispered, reaching behind her to caress his side. “Now fuck me already, I need it,” she added with a smirk.

He let go of her throat and pressed her roughly against the wall, his free hand shooting forward to smack her ass, the sound so loud it made both her and you flinch and cry out. “Impatient little slut, aren't you?” Daddy rasped, the degrading name making you frown. Mommy didn't seem to care as she pressed herself against the wall, hands on either side of her shoulders, head turned, cheek against the tiles.

He stepped behind her, rubbing his pelvis into her rear, his cock sliding between her cheeks. His hands moved down her sides before he gripped her hips and pulled them back a little, making her arch into him. You felt a little weird watching them being so intimate, feeling like a passive bystander, out of place, cold under the warm water. Suddenly Daddy turned his head to you, his eyes even more intense, causing you to stare at him in confusion.

“You wanna help me out, pumpkin?” The shift in his tone confused you even more. He sounded so caring again, while barely a minute ago he'd called Mommy a slut. “Come closer.”

But you followed his words, eager in a way you couldn't describe, your stomach tense in anticipation. Swallowing, you looked up at him, blinking away the water running down your head.

“I wish I could do this to you too,” he whispered, tilting his head to you. “Soon I can, and soon I will, but for now you can only watch, okay?” Heat crashed through your body, but you nodded. “Grab my cock, baby,” he then said, his tone a little rougher again, making you spring into action immediately. Though you fumbled a bit to reach it, you managed to close a hand around his shaft, hot and harder than you'd felt before, so tense it was bobbing against his lower stomach. “And now bring it to Mommy's cunt,” he continued, watching you closely, his hands digging into her hips as he pulled her a bit closer.

You nodded, your tongue back between your lips as you tried to line up his cock with Mommy's entrance. It was a simple task, and it made you feel included, no matter how weird it might have been. It didn't feel weird as you did it, it was just an order and you felt the need to follow it.

You felt the warmth radiating off Mommy's core, you couldn't quite see what you were doing, but eventually you seemed to have done it – when Daddy suddenly rolled his hips against her rear, causing her to issue a low grunt as he slipped into her, sinking his entire length into Mommy's depths in one swift thrust.

You stepped back, letting go of him, but his arm shot out and wrapped around your shoulders, holding you against him. “Stay,” he breathed, bending down a little to press his lips to the top of your head. “Watch me rail your Mommy.”

You should have felt shame and maybe even terror or disgust or anything negative for doing what you did, but you were frozen to the spot, pressed to his side, mesmerized by the little tremors crashing through his body as he started moving against Mommy, slow nudges at first, before he pulled back more only to thrust into her again with force. She moaned and groaned with every slam of his hips, flat against the wall, arching her back into his motions.

And you stood beside him, your hands reaching out to snake around his waist, his muscles shifting under your palms, his body working as he pounded his cock into her cunt. It was obscene, it was fascinating. His arm stayed around your shoulder, hand tight around your forearm, his other hand moving up Mommy's back to curl around her hair again, fisting it tightly.

His thrusts became faster, harder, pelvis smacking against her cushioned rear, wet skin slapping against wet skin, her moans turning into whines, groans into grunts, sounds of effort echoing through the room; noises that did something to you, that sank into your skin, cut into your nerves, awakened sensations you never knew could be this intense.

You watched Daddy's face. Hard, concentrated, stoic even, his eyes focused on where his cock vanished into Mommy, lips a thin line, his nostrils flaring as more and more labored breaths left him. You felt the need to comfort him, so you started rubbing your palm over his shifting abdomen. He looked down, a sudden tilt to his head, looking like a predator who noticed the movement of his prey. You froze, lips parting, your stomach tensing, your own cunt clenching harder around nothing.

He continued the rapid snaps of his hips, fast and hard slams, making Mommy cry out as he pummeled her into the wall, but his focus shifted to you, his hand sliding down your side, pressing you closer against him, your breasts squished when he snaked his hand down your back and between your ass cheeks. His long fingers brushed against your labia, and you gasped softly when he slipped one digit between them, dipping into your slick. You braced against him, moving up on your toes to give him better access, your arms tight around his waist.

You had no idea how he did it, but he kept the steady rhythm of his thrusts, sinking his cock into Mommy's fluttering cunt with unrelenting force, while also pushing his finger into your own pussy, just one finger, but it felt as if he was railing you instead. You buried your face under his arm, feeling the tight skin and hard muscles, inhaling his soft scent, soapy and masculine. His finger moved in and out, slowly matching the same beat of his hips that kept rubbing against your stomach, and you moaned into him as Mommy moaned into the wall, her body shuddering against his.

It was a whirlwind of sensations, watching them fuck, being fingered, feeling every twitch of his body, hearing those lewd noises, from their labored breaths to the loud squelching, and when Mommy came, you felt something warm spraying against your leg. She cried out loudly, her whole body spasming. Daddy's hand in her hair moved around her throat and pulled her back against him, bringing her closer to you as well, and with one arm still around him, you snaked the other around Mommy's waist, holding her too, your hand brushing over her chest.

Her hands found yours, and she guided it to her breasts, making you grope one while she fondled the other, you even started rubbing your own against Daddy's hard muscles, as he kept pumping his hips against Mommy and his finger into you. He sounded more and more agitated, quiet groans slipping from his now parted lips. He tightened his hand around Mommy's throat, tilting her head back to press his lips to her forehead, and you saw her eyes rolling back, her mouth agape, breathless moans escaping her.

“Come on, Daddy,” she rasped barely audible. “Fill me up...”

“Beg for it,” he said hoarsely, baring his teeth.

“Please, please, give me your cum, Daddy,” Mommy cooed, her body shaking in his tight hold, every thrust making her boobs bounce against your and her hand. “Please fill me up, I need it so bad!”

He let go of her throat and slapped his hand over her cheek, making her cry out louder. You winced at the sudden impact, flinching away. “What a needy little slut, huh? You sure you deserve it?” He sounded so mean, and yet you couldn't help but gasp at the rough texture of his voice, the low hum shooting straight into your tensing core with how it vibrated through your body.

Mommy wailed, chanting a chorus of “Yes, yes, please!” before he slapped her again, then pushed her back against the wall, making you stumble as you had to let go of her breast.

His finger slipped from your cunt as he grabbed Mommy's hips with both hands, and you could barely hold onto him as he started to really hammer into her, faster and harder than before, desperate almost. He groaned and grunted, animalistic noises filling your ears that made your cunt flutter.

Mommy whined and mewled, her body convulsing, legs shaking badly beneath her. You felt her orgasm as if it was your own, a sudden shiver, a deep throbbing, your own body trembling against Daddy's. And suddenly he stilled, pushing Mommy against the wall as he leaned in to wrap his arms around her waist, folding over her, holding on as his hips stuttered, a low moan akin to something that sounded like a “Ah, my good girl” escaping him as he buried his face in her hair.

You still clung to his waist, now somewhat sandwiched between them, feeling both of their shudders, being lulled by his low praises and her soft gasps, and all you could do, as he pumped his seed into Mommy, was close your eyes and lean into the sensations, your own cunt weeping, clenching around nothing. Whatever had just happened, it had been the hottest thing you'd ever witnessed and experienced.

For a long moment nobody moved. Only the water kept cascading down their slick bodies. You felt weirdly disconnected, floating in the warmth settling around you, lightheaded, dizzy, content. You could have stayed like that forever, but somehow, when you blinked your eyes open again, you found yourself back under the full spray of the shower, with Mommy in front of you, her hands massaging your breasts, while Daddy stood behind you, his fingers gliding through your hair.

You looked at Mommy (her face flushed, one cheek redder than the other, but a warm smile on her full lips) before you turned your head and looked up at Daddy (his hair was tousled, red spots on his cheeks, a gentle twinkle in his dark eyes), wondering whether you'd just had a very vivid dream or not. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, rubbing his wet beard against your jaw.

“You okay, pumpkin?” he rasped, his voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, frowning a little in confusion. Mommy squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples between her fingers. You flinched and looked back at her.

“I think we owe her another orgasm,” she whispered, looking past you at Daddy. “A real one...”

Before you could question what she meant by that, you felt Daddy's hands under your thighs, and suddenly you were being lifted, your back pressed into his chest, your legs spread wide as he held you up with your feet swinging about. You grabbed his forearms, a squeak escaping you as you squirmed against him. Mommy stepped between your wide open thighs, rubbing her hands along them.

“Calm down, mi amor, this is all for you,” she whispered, giving you a wink as she licked her lips. And then she buried her face in your crotch, her warm mouth pressed to your slit, her tongue dipping deep.

You cried out in surprise and confusion and hesitation, overcome with the biggest wave of shame yet, writhing in Daddy's arms. He cooed into your ear, shushing you. “It's alright, baby girl, let it happen.”

But you couldn't quite enjoy it as you felt Mommy's tongue lapping at your core, teasing into your hole before prodding against your clit. It felt wrong, the way Daddy held you open, how you couldn't escape, how she sucked and licked at your cunt as if... as if you were the dessert she had been waiting for for so long. Oh.

Another “Oh” escaped you as she teased her tongue deeper into you, your walls clenching at the unfamiliar intrusion. You gasped, twitching in Daddy's arms, Mommy's mouth so warm and intense against your sensitive skin. She kept licking and lapping, suckling and nibbling, grazing her teeth against your labia before she closed her lips around your clit and sucked hard. You thrashed your head into Daddy's shoulder and shrieked, your hips jerking against her face.

She kept going, her hands reaching up to support your rear, long fingers curling around your ass, digging into your soft flesh as she continued eating you out with vigor. You whined and wailed as pleasure built in your lower stomach, the tension almost painful. Daddy tried soothing you, his lips brushing against your temple, his low voice vibrating in your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed. “You're doing great, baby, look at Mommy go. She loves eating that sweet cunt, doesn't she? Can't wait to taste it myself, you know?”

His words only added to the heat gathering in your core, your body already shuddering deeply, thighs twitching against his hands, hips stuttering against Mommy's mouth, as her tongue lapped at your wetness, teasing your clit, prodding at your cunt, tasting every inch of you. You dug your fingers into Daddy's arms, holding on for dear life, as the tension grew and grew, the heat burning you from the inside out, all your nerves tingling badly.

And then you came, with a low cry, tears falling from your lashes as you squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body convulsing uncontrollably. Pleasure was all around you, tinged with a bit of pain that glowed red behind your eyelids. Little sobs and whines slipped from your tight throat as you succumbed to the sensations. Mommy kept licking at your drenched slit, prolonging the bliss gripping at your soul.

You felt like floating again, but it was dark, and you could barely breathe. Your body wasn't your own anymore, it was theirs, all the touches and kisses and praises sank into you, vanishing into the void.

Your eyes fluttered open and you found yourself sitting on a counter, your feet dangling in the air, your torso wrapped in a soft towel, another towel turban holding your hair up. You were breathing deeply, your body tingling. Mommy stood in front of you, smiling warmly. Her hands reached out and cupped your face. You blinked in confusion.

“Hey, sweet girl,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against yours. “Bit overwhelming, hm?” You didn't understand. “Don't worry. You'll get used to it. This is just the beginning,” she added with a soft chuckle, leaning in again to kiss you properly, deeper this time, her tongue pushing into your mouth. You were too far gone to wonder if her words were a threat or a promise.

“Give her some air,” you then heard Daddy's low voice behind Mommy. “Can't believe you made her faint...”

Mommy gave you another peck, then leaned away and turned her head to the tall man behind her. “That's a first for me too, you know? I had no idea our little girl was this sensitive,” she said softly, looking back at you, her thumbs rubbing over the corners of your mouth. “Aren't you the cutest little thing? We're so lucky, Noah.”

You felt a sudden wave of warmth flooding your cheeks, but the sight only made Mommy chuckle more, her lips back on yours. Another hand came forth, and you felt her moving away with a sigh, before Daddy slipped into your line of sight, your vision still blurry for some reason. He cradled your head in his large hands, resting his forehead against yours.

“You'll be fine, pumpkin,” he whispered, smiling at you. Your lips twitched a little. “Was a long day, wasn't it?”

You swallowed, unable to nod even though you wanted to. You felt boneless and too tired to do anything. Luckily, you didn't have to do anything. Daddy wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the counter, gently setting you on your feet, one hand still on your arm to hold you steady as he loosened the towels from around your torso and your hair. With your wet tresses falling over your shoulders, he scooped you up again, cradling you against his warm chest.

He was still naked, or again, you weren't sure. Didn't matter. You closed your eyes and let it happen. He carried you into another room, you were put down onto a soft bed (you assumed), before the mattress dipped around you, two more bodies slipping in beside you. Daddy pulled your back against his hard chest, your rear pressed to his groin, while Mommy squished her breasts against yours, as they sandwiched you yet again.

It was warm and comfortable, hands and arms tangled around you, soft breaths in your nape and against your forehead, gentle kisses and whispered words washing over you. You felt so sleepy, so heavy and so light at the same time. Exhaling loudly you drifted off into the void again, the better one this time.

“Good night, baby girl,” you heard both Mommy and Daddy coo into your ear before you slipped away fully.

Chapter 10 🔷️ Chapter 11 🔷️ Chapter 12

End notes: Head empty, just smut. That was the chapter. We'll go back to the plot in the next one, don't worry.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: You wake up in bed with Mommy and Daddy, and things continue...

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[bumblesimagines]

you were wrong about everything.

we were never meant to be together.

Yennefer

you were wrong about everything.

we were never meant to be together.

pronouns: they/them, gender neutral

"And what did we learn today, Kaspar?" You asked the boy teasingly as you wrapped bandages around the cut on his forearm. His dirt-covered cheeks puffed out and reddened with embarrassment. By far your favorite patient, Kaspar had a habit of getting into all sorts of trouble that always ended with him sitting in your shop seeking treatment for a bump or cut. 

"I shouldn't take Father's horse without permission." He muttered and you chuckled at the dejected look on his face. He'd managed to get away with falling off a horse with only minor bruises and a cut, but the scare had frightened his poor mother. Nodding with a smile, you straightened up and dipped your hands into the bucket of water, rinsing it clean of dirt and smudges of blood. You dried them off with a rag and fetched a basket of baked goods. His eyes lit up and he eagerly took it from your hands, shuffling through it until he found the pie. 

"Remember to share!" You called out him as he shoved some of the pie into his mouth and scurried out of your shop. With a soft laugh, you began collecting things off the table and putting them back in their rightful place. The front door creaked loudly, signaling someone else had entered the shop. You ensured everything appeared tidy before rounding the corner and putting on your best smile, only for it to drop immediately at the sight of the raven-haired mage. 

"(Y/N)," She greeted softly, unusual for the coldhearted woman who'd taken your heart and shattered it without thinking twice. She looked the same yet different all at the same time. Her vibrant violet eyes looked softer, gentler. The furrow in her brow that had once seemed permanent had vanished and she even appeared to seem... meek. 

"Why have you come crawling back to my doorstep?" 

"I wanted to see you again. I... I wanted to prove that you were wrong about everything. I've- I've changed." Yennefer spoke, her warm and hesitant voice unnerving. The last time you'd seen the mage, she'd been a force to be reckoned with, even without using her powers. Every move Yennefer made had always been calculated. Every word she uttered, every insult she spat, every spell she casted. Calculated and planned. And yet, standing there before your door, she looked out of place in her own body. 

"You've changed? You, Yennefer of Vengerberg? The same woman who told me I'd been a hopeless fool to believe there'd ever be a world where she ever loved me? The same woman who looked down on me for choosing to help people over slithering around a court?" You scoffed softly and her head bowed in shame and regret. "What was I wrong about, Yennefer? Are you no longer a heartless, selfish bitch who's going to die alone and forgotten?" 

"(Y/N)-"

"I don't believe for a second you've come here to prove anything. We were never meant to be together. Anything between us has long died along with any affection I held for you. If you've come here because you need something, I suggest you go looking elsewhere, Yennefer of Vengerberg."

[nnightskiess]

everytime you leave, part five

₊° - 𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.

everytime you leave, masterlist

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𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

With the sound and sensation… of her heart beating loudly in her ears, Yennefer found it hard to fall asleep. Unease, restlessness, but yet also the feeling of being in control, of being right where she should be, accompanied her daydreams as she tossed and turned beneath the covers. The windows rattled as another harsh gust of wind slapped against the walls of Aretuza, but while it had been a sound that had kept her wide awake during her first few weeks, it served as a comforting lullaby now. At least in this room, void of judgemental stares, void of feelings of envy and hatred, she could come closer to who she was before coming here. Alone and imprisoned with only her thoughts to keep her company. The wind continued to howl as the dancing flames in the fireplace barely managed to keep her from freezing. It was a particularly stormy night on the Isle of Thanedd. So high up this hill, at the foot of the ocean, Aretuza was often the first victim of the land’s ruthless weather. But it was nothing like she’d seen before. It was as if the rain pelting against the glass and the wind crying out were both begging to be let in, to comfort the newest addition to the Brotherhood. Yennefer could only imagine how you must be feeling right now. Cold and frightened of the unknown. She knew, because she had felt the exact same. And alone, most of all. Sure, she favoured some people over others, but Yennefer could never truthfully admit she had friends. That would be a lie. No one had ever been her friend, and being in Aretuza hadn't changed that. If anything, she'd shut down each and every attempt at a friendship, suspecting they made fun of her behind her back anyway. And she’d prefer to not have any friends. She’d stay to learn what she needed, to take care of herself as a mage in this world. Then she’d go and use that power and knowledge to live her own life. She was the worst of her class anyway, so what use would the Brotherhood have with her?

Her mind wandered back to you as the wind howled again. Somehow, as she’d looked into those eyes that had spat fire at her, she’d seen recognition. Familiarity, something kindred. It had given her a sensation she’d never felt before. Hope. Because there was hope in the power she felt rumbling through her veins the minute you locked eyes. She’d seen you as easy prey for the other mages the minute she’d watched Tissaia bring in your defeated form, seen you tattered and burned and bruised, and heard you banging against the door. She felt a little bad at the relief that washed over her, thinking that perhaps you'd be the next freak show with all those burns, that maybe you'd be even worse than her in classes and she wouldn't have to face Tissaia's wrath anymore. Then the littlest voice, hidden behind thick walls inside her, had wondered if maybe, she shouldn't pit against you. Maybe, she could finally have a friend, one as ruined as she was. Someone who understood her, who could see past the ugliness. But no, you were just like everyone else.

Yennefer closed her eyes, her eyebrows furrowed as she bit her lip until it bled. Her body was restless— it itched, it burned, it pinched and it was feverishly hot and piercing cold all at the same time. Yet her mind was even worse. The number of different things she smelt made her dizzy and nauseous— from the smell of blood, fire, and scorched earth, to that of summer rain, something flowery and, funnily enough, that of an apple tart. It was so specific, that it kept plaguing her, keeping her up. As if it was part of a memory she should have remembered and that it wouldn’t leave her senses until she did. Then there were the flashes of memories she saw when she closed her eyes— from the sun peaking through the thick canopy of treetops, a cellar stocked with food right before a harsh winter, muddy hands ploughing through the earth, the feeling of the cold water of a lake dancing against her thighs, to horses crying out and galloping in hopes to diminish the flames burning them alive. She heard screams, the soft trickle of a river, a song being hummed, and the bubbling of a large fire. Surely she must still be hallucinating, a direct result of the herbology class that had gone wrong today, where Tissaia had given them something to chew under false pretences just so they could learn to always keep their wits about them and stay alert. Because these rushes of smells and sensations weren’t hers, not all of them, at least. Perhaps this was another one of Tissaia's tests. They’d probably all wake up tomorrow, exhausted from the lack of sleep, and have the hardest test ever to train how well they’d do in the difficult circumstances of little sleep and even less concentration. Because Yennefer had none left of the latter. And when Yennefer couldn’t concentrate or control herself, she’d grow irritated, but more importantly, she’d become a danger, waiting to explode. Because that was Yennefer— she’d never implode. When she was annoyed, everyone would know. When she was mad, everyone would have to deal with it. Perhaps she was born like that, or she’d made it part of her defence after coming here. She, herself, was her most-priced possession now. But on the other side of the hall, hidden behind thick bricks and in the dark of the night, you were waiting for not the explosion, but the implosion. And when it came to you, an explosion would inevitably follow after that. You would only explode after imploding, after being hurt, defied and beaten. And after the events that had happened, you were waiting for another big bang to occur.

With your body shivering from the cold, you jumped as the windows clattered once more, the pelting rain finding amusement in it. They were making fun of you, you were sure, pointing fingers and not even trying to hide their grins and chuckles behind their hands. You were defeated. You were heartbroken. Exhausted to no end. But while everything in you screamed for sleep, a louder voice screamed with images, smells and sounds that had painted the nightmare of the last few days. It terrified you. Not even a few days here and somehow the mage in you had been unleashed more often than since your birth. Perhaps that was just an aftershock of this conduit moment Tissaia had been talking about. Or was this place some sort of amplifier? Or was everyone plagued by their terrors and were they just better at shutting them out?

You released a shaky breath when you swallowed back a sob. In the cold of this room, during this storm, all you longed for was your mother’s warm embrace, the way she’d comfort you with a hummed song, or how she’d bake her favourite tarts during the first day of winter. But you didn’t deserve warmth, nor did you long for it. Not anymore. Not after you’d seen what followed heat. The destruction it had left. You didn’t deserve to long for your mother or your family when you had been the one who’d brought them to their doom. And even while you tried to get those images to comfort you, an unfamiliar sensation washed over you. It had hit you as hard as the wind making the windows clatter. Unfamiliar sights and smells ensnared your mind. You could smell the waste of fruit and vegetables combined with the rotting of wet hay. You saw a pigpen, a well and a table full of kids. There were only three chairs, but no one seemed to mind eating their platter on the ground. A happy family, you presumed. But then your body shook with a sensation you’d only recently truly learned and embraced— anger. It grew warm, made beads of sweat tickle your forehead and made you let out a whine in pure fright. Not again. Not here. The only comfort you found was the humbling realisation that your hands and fingers were still freezing. So long as they were, nothing would happen. You saw a couple of kids again, heard them laughing, and watched as you were then pushed to the ground, your body jolting in your bed in real-time.

The wind cried out again, and you were back in your room. You had wanted to stay awake, not wanting to be caught off guard in this place, not feeling safe enough to rest, nor liking the way the door wasn't locked, meaning everyone had acces. But after all these visions had kept you restless, you’d prayed to fall asleep and just be rid of them. Only, how could you sleep in a room as cold and damp as this one and in total darkness? How could you be sure there was no one lurking? And why had that thought even crossed your mind? The sudden thought of it made you shoot up in your bed. Though you’d never truly realised the root of all these weird things happening in your life had been chaos, you had always been a girl very trusting of your gut, your inner instinct. That was exactly why your heartbeat stammered and bounced between your two ears. 

You pushed your legs over the edge of the bed and let your eyes search the darkness to see if there was any proof of your suspicion. You racked your brain to try and remember if there'd been anything useful in this room to defend yourself with, but you figured that they'd taken that away, seeing as you could harm yourself with it, too. The windows clattering in their hinges caught you off guard as your head snapped to them, where they still mocked your fright. The air changed and grew a little stuffy, as if a palpable sense of power had engulfed you, trying to dominate you. It elevated your senses and your chest rose up and down in shallow breaths. Your body started to prickle like it would whenever you’d fallen asleep on a limb resting in an uncomfortable position. You squeezed your eyes shut, frozen in fear, longing for your mother like a young child. You pushed a quiet sob out at the realisation that you didn't even remember the last time you'd hugged her. Your heartbeat sped up, but it wasn’t the warmth of tears that you felt on your face.

It was a hand, cupping against your lips, pushing harshly to muffle any sound that would escape.

“Not a sound.” Hushed a voice, which you could only hear because it had spoken so close to your ear. Stricken with fright, you fought your head out of their hold, eyes snapping open and immediately looking into the lilac eyes of the girl who had given you such a warm welcome earlier. With the same big eyes she had pierced your gaze mere hours before, you took in her face again. You reached forward, both your hands pushing at her chest to create some distance.

Yennefer stumbled backwards.

“You come into my room, unannounced, and jump at me from the dark?” You voiced, eyes wide and breathing fast. 

Yennefer didn’t feel like wasting her breath on starting a discussion with you, not this time, not when she was already this exhausted.

“You’re too loud, quiet your damn mind or I fucking will.” Yennefer huffed, standing back up to her full height, as much as she could. She watched you, eyes full of fire, but her bottom lip pouting out made her look less intimidating than she wanted to be.

Baffled, you reached forward again, an accusatory finger pointed Yennefer’s way, “Get out of my room!”

"You know that they let a girl die in that bed four days ago?" She stated matter of factly, ignoring how your eyes widened, then glanced around your room. It was as if Yennefer found joy in tantalising you, “Why’s your fire out? Do you want to see how long it will take you to freeze to death? Desperate to set the record of how quick someone can die after arriving?”

Yennefer shrugged, continuing her one-way conversation, "Good luck with that then, they won't let you if they don't want you."

“I said get out.” You sneered in a whisper, still aware that Yennefer was in your room, during this time of night. You didn't know if this visit was breaking any rules, though you supposed it did. And Tissaia had warned you to keep to yourself for now.

“Why? It’s finally quiet, isn’t it?” Yennefer challenged, staring at your idle form on the bed.

She was right, you quickly realised. The thoughts were gone, the sensations now a mere memory.

You wondered, “Did you do that?”

“I can’t control your mind, we haven’t learned that yet. You did that yourself.” Yennefer grunted out the last part with a bitter taste in her mouth, realising that with your arrival, she might have to prove herself even harder. You weren't as useless as she deemed you to be when you'd looked halfdead already when Tissaia had carried you in. But she wouldn't let you have the satisfaction, “Be grateful, me coming here finally distracted you from those damned apple tarts of yours.”

Shocked, confused and intrigued all the same, you sat back up, “How did you know that?” You could faintly smell them already even at the mere thought of them.

"Know what?"

"About the apple tarts?"

Yennefer's shoulders tensed in irritation, “It’s something mages can do, transfer thoughts and visions... memories and such. Someone I know showed me that before. But that was by touch... and now I was on the other side of the hallway.” Yennefer let her words carry out in wonder, her voice dying down as the words she spoke found a place in her mind. 

“But how did you know they were mine?”

“Didn't you come here covered in burns? All I saw was fire at first. It made sense.” Yennefer watched intently and saw how her words had struck you harder than she’d meant. But she couldn't let herself feel bad about it, not when you already had one on her without having even attended a single class, “Besides, all of us longed for home the first few weeks we came here. Don’t worry, they’ll chant that out of you, too, together with all you loved and knew of your life before. A puppet for the Brotherhood," Yennefer huffed, her thoughts wandering off, "That was your mother? Humming?”

You locked your jaw and threw off the linen sheets still half draped around your legs, being overcome with heat, hatred, and frustration. All the results of losing control of the situation.

You knew you should tell her to go and take control of the situation before things would go very wrong again. You could push her out if she didn't listen. But the way she'd asked if it had been your mother... well, it had irked something inside of you. So, instead, with a defying grin, you shot back, “You had quite a lot of siblings, a nice family, two loving parents, yes?” You decided to play by her rules and watched the tension in Yennefer’s uneven posture grow. 

“Have.” Was all the lilac-eyed girl declared through gritted teeth.

“But didn't you just say that once you’re brought here, you begin a new life, fully devoted to the Brotherhood?" Yennefer's earlier explanation made it clear that some of the things you'd seen, had belonged to her mind. So, you added, "Or are you truly so keen on going back to the family that had you sleep among the pigs?” You knew it was low, that it went too far, but you could not help yourself. You were hurt, and she had known and made it hurt even worse anyway.

Yennefer took a step forward, hands balled in tight, white-knuckled fists, breaths puffing out of her nose. She hid her surprise and hurt and masked it with anger, as she always did. You were a worthy opponent in this clash, but she knew she had the upper hand after having seen flashes of your life.

“At least I have a family to return to.”

Within an instant, startling even Yennefer who masterfully hid it behind an intrigued glance, you jumped up. Face to face, you could feel Yennefer’s warm breath tickle your skin in intervals, your own fanning that of Yennefer as well. She watched intently, waiting for what would happen next. Letting you make the next move so she would know exactly how to one-up you.

But what had started as eyes reflecting hatred, turned to eyes full of tears soon after. She quickly realised she’d gone too far. She’d brought someone down to the lowest place in existence, a place that wasn't foreign to her, and she hated how the sudden feeling of euphoria and power tapping against her chest had disappeared. The scars on her wrist started to pulse as if they were berating her.

The fire in your eyes and belly had just been lit as if a Witcher had stood behind you and cast Igni over your shoulder. You watched as Yennefer’s eyes softened slightly and a sense of understanding replaced the harshness. You could not watch the change happen for too long, because her face disappeared from your view entirely a second after.

Yennefer’s only instinct was to duck when the shrill sound of glass shattering with high force rang through the room. Shards and glass particles danced around you before falling to the floor in a cacophony of deadly crystal rain. Where other pieces fell idle on the floor, some had thrown themselves into the hardwood floors, sticking out like shiny traps. 

You had ducked down not long after, trying to peek through the arms that had shielded your face from the shards. The floorboards buzzed in the aftermath.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Yennefer yelled above the rain and wind that had finally been welcomed inside, as the piercing cold slapped against your faces. Your panic only intensified when you realised you had been the one behind this blast as you looked down at where you stood, the shards having stopped in a circle around the two of you. There had been no fire for your chaos to latch onto, so it had taken the next best rumbling thing to attract— the storm outside.

Yennefer’s words had caused the implosion inside of you before the explosion currently unwrapping around you had introduced itself. What terrorised your thoughts even more, was the realisation that a slight vortex of wind had started to take shape around the room, slowly collecting whatever stood in it.

The storm had answered your beckoning, but now you kept quiet, so it decided to do its own thing.

“Cut it off!” Yennefer shrieked, her hands flailing around her in the dark before finally coming across one of your wrists. She found the other not long after and used them to harshly yank the two of you fully onto the ground. She squeezed the blood out of your hands, no doubt leaving bruises in the flesh. Then she yanked again, a silent but urgent plea to stop whatever you were doing, and to stop it now.

Instantly, the room went oddly quiet, aside from the occasional object slowly losing its movement and coming to a spinning or falling end. It was as if the world had stopped momentarily, as the howling and clashing of the storm now seemed further away than it ever had before. Another yank on your wrists made you look up into Yennefer’s violet eyes. Your ears popped, and you could breathe again. Sound returned and so did the realisation of the severity of what had just happened. The room was in complete disarray, and, to be fair, so were the two of you. 

“What did you do?” Your lips quivered as your eyes took in the destruction and the broken windows, making it easy for the wind to blow your hair into your faces. Still, you could clearly see the violet eyes of the girl in front of you going wide from the accusation.

“How is this my fault?! What the fuck did you do?” Yennefer ricocheted, panic increasing, “You razed this place!” 

You inched closer, upping the tension between you, and spoke through gritted teeth, “Because you couldn’t leave me alone!” 

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and in walked Tissaia and two other mages, all clearly just woken from their sleep. The two of you turned to the door and you were pretty sure that the women could hear your heartbeat even from their distance.

Tissaia took a step further into the room, examining the damage, cupped her hands in front of her and then inspected the two of you. You pushed yourself back up immediately, but not before sending a nasty glare Yennefer's way. You didn't want to know the amount of trouble she had just gotten you in.

“Can the two of you explain what in the world has happened here and why you are out of bed?” Her stern gaze that spat fire was directed equally between the both of you, and you felt some sense of relief that maybe you wouldn't get all the blame. “Now.” Aretuza’s rectoress spoke slowly, intensifying her stare to make the severity known, if the state of the room hadn’t already done so. 

Yennefer stumbled up, locking her jaw and grinding her teeth together. Neither of you said a word.

“Very well. My office.” Tissaia turned around, exchanged a look with the two mages who no doubt were having to stay up to fix the room, and disappeared into the hallway, expecting the two of you to follow her.

“Now you’ve done it.” You huffed and left the room, leaving Yennefer to mutter something under her breath before eventually following, too. 

Tissaia was already sitting behind her desk when you arrived and motioned to the vacant seats by dipping her head. Yennefer rolled her eyes and stayed back as she watched you sit down without a protest. Tissaia’s eyes now went to Yennefer,

“Sit or I will make you wish you’d sat on your own accord, piglet.”

Begrudgingly, Yennefer stumbled forward, hating how her uneven posture made her feel small and frail instead of powerful and confident as she sat down.

“Talk.” She directed her venom towards Yennefer first, but the girl shrugged,

“You should really replace the windows of this damned place more often, they’re not prone to this kind of storm, as it seems.” 

“They’re protected by Aretuza’s chaos, they’re indestructable. Would you be so kind to tell me how two young mages were able to break a Brotherhood barrier or should we start by why you were not in your own room after curfew?” Still, her stare and harsh words were directed towards Yennefer, who was beginning to find the entire situation all too unfair. 

“I don’t know who she is, but clearly it was a misjudgement to take her in. Her control over her chaos is utter shit.” Yennefer started, nudging her head to the left, not sparing you a glance, too frustrated with the situation you’d gotten her in by almost blowing up the place.

“What were you doing in her room?” Tissaia repeated herself, growing impatient at Yennefer’s choice of words.

Yennefer didn't say a word, not wanting to admit to Tissaia that you had already managed to link minds with someone on your first day. Perhaps this was just a fluke, a one time thing. She would not bury her own grave by giving you indirect praise.

"Y/N?"

Your face was set in stone, but Tissaia's glare made you crack, "She came into my room and wouldn't leave."

“And?"

Now Yennefer sat up, "And she tore the place apart, that's it."

"There will be no pointing fingers until I know what happened exactly.”

“I don’t know what happened,” You spoke truthfully, “I felt restless, kept seeing things that had never been seen by my own eyes each time I closed them.”

Yennefer sank into the chair— great.

Tissaia’s face changed at this information, but she kept silent.

“I had lost control again before I realised it was slipping out of my grasp and everything happened all at once. Yennefer found me like that. That is all. Then I wanted her to leave, but she wouldn't.”

Yennefer’s head whipped to the side, her big eyes narrowing and her brows starting to furrow. What were you doing?

Tissaia wrapped her hands together and rested her chin atop of them, staring in a way that made you feel as if she could see right through you. For all you knew, she could, but you desperately hoped that wasn’t a thing mages could do and that it was limited to smells or visions of apple tarts.  

It was an awkward couple of seconds as Tissaia kept staring. At last, she sighed and sat back in her chair, tapping a soft rhythm on the armrests as her gaze shifted between the two of you.

“You will spend each afternoon after class in this office and you won’t leave until you’ve succeeded the task I’ve given you. Starting right now.” Tissaia lifted up her finger to signal silence before Yennefer could butt in. Then, she shoved a golden tray across the desk. On it— a vase with one single flower, a blushing pink carnation, and next to it, an empty glass, “You will both transfer the water from the vase into the glass. I want no droplet left in the currently filled vase when you’re done. And if the glass shatters or the flower dies, you will reverse those mistakes as well. Understood?”

Yennefer sank down in her seat. This was advanced stuff considering she had only started at Aretuza a few weeks ago, and her levitation work was abysmal as well, to say the least.

“But I’ve just come here, I don’t know any-” You swallowed down your words at the look Tissaia gave you, the concern of blowing up not only a simple vase but Tissaia’s entire office lost into the background.

“Use your chaos.” She spoke each word with fervor as she looked at you both, as if to convey an ulterior message. One unknown to you, for now. “Control it. Bend it to your will. Direct it, don’t be directed. Learn from each other. But keep it bottled. Always. This world is in balance because all of our chaos is bottled, it is guarded, it is dealt with delicately. And you will now learn to do so, as well.” 

She looked at you, then at Yennefer, and she watched your focus shift to the tray in front of you, where the sound of water being poured into a glass appeared. Then, Tissaia stood up and, before she left the room, put out the fireplace. She gave you a sharp look, and you know she'd done it because of you. Her footsteps dissipated in a slow fading echo and the two of you sat in silence for a beat. 

Yennefer turned in her seat, confused, and watched as you stared at the carnation.

“Why did you do that?”

“You shouldn't have been in my room, but I was the one who got you in trouble, ultimately.”

"Oh- fuck off," Yennefer rolled her eyes at your chivalry, sensing you were one of those morally good people. The kind of people that wouldn't survive this type of world, but she knew you'd learn soon enough. "Did you forget the part I badmouthed your dead family?"

Your hands clenched, but you willed yourself to keep in control, "I said some unnecessarily mean stuff myself, do you remember?"

"So what? You want to be my friend now?"

"If this is you as a friend, then yeah, because I don't want you as an enemy, coming into my room at night for hell knows what." You bit back but with a slight air of lightheartedness.

Yennefer chuckled dryly and shook her head, “As if I should believe you after what went on between us. Barely even a day here and you're already acting like all the others— sucking up to Tissaia and upholding the peaceful act that we should all be friends.”

You turned in your seat, “You're doing a terrible job of hiding your jealousy."

"You fucking wish."

"Well, what is it, then? Because even if I haven't been here for long, I already know you’re sticking out like a sore thumb among the others-” You saw the split second of hurt on Yennefer’s face as she thought her looks were alluded to, “-by sticking your nose where you shouldn’t.”

“Ah, you seem to know me so well after we’ve only- what? Met twice? Tell me then, why do you think I hate this place?”

“I think you hate it because you don't fit in, and that terrifies you, because you've never fit in anywhere."

Yennefer finally turned quiet. You knew you had hit the nail on its head even before the words had left your mouth. It was too obvious, the insecurity practically painted onto her forehead.

Yennefer stared at the flower that seemed to mock her mood with all its glory. She’d been here for weeks now, and each day, she’d wanted to go back home. Sure, it had been exhilarating to find out she had chaos inside of her, but what good was it if she couldn’t even lift a stupid little pebble? Her conduit moment had forced her into this life, and she hated the lack of choice, yet, she didn’t want to go back to her old life either, to being unwanted and treated worse than the cattle she'd had to sleep next to. But this place… it had brought out the worst in her. Frustration, unhealthy competitiveness, resentment, envy, insecurity, hatred. It had even turned into an attempt to end her life during the first night. Perhaps she had been a little too harsh on you after all. Instead of crying yourself to sleep, you were stuck here with the crazed hunchback you no doubt thought she was. How else could you? Yennefer could feel the way people stared at her, and while it had been awful in her old life, those stares had turned unbearable here. She felt like the ugly goose in a lake full of swans. She was the ugly goose. And if she hadn’t been so self-aware, she would have still known she was by the number of times she’d been called names back home in her village.

But you… you were one of the swans. Perhaps the brightest and most promising of the bunch even when she first saw you filled in muck and burns. Maybe exactly because of that. It showed a conduit moment far greater than freezing a cat or making your mother fat. And if she needed proof, it had been shown to her on a silver platter just now, as the chamber had fallen victim to hazardous destruction by your doing. It was unfair. Powerful and pretty shouldn’t be allowed to coerce together. One could not have the best of both platters, but Yennefer knew that in this environment, that was exactly what was wanted. Being powerful earned respect…fear... but being pretty meant that people would hang onto your every word, would agree with everything you said and would move mountains for you, no questions asked. And, it didn't hurt to get some good attention for a chance. One day, Yennefer knew she would get that chance. But being powerful… well, no ascension could change her chaos. Not really. And the only way she could ascend and become beautiful, was if she was skilled and powerful enough to earn it. No court would want an ugly mage, but a pretty mage lacking the powers a sorceress needed to possess was useless to them, too. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and it had been people like you who’d put her there. People who'd had it all from the beginning, and then whined because they thought they had it worse. Still, she couldn’t help but spark a tiny flicker of intrigue towards you. She was certain you held more magical capabilities with no knowledge of the entire chaos ladder than Sabrina held after months of practice and studies. 

“How did you do that, back there, in the room?” She wondered after a while, brushing off how she'd left you hanging on your clever observation.

“You say it in such a tone that makes me think I should be proud of it.”

“Because you should.”

“No, I should not, if you hadn’t pulled me out of it, I would’ve likely taken the entire tower down with us.”

Yennefer licked her lips, “So, what I’m hearing there is an unspoken thank you for not making you a mass murderer.”

Your heart clenched at the awful irony in that, but then you saw the tiniest pull of Yennefer’s lips turn them into a small smile. 

Quietly, and feeling defeated as you looked at the golden tray on Tissaia’s desk, you muttered, “It all wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t said those things.”

Yennefer’s trying smile disappeared soon enough, her eyes inspecting the tray as well, “Perhaps.”

“If you try a little harder, it could almost start to sound like an apology.” You quipped back, not missing the fact the girl had at least shown the slightest hint of remorse. Still, her words had hurt, and your heart was still breaking each moment your mind went back to the family you no longer had.

Yennefer shrugged absentmindedly, still in deep thought.

“Well, it’s a very timid one then. You should work on that.”

“What we should really work on is Tissaia’s task. I’ve only just touched upon levitation work, water bending is something else entirely.”

“I’m afraid that tonight I’ll ruin not only my chamber, but this office as well.”

Yennefer watched you shift in your seat uncomfortably, staring at the never-ending rain tapping against the window. Then she huffed out a chuckle, liking the dry sense of humour that had slipped past your lips, even if you didn't seem to be aware of it. Maybe especially because of that reason.

“Tissaia said that a healthy balance is needed. Power must come from something, a sacrifice has to be made.” Her voice lulled you out of your worries.

You thought about it, “The water is practically already there, so that means-”

Yennefer nodded, “-we can use that very same water as a balancing factor while we transfer. It’s already there, there’s no conjuring it. Making sure our chaos is trapped within that water and stays there at all times and doesn’t bounce off, is key.”

“You know a lot.”

Yennefer made a face, “These are the basics that get repeated to us each and every hour. It’s simple.”

“The existence of chaos doesn’t sound so simple. Two days ago I didn’t even know what it meant. I still don’t.”

“Yet you throw it around without care.” Yennefer rolled her eyes, not liking how you sounded just like Fringilla who always acted like she had no clue, but then succeeded within the first attempt. “Maybe you should sit this one out before we go blind by the shards of glass flying into our eyes.”

“She said the both of us.”

“Right, I forgot you were her little lapdog.” Yennefer stood to pick up the vase and inspected it. She pulled the flower out and watched the water dance inside as she swirled it around. 

“A carnation,” You noted, continuing as Yennefer turned to you, “You know each colour holds a different meaning? The pink ones have a motherly kind of-”

“I don’t care.” Yennefer huffed in frustration and dipped the flower back into the vase, not having the faintest idea how to get the task done, but she’d felt the rejection in the soft sigh sounding from behind her, “Unless that information will help us out.”

Dejected, you stood up and looked around the office— there were bookcases filled to the brim with books that, no doubt, held a lot of knowledge of chaos and powers; trinkets lined the wooden surfaces above a large chest that looked macabre yet intriguing, pots of plants you didn't want to touch were lined up atop the windowsills, cabinets filled with vails and jars of what you assumed were different kind of herbs, all kinds of different shaped, sized, textured and coloured stones were sprawled out in an organised mess on a table in the corner and finally, the most normal thing in the entire room— a globe of the Continent.

The large bell coming from the tower suddenly broke the silence, ringing thrice to signal the hour of the night. 

“Maybe we can find something in these books?” Yennefer followed your actions and she started to let her eyes roam across the bindings to find anything that sounded familiar enough to help. You felt your attention get tugged to the far right, to a row just above your eyesight.

Giambattista's Forces of Elements. 

You pulled out the book and read the index, eyes then quickly falling onto the last of the long row of chapters.

Fire Magic and its Dangers.

“What’s that you got there? Elemental Magic?” Yennefer hummed, pulling the book out of your hands and skimming through it, “How to change the weather… how to manipulate the earth… how to… water, water-” She mumbled to herself, “Fire magic?”

Your head leapt up in curiosity, “What does it say?”

Yennefer looked at you, but as soon as she saw the word forbidden in the same sentence, she, too, became intrigued,

“Within the bounds of the usage of chaos, fire magic is strictly forbidden because of its destructive nature and the corrupting effects it has on those who use it. It often leads to dangerous consequences that can cause permanent corruption of one’s chaos and mind and often leads to death. It is the only type of magic that can both destroy and consume and asks the user to tap into the negativity stored inside, making it tempting for one’s chaos to lose control-” She stopped to look at you, but you ushered her to go on,

“The usage of fire magic often comes with a heavy price, for with this kind of chaos, the sacrifice is far greater than the result.”

“Chaos comes at a cost.” You nodded, having learned that the hard way.

“Starting to learn already,” Yennefer mumbled absentmindedly before skimming further through the book, “Here- Standard Practices of Bending Water. To bend water to their will, one must first focus on the balance to keep their chaos strapped within bounds before continuing to ground one’s existing being to find the balance around them. A strong mind and solid and rested soul are the key to directing an elemental force that can both bend, mend, block and destroy. As water isn’t afraid to burn in fire, fade into the sky, drown into the dark shroud of the earth or shatter against sharp rocks in rainfall, it is the most versatile element there is. It can dissolve into different kind of shapes depending on the mage’s needs. Water is both our up and down and can be found both above us in the sky or below us in the earth and is therefore the easiest found elemental balance, but not the easiest used. Great-” Yennefer muttered before continuing, “Because of its many states and forms, it is hard to use chaos to bend water to your liking. Young mages might find chewing or burning dried mint or lemon skin beneficial to hone this skill, as those are known to have natural properties that can help remove impurities from water, removing any contrarian factors and thus making the transition to use one’s chaos to bend this element easier." Yennefer clapped the book closed, "Well, that was a load of bull.” 

“It didn’t say anything about transferring water?”

“Nothing about incantation either.”

“There are incantations you can use?”

“Another thing learned,” Yennefer sighed out uninterestingly.

Your eyes examined all the books in front of you, “You know, kindness would suit you."

“Like that’s ever gotten anyone anywhere in this world.”

“Wow, someone must have really hurt you for you to be this bitter.” You huffed, done being kind, proving Yennefer’s point, and walked to Tissaia’s cabinet full of herbs. You read all the labels on the pots, which were thankfully placed in alphabetic order, “Here, mint leaves.” 

Yennefer put one in her mouth, started to chew, and grabbed the vase with water in one hand, the empty glass in the other.

“The book said to ground yourself first.”

“I am grounded.” Yennefer snapped sharply.

“I can see that.” You shot back.

Yennefer felt the inside of her mouth tingle from the mint and tried to focus on the water. If she could just make a ripple, anything, to show she could move the water, she’d feel a lot better.

“Maybe try removing the flower. It might interfere since it’s a living thing and could use the water as power to stay alive?”

Actually, Yennefer thought, that wasn’t such a daft comment, but fuck did she hate how you had been the one to make it. She watched as you plucked the carnation out of the tiny vase, twirling it in your fingers. 

“Or, maybe, you could use the flower, too? Since it holds chaos, right?” 

Once again, Yennefer hated how sharp your observation was. Tissaia had said to use whatever was at hand to provide the balance they needed, and you had heeded her advice. She looked at the flower dangling in front of her, stared at you before whisking it out of your hands and setting her teeth into a few petals. They didn’t taste nearly as good as they smelt, but that was of no importance to her now. 

"What are you doing?!" You couldn't help but ask, finding it incredulous. But Yennefer ignored you, liking how she knew what she was doing this time, and you had no clue. It let her ease up a bit again. She'd had hours of lessons, you hadn't.

“If this all doesn’t work, we could just pour the water from one glass to the other,” Yennefer sighed, surprised that you let out an honest laugh.

“I don’t think she is one to fall for such tricks. Suppose she wants to see us do it.”

“Right,” Yennefer muttered, licked her lips, rolled her neck and clenched her jaw shut again, severely focusing on the water. Seconds passed. A minute. Then two. Nothing happened. She was feeling the exhaustion from the lack of sleep now, and her mind was still a little fuzzy from the class experiment. Yennefer started to shake and you reached out to stop her trembling hands, “Maybe you should-”

“-maybe you should shut up and let me do it!” 

A cold splash hit both your hands as the water from the vase got blasted out. She looked at the water soaking up the floorboards, then at you.

“At least it’s out of the vase…” 

Yennefer glared at you, “I almost had it! I could feel it start to move!” 

“Sure, it just went the wrong way. It really looked like you knew what you were doing." You were starting to grow sick of how she kept snapping at you, "Look, we can just try again. There’s a pitcher over there."

You refilled it for her, “Go.”

Yennefer stared at you, at the way your brows were furrowed at her in slight annoyance... but also in slight intrigue, as if you were desperately waiting to see what Yennefer could bring forth.

Yennefer bit off another petal and chewed, starting all over, but with more confidence this time. She looked to her left again, right into your eyes and felt she could take a deeper, more grounded breath this time as it travelled all the way to her lower abdomen. Her fingers tingled, her chest warmed up, then her neck, then her arms and ultimately, her hands. The water started to bubble, splutter and dance against the edges of the vase as if Yennefer was tumbling the vase around, but her hands were frozen in place. You leaned in, amazed, this being the first time you'd seen the good kind of chaos. Yennefer closed her eyes, her ears ringing and her heartbeat now loudly pulsing inside her head. Her chaos was speaking to her. It was making itself known, just not loud enough yet for her to answer. 

Tissaia approached the room, surprised by the silence. In her line of work, that never really meant good news. She made sure to take each step with great care to not announce her approaching presence. Once at the door, she peeked through the gap and watched. The two girls looked to be in great concentration. Tissaia noticed the opened book, the pot of herbs and the half-chewed-up flower lying dormant on her desk. She could feel the girl’s exhaustion from their previous endeavour, and their chaos hadn’t been spared by trying to get this task completed either.

“Watch your breathing, the water stops when you stop,”

She could hear your muffled voice and watched as Yennefer only nodded and made work of the advice instead of snarking back a reply. The sound of tiny singular drops falling into the empty glass filled the room, but from Tissaia’s spot in the hallway, the only proof that something seemed to be happening, was the gasp that Yennefer released.

Smiling softly to herself, Tissaia took a deep breath and opened the door, catching the two of you by surprise. She made a point to look at the items you had gotten by going through her stuff, without permission, then eyed the glass. 

“It’s been a long night, perhaps tomorrow, after some hours of sleep, you’ll be able to transfer more than just a few teardrops.” She took place in front of her desk and leaned against it, watching as you stared at her, still bewildered, “Go now, off to bed. I want to see the two of you here tomorrow.”

“My room-”

“Is back to its original state. I suggest you keep it that way.” 

You sauntered off, but before Yennefer could exit too, Tissaia held her back by her arm. She intently stared at the mage’s violet eyes, looking for something behind them, then let go. Tissaia turned around and watched the two of you disappear, knowing something had been set in motion.

𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀. 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 <3

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Fates Divine: Where it All Begins (Yennefer of Vengerberg x Reader)

Summary: What if Yennefer’s destiny wasn’t entwined with Geralt’s? What if another fate awaited her? And where does Princess Cirilla play into all this?

Words: 1183

Warnings: Witcher violence, AU (kinda?), language

A/N: This is the start of a new series I’m working on. The prologue of it, if you will. It will get longer from here but I thought a set up was in order.

If you want to be on this taglist, lemme know.

Series Masterlist

-X-

Gold eyes.

Unnerving, glistening, narrowed eyes were the first things Yennefer saw as she awoke with a start, clutching her aching breast with nimble, scab-ridden fingers. Tucked onto a hillside, shaded by the coloring leaves and away from the harsh view of both man and animal, there was nothing but stillness surrounding her.

“Witch,” you greeted gruffly, gaze flickering to her heaving, barely-covered chest before lifting upward again. “Glad to see you lived. That katakan nearly made you his next meal. Maybe don’t travel Oxenfurt or its roads at night for a while. Could still be plenty of the bastards roaming about.”

Yennefer blinked in surprise, back straightening as she finally took in the full sight of you. Bearing the obvious signs of a Witcher – stark white hair and cat-like eyes that sent most mortals reeling backwards – and the scars that tended to adorn your people, you weren’t quite what she’d imagined after hearing of a Witcher skulking about. The cocky twist of your smirk and the way your golden gaze lightened as she gaped left you almost youthful in appearance.

As though you hadn’t battled a thousand monsters; hadn’t saved a thousand souls (for coin, of course).

“Do you speak, witch?” you teased, biting the apple in your hand playfully. “Or did those fancy mages steal your manners in that big ole tower of yours?”

Yennefer glared, offended at such an implication, and it sent you into a fit of laughter. The apple in your grasp shifted, nearly crushed beneath the weight of your grip, so you simply tossed it to your lazing mare while you tried to calm your mirth.

“That is quite a rude assumption, you white-haired brute,” she scolded, though it held little fire as your amusement bled into her. “I was simply surprised to awake to such an…”

“Freak of nature? Mutant? Monster?”

She winced as your merriment drifted away with the flicker of flames, leaving behind what she’d come to expect from Witcher tales. The broody, cold demeanor and stoic expression – the face of a monster slayer bought entirely by the gold tucked in someone’s breeches.

“Well, you’re welcome. Consider this my one good deed for the year,” you huffed. “You can stay until daybreak. Wouldn’t want to have to save your ass twice in one night. Plus the blood from your oozing wound will only attract more trouble than its worth. Might even bring me the monster I was paid to vanquish.”

Yennefer’s brow furrowed. “I was not going to call you any of those names, Witcher. You are just an unfamiliar face to me. Though I can see why you would assume such hatefulness. I doubt the kind people of Oxenfurt have shown you much hospitality.”

“Humans,” you grunted disdainfully, gaze meeting the witch’s. “They fear the things they cannot possibly match up with.”

“I am Yennefer of Vengerberg. I believe I should thank you for saving my life.” She smiled softly at you, staring deep into your soul as thoughts swirled about your convoluted mind. She could see the obvious attraction, feel it buzzing across her skin the way it skirted about your own. Flashes of your rescue and subsequent healing flickered into view, the way your diligent fingers caressed her mangled flesh as you helped bind the weeping gashes.

You were certainly an interesting creature.

“(Y/N)… of Vizima.”

The hesitation was not missed but she did not dare to voice it.

“Well, it is lucky to have such a dashing savior,” Yennefer smiled shyly, deceptively innocent despite the things she’d been a part of, but you could see through it with ease. This woman was dangerous but you didn’t mind. Not really. “Though, I wonder. Could you help me with another task? With coin, of course.”

You thrived in danger.

“What do you need?” you murmured, the protective clothes you bore becoming uncomfortably sticky from perspiration, nerves alight from whatever this woman was doing to your sensibilities.

It was strange, to be so intimidated by someone so lithe and beautiful. You’d bedded plenty of elven women and humans alike, but this one witch…

“I’m in need of werewolf saliva. For a talisman. But few merchants stock such a rare item and who better to help me find it than a Witcher?”

Batting her eyes, she watched as your resolve crumbled slightly. The promise of coin was temptation enough but knowing this capable but injured witch would be searching for werewolves left you conflicted. If you were dumb enough to say no, then she could easily die.

And the world would be far uglier without her.

“You are planning to search for them whether I agree or not, aren’t you?” you inquired knowingly, chuckling at the mischievous uptick painting Yennefer’s lips.

“Is my coin good enough?” she asked in response, brushing past your question as though it’d never been spoken.

Smirking, you nodded. “All coin is good coin. We will begin our hunt at dawn. I’ve heard whispers of a town being plagued by the hairy beasts. We may start there.” Your gaze dropped to her bandaged chest, brows furrowing thoughtfully. “May need to clean your chest again. All types of nasty illnesses cling to vampires and the like.”

She ran her slender fingers along the parted neck of her dress, garnering your intense attention to the unmarked flesh glistening in the firelight, the tips of her digits grazing the pinking cloth.

“I have a few potions in my bag for such occasions. I am mostly aghast and embarrassed a vampire got the upper hand. You must think me a novice to earn such grave injuries.”

Leaning forward slightly, you caught her eye and shook your head. “I’ve been to every corner of this continent. Met creatures that nearly took my head from its place on my shoulders. I’ve seen novices and masters both killed without a thought. But you, Yennefer of Vengerberg, feel… powerful. As though I dare not underestimate what you could do in a moment’s time. I don’t know you, but I… feel you.”

Yennefer blinked slowly, taken aback by your confession and truthfully, you had no idea why those words befell your lips but there was no taking them back. You would not make yourself a liar.

“Let us sleep,” she whispered breathlessly. “I doubt this will be an easy task and at least one of us should be fully rested and healthy.”

Nodding, you glanced at your bedroll before peering behind Yennefer with a frown.

“Take my roll,” you offered as you stood, though it sounded more of a command. “You do not wish to agitate your wounds more than they already are.”

Lips parting, prepared to argue, Yennefer paused at the stern determination staring back at her. Handing her the blanket sitting atop your haphazardly crafted bed, you gestured at the bedroll before settling against the toppled log near the top of the roll. Arms crossed, your eyes closed and head lolled backwards as you listened.

“Damn Witcher,” she mumbled, crawling into the bedroll and tucking the warm, albeit worn, blanket around her shivering form. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled.”

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

CAMYLA x RHAENYS 👑

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH12

You wake up in bed with Mommy and Daddy, witnessing something very special and ultimately very overwhelming...

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Shared bed. Accidental voyeurism. Vaginal sex. Fluff. Frottage. Face-sitting. Cunnilingus. Overstimulation. Anxiety attack. Hurt/comfort. Little girl treatment. More fluff. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 7.5k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: ADDITIONAL WARNING: There will be a heavy dose of Angst after the smut of the first half of the chapter. Beware. But don't worry, it'll end in comfort. This is a fluffy story after all. RECAP: Reader (we call her Pumpkin) is in her 20s, has hair and female genitalia, suffers from depression and anxiety, and has agreed to become the little girl/submissive to a couple she's supposed to call Mommy and Daddy, who are in their early/late thirties.

Chapter 11 🔷️ Chapter 12 🔷️

You woke up to a slight bounce to the bed, soft breaths in your ear, and a rhythmic slapping of some sort. Blinking your eyes open, you realized you were curled up, snuggled against a warm torso, a big hand resting on your hip, and the first thing you saw was Mommy.

She was straddling Daddy, sitting upright, her body arched and undulating, head tilted up, long hair cascading down her back, her breasts jiggling sensually with every up and down motion. For a moment you were mesmerized, wondering if you were dreaming.

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” you then heard Daddy's soft voice, and you uncurled a little to raise your head. He was smiling at you when you met his gaze, the dim light of the bedside table lamp casting deep shadows onto his face. “Hey pumpkin. Slept well?”

Why was he so casual while Mommy was riding him? Then again, she looked so relaxed while doing so, eyes closed, lips parted slightly, the way she moved on top of him looked almost like a dance. Lascivious waves to her body, her hips grinding into him, arms propped up behind her, holding onto his knees. You stared at her, at her smooth mound swallowing up Daddy's cock with every downward slam of her pelvis.

You felt your own cunt clenching at the sight, it might have been the most erotic thing you'd ever seen. After whatever happened in the shower last night.

Daddy's hand rubbed over your side, a gentle pressure, warmth, a soothing touch, and you snuggled closer to him until he pulled you up and against him even more, so your breasts were squished against his shoulder, your face almost in line with his. You turned your head to him, finding him watching you instead of the woman riding his cock.

“You okay?” he whispered. You nodded, biting your bottom lip as you looked back at Mommy, your eyes raking along Daddy's body as you did so. He just lay there, relaxed, unmoving, letting her do her thing, there was just the tiniest twitch to his abdomen every time Mommy's hips slammed into his.

The longer you watched Mommy the more the frown on your face deepened. “Is she asleep?” you murmured quietly.

A little chuckle rolled through Daddy's chest. “No, well, not really. She can fuck herself into a trance sometimes. Where she's completely lost in the pleasure of it. She does that sometimes, mostly at night. It's a nice view though, isn't it? And a nice thing to wake up to...”

His arm curled around your shoulders, his hand gently caressing your cheek as he looked at you. You pried your eyes away from Mommy's undulating body to look into his handsome face. Heat flooded your own at the sight. He nudged your chin, and you leaned in more, brushing your nose against his beard, inhaling deeply. Your hand snaked up his chest when you shifted against him.

He hummed softly when your lips met his, then gave a hungry little growl when he pulled you closer, grabbing your chin, guiding the kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed as you let his tongue into your mouth, your own movements still sleepier than you anticipated. His other hand came forth and grabbed your arm, pulling you up a little to allow his lips to wander along your jaw, down your neck, teasing at your pulse before he started sucking at your collarbone.

You squirmed a little, breathing harder, your lips tingling, your body waking up more and more under his ministrations. He was still mostly flat on his back, head lifted by a pillow (while Mommy was still grinding against him, her movements slower, a sensual dance on top of his cock), and when he pulled you closer, you were almost kneeling by his side, bending over, your breasts in line with his face. Your hand found his shoulder to steady yourself as you looked down at him, your chest rising and falling faster.

Before you could do or say anything, you felt his warm lips brushing between your soft mounds, peppering the small slopes with kisses, his beard tickling your skin, an unfamiliar sensation that sent shivers down your spine, a gentle tension building up in your core. You watched him with your cheeks burning up, how he closed his eyes and focused solely on your breasts, lips rubbing, teeth teasing, tongue licking, and when he eventually sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, you keened quietly, arching your back to press your chest firmer into his face.

He held you tighter, his tongue flicking against your pert bud, as he kept suckling softly, little groans slipping past his lips. It was a mesmerizing sight and an even more intriguing feeling, made even better when he moved one of his big hands to pay attention to your other breast, gentle gropes and deep kneading, his palm scraping over your hard nipple before he rolled it between his fingers, pinching it slightly.

You shivered under the ministrations, leaning into him, your eyes getting heavy even though you wanted to keep watching him, as well as Mommy undulating against his hips, her breasts swaying so tantalizingly with every movement. You couldn't even describe how you felt about this unusual scene, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced before. It was warm and comforting, Daddy's mouth on your breast, Mommy's trance-like show, three bodies melting into one. Your head was completely empty, and it felt so, so good.

Inhaling deeply, you pushed your chest into Daddy's face, and he let go of your nipple with a wet pop, looking up at you with a soft smile, licking his lips. You smiled back shyly, one of your hands moving up to brush a stray lock of his hair out of his forehead. He was so handsome, so gentle looking, so warm. His eyes remained on you as he leaned in to close his lips around the other breast, giving it the same treatment, tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth grazing your soft skin, your flesh sucked into his mouth.

You moaned softly, holding his gaze, your fingers slipping deeper into his hair. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. It felt like a dream. So soft, relaxing, but at the same time it fueled the fire burning low in your guts, making your unattended core clench. Suddenly you had the idea to move your hand down between your legs and take care of it yourself, but that little ounce of shame still lingering in the back of your mind kept you from doing so.

It was one thing to let things happen, let Daddy suckle on your boobs, to have Mommy put her fingers into your cunt, to curl your hand around Daddy's cock guided by his own, but to do something all by yourself, with yourself, it didn't feel right. And like Daddy said, it was his and Mommy's job to bring you pleasure, and you were okay with that. It got easier and easier to turn your brain off and focus on them.

And luckily, they focused on you just the same, reading you and your emotions as if they'd known you for way longer. You only had to meet Daddy's gaze as he teased your pert nipple with his tongue before he leaned back, hooking his hand under your thigh.

“Come sit on me, pumpkin,” he whispered, nudging your leg. You blinked at him, a little dazed, then looked back to Mommy, only to find her sitting still on Daddy's cock, watching you with a soft smile.

You weren't completely sure what they wanted to do, and you were confused by the set-up, but you still moved one of your legs over Daddy's torso and gingerly sat down on his stomach, leaning more on your knees to keep your weight off him. Mommy moved behind you, her hands snaking around your sides until she grabbed your breasts, continuing what Daddy had started.

His fingers inched up your thighs, rubbing gentle circles, his large hands spanning over your legs, until he grabbed your waist and pushed you down more, so you sat fully on his hard body, your legs spread wide, and naked as you were, your cunt was on full display to him.

But somehow you didn't mind, didn't feel the usual sting of shame. You were mesmerized by his dark eyes, by how gentle Mommy was massaging your breasts, how his warmth seeped into your body, making your clit tingle and your core clench.

He held you tightly, making it impossible to move away, but you didn't want to anyway. Behind you, Mommy started grinding into Daddy again, her hands on your breasts used as leverage as you felt her bouncing up and down, her body arched into yours, her legs bracketed around your own, her hard nipples brushing along your back, sending cold shivers down your spine. You let them move you, Mommy rubbing against you, Daddy guiding your hips to make you rub against him.

You felt his shifting muscles against your labia, your clit catching on the ridges of his abdomen with every backwards push. Your head was spinning, Mommy's moans loud in your ear, those lewd sounds of slapping skin and squelching wetness surrounding you like a warm cloud that slowly seeped into your skin, silencing anything else.

“Go... sit on... Daddy's face... mi amor,” Mommy breathed behind you, her rough bouncing and grinding getting to her, her fingers now really digging into your breasts. Her words didn't make sense to you, so you looked at Daddy, who had shifted beneath you slightly, watching you with an intensity in his eyes that made you even more dizzy.

“You heard her, pumpkin,” he said quietly. “Come on, it's okay, come closer.” With his hands still on your waist, he pulled you towards him, up on his chest. Mommy let go of you, her fingers brushing against your back, giving you a gentle nudge.

“I... I don't know...” you murmured, awkwardly hovering over him, your cunt already so close to his face the shame simmering inside you burnt up after all.

“It's okay,” he soothed, his hands moving around your rear. “Sit up, place your knees on either side of my head and sit down. I want to taste you, pumpkin, make you feel good.”

“But... I... I don't want to... hurt you...” you gasped as you nonetheless followed his instructions. “Can you... still breathe... when I do this?”

He laughed softly, arranging you on top of him, his arms curling around your legs, hands holding you open. “I will, don't worry. You won't hurt me.”

And then he pulled you down, your cunt pressing right against his mouth, his nose prodding your clit, and his beard... You moaned softly as the tickling sensation crashed over you like a wave of ice-cold water, pebbling your skin, your entire body shivering under the experience. For a moment he leaned into it, rubbing his facial hair along your inner thighs, left and right, then back against your labia, those soft scratching sounds only adding to the tension in your lower body.

You braced your hands on the metal headboard of the bed, looking down at what he was doing, trying to keep it together with your heart racing and pleasure fighting with embarrassment. But as soon as his tongue dipped between your lower lips, you lost it, the warmth of his breath and touch sending shock waves straight into your core, drowning out anything else.

“Oh God,” you gasped out, unconsciously bucking your hips into his face. He groaned against you, his low voice a deep vibration through your body that enhanced the overall feeling of beautiful weightlessness.

“Call me Daddy,” he muttered against you, and you were sure you could feel him smirking as he pressed his face firmer against your cunt.

Somewhere behind you, you heard an exasperated snicker. You had no idea what Mommy was doing at this point, and frankly, you didn't care, as long as Daddy kept his attention on sucking and licking and nibbling at your center. That was all you could focus on, how his tongue moved along your slit, lapping up your wetness, his lips brushing against your soft skin, his nose poking at your clit, and the constant prickle of his beard an added bonus to it all.

You felt your arms shaking from how you clenched your hands around the metal frame, your thighs twitching against his face, the need to close them growing stronger, but his hands kept them wide open, a bruising grip, but without it you probably would have suffocated him by now.

Little whines and mewls escaped you as you threw your head back, lips parted, eyes rolling back, your body aflame with tingling sensations that made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to function. Whatever he was doing, he was doing so well, you never wanted him to stop. It felt like nothing you'd felt before, different from that random girl eating your cunt in the cafe, different from Mommy burying her face between your legs in the shower, it might have been the beard, but also the way he moved his tongue.

You had no idea that muscle could even do whatever he was doing, but you felt it, somehow, dipping deep between your clenching walls, licking as far as he could reach, his mouth practically suctioned to your weeping hole. And while you should have been mortified at the notion, you weren't, you were enjoying it, leaning into it, bucking more and more desperately against his face, wanting more.

And he gave you more, quickening the swipes of his tongue, nudging his nose harder into your clit, turning his head slightly to rub his beard against your skin. You were writhing, panting on top of him, humping his face like you'd humped his groin before. His hands dug into your legs, battling the increasingly wilder twitching of your thighs, but it all exploded when he tilted his head and focused all his attention on your throbbing clit.

Suddenly his mouth was on it, tongue flicking, licking, prodding, and he was sucking, hard, harder, and you wailed, convulsing against him, barely able to stay upright. Only a few seconds later and you came, spasming, crying out, hips stuttering, lights dancing behind your eyelids. It was like a punch to the gut, a sudden shock, a scorching wave that slowly spread through your entire body, tingling and thrumming all the way into your curling toes.

He held you and kept lapping at your slit, slowly easing you down. And you were boneless, a heap of limbs on top of him, eyes closed, mouth open, not caring about the bit of drool dripping down your chin. Somehow he moved you away from his face, made you lie down on his chest, your head nestled against his, his hand on your cheek, turning it, his lips, covered in your juices, brushing against yours.

“My good girl,” he cooed, wrapping his arms around your shivering body. “So sweet, so beautiful...”

With how you slid down his torso, your rear was bumping into where Mommy was still sitting on Daddy's cock. You'd think (if you could) she would be annoyed by how you snaked your way into her special time with Daddy (though it had been her idea, hadn't it?), but she had waited, seemingly, watching you come undone, for now she was moving again, her hands holding onto your waist, as she started grinding once more.

Daddy groaned into your ear, cuddling you as Mommy rode him, and her rhythmic bounces and the steady snaps of her hips made you feel as if you were being fucked as well. But you were just a pile of flesh and bones, wild hair all around you, unable to move, your core still throbbing from the orgasm Daddy had licked out of you.

As Mommy's noises grew louder, you felt him bucking his hips up, moving with her, a wild dance on the bed, a tango of limbs, bucking, bouncing, grinding, slamming, up and down, back and forth, their movements faster and harder, and you felt them all, like echoes undulating through your body. You wished you could watch them from a better angle, see their bodies shift against each other, see how Daddy's cock pummeled Mommy's cunt, see his muscles shifting and her boobs bounce.

But you could imagine it, and it was enough to make you whimper softly as they finally reached their climaxes, Mommy first, moaning out loudly, her last slam down onto Daddy's hips making him spasm and grunt, and he held you tighter as he shivered, his pelvis jerking up against you and Mommy as he emptied his balls into her.

One day, you hoped, he'd do the same to you.

Mommy eased her death grip on your waist and leaned in, shifting on top of Daddy before she lay down on your back, fully sandwiching you between her soft breasts and Daddy's hard body. He opened his arms and invited her in too, holding you both, a pile of warm bodies, all of you breathing harder, hearts beating rapidly against each other.

Inhaling deeply, filling your nostrils with the scent of sex, you snuggled against them, a soft smile grazing your lips as you felt yourself drifting into the pleasant void of sleep, a last half-baked thought in your empty mind:

This is your life now. Days and weeks and months of this with Mommy and Daddy and you. And it will be a good life.

That thought didn't quite make it through the depths of your dreams, though. When you woke up, you felt heavy, and cold. You were alone in the large bed, you could tell. Snuggled into the covers, but it was still cold. And then, as sudden as a lightning bolt hitting a tree with all of its destructive force, the doubts came crashing back as you remembered what happened last night. The days before. Ever since you agreed to live here.

It had been too much.

You knew you were supposed to be distracted by it all, but your mind was never fully empty, maybe in the moment, but as soon as you got back into the clear thinking stage, the darkness crept up again. Between wanting things you shouldn't want and the crippling inability to ask for anything and knowing you didn't deserve any of it anyway, you found yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, and in the end the biggest emotion was shame.

The things you did, the things you saw, the things that happened. It was wrong (it felt right), no, it was wrong! You barely knew these people but they'd seen parts of you, sides of you, moments of you, that you would have never shared with anyone like this, hadn't shared with anyone in a very long time. Why would anyone want to see that? What was wrong with them for accepting you so easily? What did they really want from you?

You were probably just a body to them, a means to get off, to fulfill their sick little dreams with sick little games. They didn't care about you. You were a toy to play with, a doll to dress, a puppet to manipulate. Nothing more. You couldn't be. And why would you deserve to be treated like anything more? You were a failure, deep down you knew that, and your mind kept reminding you as well, whenever it got the chance, and no hug, no kiss, no gentle word could change that.

There was no comfort in letting it happen.

You were deep in thought, sniffling pathetically under the covers, curled up into a ball, shivering under the weight of your anxiety, when you felt a warm hand on your hip, a soft voice following the touch.

“Wake up, pumpkin,” you heard Daddy say. No. Noah. The man's name was Noah, you shouldn't call him Daddy. He was just another man that slipped through your life, only to leave again, like all those men your mother dragged into your home. Like your own father who left you when things got too stressful.

You held your breath, pretending to be asleep. He only shook you more, gentle but firm, until he dug a hand into the covers and tried to pull them away. You whined out when he did, and he stopped, the mattress dipping when he sat down beside you.

“What's wrong, baby girl?” he whispered, his hand still on your side, warm and somewhat comforting, but also burning and teetering on the edge of irritating. You couldn't decide. It was too much. “Are you in pain?” he asked, and you swallowed hard, burying your wet face in the pillow.

You couldn't even describe how you felt, it was as if you were caught in a dark room and somehow the walls kept closing in on you, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Baby, talk to me,” he kept going, his voice a low drone at the edge of your hearing, present but also not. “Pumpkin...” His hands tried again to reach you in your cocoon of blankets. You felt them warm and strong, as they slipped around your arms, slowly pulling you up and out.

But you curled up more, trying to get away from him, not even feeling the hot tears as they spilled over your lashes. Your heart was racing, your entire body shivering, feeling cold and tingly, your face was particularly numb.

“You gotta tell me what's wrong, baby, or I can't make it better...” He didn't give up, kept his hands on you, rubbed over your arms, your sides, your legs, but the touch couldn't get rid of the chill settling under your skin.

You couldn't tell him what was wrong, you had no words for it, and the worst thing: you couldn't look at him. Not into the face that had been between your legs, so intimate, so close. It had felt good, but looking back you were so embarrassed, how could you ever look at him again? At this handsome man who for some reason wouldn't leave you alone...

And then he pulled you up and into his arms, you were just a bundle of limbs and hair, covered in tears and cold sweat, but as soon as he pressed you to his chest, settled you on his lap, his arms tight around you, you could breathe a bit better again, only just, but more than before.

You rasped against him, unable to fight, at least not him, but you did try to push those clouds away, more and more, the longer you felt his warmth and strength, his breath on your neck as he curled in with you, holding you, one hand on the back of your head, the other heavy on your lower back, arms crossed over your shaking body.

He hummed against you, shushing your stifled sobs, gently rocking you back and forth, and the motion calmed you, his closeness eased the shudders, your mind turned the volume of those nagging thoughts down; they didn't disappear, but they were pushed into the back again, slowly, bit by bit. And you could breathe, in and out, a deep inhale, his scent filling your nostrils, a familiar and relaxing scent, then a long exhale, letting out all the darkness, breathing it right into his shirt.

You didn't know how long he sat with you like that, but eventually you had calmed down enough to tilt your head and sneak a peek at his face, through your blurry vision, but you could still see the soft smile on his face, the gentle twinkle in his dark eyes, the hint of a dimple on his bearded cheek. You snuggled into him, leaning your cheek against his shoulder, looking up, forcing yourself to find solace in the way he looked at you.

He rubbed his hand up and down your back. “You're alright, pumpkin,” he whispered, his low voice a gentle hum through your head. “Everything will be just fine. Daddy's got you.”

His soothing words should have done just that, soothe you, but instead you felt another wave of dread. Daddy. The name echoed through your head, bounced around like something pointy, poking painfully at your mushy brain. It was wrong.

And you wondered how you could have called him that before, how easy it had been to repeat. It shouldn't have been. You had been overwhelmed and confused, in a different way than you were now, you had clung to that name as if it had been a lifesaving anchor, but now the same anchor weighed you down more and more, and with another sob, you buried your face in his chest, hiding away.

“Oh baby girl,” he cooed softly, a sigh leaving his lips. He waited another moment, just holding you, letting you sob and cry into his shirt, your body trembling against his, wrecked by anxiety-fueled twitches that made your toes and fingers tingle, in the bad way. And in the midst of your struggles, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as he carried you away.

You didn't know where to, you couldn't see anything with how you had pressed your face to his chest, and somehow you didn't care either, you just... let it happen. He walked for quite a bit, before he finally set you down, his hands holding you, shifting your hips, moving along your sides, making you sit up straighter, before they cupped your face and tilted your head up, urging you to look at him.

You blinked your eyes into focus, feeling cold and numb and lifeless, a wobble to your lips that he tried to rub away with his thumbs. “Come back to me, pumpkin,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours, his warm breath ghosting your wet skin. “I know you can. Focus on me, okay? Look at me,” he added as your eyes wandered to the side, only to snap back to his when he asked for it (demanded it). You blinked, more tears rolling down your cheeks, caught by his large hands.

You inhaled deeply, watching him, slowly getting lost in his dark eyes, worry etched around them, deep creases lining his forehead. You focused on him, noticing the short dark lashes, the thick eyebrows, the slant of them, the straight nose, his lips (warm lips, brushing against yours, kissing you softly), the way his beard filled out the rest of his face, spanning over his strong jaw, thick but trimmed, a few lighter hairs between the dark ones, thicker above his upper lip, not as thick and filled out under his bottom lip, letting his tanned skin shine through, smoother down his neck, shaved (the scratch of it against your inner thighs, the roughness under your fingertips, the tingles it created).

You took another deep breath, looking back up into his eyes, your tears drying under your own the longer you stared at him, unblinking. The creases on his face shifted, forehead relaxing, little crow's feet appearing in the corners of his eyes as his lips morphed into a smile. You felt your own twitching, numb as they were, but the blood pooled back into them, into your cheeks, slowly fighting the chills under your skin.

One more long inhale, filling out the last inches of your lungs, your chest rising, until the tingles vanished. Your fingers itched, curling and straightening on your legs (naked legs, naked everything, completely bare in front of him). He stood before you (fully clothed), your knees pointed to the side, thighs clenched together, stomach fluttering. His hands moved from your warm face down your shoulders, along your arms, before they rested beside you, the hint of them, warmth radiating off them, next to your hips.

You closed your eyes, breathed in and out, in and out, then opened them again. He was still smiling at you. So warm, gentle, caring. He cared. He had to. Why else would he take his precious time and spend it trying to calm you down? He cared about you. It didn't matter that you barely knew him, that he barely knew you. He cared, and you wanted him to care. Wanted him to touch you, hug you, hold you, kiss you, fuck you...

You almost choked on your own spit as you looked away quickly, blinking the last tears away. You were tempted to roll your eyes at yourself, at the way your mind went from EVERYTHING IS BAD AND NOBODY LIKES YOU to OMG I NEED HIM TO FUCK MY BRAINS OUT. It was ridiculous. But it was better than sulking and sobbing and drowning in your own darkness. You heaved a deep sigh, cleared your throat, looked back at him.

Amusement curled his lips, twinkled in his eyes. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You're back,” he simply said, and you were glad he didn't ask you if you were okay or what happened, you couldn't have answered him. But you could make the corner of your lips rise a little, and it was enough for him to lean down and press his lips to your smirk.

Then he moved back and opened the cabinet behind the mirror. You realized that you were sitting on the vanity of a bathroom, your bathroom, because he was pulling out your toothbrush, the pink one they had given you on your first day. You watched him put it under the running water of the faucet, then put toothpaste on it and put it under the water again. Turning it off, he braced his arm next to you and held the toothbrush closer.

“Open up,” he said, tilting his head.

You frowned, but opened your mouth. And then he started brushing your teeth, holding your jaw to move your head, applying a little too much pressure, but that wasn't what irked you.

“Ca' do'it 'yself,” you tried to voice past the foamy stick in your mouth.

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Can you?” he asked.

You felt your cheeks burning up badly. A few remaining doubts came back. Of course you can't, you're useless, let him do it if he wants to. But then you nodded, staring at him, ignoring the voices.

And he smiled, nodded as well, and pulled your hand up to let you grab the toothbrush. You continued moving it over your teeth, watching him as he watched you.

“Good girl, of course you can,” he said, rubbing your warm cheek before he stepped away. He left the bathroom then, left you to your own devices, and you focused on brushing your teeth, a mundane task but it helped you in pushing those thoughts away again.

Once you were done, you hopped off the vanity, spit into the sink and cleaned the brush and your mouth with water. Putting it back (having to lean on your toes to reach the cabinet), you then turned to the open door, watching him rummage through your closet. Before you could follow him into your bedroom, he came back with a bunch of clothes draped over his arm.

He put them onto a towel rack next to the vanity, giving you a long look. You felt warm, a few cold shivers crashing down your limbs, exposed as you were. He grinned at you, then stepped in and grabbed your waist, easily putting you back on the counter. You didn't protest.

But you started squirming after he'd put these white frilly socks on your feet (the ones you'd never have worn on your own, too girly, too childish almost, but he seemed to like them). It was when he pulled a pair of white panties up your legs (cute ones, with pink bows and ribbons on them), and you had to lift your hips to allow him to pull them on fully, that you froze up, stiffened, parted your lips to say something to make him stop.

He did stop, in a way, grabbed your waist again, set you down on the cold tiles. Pulling your panties up all the way, he paused again, his large hands on your hips as he leaned over you.

“Listen to me, pumpkin,” he said, his voice a little bit more serious, lower, darker. “I am well aware that you are a grown woman, a young woman who is able to do this all by herself. You are not a helpless little girl who can't do anything, but you are my little girl. You agreed to this, remember? It may feel weird at times, but it really isn't, it's all natural, baby girl, okay? I'm not doing this to humiliate you, to belittle you, I want to do this to help you, I want to pamper you, treat you like the princess you are for me. So let me dress you, let me brush your hair, let me handle you and carry you and move you around. Let me touch you and kiss you and... let me make you feel good. Let it happen,” he added, stressing the words by leaning even closer, his eyes boring into yours. “Let me help you turn those doubts off, focus on me. It'll make me happy too, pumpkin, when you allow me this one thing. It will help you, I promise. Just let it happen.”

You listened intently, focusing on him, soaking up every word, his deep voice vibrating through you, easing the shivers, fighting the darkness. A shuddering breath escaped you, your heart beating faster, your mind unusually quiet. “Okay,” you whispered, licking your lips, another word resting heavy on your tongue. You swallowed around it, then added: “Daddy.”

He smiled at you, his hands back on your cheeks before he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling sharply. “My good girl,” he rasped, peppering your face with quick kisses then returned to your mouth. You parted your lips in anticipation, and he took the chance, his tongue meeting yours in a desperate little dance that you sank into with fervor, wanting nothing more than to dissipate into his touches, his warmth, his strength, letting go completely.

After the kiss, he pulled his arms around you and hugged you tightly, squeezing the remnants of your anxiety right out of you. You breathed freer now, easier, and there was only him. You let him dress you (he put a soft white cotton bra on you, pulled a black shirt with a large white fuzzy cat on it over your head, struggled to wiggle you into a pair of comfy shorts), then he guided you out of the bathroom and down into the kitchen. You followed, squeezing his hand, focused on breathing and on him.

There was a plate set up on the kitchen island, knife, fork, a tall glass full of orange juice next to a large stack of pancakes kept warm by one of those fancy glass domes. Daddy slipped onto one of the high stools lining one side of the island, shifting back enough to allow you to find a place on his lap.

For him it seemed second nature to simply grab your waist and pull you up, arranging you on his leg, one arm around you, the other focused on lifting the dome and putting a pancake onto the plate. For you it still felt a little weird, but you started to accept it again. Because it made him happy, and if he was happy, you were happy, right?

And his thigh was surprisingly comfortable, hard but warm, and you could snuggle into him, your shoulder pressed to his chest, his big hand curled around your side. You turned your head to look at him, smiling shyly, and he grinned wider, and then, he was feeding you. And you let it happen.

It was fluffy and sweet, the pancake and the gesture. Your mind gave a few more stabs but you ignored it, focused on Daddy, on his crinkling eyes when he put the fork to your lips and you opened your mouth and took the piece he was offering. He watched you chew, then prepared another bite, until you had finished at least two whole pancakes. In between he'd feed you the loose blueberries strewn about the plate, and sometimes he'd tilt his head down and snatch one of them right out of your mouth with a deep kiss.

Then he handed you the juice and you drank almost half of it in one go, parched as you were. He rubbed his hand along your hip, his eyes always on you. And you felt warm, safe, taken care of. It felt right again. You put the glass down and watched him, licking your lips.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered in the end, and he smiled at you.

“Of course, pumpkin. Always. I am here for you. Even if you can't find the words. I am always here for you, and if you need me and can't ask for it, you just come to me and hug me, okay? And we'll figure it out together, yeah?”

You nodded, smiling back before bowing your head and burying your face in his shoulder, one arm snaking around him. He kissed the top of your head and held you a bit tighter. For a long moment you sat like that, snuggled against him, the smells of pancakes and him mixing in your nostrils.

“Did you make these pancakes, Daddy?” you whispered after a while, turning your head to look at the still steaming stack.

He gave a short laugh. “No, our chef, Greta, made them. She told me how to keep them warm though. I can do a lot, pumpkin, but I cannot cook, or bake.”

“Hmm,” you hummed softly, your hand gliding down his arm until you closed your fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand into your lap. “Maybe we could learn together?”

He tilted his head, watching you as you slipped your small fingers between his long ones. “We could, if you'd like that.”

“I'd like that,” you murmured, before you blinked and looked up, meeting his gaze. “Daddy, I want to... uh... do something too, like, give back, do something to – Well, you and Mommy let me stay here, you give me food, and clothes, and all these... other things, and I just... I need to give back, maybe I can do something that's useful... like clean or... try to cook... or –”

“Pumpkin,” he stopped you, pulling his hand away from yours to grab your chin. “You don't have to do anything to justify your stay here. Besides, you are doing so much already. Just sitting here with me, spending time with me, letting me feed you and do all those things, that is enough. And we already have someone who cleans and cooks, but if you like to feel useful, maybe you can ask them if you could help them, but it really isn't necessary, baby girl. That's not part of our arrangement, hm?”

Your arrangement. To be their submissive, their little girl. To be theirs... to use? No, to pamper. To guide. To take care of. To make you feel good and to make them feel good. It was unusual, very much so, but maybe you could get used to it.

“And if you ever get bored of us or just want to do something if we're not here, we can turn one of our spare rooms into your hobby room, how does that sound?” he offered, rubbing his thumb along your chin. Your lips parted, something warm and bubbly settling in your stomach.

“That sounds great, Daddy,” you breathed excitedly. “A whole room for myself?”

He laughed. “Another room for yourself. One to sleep and one to pass the time. Whatever you like. Any hobby you can think of. Just ask, okay? We want you to feel comfortable here, to find yourself again. This is your new home, remember?” he added, cupping your face and bringing his lips to your temple.

You nodded, smiling at him, a real happy smile that warmed your entire body and ached in your cheeks. He smiled back, pulling you against him. “Thank you,” you murmured into him, your arms tight around his waist.

“You're welcome, pumpkin, anything for my little girl,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Daddy?” you asked after another comfortable moment in his arms.

“Hmm?” he hummed in response.

“Can I... uh... can I ask you something and you won't get mad?”

He leaned you back, looking at you with a frown. “You can ask me anything, I will never get mad at you, baby girl. What makes you say that?”

“Well, I... I asked Mommy once where you were, and she... she reacted a little weirdly, and I thought... I shouldn't ask about you when I'm with her, and maybe you don't like it either if I ask about her when I am with you, and so –”

He heaved a deep sigh while you were still rambling. “Oh pumpkin,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips to shut you up. “Mommy is... well, a complex person, if you want to call it that. As I said, it was her idea to look for a little girl, you know? She really wanted to be a caregiver, but I think she is still getting to terms with properly sharing you. That hasn't been in her nature before, not like this, she is used to getting what she wants, and she wants you, baby, but she has to learn to share you with me, that's part of our agreement. And she will, I'm sure, we'll just have to give her time. This is new to all of us.

“So, maybe she was a little irritated, but that's nothing you should worry about, okay? You should always be able to ask anything you want, either of us, no matter if you think it's weird or if it might make the other mad or whatever. There are no stupid questions,” he stressed, playfully booping the tip of your nose. “And if you want to ask me about Mommy, you ask me about Mommy, understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered, biting your lip.

“So?”

You scrunched your nose. “Well, I was wondering where she is...” you started quietly, before quickly adding: “And that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you, I'm just curious and –”

He shook his head with another laugh, kissing your cheek. “She's at the office, pumpkin. She'll be back for dinner. And you know, she asked me to tell you that she really enjoyed our time together last night, me too, by the way. It was a great idea, to make sure she was fine, hm? Did you like it too?”

Heat crashed into your cheeks when you nodded. “It was... something,” you whispered, giving him a shy smirk before looking away. “Nothing I've ever experienced...”

“And it's just the beginning, baby girl,” he rasped as he leaned closer, nuzzling your jaw. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathed softly, snuggling into him. He hugged you closer, his lips brushing against yours.

“Are you comfortable with me, pumpkin?”

No hesitation. “Yes.”

“And with Mommy?”

“Yes.” Quick again.

And you were. It was all new to you, but you still felt safe with them. They might nudge you out of your comfort zone more often than you were accustomed to, but they never forced you, never made you do anything you didn't want. You wanted them, to hold you, to kiss you, to touch you, to...

You were sure you'd still have the occasional anxiety attack, wondering why these gorgeous people would do these things with someone like you, but you also knew that Daddy was there for you, and Mommy too. You believed them in wanting to help you. They did it in their own way, but it was help nonetheless.

“I'm glad, baby,” he whispered softly, his arms tight around you, his beard scratching against your cheek. “You really are the perfect little girl for us...”

You shifted on his lap, tucking your feet under his thigh and wrapping your arms around his neck, facing him for a moment before you tilted your head and pressed your lips to his. He gave a soft chuckle and quickly deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over your back.

“And you're the perfect Daddy,” you whispered in one of the rare moments where you came up for air. You felt his smile against your lips, saw the twinkle in his eyes, how the creases deepened around them.

“I'm the only Daddy you'll ever need, pumpkin.”

Chapter 11 🔷️ Chapter 12 🔷️

End notes: BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

Well, there will be, in the near future! I am not done with Daddy, Mommy and Pumpkin yet. I still have so many things I want Pumpkin to experience (like her first time with Daddy, or how Mommy teaches her the joys of toys, and so many more depraved little instances she'll absolutely love I'm sure XD), also I finally want to show the real Mommy and Daddy energy, more than we've seen in the last chapters, the real deal, you know what I mean.

So, please, stay tuned, follow along if you like, and keep your eyes open for new updates soon!

While you wait, remember that I have more (smut) stories:

INFATUATED (tumblr/AO3)

ABANDONED (tumblr/AO3)

FORGETFUL (tumblr/AO3)

Thank you for reading! It's been a bumpy ride so far, but I appreciate every single one of you who read and liked and supported my little original fiction! See you soon!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[bumblesimagines]

The Pup and The Cub

Request: Yes or No

Summary: While (Y/N) is eager to spend time with and help an old friend, he can't stand to be around his adoptive daughter. Until one night changes things.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Witcher warnings, sexual content, added a little bit of ✨spice✨, mentions of blood, accidental blood kink?? OOPS, virginity loss on both sides

I would've finished days ago if the universe hadn't decided to say fuck you each time I tried working on it

~~~

Summer was at its peak and (Y/N) wished for nothing more than to lay in the soft grass like a snake eager to bask in the sun rays peering down at them from the vibrant and cloudless sky. The baby blue of daytime was fading into a familiar shade of orange that reminded him of flames, mixing and swirling with a soft pink as the blazing sun slowly descended behind the trees.

His nose tickled when he inhaled the fresh air, and the comforting floral scents wafting from the wildflowers scattered around the expanding fields surrounding them reached him. Their vibrant colors splashed against the green sea and he watched them dance with the gentle breezes that blew by, a sense of serenity settling on his chest.

It felt nice to take a break, he admitted to himself. His childhood and early teen years were spent cooped up in Kaer Morhen with Vesemir, and while the mountain blossomed with life during spring and summer, it was nothing compared to the beauty around him now. He felt as if he could sit and stare out into the wilderness for hours without the startling howling winds of the mountain or Vesemir's grumbling.

His father had been reluctant to let him go so far from Kaer Morhen, but Geralt needed him now more than ever, even if it meant dealing with his adoptive daughter, the vexing Cub of Cintra. 

In all his years, (Y/N) had only ever seen Geralt smile and laugh so freely with his brethren, with his real family. Those rumbling laughs where he'd tilt his head back and find a fleeting moment of relaxation untypical of the usually guarded witcher were reserved for them, not for the girl.

Ciri was only around because of one stupid mistake Geralt had made years prior: taunting destiny and facing the consequences in the form of a spoilt little royal. He found victory in the knowledge Geralt had pointedly ignored her existence until she needed his protection.

He remembered the cold winter day he met her when he strode into Kaer Morhen with Eskel, eager to escape the chilling winds and reunite with his family, only to take note of the figure bundled up in furs giggling into her cup like the little girl she was (yes, (Y/N) only had two years on her, but that hardly mattered in his opinion) and flaunting her title of princess before them when questioned. Chin tilted up and brow arched challengingly, she made his skin prickle.

"Who brought the girl up here?" He'd asked in disbelief. It was against their code to reveal the secret location of the keep to anyone other than their brethren, so he naturally looked toward Lambert and Coen for an explanation, assuming it was all another prank from them that Vesemir was begrudgingly ignoring for the sake of their long-awaited reunion.

Instead, she answered, lips almost pulled into a scowl and speaking words that had him turning toward Geralt with furrowed brows. "The girl is Princess Cirilla of Cintra. And I'm with Geralt."

(Y/N) scoffed just thinking about it. 

Yennefer, he could tolerate. Geralt loved her, that much he knew well, and he knew how much it ate at the older witcher with her betrayal still aching like a wound refusing to heal. She'd groveled for days and weeks, practically begging for his forgiveness in different ways, begging him to speak at least one word that wasn't related to their next destination, but Geralt was a notoriously stubborn man.

He was strong, stronger than (Y/N), at least. He wasn't sure how long he'd last if he were on the receiving end of her pretty violet eyes and velvety words.

Yennefer was humorous, too, with her snark and sharp wit that often left him grinning from ear to ear and Geralt quietly scoffing as if nobody saw the brief smirk that always flashed over his rough features before he remembered he was supposed to be mad at her. She was a spitfire with a kind heart, effortlessly dancing between aloofness and warmth. He gave it another week before Geralt's resolve vanished.

With Geralt and Yennefer watching over Ciri as if she were a precious little jewel and not a princess who by all means should've died when her kingdom had been sacked and lit ablaze by Nilfgaard, it was up to (Y/N) to watch their backs for them. And Ciri, too, he supposed. He'd still happily watch her slip off her horse and faceplant into the dirt, though. Hell, it'd probably make his day brighter.

Death followed her like a plague, she'd said so herself. It was better to keep his distance than risk being one of the many casualties left in her wake. Besides, he'd never forget how close she'd managed to get to killing both him and Vesemir while possessed by Voleth Meir.. nor the lives taken that day.

The sound of laughter drew his attention away from the scenery before him, his eyes immediately locking on Ciri and Geralt as they shared laughter, smiles, and words forgotten in the breeze. They were supposed to be feeding Roach and Desert to ensure the horses were ready in case they had to make a last-minute escape. (Y/N) huffed. She was such a distraction.

It irked him just how much she looked like Geralt too, how easily she could pass as his, and he despised all of it: from her ashen-gray hair verging on nearly being a pale blonde, her green eyes that sparkled like emeralds when the light directly hit them, her pale skin that easily flushed red when she grew embarrassed or frustrated to the way she bristled like an enraged kitten and never allowed herself to back down from his comments.

His stomach twisted just staring at her scrawny figure. Witchers weren't supposed to meddle in human business nor their stupid politics. It was part of their code to remain neutral, to remain free from the clutches of politics, and to avoid falling into loyalties with ruling governments. Geralt rarely, if ever, broke their code willingly, and now he did it without thinking twice for a measly human.

She was going to get him killed. She was going to get all of them killed. And for what? A kingdom that no longer belonged to her family?

"You could've saved yourself a lot of trouble by not coming." Yennefer's voice rang clear behind him and she entered his peripheral, her raven locks clashing with the greenery around them and naturally demanding attention. Everything about her demanded attention; that was simply the way of a mage like her. Deadly beautiful and with a bite stronger than her bark. "I've seen you pout more times than I've heard you speak."

(Y/N) felt his skin warm. "You know better than anyone how obnoxious nobles are. They love prancing around enacting their power over others. They're ungrateful and-"

"Ciri is but a girl and you are but a boy. You have both lived vastly different lives and been raised by vastly different people." Her brows lifted in a manner that reminded him of Vesemir, and he felt a lesson inbound. She placed her hand over his shoulder and brushed her fingernails over his cheek delicately, tittering on affectionately. "Ciri is a princess, yes, but she's not ungrateful, and you know it. She believes you are cruel and a bully, but I know you're more sensitive than you let on. Perhaps you will find more in common if you give her a chance."

"Unlikely." 

"Don't be so sure." Yennefer squeezed him lightly, the hint of a smile on her face. "Come inside, supper is ready."

Despite the fact they were on the run, the past couple of weeks had been the best (Y/N) had ever eaten. He often settled for simple meals he could create from things he bought at the market or meat he caught cooked over a fire, but the food they ate now was made with much gentler care. Mixed with herbs and spices, he practically inhaled the rabbit stew, savoring it and listening to the idle chatter between Geralt and Ciri. 

He thought about Vesemir and how he was doing. If he was well after the chaos that'd erupted in Kaer Morhen, after losing half the men he helped raise from boys and parting ways with the child he took in as a babe. They'd parted ways plenty of times before; it was simply how the life of a witcher went. But this time felt different, and they'd both sensed it in the air, as if something big was on its way.

"Well," Yennefer exhaled, dabbing her lips with a napkin and rising from the table. "I believe we should check the perimeters, ensure nothing is amiss."

Geralt grunted. "(Y/N)-"

"I will go with you, Geralt." Yennefer interrupted swiftly and his golden eyes cut to her, narrowing with confusion and then squinting with suspicion. She stared at him, seemingly communicating whatever was going on in her head with her eyes alone and leaving (Y/N) and Ciri to try and decipher what was going on.

Geralt took in a deep breath and stood up, his hand curling around the sheath of his sword. "Fine." He nodded, his silver strands bouncing off his cheeks where he'd begun growing stubble. His eyes darted to (Y/N) and the intensity in them softened, the corner of his lip lifting. "Be good to Ciri, Pup."

(Y/N) recalled a time he watched a mother usher her child to another boy, quietly insisting that the two needed to get along before she plastered on a smile and claimed it'd been her son's idea to share his toys despite the clear reluctance on his face. He concluded Yennefer was the mother, him the son, and Ciri the other child completely oblivious to the plan in action. (Y/N) would rather choke than play along.

Ciri lingered near the window, peering out of it as if she'd be able to see anything through the pitch darkness enveloping the cottage. The moon remained hidden by the towering trees, and he doubted the two wouldn't be back before it reached the top of the sky. They'd never leave Ciri for that long, no matter how much they trusted him to take care of her.

"Do you think they're going to make up?" She asked, her fingers busying themselves with undoing her braid.

The tableware clattered when he propped his feet up. "I don't know."

Surely she could hear the irritation in his voice, his lack of interest in speaking with her. He liked pretending as if she were just another noble with a head full of air, but he'd seen the different ways her brain worked, how quickly she managed to adapt to her surroundings. 

She suckled her bottom lip into her mouth and dug her teeth into it. Was she nervous? He couldn't really tell, even if she almost constantly wore her emotions on her sleeve for the world to see. Her eyes always spoke before her mouth did.

"It's about time they do, don't you think?" She raked her hand through her hair and undid the small knots that'd formed before pushing her hair over her shoulder to rest along her back.

"I don't know." 

Ciri scowled. "Do you have anything else to say other than 'I don't know'?"

He smirked and her eyes narrowed. "I don't know."

She made a noise in the back of her throat akin to a low, irritated groan and finally peeled herself away from the window to collect the plates on the table, taking them to the sink where she gave the sleeves of her tunic a hard tug and began scrubbing the plates. If she scrubbed them any harder, they'd probably crack and break into pieces.

He chuckled under his breath at her annoyance and reached down to his hips, unclasping his holster and setting it over the table before freeing his dagger from its sheath and inspecting the blade. His fingers ran along the cool metal, eyes tracking the distorted reflection staring back at him. He swore his eyes glimmered a different color and felt his chest tighten. 

The loud sound of clattering brought his gaze upward at Ciri, catching her bracing herself against the counter while her wet hand rubbed against her pantleg hard enough to leave a streak of pink that slowly faded. "Why do you hate me so much?" She asked, voice nearing a frustrated hiss. "What have I done to you?" 

"Exist, for starters." (Y/N) muttered immediately, uncaringly, his attention returning to the dagger as he pressed his thumb into the chestnut brown hilt. "You strolled into Kaer Morhen, my home, and proceeded to paint the fucking floors with the blood of my brothers. You damn near painted it with my blood, too, and my father's."

The frustration on her face faded and her nostrils flared with a deep inhale. The guilt was heavy in her eyes, her fingers curling and uncurling to hide the way they trembled. "I-I didn't-" Her voice cracked and she looked away, her lips pressing tightly together. "I didn't want to. I-I didn't even realize what I was doing. You know that. She had me trapped in a dream. I would have never done that-"

"But you did.. and half the men who helped raise me are dead, Princess." (Y/N) tossed his dagger aside and dragged his feet off the table, planting themselves on the floor with thumps. His arms moved to rest over his thighs, fingers lacing together as his mind conjured up the most venomous thing he could think of.

Years of harassment from ungrateful humans taught him plenty of where to aim where it truly hurt.

"If one can still call you that. To be a princess you need lands, a castle, a royal family. All those things turned to ashes while you were busy running from your kingdom like a coward."

A spark ignited in the green of her eyes and she darted forward with quick steps, snatching the dagger from the table and squeezing the hilt so hard her knuckles turned white. She pointed the blade at him, her jaw clenching and eyes bright with threat yet her hand trembled ever so slightly.

"Fuck you." She spat, inching the blade closer until it almost poked at his forehead. "Didn't your mother turn to ashes? I know that's what happens to bru-"

Ciri barely had the chance to gasp before he grabbed her wrists and shot up from his chair, the force causing it to topple backward onto the floor with a hard thud. He backed her up into the nearest wall, slamming her wrists into it and forcing her to drop the dagger at their feet with a wince. She blinked at him, soft breaths escaping her parted lips that he felt against his skin. He could see the different shades of green in her eyes more clearly, see the way her eyes flickered around different parts of his face.

"You're a real piece of work, Cirilla." 

He released her wrists and leaned back, forcing himself to take a deep breath to calm the rapid beating of his heart. His eyes were drawn to the red around the skin of her wrists from his tightened hold and grimaced, a begrudged apology forming on his tongue because his job was to protect not hurt, but before he could get a single word out, Ciri lunged forward. 

His nerves flared immediately with alert, only for his instincts to protect himself to short circuit when- instead of being shoved or slapped or even punched for touching her so roughly- he felt soft clumsy lips placed over his.

One of Ciri's arms curled around his shoulders as her chest pressed against his, holding onto him as he staggered backward from surprise. His hands grabbed onto her hips, his mind torn between the tantalizing urge to kiss her back and the possibility of Geralt walking in and seeing the sight of the girl he considered his daughter kissing someone. 

He pressed his forehead against hers to break the kiss and sucked in a breath of air. "Ciri-"

"I don't care." She panted softly. "I've been thinking about this for weeks."

The revelation flicked something in him, something in his chest. The heated emotion that always spread through his body whenever he lied eyes on her, the constant need to poke at her until she diverted her attention to him with a scowl, the willingness to put himself between her and danger; he assumed it was complicated hate, his need to protect and his dislike for her constantly battling. Had it been something else? Something so foreign to him he'd mistaken it for loathing?

He watched the desperation swirl in her eyes before he squeezed his shut and pressed his lips against hers, swallowing the shaky exhale she released and darting his tongue past her parted lips. She shivered and wriggled in his grasp, her lack of experience surging in how intensely she reacted to him just grazing his hands over her thighs before he heaved her up fully into his arms. Her legs encircled his waist and the bottom of her boots pressed into the heels, pushing until they fell from her feet. 

Twisting around toward the table, he set her down on it and crept his up toward her sleeveless leather vest where he worked on untying the laces until it grew loose enough to discard onto the floor. Her white tunic sagged without the vest and he slipped his hand underneath it, palms roaming over the smooth skin of her abdomen and hips free of any scars unlike his. Her breath quickened when his hand moved higher, and her hold on his tightened when he delicately ran his fingers over her breast.

(Y/N) pulled away, leaving butterfly kisses over her cheek and down to the side of her throat. She drew him in closer and dipped her own hands underneath his tunic to feel along the muscle and scars he'd obtained throughout the years, whispering soft pleas for more into his ear, but his mind focused on the warmth of her skin.

If he listened hard enough he could hear the blood flowing through her veins, the rapid beat of her heart dancing in her chest. His tongue darted out to lick a long line along her skin and she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck. 

An alarm blared in his head; his witcher upbringing clashing with the animalistic instinct embedded in his genes in a turbulent fight. Vesemir's voice echoed in his head and urged him to stop, to put an end to the heated moment before it could become gruesome and deadly for them both. He was always so careful but Ciri was such a distraction. If only Vesemir could see him, speak to him.

Vesemir was roughly shoved out of his head in favor of hooking his fingers into the belt buckles of Ciri's worn pants and tugging down roughly enough to drag them to her thighs without unbuttoning them. Her hands were clumsy as she pushed on them, legs kicking wildly until they slumped down onto the floor to be forgotten with the rest of the mess they left in their wake.

He hugged her close to his body and lifted her into his arms again, letting his feet lead him to the room he typically shared with Geralt so the girls could sleep separately from them. 

She slipped from his arms and onto the bed, a laugh knocking out of her chest when she collided with the mattress. She curled her fingers around the hem of her tunic and tugged it downward as she pressed her thighs together, the flush on her face burning harder under his eyes and spreading when he took his own clothes off. 

His arms curled around her thighs and she gave a light squeak when he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, her eyes widening as his knees met the floorboard and his hands pried open her legs. His face buried in the mound and a long curse dragged out of her throat in response, her hips threatening to buck and quiver as he began lapping at her like a starved dog, the bridge of his nose occasionally brushing against half-curled hairs the same color as the hair on her head.

He hardly knew what he was doing; he'd never had the same urges as his fellow brothers, his mind focused on the monsters over the brothels whenever he visited towns. But, he'd heard plenty of tales and recountings told over food by drunken men (some likely more fabricated than the rest) to have some idea of what he was supposed to be doing, even though he barely paid any mind to precision and focus. He licked and suckled until her quivering thighs caged around his head.

"(Y/N)!" Ciri abruptly cried out, her ankles digging into his back and pushing his face further against her as she flooded his mouth with her juices. 

"That was fast." He exhaled, the fleeting humanity managing to grasp onto the reins for a moment, and he wiped at his mouth and chin with his forearm. He dragged his arms from her thighs and traced the lingering imprints before carefully rising from the floor to hover over her and study her features. 

Her chest heaved with deep inhales and exhales, her parted lips red and nearly raw from their kissing. He thumbed at the trickle of drool threatening to slide down her cheek and felt her lean into his touch, her trembling hands slowly dragging over his arms and shoulders and tugging him down. She pressed her cheek against his, almost nuzzling into him, and wrapped her legs around his waist. 

There was a line in front of him, one he could cross and face multiple different consequences: they could risk the chance of Geralt's reaction, whether it was disapproving or angered, or risk the chance of a secret being exposed through an accidental pregnancy.

He was no true witcher. Unlike his brothers who lost their fertility upon becoming mutants, he had the chance of knocking someone up, a fact Vesemir consistently reminded him of. He was already a hybrid, a creature made up of the blood of human and monster. Could he inflict that on someone else?

But when she tightened her legs around him and purposefully grinded against him, he decided to cross the line regardless. 

Ciri's gummy walls resisted the intrusion, and he still had enough clarity to remind himself she was still considered a princess, one who still had the chance of marrying some prickly noble who'd expect his bride to be a virgin pure. "Ciri, are you-" 

"Yes." She whined with a tremble, sounding out of breath.

He pushed forward and nearly pressed his full weight down on her when the faint yet familiar scent of blood reached his nose. In most circumstances, it hardly ever phased him, but he usually never allowed the untamed monster side of him to rear its head for longer than a few seconds.

He pressed his face into the sheets and held on tighter to her, his mind escaping him and returning to the chilly mountain Kaer Morhen resided upon until the ringing in his ears ceased and he could move without Ciri wincing. 

Part of him desired nothing more than to give in to the creature he kept buried but this was Ciri and he knew better than risking potentially hurting her. He dragged out of her slowly enough for her to whine, only to plunge back in with enough force to knock the wind out of her lungs.

The room quickly filled with the smell of sweat and sex and the subtle hint of blood that still urged him to fall into a state of delirium, choked words and moans filling his ears and keeping him grounded enough to keep his wits. 

Ciri's nails raked down his back feverishly, clawing at him as if she were trying to cut him open. The long marks healed seconds after they were made, something Ciri barely noticed in her hazy state of pleasure.

His lips pressed into her collarbone and they parted with the overwhelming urge to bite, but he had half a mind to tilt his head to the side and dig the sharp row of teeth that'd grown into his bicep instead. Blood immediately spilled into his mouth, not the blood he wanted but good enough to sedate the urges. 

Almost instantaneously, his hips stuttered and his body threatened to give out on him, his high crashing into him like a tidal wave. His hips continued to move, thrusting into Ciri until she cried out again, practically milking every last drop of his release with her squeezing around him like a vice. She panted into his ear, sounding as if she'd just ran miles upon miles, before her palms slapped against his shoulders and shoved him upward. 

"You're bleeding- did you bite yourself?" She blinked wildly at him, eyes darting back and forth between the blood coating his lips and the blood smeared across his bicep.

The row of punctures wounds had healed the moment he'd taken his teeth out of the muscle but the sight still looked like he'd taken a chunk out of himself. Droplets of blood ran down his forearm, dripping onto the bed and turning frizzy strands of her hair into a crimson color.

"It was either you-" He gulped down a breath of air and swiped his tongue over his lips. "-or me." 

Gently, Ciri ran her fingers over the blood on his face, her lips twisting into a frown. "I knew a bruxa once. She had a lover she fed on and- and they were fine for a while. Maybe if you-" 

The sound of the front door slamming shut startled them both, and they were hardly given enough time to process what that meant before Yennefer and Geralt appeared in the doorway, their panicked and concerned faces plunging through several differing emotions at the sight of them tangled up together. Geralt quickly turned his back on them and Yennefer released a long, somewhat amused sigh.

"This is not what I meant when I said you should give her a chance. Get dressed. We obviously need to have a chat."