#ao3 witcher

In another life, Tissaia had a dream. Such an unbelievable, heartbreaking dream. She turned in her bed and curled up to Vilgefortz. He had returned after she had fallen asleep. She heard in the back of her mind what was whispered in her dream. She had no idea why, but she made her decision. She planned to wait until all the craziness calmed down, but now she knew, felt it in her bones what she had to do.

In the morning, after he woke, he was greeted with a radiant smile from her. She kissed him, and he wondered what got her into such a mood. He would have never guessed what Tissaia said next.

“Vilgefortz… I’m pregnant.”

-

In countless years, centuries even, time loses its meaning. She let them fly by, and not even the changing of the Continent made it feel real. Until she came. Now, every day felt like it was going too fast, and she couldn't get enough of every single second. Life used to be banal; one way or another, everything was the same: the kings fought, people died, politics were played behind the shadows, and she knew how it would end before it even began. 

She did have her bright spots in life, however passing and painful. As their mentor and friend, she cherished her memories with them, with her especially, but sooner or later they were all gone. Gone with the wind, if they were lucky. She refused to get too attached, or at the very least, refused to show it. That was until everything crumbled, the world as she knew it burned, and from the ashes of the past came a future so bright she feared it might blind her.

Life became a drug, and she was addicted. She had a lust to live, to experience it, and not just watch it from her Ivory Tower. It was so cliché. She never wanted this; she went out of her way to prevent it for all of her girls for a reason. She has heard the saying that her heart would beat outside of her body from the first time she held the life she made in her arms. No one could ever accuse her of being sentimental, and yet she felt the slow and steady shift in her soul. When she looked back at what was and who she had been, it felt like watching a stranger with her face and voice. All the pain that led her to this point was a necessary evil, and for the first time since she was a girl, she chose to be happy.

-

As shock was overthrown by panic and panic was overthrown by something he never felt before, he smiled, let out a shaky breath, and kissed her. This would definitely change things. So many things he couldn't even begin to imagine. But Tissaia was still looking at him with a shy smile and uncertainty in her eyes.

Vilgefortz murmured softly, “This-this is wonderful. Are you certain?” 

Tissaia nodded and let her fears surface. “What are we going to do? If the council finds out-” He cut her off and shook his head.

“We’ll worry later,” caressing her face, he pressed his forehead against hers. “This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life.”

And it really was. He felt something he never thought he was capable of. It scared him but cleared his mind. He decided to do as he said and hugged his beloved, caressing her back gently and kissing her hair. The worries could come after they got out of bed, or even after that. Right that moment, only they existed. He would make the appropriate changes to his plans. He refused to lose Tissaia now and refused to lose their child. Even he wasn’t sure why, just the previous night he was ready to let it all go. How a small thing changes everything. Or maybe this wasn’t small; maybe this was bigger than they could ever comprehend.

-

Elysia blew the sand from her hand and it turned into tiny butterflies in the wind. Their wings carried them higher and higher, until they disappeared between the trees. The young girl laughed in that special way only children could. Her voice still had the innocence and wonder people lost while growing up. She was still full of life and curiosity, her uncontainable energy clear as day as she ran around in the forest, yet mindful of never getting out of her mother’s sight. She was barely five years old and already just like…

“Just like you.” Tissaia turned to face Yennefer, her eyebrows arched instead of voicing her question. She didn’t notice when the young sorceress arrived and she had no idea how long she had been watching them. “She scolded the birds for being too loud. Already a little control freak.” She smirked, then added, “Although a sweet one.”

“In her defense, they were loud.” The brunette turned back to her daughter and let out a shaky breath. Yen followed her gaze, and smiled softly as she saw the little firecracker trying to reach for a mushroom that grew on a tree. It was just out of her reach and when even jumping couldn’t help, she called for her mother to help her. Tissaia picked her up and let her examine it but didn’t let her get it off of the tree’s trunk. The little girl made a disappointed face that was so much like her mother’s, Yennefer found it almost uncanny. So many things about them were uncanny, if she was honest with herself. But over the years, seeing the two of them so happy together made her forget about all the uneasy feelings she had, most of the time.

Even when her father came back with the druids and the little girl ran into his arms. Vilgefortz picked her up and threw her high up in the air. Elysia was laughing, and Tissaia scolded him to be careful. Yen had a hard time getting over everything, and she figured the ex Rectoress had an even harder one. Maybe time does heal all wounds; maybe she shouldn't let it get to her so much, maybe-. She didn’t know and just huffed. 

How could Tissaia just act like this? The girl was fine; she got over that, but Vilgefortz… She put up with him for the sake of her mother, and to be fair, Tissaia never asked her for anything more. She had Ciri and Geralt so she understood to a degree even though so many lines were crossed, the purple-eyed sorceress wondered if they were even there in the first place.

She watched as the druids knelt down and touched Elysia’s hand. The girl definitely were odd, Yen could relate to that. They both stood out for reasons beyond their control. Her little sister - it was still strange to call her that - clearly was born with a magic that was similar to the druids. No one had a real idea where that came from, but considering that Vilgefortz’s bloodline was mostly a mistery, Ely might have gotten it from him. He was raised by druids after all.

Nature or nurture - Yen wondered. She didn’t think Ely would become like her father was before she was born. But then again, who would have thought that young little Vilg would become that.

“Yenny, look,” she ran and gave her a small brach with cherry blossom on it. “Pretty, pretty flowers.”

She thanked her and ruffled her hair. The girl made flowers bloom from a dead tree branch.

-

The day she decided to enter the world was a blur of pain and blood. In the late morning hours she felt the first sensation of pain in her lower abdomen. She paid it no mind, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel uncomfortable during the late stages of her pregnancy. However, by noon she needed help to get back to her room. Tissaia never imagined her birthing experience would be witnessed by so many, but then again, she never imagined having one at all. All of her friends, who have truly become her family in the last few months, were there, supporting her. Despite the looks he got, Vilgefortz stood next to her, holding her hand. Tissaia and he had a talk, and while agreeing that the possibility of another unplanned pregnancy was real, they decided to have only one baby. It was one more than they planned anyway, so he refused to not witness the birth of his only child. 

When her water broke, it surprised her that it’s not only the water that comes out. Blood also poured from her and if it weren’t for her friends reassurance, she probably would have panicked. He helped her get into any and every comfortable position she requested, whispering encouragements and telling her she was doing so great. Minutes turned into hours and her baby refused to show its face to the world. Tissaia was screaming in the end as sweat glistened on her body. Her face was flushed and breathing became difficult amidst the jolts of pain. The sun disappeared a long time ago and she wondered if their baby and him were playing tricks on her. Their child was already as stubborn as he was and it terrified her.

The moment she felt her baby leave her body was a relief but despite the end of her torment, she felt oddly empty.

“It’s a girl!” Yennefer beamed with joy. It was a rare sight and Tissaia couldn’t take her eyes off of them, as she walked up to her with the baby safely wrapped in a blanket in her arms. When she finally held her daughter she couldn’t help the tears that escaped her eyes. The little girl had a shock of black hair and when she opened her eyes for a moment Tissaia’s breath got caught in her throat. The same eyes she had fallen for in every sense of the word looked back at her. Her sweet little baby girl had her father’s eyes and she felt this was his final act of capturing her heart. “She looks just like you!” Yen continued smiling like she never did before. Tissaia slowly shook her head but her raven haired friend insisted. “She has your face, your nose, her mimics already… she looks like you, Tissaia.”

Vilgefortz agreed, despite the baby’s soft tan, dark hair, and deep eyes. “She truly looks like you, my love.” He sat next to them on the bed and kissed her, then gently caressed the newborn’s face with his fingers. He embraced Tissaia as she was holding their baby, and she leaned back onto him.

She looked down at her daughter once more, and she had to admit, she saw some resemblance between them. The baby made a soft sound and she couldn’t help but smile. Her fear evaporated the longer she looked at the tiny bundle. She kissed the top of her newborn’s head and gently caressed her face. The love she felt for her while pregnant multiplied and in that moment, Tissaia de Vries never felt more at peace, more at home.

The days have washed together, even for Vilgefortz. It was the consequence of pain, he figured. The doctors reassured him again and again that Tissaia’s condition was mostly because of exhaustion. Still, it did nothing to ease his mind. She was barely awake for a short while, and now the relentless fever tormented her. His duties awaited him, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave her side despite all he needed to do. He marveled at her ability to stop him finally. Well, more or less. He still needed to find the real princess, but his men were working on that. His research with the Book of Monoliths was left unattended; he only read the book every once in a while when she seemed like she was doing better. He could have easily made Istredd study it, whether he liked it or not, but that would make him leave Tissaia’s side, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. This was ridiculous; he did leave her behind before. Vilgefortz tried to convince himself that he was not making sense, and besides, she didn’t want to be near him. He would have been all right living in a world where they were enemies, as long as she was alive. Knowing she didn’t want to live anymore felt… unthinkable. Unbelievable. The Continent was not complete without her. So he stayed and did his best to stop the fever that burned her, but as the days turned into a week and some, his heart grew heavier with each passing moment.

As Tissaia drifted in and out of consciousness, she stirred restlessly in her sleep, her brow furrowed with feverish dreams. Her mind wandered, and images flickered like shadows dancing in the firelight, elusive and haunting. She couldn't quite grasp onto them like a ship navigating through turbulent waters. In her delirium, she saw flashes of battles, whispered secrets, and the faces of those she loved and lost. The lines between the past and present blurred, leaving her lost in a haze of confusion and pain.

The most cruel kind of dreams made her toss and turn: her unconscious must have been aware of where she was and why, and so she saw him, even in her dreams. She re-lived their happiest moments in the sun, how he took her to distant lands, how she could laugh without restraint, and how he embraced her and spun her around. They kissed in the rain and in a hidden meadow blooming in spring. She saw her memories like they happened yesterday; she felt his hand caressing her and his lips on her skin as he promised his sweet lies, and yet she was still aware that it was all gone because of him. Her mind seemed to insist on reminding her of what she had lost, and she would have much preferred not remembering at all if it meant getting rid of this pain. 

When she finally woke from her fever-induced slumber, she softly groaned as she opened her eyes, only to find Vilgefortz sitting beside her. She blinked, trying to focus as her surroundings came into view. The room was dimly lit, and the faint glow of candlelight was casting shadows across the walls. He was asleep, and the light illuminated his face. She must have had a fever still, for in that moment her gaze lingered on his lips for a moment too long, and her heart began to ache. She hated herself for it and wished the scars on him would have turned his whole head deformed and hard to look at. Tissaia struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through her weakened body. 

Vilgefortz had grown accustomed to the rhythm of her breath, the subtle movements of her body as she struggled against the grip of fever, so when she began to move, his eyes opened as well. His expression was unreadable - a mask of concern and something else she couldn't quite place. He reached out to help her, his touch gentle yet hesitant. As she settled against the pillows, she couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through her veins. Anger, betrayal, longing - each vying for dominance within her fractured soul. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them. 

Blinking against the haze of her fever, Tissaia attempted to focus on his form. "Why are you here?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Vilgefortz shifted in his seat, his expression inscrutable. "You had a fever," he replied simply. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Tissaia's brows furrowed as she struggled to push through the fog in her mind. "And what do you care if I'm alright or not?"

A flicker of something unrecognizable crossed Vilgefortz's features before he masked it with his usual composure. "You may not believe it, but I do care about your well-being, Tissaia."

She scoffed, the sound tinged with bitterness. "Save your platitudes. We both know caring isn't exactly your strong suit." He didn't flinch at her words, his gaze steady as it met hers. 

"Perhaps not in the past, but things have changed."

Tissaia's gaze hardened, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Changed? How so?"

Vilgefortz hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone measured. "I realized that no matter what happened between us, Tissaia, you mean more to me than you know."

She recoiled slightly at his words, her heart warring with her mind, and it clenched, a tumultuous chaos of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to believe him, to trust that his intentions were genuine, but doubts lingered like shadows in the corners of her mind. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him warily. "And yet," she countered, her voice trembling with uncertainty, "you've hurt me more than anyone ever has. Why should I believe a word you say?”

Vilgefortz shivered as if struck, his features contorted with pain. "I know," he whispered, his voice heavy with remorse. "I won't deny my past mistakes, but I'm offering you a chance to move forward, to forge a new path together."

Tissaia scoffed incredulously. "And what path would that be? Your path of manipulation and deception?"

Vilgefortz's jaw tightened, but he remained composed. "No, Tissaia. A path where we work together to achieve our goals, where we shape the future of the Continent."

She shook her head, her voice laced with disdain. "I've seen the lengths you're willing to go to achieve your goals. I refuse to be a part of your twisted vision."

He met her gaze, his expression impassive. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. You of all people should understand that, Tissaia."

She shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. "There's nothing noble about your actions, Vilgefortz. You're just a selfish man who will stop at nothing to fulfill his ambitions."

"And what would you have me do?" he retorted, his words dripping with disdain. "Sit back and watch as the world burns around us? We have the power to shape the future. We have the power to make a difference."

"But at what cost?" she shot back, her eyes blazing with righteous anger.

Vilgefortz bristled, his jaw clenched with barely contained frustration. "You don't understand, do you? You never have."

"Maybe not," she conceded, her voice softening with resignation. "But I know one thing for certain: there has to be a line, a line we cannot cross. You seek power at any cost," she accused, her eyes blazing with indignation. "But power without compassion is meaningless."

"And what of you, Tissaia?" Vilgefortz countered, his tone was filled with bitterness. "You cling to your ideals, but at what price? How many lives have been lost in the name of your principles?"

“How dare you?!” Her head was spinning, and anger raged inside her. Tissaia's mind was clouded by fever; her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. She tried to make sense of the swirling emotions within her, grappling with the conflicting desires that pulled her in different directions. She got up from the bed and tried to get away from him, but her legs were shaky and her body was weak. He was surprised at her relatively sudden move but easily caught up to her. Just before he could reach her, she picked up the vase from the table and threw it at him. He dodged, and it shattered on the wall behind him. Before she could hurt herself, he grabbed her hands. She was still hot to the touch, and as he looked into her eyes, he saw that her fever had flared up again.

“Let me go!” She resisted his hold on her. How dare he? She was fighting him, trying to set her hands free, but it only made him tighten his grip. She cried out. Her wounds were still healing, and she could feel her flesh ripping open and the bandage getting wet with her blood. Thankfully, only her right hand got hurt, and she instinctively reached for it to soothe the pain.

“I’m sorry. Please calm down.” Vilgefortz was getting desperate. He deserved all of her fury, of course, but he didn’t want her to harm herself. And now he has harmed her.

“You’re sorry?!” Tissaia practically screamed. “You’re sorry?! How dare you?! Such a failure of judgment indeed.” She repeated those fateful words he had told her before he left her. It felt like a punch in his gut. “Poor Tissaia!” She mocked him or herself; he couldn’t tell. The tears escaped her eyes, and she struggled to breathe. 

“How could you?” She asked between sobs and tried to hit him again.

“Tissaia, please. You’re bleeding.” He didn’t try to get a hold of her hands again, fearing it might hurt her further. He was backing away from her, but she followed until he was between her and the cold wall. She hit his face, and the harsh sound echoed throughout the room.

“How could you?!” She asked again, and this time her pain was clear as day in her voice.

“Tissaia…” He pleaded, but she cut him off.

“Answer me! How could you?! How could you do this to me?!” Her legs gave out, and he reached for her, but as he grabbed her elbows, he could only slow her fall. She was sobbing on the floor, her beautiful white hair a mess, and her face wet with tears. He knelt down beside her, unsure of what he should do. The storm that broke free from within her raged on, and Tissaia couldn’t breathe anymore. Vilgefortz tried to shake her, tried to make her listen to his voice, but she was lost in the hurricane of her mind.

Her face turned red, and just when he thought she would faint from the lack of oxygen, a heartbreaking sob emerged from deep within. She leaned down and forward, grabbed her hair while screaming. 

“I loved you,” she managed to say between her cries. “I loved you.” She repeated, and she kept on repeating, between fits of sobs and screams, until her voice became rough and she couldn’t speak anymore. 

The blood from her wrist poured down to her nightgown, and her hair was painted with it in some places. Vilgefortz reached for her and picked her up, even if she’d resist, but she was too tired now. Tired of fighting, tired of living with this pain, tired of living. She let him carry her back to the bed, and by the time he started working on her bleeding hand, she was asleep, drifting in blissful oblivion.

"I've made mistakes. Terrible mistakes. But I swear to you, Tissaia, I'll do whatever it takes to make things right." He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he made his promise to the darkness, the stars, the moon, and to any God who was willing to listen.

-

As the days passed in a blur, Tissaia's recovery proved to be a slow and arduous process. Each day seemed to melt into the next, marked only by the faint shift of sunlight filtering through the curtains and the steady rhythm of Vilgefortz's footsteps as he moved about the room, tending to her needs with a quiet diligence that belied the storm of emotions raging within him. 

The fever had finally broken, but its lingering effects left her weakened and vulnerable. She spent most of her days confined to her bed, her body aching with the aftermath of illness,and  her mind plagued by thoughts of what could have been. She was battered by the relentless onslaught of fever; her body rebelled against her with each labored breath, each tentative movement a reminder of the frailty of her mortality. Yet, despite the physical agony that wracked her, it was the scars of her shattered trust that cut deepest, leaving her heart raw and bleeding in the wake of his betrayal. She longed to distance herself from him, to break free from the chains that bound her to him, but deep down, she knew that their fates were irrevocably intertwined. 

Vilgefortz remained a constant presence by her side, his vigil unyielding even in the face of her silent reproach. He had not left her since the night she had fallen unconscious, his guilt and remorse keeping him tethered to her bedside like a penitent seeking absolution. He had thought that by saving her life, he could somehow atone for his sins, could somehow make amends for the pain he had inflicted upon her. But now, as he looked upon her frail form, he realized that forgiveness was a distant dream—one that may never come to fruition. Tissaia could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, a wordless plea for forgiveness that echoed in the depths of her soul, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, and couldn't bear to confront the tangled mess of emotions that churned within her heart.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Vilgefortz approached her with a sense of urgency in his eyes. "Please, Tissaia, talk to me," he pleaded, his voice a mere whisper in the stillness of the room. "What do I need to do for you to talk to me?"

She regarded him with a mixture of resignation and bitterness, her gaze unwavering as she struggled to find the words to convey the depths of her anguish. "There's nothing you can say, Vilgefortz," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "You've already said and done enough to last a lifetime." 

Vilgefortz's expression softened, his features wrought with remorse. "I would do anything for you," he continued, his voice trembling with desperation. "I would burn the world down for you if you asked, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences."

Tissaia's breath caught in her throat at his words, the weight of his declaration hanging heavy in the air between them. She wanted to believe him, to trust that his intentions were pure, but doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve, whispering tales of betrayal and deceit.

"That's the problem," she finally replied, her voice nothing more than a whisper, and yet it felt like shouting in the quiet of the night. "You still don't understand. You still don't care about anything or anyone else, only you. You just want everything your way."

Vilgefortz's expression darkened at her words, his expression a mask of wounded pride. "That's not true," he protested without hesitation, his expression tinged with desperation. "Not anymore. I just want you."

She raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched into every line of her face. It was funny in a way. If she manages to pull herself together, she might be able to use it to her advantage. "Tell me what you need of me?" he continued, his voice growing more insistent. "I will give you the world. We could rule the North; I could even kill Emhyr for you. We could rule the whole continent together, make things the way we want them to be."

As the silence stretched between them, Vilgefortz's resolve seemed to falter, his gaze dropping to the floor in defeat. But then, as if a spark had ignited within him, he straightened his shoulders, his eyes blazing with newfound determination.

"We could be the most powerful mages in history," he declared, his voice resolute. "We already are. We just have to take one final step to achieve greatness beyond measure. Together, you and I could reign over everything."

Tissaia's breath caught in her throat, shock and disbelief coursing through her veins. She had never heard him speak with such fervor, such conviction. And yet, even as his words echoed in the darkness of the room, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped her heart.

"We could rule the Empire, the whole continent," Vilgefortz continued, his voice growing more impassioned with each passing moment. "We could reshape the world in our image; there would be no one who could stop us."

But Tissaia remained silent, her mind heavy with conflicting emotions. She couldn't trust him, not after everything he had done, not after the pain he had inflicted upon her. And yet, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if there was still a chance for redemption, a chance to forge a new path together. Her heart was heavy with the weight of her own uncertainty; she was lost in a sea of conflicting emotions that threatened to engulf her in its turbulent waves. She couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that lingered like a ghost, haunting her every waking moment with its relentless presence. Vilgefortz's words echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the fractured state of their relationship, of the chasm that lay between them like an irreconcilable divide.

She longed for clarity, and for a sense of purpose amidst the chaos that surrounded her, but the path forward remained shrouded in darkness, obscured by the fog of doubt and mistrust that clouded her vision. She didn't know if there was still hope for them, and she didn't know if they could ever find their way back to each other amidst the wreckage of their lives.

And yet, despite the uncertainty that plagued her, there was a glimmer of something within her heart, a flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished. She couldn't deny the pull that drew her to Vilgefortz, the magnetic force that bound them together in spite of everything that had transpired between them.

She knew that forgiveness wouldn't come easily, and that healing would take time. She needed space to sort through the mess of emotions that churned within her, to find her footing amidst the ruins of her fractured existence. And until then, she would remain silent, a testament to the pain that still lingered within her wounded heart, a heart that longed for solace amidst the storm of her soul’s turmoil. She didn't know what the future held, didn't know if there was still hope for them amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship. All she knew was that she needed time, time to heal, time to find herself again. So until then, she wouldn’t and she could’t say a word, an evidence to the heartbreak that still consumed her in every moment of the day.

Notes:

My usual relax smut after the pain of writing a chapter for Metamorphosis. Fair warning: no beta, barely re-read, done in a day or two. If it sucks ass, let me know and I'll upgrade it.

Tissaia had another meeting with the kings, which would have been fine, except this time more mages joined them, and that meant more wine was included. It was practically a small party - without the music, and again, this alone would not have bothered Vilgefortz. He might have headed the Council with her, but he had no problem with Tissaia dealing with the rulers of the Continent on her own. He worked better in the shadows anyway, and he had a dislike for those people in the first place. All that being said, he refused to admit to himself that he was seething, so close to seeing red and just ruining all the efforts they put into managing the Northern Kings.

If Demavend didn’t stop drinking and didn’t stop being overly friendly with Tissaia, his Tissaia - an angry voice whispered in Vilgefortz’s mind - he might do something she definitely wouldn’t like. That fat fuck even had the fucking nerve to ever so slightly touch her back - not too high, not too low - so no one could technically say anything about this friendly gesture. Vilgefortz closed his eyes and took a deep breath. At this moment, his beloved looked at him with concern in her eyes. She sensed his distress, and when their eyes met, she gently smiled at him. Her eyes, the soft curve of her lips, the little turn of her nose - it was enough to calm him. And then Demavend fucking stepped way too close and whispered something to her, and Vilgefortz had to step out of the meeting hall.

The breeze of the sea caressed his face as he stared into the darkness beyond the horizon. That fat motherfucker. He had a very good chance of dying before the night was over. It’s not like he was jealous. He didn’t really have the right to be; none of the guests knew about their relationship, and not even all the mages knew. He understood the King of Aedirn’s fascination. Tissaia was always breathtaking, especially now, with her new, more alluring hairstyle and ever so slightly different dress. It was all still very Tissaia, but there was something about her like this that made his heart beat a little faster, and he had a hard time looking at anything else but her. He trusted her completely; he knew she was playing her part to keep the kings in line, but damn. That asshole had a lot of nerve. Even if he was drunk, it was no excuse. Besides, Vilgefortz wasn’t jealous. He knew what was happening; she knew it too, and they both knew what they needed to do. And that didn’t include beating the shit out of Demavend.

He was so preoccupied with not being jealous that he didn’t notice her approach and he shuddered a little when her hand touched his shoulder. Tissaia stepped closer to him, and he hugged her, maybe a little too tight, and she buried her face in his chest. She was just the right height; the top of her head reached his chin, and he leaned into her hair.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice muffled by his embrace.

“Nothing,” he whispered after much consideration. She chuckled a little at his stubbornness.

“I could sense from across Aretuza that you are troubled.” His love looked up at him and put her hand on his cheek, caressing his handsome face. He smiled, took her hand, and kissed her palm. Her heart melted a little, and she pushed herself on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He held her even closer, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss was sweet, and reassuring, and he loved how she tasted -  of wine and vanilla mixed with cinnamon. She had such a sweet tooth, and he found it adorable. The formidable Arch Mistress, who put the fear of any God into kings and commoners alike - and she moaned while eating chocolate-covered strawberries or lemon cake with caramel on top. 

When they parted, he shook his head. “Let’s go back, my love.” With one quick peck on her lips, he released his hold of her, and they made their way back to the meeting. 

And not even ten minutes later, he mumbled, “Fucking hell,” when he saw that piece of shit actually touch her back just a little bit too low. His movement was quick; she had no time to react when he stepped next to her, pushed Demavend’s hand away, pulled Tissaia close to him, and gave her a small kiss on the edge of her lips, perfectly on the place between her cheeks and her rosy, sweet, and soft lips. The king looked a bit sheepish; the rest of the people who saw what he did looked surprised; even Tissaia needed a moment to regain her composure. Good thing he wasn’t jealous, or else he might have caused a scene. 

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. After his demonstration, Tissaia kind of avoided him, fearing he might do something more. He understood, and actually made himself useful by talking with some of their colleagues. Vilgefortz didn’t have anything else to worry about anymore; Demavend thankfully got the message and backed off finally. The night concluded with yet another agreement about the threat of Nilfgaard and how they should all work together, and so on and so forth. He knew none of the kings and queens would keep their word, but they had peace, at least for a short while.

They didn’t speak that much after. They retreated to their bedroom, and she could feel the emotions flowing through him like lava, still burning hot, fooling those who didn’t know any better to come closer and touch. She saw it in the way he held his jaw tight and in how his face contorted when a particular thought crossed his mind. He silently made them a bath with way too much relaxing oils and candles. When they settled in the warm water, he possessively held her tight and only let her go when she insisted that they actually clean themselves. He agreed, and after they finished, he cursed himself. The opportunity was right there, but his mind was clouded by the fumes of not jealousy. He could have given her the bath of her lifetime. 

After putting on her nightgown, Tissaia looked at him. He was still standing by the window, his brows furled. She sighed, loud enough for him to hear, and he understood her wordless request. Vilgefortz stepped next to her, his blood feeling electric, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Would you tell me now, please, why are you so angry?” She asked as he pressed his forehead to hers. She knew, of course, that he was jealous, but she wanted him to voice his feelings and not just mope around the room. And yet he shook his head and kissed her, not willing to say a word. He bit her lower lip, and she moaned a little before pulling away, resting her hands on the sides of his face. “You do know that it doesn’t matter what happened at the meeting, don’t you?” she whispered. “I only want you.” Before she could kiss him, he pulled back a bit and smirked. It was a devious, filthy smirk, and her breath got caught in her throat.

“Well,” his face got closer to hers as he spoke, “you’re about to have me.” Tissaia had no time to react; he kissed her hard, his teeth grazing her soft lips and his tongue teasing hers. His hands slowly caressed her sides before venturing further down, and she sighed as he cupped her buttocks. Vilgefortz pulled her dress up, and he ran his palms against her thighs. She felt her arousal growing, took off his robe, and let her hands wander all around his muscular body. His lips found her neck and bit down on her tendons, sucking at her flesh, leaving a bitemark and a reddening spot. He was already in such a mood, so when the high collar of her gown stopped him from kissing the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulders, the restrained volcano inside him erupted, and he reached up to the front of her dress and, with one swift and sudden move, tore the fabric apart. 

“Gods,” she cried out and pulled his head back by his hair, guiding him into a hungry kiss. He freed one of her arms from the restraints of what remained of her nightgown and moved his mouth to her shoulder, licking it, biting, and teasing all the way, and then back to her neck and lips. He picked her up, her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she kissed him desperately as he walked them to the bed. With one hand, he reached down, pulled the covers aside, and then tossed her onto the bed. Tissaia laughed a little at his hurried attempts. She climbed back, positioning herself so that her head was resting against her pillows. He was following her every move above her, and when she finally settled, he parted her legs, pushing himself as close to her as he could. She whined when she felt his fully erect manhood pressing against her swollen core. 

Breaking their fervent kiss, he got rid of her dress, tearing the fabric completely. Her breathing was quick, but it was nothing compared to his erratic panting. His hands touched every inch of her exposed skin, grabbing her hips as he kissed his way lower on her. Vilgefortz took his time; his mouth found her breasts and bit down on one. She gasped, her head spinning, and her soft whimpers started to get louder as he sucked on her already hard nipple, licking it and torturing her with the touch of an expert while his hand twisted and pulled at her other one. He took one between his teeth and pulled at it, and she could do nothing but hiss and dig her nails deep into his shoulders. Her face was flushed, and her breathing mirrored his urgent rhythm.

He finally started kissing her lower, and he bit the delicate skin above her hip bone. His hands parted and teasingly went up and down her thighs. Kissing her abdomen, his hot breath tickled her, and her hand found its place in his hair. The smell of her arousal filled his nose, and he had such a satisfied smile that he could get her so shamelessly wet in such little time. Tissaia was quivering when his tongue delved into her folds, giving her a slow and thorough lick. He did it again, finding her center, and tasting her sweetness made him growl while she was panting and moaning. He finally settled a bit further up; the flat of his tongue was pressing against her swollen bud, before pulling away, only to soothe her need again. She tightened her grip on his hair, and sweat started to glisten on her body. She felt the pleasure building up, slowly but relentlessly, as he claimed her with his mouth over and over again. He teased her, circling her sensitive nub, sucking on it, and dragging his tongue across it until she was seeing stars. She was moaning louder and louder, and her legs were shaking, yet his sweet assault on her didn’t stop. She felt the pressure getting closer to an explosion, and when he took another long lick across her sensitive nerves, she cried out, her thighs closing around his head while she grabbed his hair with painful force.

Vilgefortz waited until her breathing evened a little and her legs weren’t holding him in a delicious prison. Positioning himself lower on the bed, he kissed her core again before parting her folds with his fingers and pushing two inside her. Her hips buckled, her breath hitched, and he curved his fingers just right to touch the sweetest spot inside her. She felt her wetness dripping out, even with him moving inside her. He sped up his pace; the sound of him pleasuring her was only muffled a little when he pressed his mouth against her bud again. Tissaia was overthrown by sensations, the increasing speed of his fingers and the relentless teasing of his tongue made her moan without restraints. The sheets crumpled as she gripped them. She felt her release nearing her again, and her back arched as she kept getting closer and closer. He continued his ministrations and never slowed his hands. Her hips started to move with him, and her toes curled as she was about to tip over.

“Like this, Kitten?” he murmured against her slick folds before he did her favorite thing with his mouth, and she cried out as she came. Her walls clenched his fingers, his hand got soaking wet, and her body moved in intoxicating waves. 

She didn’t have time to calm down this time. His free hand pressed down on her lower abdomen, just above where he still tortured her with his mouth. He moved the fingers inside her as quickly as he could, and she was screaming. The world stopped existing, only the continuous flow of pleasure registered in her mind. She heard the increasingly wet sounds he had drawn from her body. The pressure she felt before came back with vengeance, and she tightened around his fingers once again. She felt herself wetting the bed, but his hands never stopped. Just when her noises turned into desperate whimpers, he drank up all her juices from her sensitive core and she felt like crying. Her body couldn’t take it anymore; she was shaking, dragging her nails across his scalp, and pulling his hair hard. 

She kept repeating, “Please, please, please,” but neither of them knew what she begged for. Each word sounded like a confession of her sins to him, and he breathed through his nose and had to close his eyes. He finally pulled back from her, releasing her from her torment. His hands were soaked, but so were her lower body and the bed under them. Vilgefortz decided to give her some time, so he only peppered her face with gentle kisses and waited for her breathing to even out.

“You are my favorite delicacy, Kitten, you know that?” She chuckled between deep breaths and caressed his neck.

“What was this all about?” Talking was still a challenge, but she managed while grinning.

“What do you mean, love? I always take good care of you,” he teased and kissed her. She moved her hands to his pants that he still had on, and with a quick use of magic, he got them off him with ease.

“Don’t you teach the novices not to use chaos without purpose?” He whispered against her lips.

She smirked, “But it did serve a purpose,” and she bit his lips and opened her legs for him. He groaned at the sharp pain and felt blood in his mouth. She licked the fresh wound on his lip, and he wasn’t able to hold back anymore. His penis easily slid inside her warm and tight cunt. He didn’t waste time, and he hurriedly moved his hips. 

“Oh, Gods,” she cried into the crook of his neck. Vilgefortz took her hands from his neck and pinned them above her head, intertwining their fingers as he continued to thrust into her with rapid force. The bed began to hit the wall, and her cries grew more desperate. Tissaia’s body started to move with his, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. The ache in her stomach found her rather quickly; she was still so sensitive. 

One of the most erotic thing a mage could do was an open channel during intimacy. Not only between their minds but their sensations as well. Their chaos melting together for their pleasure, not knowing where one’s ends and the other’s begins. This has become a habit for them at this point in their relationship, and so when Tissaia felt his magic reach for her and become one with her own, she felt like a bolt of lightning had struck her. She moaned at the same time as his thrust. The hairs on his chest rubbed against her nipples, and she could barely breathe.

“Keep your eyes open. Look at me, love.” She really did try, but as a breathy cry left her swollen lips, she couldn’t anymore. One of his hands went around her throat, just holding it without pressure. “Don’t close your eyes, Kitten. I want you to look at me when I make you come again.” Tissaia desperately tried to do what she was told, and until the last moment, she managed it, forcing herself to focus on him throughout the fog of pleasure. And then she forgot how to breathe; her back arched and her legs pulled him even closer as her walls pulsated around him.

He was panting; sweat covered his body as he watched her ride out the waves of her climax. She looked so deliciously sweet. Vilgefortz grabbed a hold of her hips, and with a swift move, he lay down on the bed. He sat up and kissed her, pulling her head back by her hair before biting down on her throat, and she made the most intoxicating sound. He shifted a little; his back was against the pillows and the wall. 

“Turn around, love,” he whispered against her mouth. She gasped, and with shaky legs, she slowly lifted herself and did what he told her. She positioned his manhood against her oversensitive core but waited for him to push inside. He thrust into her again, hard and fast. Her whole body was on fire; she was sweating; her hair was damp; and her face was red. She reached back with one hand, gripping his hair again. A deep moan that resonated with her soul left him, and she leaned herself back onto his chest. His hands found their purpose as well; he rubbed his thumb against her swollen nipple and then twisted and teased it before settling his grip on her throat, just with enough pressure to make her head spin a little bit more. His other hand went between her legs, rubbing her bud, and he smiled when he felt her hips move against him.

“Oh, fuck!” She had tears in her eyes, and she held onto his hands like a lifeline. He knew he had pushed her over the edge in every way possible now; she rarely ever swore, not even during their lovemaking. Getting her to say it meant he did his job very well. “Faster - ah, fuck. Vil! Vil, Vil, harder! Fuck me, yes, Gods, harder!” She screamed on top of him, and he dutifully complied, thrusting into her with as much force as he could. Their bodies slapped into each other, and the sound of it combined with her melodies filled the room. Every move was an attack against her defenses; she cried and moaned, and whimpered as the sensations grew. Her bud was almost hurting at this point, but his fingers still circled around it, teasing and torturing her at the same time. 

The grip of his hands on her throat tightened, and she struggled to breathe. The ache in her stomach started to burn, but she needed something more - a final push to reach infinity. 

“Come on, love. Fuck, you feel so good. Come for me again. I want to feel your cunt squeezing me,” he whispered next to her ear and then groaned a little when she started to move her hips faster, almost at an urgent pace. “Fuck, yes, Kitten, I love when you come around my cock. Keep moving, let me feel you, love. Show me how much you love when I fuck you.” The end was barely audible between his panting and her moans. White little dots started to cloud her vision, and her body burned, but the fire still couldn't burst from her center. That was until he slapped her bud and pinched it, and she screamed as her body shook above him and the fire finally spread through her entire being. 

Vilgefortz let go of her throat and closed his eyes while she was lost in the primal bliss he inflicted on her. Her breathing was erratic, and she struggled to form coherent thoughts. He gently lifted her and put her down on the bed, next to him. He swiped away the sweat from her forehead. A strain of hair was stuck to her face, and he tucked it behind her ear.

“You look so beautiful, flushed like this, my love.” She couldn’t answer; she just chuckled, touched his face, and kissed him softly. Tissaia moved into his arms and lay in his embrace while her body slowly calmed. When she managed to regulate her breathing, she looked up at him, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” was all he could say before grinning at her.

“I could ask the same. What has gotten into you?”

“Are you saying I’m usually not this satisfying?” He pretended to be offended and leaned back away from her. Oh, how much she loved her crazy, unbelievable man.

“Satisfying, yes.” Tissaia still had a bit of trouble speaking. “You know what I mean.”

“I most certainly do not.” He mocked her again, and she just shook her head. She tried to reach down to please him with her hands and maybe her mouth as well. It was only fair - she thought. But he held her hands in his before she could touch him, and he pressed her flat down on the bed again. “Maybe tomorrow, hm?” He kissed her lips and sighed with pleasure. He found her hips; oh, how he loved the delicate curve of her body. Caressing her sides, his head pressed against hers, he whispered, “Get on your knees for me, Kitten.”

Tissaia shuddered a little and turned around, positioning herself on her knees and elbows. He moved behind her, dragging his fingertips along her spine. Grabbing her ass, he massaged her a little before his palm came down hard on her backside, the sound echoing in the room with her sharp cry. Vilgefortz pushed at her opening, teasing her and sliding the head of his cock against her slick folds. She made an impatient little noise, and he smiled. 

With a sudden, long thrust, he was inside her again, as deep as he could be, making her scream again, just like he had done many times during the night. He was going slower than before, he figured she needed something more gentle now. Just before he completely pulled out, he pushed back into her again, and her deep moans were his reward. Tissaia reached forward, her hands grabbing the pillows and her hips moving against him.

“Yes, love, arch your back for me.” He panted while gripping her hips. Continuing to take her hard, he finally let the thoughts that bothered him so much burst from his lips. “Mine,” he said between deep breaths. Her hips jerked a little, and she got louder as the sweet ache started to build in her. “Mine,” he repeated. 

He reached down and grabbed a hold of her hair as he pulled her up to his chest. One hand still held her waist, the other her neck, and he bit down on her shoulder. She made a sharp cry and moved her fingers between her legs.

“Say it, love. You’re mine.” Vilgefortz whispered against her ear. Moaning louder as her pleasure grew, he tightened his hold on her neck, and she gasped. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Her fingers moved faster, and she felt him tensing a little. Before he could choke her, he let go of her neck and pushed her back down. Holding her hips with both hands again, he was waiting for her to finish before he followed her. 

“Say it again,” he had a hard time forming words now; his breathing was labored and his movements more sharp.

“Gods,” she breathed into the pillows, “I’m yours.” He picked up the pace and felt her legs shake. “Faster, oh Gods, Vil, I’m yours, ” she still teased herself with her fingers, and he obliged, thrusting into her with quicker moves. Tissaia’s body tensed a moment before the built-up tension from her belly engulfed her. She cried into the pillows as her walls clenched around his cock, squeezing him so tight that he couldn’t hold back anymore. His movements became a bit spasmodic, and before long, he groaned as he poured his seed deep inside her. He made a few more thrusts, emptying himself completely. 

He pulled out and watched as the white liquid dripped from her opening, and in that animalistic, primal moment, he felt like he had made his claim. Not that he hadn’t done it many times before, but right then, it felt so right. He claimed her, just as she claimed him.

Tissaia turned around and he lay down next to her. She rested her head against him. Their bodies were heated, and they were covered in sweat. Vilgefortz kissed the top of her head and quietly said, “You are mine, and I am yours.”

“You are mine, and I am yours,” she repeated, looking into his eyes. She leaned in to kiss him - his lips, his face, his jawline - anywhere she could. She loved the feeling of his beard against her lips. She chuckled and looked up at him with a teasing smile. It was his time to raise his eyebrows. “Maybe you should get jealous more often.” She smirked and kissed him - a long and lingering, sweet kiss.

“I wasn’t jealous.” Vilgefortz protested, but she laughed once more. “I mean it,” he insisted, but even his voice betrayed him.