#sanguine's realm

[mellz117]

[ego-osbourne]

Myriad Date

Kick your shoes off, forget your worries, and bask in the near-infinite realms of wine-waters and sparkling nature. Let the Prince of this paradise care for your every need and want.

~

I could never stop drawing them, but I do need to expand more on the types of Myriad aventures that Sanguine and Ego go on. Each pocket realm has so much to explore, and Ego is written to be so very enchanted by all of them. Kisses and hugs aside, it’d be good for those two to wander :]

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[cheeseandstrawberrytartlover]

Even a Daedric Prince can be stressed

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Sheogorath himself didn't like to often meet up with Sanguine, but he did not know what to do for know.

Just like Mephala, Sanguine was confused by Sheogorath's asexual tendencies that sometimes were stronger, weaker or even gone. He was especially confused by the Daedric Prince of Madness' repulsion to sex he had from time to time, but he strongly believed in "live life the way you want".

Both of them were travelling along a little path between the many Myriad Realms of Revelry. They were just having a nice walk.

The red mist that was always present but sometimes changed color was up to Sheogorath's waist.

Right now, it seemed like a dark forest landscape.

"Sheogorath, give me a second," Sanguine assured Sheogorath and moved away from the path towards a tree.

Sheogorath couldn't see much from his current position. Sanguine started to flirt with the people copulating behind the tree which Sheogorath was very happy about to not see, "Hi, ladies! I bet you are glad that I introduced you all! Anyways, continue having fun! Oh and let me know when I can join."

The Daedric Prince of Debauchery returned to the path.

"Ahem, I'm very sorry. Duty called."

Sheogorath tried not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, I could see that."

Both of the Daedric Princes continued their walk.

Sanguine asked curiously, "And? How are you?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Sheogorath admitted.

"Aaand my godchild?"

"Oh, they're fine. They're just starting to teeth."

"With fever and everything?"

"Yes."

A great silence fell between them.

"I finally told Martin. Or well- Akatosh."

"Don't just stop there! Tell me what happened!"

They reached a clearing with tables, candles, masses of alcoholic beverages and most importantly drunkards.

"Well, he reacted quite well. He at first didn't believe that he had left me with child but... he said that he would be there when I truly needed him," Sheogorath got rudely interrupted by someone bumping into his back.

The drunkard slurred an apology, "Hey, didn't see you there-"

Sheogorath turned around. His pupils were constricted like vertical slits.

The drunkard slowly realized how his fate could end, "Oh- I'm sorry- I was not-"

Sheogorath grabbed him by his throat and threw him backwards on a table. His movements were very similar to how snakes move now and on top even more unpredictable. While the man was trying to recover and get up from the table Sheogorath pinned him down with his shoe. His heel barely missed his throat.

The drunken man winced and whimpered.

"It is surprising how easily I could kill you right now."

"Nonono- Please-"

The Daedric Prince of Debauchery decided to defend the man, "Sheogorath. He is my worshipper. I will deal with him. Calm down."

Sanguine carefully gave Sheogorath a pat on the back. He hesitated but stopped pinning the drunk man down. The man took a deep breath and slid down the table to sit down on the ground. Sheogorath turned around as if nothing happened, "Where was I?"

"He told you that he would be there?"

Sheogorath continued walking on, "When I most needed him, yes."

Sanguine quickly gave the drunkard a dirty look before catching up to Sheogorath. He playfully gave him a little push.

"I currently don't have anyone to torment. Vanus Galerion is dead, Shalidor is dead, the vestige is gone, the nerevarine is gone..."

"Then choose someone new!"

"But that is sooo harrrd..."

Sheogorath sighed.

"I can hear them cry. I can hear my baby cry. I have to go home."

Sanguine chuckled, "You can't run away from your padomayic heritage. You can try to continue being good but you are going to snap. You are a Daedric Prince."

"I know that. Let me be a good father. We will see what comes after."

That's when the Daedric Prince of Madness vanished and reappeared in his own realm.

Hearing the cries of his own baby was bothering him deeply and he ran into the nursery. You could say that it was an instinct.

He looked into the crib to see them kick and cry.

"My poor darling..."

Sheogorath gently picked his baby up and started to blow raspberries on their stomach but they continued to cry. They cried so much that even Sheogorath was starting to sob, "I'm sorry! I know that you are in pain!"

He gently gave them some kisses and prepared the bed next to the bed. He removed all the blankets and pillows to make sure that they wouldn't have any problems breathing and carefully put the baby on their back before laying down next to them.

They continued to scream and he very carefully put his hand on their torso.

"It's okay..."

To his delight they slowly stopped and turned their head to their father. Sheogorath quickly got their little wooden horse figure.

"Here, my darling," Sheogorath gently gave it to them and they started to chew on it.

He layed back down and sighed happily. There was a good silence and the Daedric Prince of Madness finally got to rest.

[sassyfahliil]

Lily, just relaxing in the carriage with her companions: do you thing smacking an Elder Scroll against a Daedric Prince would be effective?

Everyone else: wat

[eldrichthingy]

it's so funny to me how mc can endure a horrific transformation in one night and wake up hours later and just. be fucking normal and go with their day like nothing happened

[ariveth]

47.  ASTRAY :  for both muses to take a detour and lose their way.

AT THE TIME, LEAPING THROUGH A PORTAL had seemed like the better option in the aftermath of chancing upon a dragon's roost and opposed to fighting said dragon when it came back home — especially when both of them were worn out and battered to varying degrees after a long day of traveling and fighting already. Now, she's never been a mage, but scrolls have served her well ( enough ) in the past, and how difficult could it be to recite a few words off a scroll and cast accordingly?

"Oh... weird." Difficult enough, if the absolutely alien surroundings she and Anna now stood in the midst of were any indication. Ariveth blinks for a long, silent minute, looking around hopelessly for some sort of hint as to where they were; before looking at her companion with a sheepish grin. "I, uh... heh. May have mispronounced something on the scroll."

a comprehensive list of scenarios!

[providencestrashcastle]

Solilas be like

I am going to slut my way across skyrim and no god or daedra will stop me.

[kabootarandishaan]

Mask

Title: Mask

Pairing: Astarion x female reader

A/N: Just something short and sweet I am now obsessed with this pale-ass man as many of us are and I just want some love! Also thank you to @thedreamlessnights for inspiring me to write again (this is my writing blog I interact with you via my main one @bigdesi) I love you bby<<<33

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst

To say he was intrigued by you would have been quite an understatement. From the moment you met his cold cynicism with a warm smile, he could not help but think about you often. You were the first one to open up to the company about your tumultuous past beyond the mindflayer experience. However, not once did your kind eyes waiver as you recalled your suffering.

It was not just the fact you were nice to him, your compassion extended to anyone and everyone even when he thought it to be naive of you. You were gentle and pensive, had you been an eager busybody alongside your kindness he likely would have detested you. But the solemness that existed in your temperament only heightened his interest in you.

You listened too, he was especially fond of that aspect of you. You would not push or pry while others lamented to you. Your reactions always fell into the realm of silent acknowledgment, never pity. Soon, he found himself craving your company often even if it was just being in your presence.

He found himself frequenting your tent late at night, especially after a particularly arduous day. He would walk in often to find you reading, or taking down your hair. You always greeted him with a smile and asked “A cup of tea tonight?” He would make a sensual joke or remark prompting you to let out a soft chuckle before starting on the tea. 

You would motion for him to sit on the cot while you prepared the tea. It became a little routine for the two of you. It did not take long for the others to notice and it did not take long for a bit of teasing to start. One night as a few of you gathered at the fire, Astarion placing himself next to you, Shadowheart made a remark.

“With all the time you spend alone with each other in that tent, you would think maybe both his sanguine and lustful tendencies would be satiated.” She smirked as she saw the proximity between the two of you. You simply explained that her insinuations were the farthest from the truth and shrugged it off. You could not help but chuckle though when you saw Astarion scowl at her.

“Jealous are we? I would be careful now darling, green with envy looks awfully terrible on you.” He smirked as he saw her scoff in response. You simply gave an amused smile and shook your head at the childish antics. As you sat though, you could not help but ponder over Shadowheart’s words.

Although you grew to enjoy your nightly visits from Astarion, you could not help but wonder if he had any underlying motives. He never tried anything, at least not without asking you. The night would often pass with his head eventually in your lap as he recalled his trauma at the hands of Cazador.

It took all your might not to grimace at the name and the recollections of pain and torment Astarion revealed to you. You would let him speak and listen to him occasionally offering apologies at hearing what he had to go through. You felt your heart break when he would brush any intense moment off with a quick quip or innuendo knowing he had yet to heal.

You would not dare admit it but you knew the nightly meetings, the lingering touches, the way he talked to you with so much endearment, were having an effect on you. You found yourself lost sometimes, thoughts of him clouding your mind. Despite the reluctance to acknowledge it, you knew you were falling for him.

It scared you, never had you let your mask fall, not once. You had to bear the responsibilities of other's well-being since you were a child. Whether it was facing your drunken father, providing for your younger siblings, or caring for your ailing mother, you faced it with a smile. The one thing you could control was the expression on your face.

But at his question on this night you felt yourself slipping, the gentle and calm demeanor you had so calculatingly created was almost shattered from his simple words. It started like any other night between the two of you. You made the tea and he rested his head on your lap. He spoke a bit before pausing, his raised a brow and gazed at you steadily.

This was new, and it prompted you to ask him. “Is something wrong?” The tone of your voice maintained the softness you had procured for this persona. He let out a small huff as if amused by your question. “I feel like I should be the one asking that, darling.” He says as you look at him with a confused smile.

He sighs and sits up facing you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every day for as long as I have seen you on this camp, you have listened to the endless sorrows of anyone who would make your acquaintance. Not once have I ever seen you do the same. In fact, I don’t even think I have ever seen you without that smile plastered on your face.” He pauses before continuing

“Not that I don’t love the radiance that it brings to your already lovely visage, but never a complaint, a grimace, even when we’ve been through hell you hold a smile albeit weary. I can’t help but wonder, is that really you, darling? Behind that smile how much is it that you're suffering?” He brings a hand up to gently push a strand of hair behind your ear.

You stare at him in shock. Never had anyone picked apart your facade so easily, at least never explicitly. You aren’t sure why but you can feel the dam you had built around your core begin to crack. Your lips trembled as you felt an onset of tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He gave you a sad smile before slowly wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him.

It is at that moment the dam breaks and you let out a whimpered sob as you cling to him. The waterworks continued to seemingly no end as he rubbed soft circles on your back and gave you hushed reassurances. “That’s it, love. You’re okay. I’m right here for you.” He whispers gently against your ear.

You choke out a few words between your bawling, trying to express the long-suppressed feelings you worked so hard to lock away. “I…I thought if I pretended no…no one would see how broken I was. I…I was scared, Astarion.” You let out your sobs unabashedly allowing yourself to feel comfort in his arms.

He continues his attempts to soothe you while gently rubbing your back. “I know, dear. But know that you are the strongest person I have ever had the fortune to meet. You have no idea how your presence alone soothes the soul of those who lament to you.” You continue to cry, your sobs lessening to whimpers.

Eventually, your cries die down to the occasional sniffle as you still rest your head on Astarion’s shoulder. He continues to have his arms wrapped around you silently whispering sweet words into your ears. You slowly pull back and look at him with a tear-stained smile and give him a weak chuckle.

You look at his ruined tunic and gently run your hand over the fabric. “I suppose I owe you a new tunic.” You say to him, your voice slightly hoarse from your earlier bout. He smiles at your attempt to joke and runs his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe any remnants of tears. “You could always repay me in other ways.” He suggests with a smirk before leaning in to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

You let out an amused huff at his words but close your eyes and briefly revel at the feeling of his lips on your skin. As he pulls back and places your hands in his, you cannot help but look at the lips that grazed your forehead just moments ago. He raises a brow at you curious if he interpreted your thoughts correctly.

Your warm smile turns into a somewhat mischievous grin as you lean in further, slowly lessening the already small gap between you. “I actually think that’s a great idea. How about I give you an advance on that payment now.” You whisper to him. He mirrors your expression before gently placing his hand on your cheek.

“I think that would be the most appropriate course of action, my dear.” He grins and you quickly close the distance between the two of you. The kiss is innocent, he takes his time moving his lips against yours, enjoying the softness of your skin. He pulls back with a sigh and leans his head against yours as he places his free hand at your waist.

You look at him, your heart beating rapidly against your chest as you feel the flush spread across your skin. “Will you stay with me tonight?” You ask nervously biting your lip in anticipation of his answer. He gives your waist a light squeeze before answering. “Of course, darling.” He pulls you down onto the cot and you settle your head onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair and looks down when he feels your small giggles reverberating off his chest. You look at him, “Pretty soon Shadowheart’s remark won’t be such a far-off notion.” You chuckle. He smirks before pulling you up and capturing your lips in a similarly brief yet passionate kiss.

“Well, let’s hope then you can satiate my sanguine and lustful appetite.” He teasingly bares his fangs as he grins. You only smile and settle yourself next to him once again. You dare not admit the arousal that shot down to your core hearing his words but you worried if your blush would give you away.

Astarion chuckled, finding your flustered state cute and refreshing compared to your guarded persona. He placed his hands around you and pulled the sheet over the two of you. You snuggled closer to him and whispered. “Goodnight, Astarion.” He planted one last kiss on your head before returning the words. “Goodnight, my love.”

[rosemorningstar]

Alright so

Boethiah “the font of inspiration” who calls upon mortals to leave their mark upon the world no matter the form.

Hircine “who is half the conscience of men” meaning the half of mortal minds that follows instinct and the drive for survival.

Malacath “who speaks all languages sideways” meaning he is a universal entity whose name and purpose has become distorted over time. Alternatively, he twists words to inspire rage.

Mehrunes Dagon “whose mistress is the blazing sun” meaning he was created by and serves the will of the Magna Ge who brought him forth.

Sheogorath “the comforter of men” meaning he who facilitates dissociation or a break from reality; taking mortals away from the pains of the world via madness. It’s a comfort to be free of reality but the side effects vary.

Molag Bal “whose breath is most foul” meaning the commands he speaks upon the mortal realm are palpable yet undesirable; a domineering root of suffering.

Namira “whose works works endure forever” meaning her design for existence is inescapable and inevitable aka entropy and decay.

Mephala “who threads the needle with the hair of wives” meaning she manipulates the bonds of loyalty to her ends.

Clavicus Vile “who always answers” meaning he’ll make a deal with anyone but the terms won’t necessarily be fair.

Nocturnal “whose touch is mink” meaning her blessing is soft, concealing, and expensive to attain.

Peryite “who’s foundation is falling rock” meaning his power is based in the same forces that move erosion and the passage of time. Incremental but nonetheless potent.

Azura “the rim of all holes” meaning her power is what facilitates transformation and dramatic change on a singular level. The movement of an object or being to dramatically different circumstances. A goddess of exodus and transmutation.

Meridia “who contains the plenum” meaning her sphere is one of wholeness and abundance. Something she offers at a high price.

Hermaeus Mora “who holds the paper to the light” meaning he reveals the hidden truths beneath the surface.

Sanguine “who tastes the shaven fruit” meaning he consumes mortals at their most vulnerable; when they’re inebriated or at the height of their pleasure.

Vaermina “weaver of the panoply” meaning she designs mortal delusions; the fantastical fears we react upon in reality.

[mellz117]

[ego-osbourne]

Meilland Beast

//click for better image quality//

Hey ho, I’m in the process of revising my outline for TDI, and decided to add a new Daedra to the roster of the Myriad Realms of Revelry. Here’s the meilland beast! A snake-thing made of branches and other plant life, used for protection among the Myriad. They act as the beast-pets of Sanguine and his anointed bouncers, and sometimes with regular Myriad inhabitants. They’re extremely friendly to all, unless if they’re given the order to attack, to which they are extremely deadly. In that extent, they are a direct projection of Sanguine’s influence, for every party needs a bouncer to keep things in line, and every palace needs a guard dog.

As any Daedra, they can be summoned, though they are rather powerful creatures and are relatively guarded by their keepers, making their summons difficult (whether it be through lack of skill on the mage’s end, or the beast’s owner realizing it is gone, and summoning it back). They lack eyes, but (where my doodle notes get this wrong) they are not entirely blind; they can perceive auras, and are aware of the difference between true life (mortals, Daedra, etc.), plant life, undead life, machinery, and inanimate objects. They constantly seep with wine (or is it wine?) from their mouths, and can release an intoxicating miasma to disorient their enemies (or spice up a party).

The second image shows the size comparison between a meilland beast, Sanguine, and Ego. I know I drew the Masquerade’s steeds a while back, but… I’m thinking of replacing the horses (and deer) with the big snake in terms of traveling.

The meilland beasts are inspired by the forest dragons of Maleficent!

//I also planned on finishing lineart and color for this before I posted it but,,, writers brain go brrr I likely wasn’t going to complete it

[killerbananas]

Gather

Levi’s dark confessions lead to warm receptions.

🔞 mdni | masterlist | 306 wc | afab!reader x Levi

Warnings: smut; dubcon/CNC/drunk sex, cockwarming, fingering

AN: Repost from my old account.

Imagine Levi confessing to the darkness inside him, the one that wants to take and consume you in every fashion. To revel in the way your body innately succumbs to his dominatingly arousing presence. It tinges your face molten hot in patches to admit back to him that you're already wet at his admittance. Your vulnerability and responsiveness to his advances blooms the kind of grin you imagine painters years over have tried to capture, presented on the faces of blissful, mischievous gods. The way Levi's smile invokes a burning kindredness in your subconscious, you believe you might be in another realm entirely to be so touched by his hunger.

Just a week later, Levi finds his exploring bliss as he bends your pliant, tired body to his will. You'd had a little extra wine, joyfully exuberant and thirsty in your partner's handsome accompaniment earlier that night. Just relaxing on the couch, watching his dick gradually swell in his cotton shorts was enough to have you straddle his lap and snuggle up into his neck, letting your mind wander into sporadic thoughts that only had you soaking through your sleep shorts, puffing sanguine huffs into his skin. A caressing swipe downward of his hand across the curve of your cheek finds the smeared pearlescence before he touches your thigh. 

It stops him in his tracks, drawing him in, until those lithe digits sink into your cunt just long enough for him to be able pop his cock out, smear the wetness along his hardening member, and nudge himself snuggly inside your cunt. He stays tucked away like this, hands still exploring, mind alight with the comforting warmth surrounding his throbbing cock. He finds solace in the entirely unhurried way he can keep your bodies joined as you doze in and out of consciousness on his lap.

Taglist: @aotwarriorsimp @alexpro-nwn @animediplomat @antoxsmith @armoredpotato @aviinnit @beffjurky @blondeboyfriend @casuallyck @cherrxs @dearbaji @erwinsbaby @eyesucket @fairypiku @fandomficsobsession @fujoneshi @holographicceo @hinasakuino @interfectio-mortales @kenryug @koulakoukoula2003 @kxkyuu-main @lavenderdaisyhoney   @mybadluckshouldmakemefamous @chaotic-nick @nathalunalune @notgoodforlife @arsonszn @pockcock @poursomesunaonme @scouts-stuff @seychellse @shigarakiapologist @downbadpie @soaringmirror @sparklekitteh @stigandr-the-cat @syrma-sensei @reiners-milkbiddies @tiffanyy-21 @theinariakuma @tonaken @torapologist @touyyes @we-are-so-close @witchycamisado

[breelandwalker]

Hunter's Moon - October 28, 2023

Grab your masks and candy buckets and trim the twigs on your best besom, witches! It's time for the Hunter's Moon!

Hunter's Moon

The Hunter's Moon is the name usually given to the full moon which appears in October, provided that the Harvest Moon has occurred in September. Remember - the Harvest Moon is the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox and that can mean September OR October! The Hunter's Moon is next full moon to follow it, so it may occur in October OR November. The Harvest and Hunter's moons are the only two moons in the calendar which are tied to a specific event in this way, while the others reflect signs of seasonal growth or animal behavior.

Like the Harvest Moon, the Hunter's Moon rises big, bright, and early, and it may appear to be full for two or three nights in a row. The celestial peak of illumination is at 4:24pm EST on October 28th, but the moon may also appear full on the 27th and 29th. This year's Harvest Moon will also be sporting a partial lunar eclipse - check here to see if it will be visible in your area!

The name Hunter's Moon is taken from the traditional timing for the fall hunting season, as the name implies. The fields cleared in previous months and the gradually cooling weather meant that animals fattened up from summer foraging would be roaming in open ground, making prime targets for anyone looking to put some meat in the pantry for winter. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, this may also be the origin of the other common October moniker, the Blood Moon, which has been in use in the British Isles since at least the Middle Ages.

North American indigenous names for the October moon include Falling Leaves Moon (Anishinaabe), Freezing Moon (Ojibwe), Migrating Moon (Cree), and Big Wind Moon (Zuni). In several modern pagan traditions, the October moon is called the Sanguine or Blood Moon due to its' with the association with the hunt and with alleged sacrifices made ahead of the coming winter. (Keep in mind that any claims about What The Druids Did should be taken with a grain of salt, as they did not keep written records of their ceremonies.)

What Does It Mean For Witches?

October is a time to finish our harvests. We gather in the last of what we sowed earlier in the year and reflect on what our work has wrought and what our labor has produced. It is also a time of transition as the weather begins to shift more noticeably toward the chill of winter. Shore up whatever provisions you need for the immediate future and complete whatever preparations you've been making for the cold season, both magical and practical. A little weatherproofing goes a long way!

This is also the month when numerous Western cultures remember their honored dead and a time when some believe that contact with various unseen realms is more easily accomplished. If you're seeking advice or reassurance from the greater beyond, or looking to do some planning or forecasting for the coming year, now might be the optimal time to do it.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

Celebrate the end of the harvest season with your favorite recipes! Bust out that hearty stew or delicious pie you've been dying to make but kept putting off during the hot months. Use local produce to make something special and gather in the last fruits of your garden.

Get your divination game on! Many October party games include fortune-telling aspects for love or marriage or professional prospects. Choose your favorite method and see what it has to tell you about the coming year and where your current path may lead. Remember that the choices we make change the path and therefore the outcome, so try to regard the results as written in sand rather than stone.

Participate in the hunt yourself! Whether it's an actual seasonal hunt for game (safely and responsibly done, of course) or a bit of foraging or a personal search for something you've been needing, this is the perfect time to connect with that drive to seek and gather. Make one more trip for wildcrafted plants before everything turns brown and brittle. Stalk the aisles of your favorite local shops for craft supplies, new decorations, or perhaps that fancy hat you've been dreaming of for the upcoming holiday.

Prepare for the cold months! Switch out your wardrobe, heap those blankets on the bed, change the decor to something autumnal, and make sure your home and vehicle are ready for winter. If you do any seasonal crafts or fibre arts, start pulling out your accoutrements.

Shed your metaphorical skin one more time. Examine what you carry in your heart and where your priorities lie. If there is anything left that weighs you down or no longer serves you or disrupts your life unnecessarily, prune it away and let it go. This process is not always comfortable and may leave you feeling raw, but sometimes hard decisions must be made. You are not meant to be in perpetual motion or constant production. Give yourself permission to rest.

Consider also the parts of yourself that you don't always like. Is there value in the struggle to deny them and push them away? Is there anything that might serve you better if it was embraced rather than denied? So often we speak of letting things go and laying down burdens in order to progress. But there is also power in remembrance, in anger, in spite, in grief, in ambition. Remember that while you should forgive yourself for past mistakes and learn from them, you are not required to do the same for others. Remember also that setting boundaries is healthy and that if they are not respected, you are within your rights to remind others than actions have consequences. Protecting yourself is not always pretty and it is not always polite. And it doesn't have to be.

Happy Hunter's Moon, witches! 🌕🏹

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Secular Celebrations - Samhain

Hunter's Moon, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Hunter's Moon 2023: The Spiritual Meaning of October's Full Moon, The Peculiar Brunette.

Partial Lunar Eclipse on October 28-29, 2023 - Where and When To See, Time and Date.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Credit - Darkfoxelixir on Shutterstock.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[pursuitseternal]

“Possessing:” jealous, possessive Astarion in a double smut update for “Our Blood is Thicker,” featuring a first-time flashback 💞

Astarion x Cordehlia (F!OC) | E | 8.7 K possessive and first time smut

Summary: the Shadow-Cursed lands resurrect more for Cordehlia than an old enemy— more memories and griefs that Astarion can’t recall. If only there was some way to show Astarion their past… memories that kindle the same possessive desires of the past and new professions of… love in the present.

CW: angst, longing, jealousy, possessive Astarion, Kind Uncle Vibes Halsin, arrogant young Astarion, first time hand job, first time fingering, teenage sneaking for sex, inappropriate tadpole use if you squint, absolute feral rutting once the memory is done.

Previous Chapter | AO3 | Masterlist

Chapter 10: Possessing

🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

Astarion could feel the rage building in his love, shuddering with tension off their leader. They all could. Waves of scarlet temper fluctuating as the Drow inside Moonrise Towers insisted on talking despite Cordehlia’s death stare… insisting on talking with Astarion. This Araj… as she introduced herself with the overconfidence of youth and privilege.

Cordehlia hated her already for both. And more.

Her companions held their breath, watching for those quick and deadly fingers of hers to reach for that shining dagger. And they all wanted to close their eyes the moment they heard the Drow, some expert in blood magic and potions, slather her attentions on The Spawn who pressed at Cordehlia’s side. “I’ve always dreamed of being bitten…”

“Uh oh,” Wyll bemoaned under his breath, taking the opportunity to grab at the she-elf’s elbow and whisper in her pointed ear while the Drow was busy making all her intentions known to Astarion. “Have care, for as much as you would like to run the monster throgh, it would not make things easy for us. Unless you wish to face Ketheric from the inside of a cell…”

“Or dead,” Gale added in her other ear.

Cordehlia gave a single, unwilling nod, rolling her shoulders and crossing her arms. Just as the expert in all things sanguine returned her dark eyes on the rest of them. “Can’t you talk some sense into your charge?”

Cordehlia’s fiery eyebrows raised slowly at that. “My charge?” she spoke between pressed lips. A wave of rebuke held back barely by their need to remain inconspicuous. “My vampire is his own being, he can choose who he bites, who he fucks, whom he loves, who he kills…”

“I’m sure he truly believes that,” the Drow laughed. Disparaging.

“Want a demonstration?” Cordehlia added quickly, a single corner of her mouth turning towards a smile.

“It’s alright, darling,” Astarion turned to meet her stare, caught somewhere between aroused and intimidated himself as it turned to lock those narrowed, hungry, enraged eyes on him.

“Oh, oh I see,” Araj gave a disparaging laugh. “You think he’s yours. All yours. I promise, I’ll leave your lover’s lower regions untouched, I only want a bite. In exchange, I’ll give you a potion so great, you’ll never find another like it in the realms…”

“I’ll thank you to never mention my lower regions again,” Astarion hissed.

“And he said no to you,” Cordehlia snapped, closing one step between her enemy and her beloved. “You can keep clear of us, Drow, of me, my companions, and my vampire. What need do we have of watered down power like blood potions when we have the blessing of the Absolute. I wonder why they keep you here at all.”

That made everyone behind her stiffen, every set of eyes scanning for enemies. Just in case.

But Araj laughed. “Fine, linger in your ignorance with your lover. Savor it while your bodies still haven’t burst into a mess of tentacles. See how romantic your nights of coupling are then… True Soul…”

Three sets of hands pressed against Cordehlia’s back then, but only one pulled her into his arm, tugging her along and back into the halls of Moonrise Towers. “Gods,” Astarion scolded her gently right into her ear as they paused on the outer walls of the tower, “your jealousy nearly got us all killed.”

Was he… angry?

She snapped her neck, turning to scowl right into his face. But that raging expression melted the moment she looked into his. He was so soft, so adoring, head tilted slightly as those crimson eyes widened and brushed over her face.

Until they rested on her lips, pursed tightly.

“That pleases you?” she managed to rasp as her tempers cooled.

“To hear you might just risk bringing the whole army of the Absolute down on us because some other female is pining for me to take a bite?” he smirked wickedly, completely possessive and naughty as his eyes looked to her neck. “And they say romance is dead, darling…”

Just as his palm cupped her cheek, tilting her face so close to his, her warm breath filled his undead lungs and coated his tongue with her taste… Gale cleared his throat.

Loudly. Distracting. Intentionally.

“Need I remind everyone that we stand literally on the precipice of the Absolute’s power? That Ketheric Thorm and his army are literally everywhere…”

“And all you two want to do is fuck,” Karlach burst in with a laugh. “I mean, it’s not a bad plan, it’s just not a plan to take down our enemies, soldier.”

Cordehlia rolled her eyes, gripping the back of his neck in her gauntleted hands. Unable to deny herself just a quick kiss, even at the heart of their enemy’s domain. “Fine,” she sighed. “We find the secret to bringing down this… General, but if anyone comes to try to take any of you from me,” she tapped a finger on Astarion’s perfect, aquiline nose, “especially you… they will find it very hard to think with a dagger buried in their skull.”

“Again, such poetry, such romance,” her vampire purred, his arms struggling to release her. Not that he wanted to either.

They made their way back inside the Tower, and thoughts swirled in Cordehlia’s head, the haze of memories beginning to pierce through that constant blanket of lust Astarion seemed to draw about her at all times.

“Right,” she huffed under her breath. “Let’s go find this imposter who calls himself the General….”

“Imposter?” a deep voice rumbled quietly as Halsin turned around. “How do you mean?”

Cordehlia stopped, the others continuing a few paces ahead. “Ketheric is dead, weren’t you there? Did you not fight in vain glory for his defeat alongside Harpers and Druids and Elves? Did you not see the countless souls sacrificed to put that monster in a tomb?”

“I did,” his pale green eyes scanned her face with all the wisdom and insight three-hundred years lends. “You speak as one who knows of such things yourself, young one.”

Cordehlia’s mouth shut tight. Locking her lips in silence, keeping whatever it was that simmered behind her silver eyes within her.

“I may have joined your band to help break this curse that darkens the land, but make no mistake,” he paused before turning to follow, “I will help do whatever is necessary. But to do so, I need to know more than I can read on your own wizened face.”

She shrugged, pushing past the enormous Druid to rejoin the others. “In good time, perhaps…”

But her words dried up the second she stood on the edge of the gathering in the throne room.

He was there. In flesh. Ancient, grey, undead flesh.

Ketheric Thorm, half-elf, great general, and dead no longer.

Cordehlia heard nothing as she watched with frozen horror the scene before her unblinking eyes. An ax, launched from the hand of some goblin about to be punished for their failure, sliced right into the General’s armor. His great, gauntleted hand pulled it free, as if it were no more than a dull knife in butter.

Immortal. Just as they all had said… back from the dead…

And as she tried to steel over her face and steady her nerves, she forced more of those shadows from her past deep down inside her. They would have to be ignored. For now.

It wasn’t until they were back on the shadow-cursed trails, sent to find the mysterious relic that granted the immortal Ketheric Thorm his power, that Cordehlia finally felt her tenuous hold on reality and on her past begin to slip.

It was a century ago… a lifetime ago, a time when she wandered between losing the love of her life and falling under the spell of bloodlust the Bone Picker loved. Before she found herself totally alone. Not-quite widowed, but decidedly orphaned.

And now, her feet traced the same paths and vaulting roots from dying trees he must have…

Her father.

She kept herself busy, hurrying at the front of the group as they moved headlong into the dark and cursed forest.

“We really should make camp,” Shadowheart commented, “there are many dangers ahead, and we wouldn’t wait to face those exhausted.”

“A wise idea,” Halsin affirmed. “We can get a new start with the dawn… or,” he grinned a bit sheepishly, looking at the lands cursed to eternal darkness, “…if not dawn, at least when we are all rested.”

A few laughs sounded from the group as they headed for safer ground. But not Astarion. And not Cordehlia. She gave that smile that didn’t meet her eyes, holding her shoulders slumped down as if she carried that massive, invisible weight. He could almost feel it himself, just by looking at her. Slowly, he drew nearer, falling within earshot. Within arms reach, should she need him.

But she kept her attention on the Druid, locked in as they headed up the path. “Halsin…” she added, voice shaking just a bit, “you… fought to bring Ketheric down… the first time I mean?”

“Giving up your claim of being an imposter?” the Druid teased, instantly regretting the jovial tone as he saw the lines of her face. As he read her pain. “What troubles you?”

Cordehlia glanced beside her, face easing to find Astarion at her side. First in her heart. Always at her side. “These… ruined battlefields, where so many lives were lost, you’ve been here, Halsin. Tell me, did you fight beside the elven hosts?”

Halsin stopped short. That weight in her voice flooded with knowledge. He froze, nearly mid-step. “I thought you looked familiar…” he commented, almost to himself, eyes scanning the she-elf.

“Why?” Astarion interjected, curious if not a tad bit defensive at the familiarity.

“Of course, Star Elf, red hair that shock of brightness. A temper to defy the gods. You’re the daughter of General Aquilae, aren’t you? You’re just as ferocious in battle, just as passionate and hot-tempered.” The Druid tilted his head, starting to walk again. “I am… sorry for your loss. Sorry his sacrifice must feel like it's in vain with Ketheric back from the dead…”

“Don’t assume to know how I feel,” Cordehlia snapped, chin jutting up, barely meeting the large male’s chest-height. But fierce in demeanor. “Sorry,” she relinquished, that defiance instantly retreating back inside her carefully crafted shell.

“Quite alright. You’re in pain, grieving. But even grief heals, all things heal. Nature will heal, as hearts will too,” Halsin grinned gently, “but it takes time and… many ways of seeking solace…”

Astarion couldn’t fight the way his eyes tweaked in suspicion, hackles raising at the informality. As long as it was his tent that her solace was sought for…

“Aquilae…” Astarion let the name roll off his tongue. Something inside his mind thawing, something creeping into the light. “Is that… your name?”

What normally would have made a tender smile come to her full, pink lips made them scowl instead. “For once… for once, it would be a boon to have you either remember your past, or not ask such obvious questions.” She bit at every word. Her shoulders squared at him, armored and taught.

Those crimson eyes narrowed at her, his mouth hardened into a flat line. An exterior of equal adamant to resist her anger. And to hide his hurt.

“Well, darling,” he shook his head quickly, derisively. “I apologize for my shortcomings,” his gaze darted to the Druid who still lumbered beside her. “And I’ll leave you two to… reminisce correctly, then.” The vampire pushed his way between them, heading for the bustling group as they hurriedly and anxious made a small camp, setting magic wards and torches against the Shadows.

Cordehlia’s heart sank, her stomach knotted, making her want to puke right there and then on cursed grounds, watching him stride from her so quickly.

That exterior of injured pride, that mask of indifference hiding his own pain. Pain she caused. Pain flowed from her own.

Halsin cleared his throat softly. “He means a great deal to you, the Elf. The others gossip about your past constantly. Your Wizard, in particular, seems rather… put out that Astarion has meant so much to you,” the Druid sat himself down on a log, the wood creaking beneath his sheer mass.

But Cordehlia was too uncomfortable to do anything more than sway in place as her eyes darted between her Druid and the rest of her party. Not as if she were watching for every pissed-off dart of her silver-haired vampire in the mix.

“I… believe I know your history, or at least as much of it as the rest do…”

She scoffed, fingers beginning to unbuckle her armor methodically, absentmindedly. “More than he probably recalls,” she huffed under her breath. “If only… things were easier. Not just the tadpole and the Absolute… but with him.”

“Nature does not have regrets, young elf, only growth,” he smiled slightly, his scarred face turning with that wise happiness. “Besides, for as much as you resemble your father, the General…”

“He still seems like the pampered, arrogant, devastatingly handsome son of our High Lord and Lady?” she sniffed, suddenly feeling the warm pull of those years, however ancient they may be.

“I suspected as much. Your father only ever spoke to us briefly, to the point, not unlike his formidable daughter when she feels the need…”

That made Cordehlia grin softly once more.

“He had said once, on the eve of battle, he regretted risking his daughter to lose another… that you had already lost so much of your heart, an engagement to the next High Lord ending in tragedy.”

Halsin paused, turning to follow her own sharp, unerring gaze into the mess of companions. Watching as her eyes followed her lover through the crowd, her whole being growing heavier with grief each second that passed.

He let her breathe in silence a moment, waiting for her to speak. At last, something seemed to ease within her. “He was my everything, Halsin. My childhood playmate, my first kiss, my… first of many things…” Her voice was steady, aching with grief and joy mixed into one weighty tone. “He defied his parents to ask for my hand, well… his weakness for planning ahead worked that once, for as much… shame as it could have brought on us both. But I didn’t care. I had him.”

“The son of the High Lord and the daughter of the General must not have been such a match to frown upon,” Halsin sounded.. wistful. Cordehlia wasn’t sure. But she turned to look anyway. “At least now, for whatever darkness you both have endured, you share in one another’s burdens. But you can’t fault him for how he has… survived his pain by pushing down his memories. They will return, in time, as all things…”

“In nature heal,” Cordehlia finished with a laugh. “You’re rather predictable, Druid.”

“Three-hundred and fifty years, and you learn the value of consistency, young one,” he laughed, standing from the log. “Now, we better return before your vampire’s jealousy turns its hungry attention on me as a threat.”

Cordelia gathered the plates of her armor she had removed, walking them towards camp. And then she paused. Cursing.

Of course… as it had been of late, since that night in the Emerald Grove, all her things were in… his tent. Her stomach sank. She… wasn’t ready to face him yet. Wasn’t ready for his chilled anger or his glare of simmering rage, or his little frown of hurt.

But she swallowed her dread and headed towards that stretched structure of red and rose fabric.

It was already so dark, just the flickers of torchlight dancing to show her the way. Pausing, her hand hesitated before it pulled back the flap so she could enter. Cordehlia swallowed, why was she so nervous, he night not even be inside. Might be out hunting… or helping… or…

Before any other thought could make her hesitate longer, a pale hand shot out at her from within, wrapping its cold, undead touch around her wrist, and dragged her inside his darkened domain.

His tent was blacker than pitch. Even for her elf-eyes, it took her a moment to adjust her sights. But she could feel him around her, grabbing her from behind, hand around her chin, arm clutched around her waist, as he pulled her within.

“I didn’t think you’d come, darling…” his voice chilled her marrow, all the jealousy she had imagined inside him biting his words. “Thought you’d be too busy strolling down memory lane with someone who could walk with you…” his lips pushed against the edge of her ear, nipping it with his fangs, “just as you’ve always wanted…”

“You know what I want…” she murmured, arching against the confines of his body.

“Hmmm,” he taunted, and she could feel his breath trailing down her neck. “I thought I did… I’m surprised that you’re here, not indulging in some time with your warm-blooded companion who knows you… and most likely wants to… know you.” His mouth sucked on her ear, “carnally, to be clear.”

“Tch, tch,” she forced her body to twist in his hold, landing the point of her elbow in his gut to make his grip ease. Savoring the little grunted “oof” he made. “Don’t think so low of yourself, my love,” she breathed, scanning the way his face twitched between suspicion and arousal. “As if I could take anyone else, now that I have you back with me at last…”

She meant it, every word. Those eyes soft with sincerity, those lips already slightly puckered to invite him closer.

But he still had too much jealousy gripping his undead heart, too much ice flowing in his veins yet. “You’d rather have someone remember, I know, someone who knew your name, your father, someone who recognizes the family resemblance of your temper to match your hair… someone who can match the… intimacy you seek with your memories in the same way they might with your delicious body.” He pouted, those full lips of his frowning in taunting disapproval. “If only there was some way for us to share thoughts and memories, mind to mind…” he turned to give her the full power of his gaze then, and it made her lose her breath with his beauty, his intensity. That rakish cant of his brows and the haze of hunger in his eyes.

Her brows raised slowly, her smile spreading. “What are you suggesting, Astarion?”

He let his fangs show, his hands gripped into the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Show me, show me everything. Use the parasite, link your mind to mine, for I’ll be damned if anyone…” he growled with a snap of his jaw, “anyone lays a claim to you more than me.”

“Why, Master Ancunìn,” she smirked, running the pads of her fingers down that sharp cut of his jaw, “jealousy does rather become you.”

He stiffened beneath his touch, the muscles of his jaw tweaking as he clenched.

“You’re… not just jealous, are you?”

His eyes cast to the side. Just enough hint of remorse, of regret and longing softened his face.

“I… can’t explain it,” he whispered, almost sounding frightened to let the words out. “All I have known for so long is to manipulate, to do as I was commanded, to use my body and bury my mind, my feelings so far down, I… forgot what it was to think or feel for myself.”

His hands began to wander, to stroke her smooth skin and taught muscles beneath her shirt.

“And then, I found you, or rather, you found me. You forced me to confront those parts of me I neglected in order to survive. You made me rediscover what it meant to want a person…to want anything for myself. Like how you almost tore the throat of that vile Drow today, just for assuming you could compel me to bite her fetid flesh.”

He breathed, that jealousy still crept close by, his fingers insistent on her flesh, even with all the vulnerability that flooded his voice.

“I… should say thank you, my darling, but I would rather show you my gratitude. Rather stand at your side as equals, knowing everything that makes you… you.”

“That makes us… us,” she added, a smile soft on her lips. Her hand held his, pulling him down along with her, sitting on the mess of his blankets and pillows he called a bed. Before he could even settle completely, she crawled in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, cradling his cheek in her palm. His eyes bore into hers, the intensity, the possessiveness, the curiosity burning bright in the deep red of his eyes. “What would you wish to see?” she asked softly.

“Show me your father, show me you… show me our first moments, our sweetest moments, our most sensual, our most painful,” he rasped, brows furrowed with his ardor. “I want to recall… everything…”

She paused for a breath, eyes closing as if she searched those memories. Finally, her silver eyes opened, her gaze was languid, distant, and desirous. “Open yourself to me,” she whispered so close to his own parted lips.

A single brow arched in humor, “That's my line, darling…”

Before she could tease him or roll her eyes, their minds smashed into one another, their tadpoles humming as the world around them instantly disappeared….

———

“What do you have to say for yourself, lordling?” General Aquilae stared at him with those piercing dark eyes. Sharp like the eagle, the bird of prey after which he was named. “Son of the High Lord, caught watching our daughter bathing, you know there will be repercussions even your parents can’t pull enough strings to free you from…” The warrior’s voice rumbled like thunder, towering over where the young elf male stood in his study.

But Astarion gave no ground, arms crossed over the pale green of his tunic, the golden threads of its intricate embroidery catching the firelight as night began to fall. His sharp features smiled slightly, his deep violet eyes dancing as he watched the warrior pacing back and forth, that silver shock of hair barely tamed, same as he was as a youth, barely more tamed than the willful elfing that ran about with his daughter.

And now… now they would be inseparable. They had to be.

“You know what you have done has sealed Cordehlia’s fate as much as your own, little lord?” the general added. His voice sharp, direct.

“I would hope so, Commander,” Astarion purred in reply, “I thought my affections for your daughter were on… full display this afternoon.”

General Aquilae pressed his thick fingers into his temples, rubbing them as if to ease a headache. “You know, Astarion, most young males court their intendeds with letters or poems or art or song… not their cock in their hand as they watch them bathing.”

Astarion shrugged, coolly and casually. “I have never been like most young males, Commander. You have always known that, as loyal friend of my parents, their faithful General…”

“You can leave your parents out of this, boy,” the general straightened. “What will you do to make this right by Cordehlia? Leave her to the shame you’ve inflicted? To the gossip and the ostracization of her peers?”

“I intend to make her mine, General,” he replied. Steadily, those hard, smirking lines of his face easing as his smile dropped.

The commander turned to round one more time across his study, his boots falling harshly against the wooden planks of the floor. Until he drew up short. “It’s close, but you need to be clear, Ancunìn. You’ll make her your what? Mistress, whore…”

“Bride.”

It was a simple word. Uttered so clearly, so matter-of-factly, all ears that heard it frozen.

Her father. And Cordehlia. The sneaky she-elf who peered through the smallest chink in the wall, who held her breath to hear two men discussing her future. But at that word, her heart soared, scared, excited, terrified and… something else she didn’t know. Something that stabbed her like a hot poker in the gut and flooded her abdomen with heat. She could see Astarion’s face perfectly from here; he looked so regal, so confident. So happy. Especially at making her father draw up short and stop, at a loss for words.

“Well, General?” Astarion grinned, smiling so self-assured, so cocky, “do you need me to repeat, sir?”

“No,” the older elf cleared his throat loudly and repeatedly. “Thank you.”

Astarion bowed his silver-tousled head. “If that is set arights, then perhaps I can break the happy news to my intended myself?”

“Firstly,” General Aquilae raised a single thick digit at the boy, “I will set you straight on this point, lordling. You are both far too young by the rights of our people to marry. Prepare yourselves for a long engagement, one where you had better show her nothing but the respect and devotion befitting a female of our status…” he narrowed his large silver eyes down at the boy, “even if it is still beneath your own, Master Acunìn.”

Astarion flashed a bright smile, a deferential bow of his head and shoulders, hand placed graciously over his heart. “On my honor,” he crooned, magnanimous in tone. Just like his parents. “The lady and I will wait for years, for decades, if that is your sage guidance.”

“Not decades, no,” he sniffed in rejoinder. “Don’t be so grandiose, boy. Five years hence at most until you may wed, unless any unexpected, little… surprises… come up in the meantime…”

Violet eyes wide, Astarion remained still at the implication. He swallowed hard, much to her father’s satisfaction. “Yes, General,” he murmured in reply. The meaning was clear enough.

General Aquilae almost laughed at the submission, the immediate effect of discomfort that smacked the boy across his pristine, handsome, and youthful face. It would be enough to scare the boy into caution for the time being. And that would be enough for now. “Allow me to fetch your intended, then.” He crossed towards the door, but paused when the boy gave that signature boisterous giggle.

“No need,” he giggled again. “Cordehlia already has her ear pressed to the wall, eyes peering through keyholes, I shouldn’t wonder…”

That violet, glinting gaze looked right at her… where she had one eye locked through the crack in the wall. A smile dancing on his thick, parted lips.

Quickly, she moved and held her breath, flouncing her gown and making her way as if she were simply strolling by the study door, a little book in hand as if she were lost in reading. Her father threw open the dark wooden door. “Daughter,” he ordered. No other words needed. His lined brow furrowed to see her, in fact, so close to his study.

“Yes, Father?” she lilted, tucking the book neatly against her chest as she folded her arms. “Is… is there something the matter?”

“I’ll let you find out for yourself,” he replied, walking out the door, “but no, nothing the matter.” His rough hand caught his daughter’s fingers from her book, giving them a tender squeeze before he left them to it.

Her heart raced, slowly turning to face that smirking youth in her father’s study. The one who went toe to toe with her father, and lived to tell the tale.

“Astarion,” she beamed, open and exuberant to see him against her better judgment to be coy. “It is late, you know.”

“No better time for a man to call upon his beloved, his intended…” he grinned, all feline and subtle, striding to shut the door behind her. “I don’t need to regale you with all the negotiations do I? You were listening ever so intently from your little hiding spot, weren’t you?”

“Of course,” she smiled, taking a few steps away from where he felt so close to her. Crossing, she sat on the little couch near the fire. And she regretted it the instant he sat immediately beside her. “I… I suppose I should thank…”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Tch,” he sucked his teeth, a habit of his when teasing her lately, “I told you I would get what I wanted, Cordehlia.”

“And, what was that?” she forced her face into a blank, innocent expression. Wide-eyed and pouting, hiding the laughter that bubbled inside.

“You,” he slowly seemed to lean in. “Despite my parents’ plans for a marriage alliance… despite your father’s hesitations…” his eyes cast down the front of her down, scanning the intricate weave of laces and ribbons that held her in, even as her chest heaved with panting and her bosoms threatened to spill out the top. “Despite even your own thoughts of self-inadequacy…”

“Oh, I do not doubt my own measure, Astarion,” she chided in reply, “I doubt that I will be enough to satisfy you and your… ambitions.”

“Wanting great things out of life means nothing if I can’t share it with you, my…” he whispered, that edge of pretend leaving his silken voice. A single finger pressed under her chin, feeling her throat swallowing and her jaw bobbing as she nervously met his gaze. “Hmmm, what shall I call you now?” he grinned. “My friend seems too unromantic. My intended, my betrothed… those seem so cumbersome.”

“Something simple, sweet and flirtatious,” she smiled, leaning into the heat of his touch, more of his fingers beginning to sweep over her cheek. “Nothing too saccharine… just a little something… darling…”

“Oh,” he gave that secretive half smile of his, “aren’t you just darling? So sweet and yet deceptively strong… that hint of irony behind it.. yes. Yes, it’ll do nicely, darling…”

Her eyes darted away, feeling so hot, cheeks flushed and burning, his hand still holding her face. But that heat swirled in her gut, her mind still reeling over the events of that day, and while her skin was clean from bathing, her mind had turned to only images and questions that were so, very dirty. “So…” she paused, feeling his face drawing nearer, his breath washing over her. “What was it you were caught doing exactly?”

Astarion’s eyes flashed, wide and dilating as he stared at that impertinent grin. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean… I wish to know… what… you were doing while you watched me,” her voice grew quieter, deeper in her throat the more she spoke.

“I was… pleasuring myself,” he managed to say, watching her cheeks growing pinker and pinker.

“Show me,” she whispered. Her chin jutted out in that over-confident way of hers.

Astarion cocked his head, a single corner of his lip curving slightly. “What?” he drolled.

“Show me… what you were doing…” she whispered, eyeing the door shut beside them, pure mischief in her silver eyes. “Show me, please…”

“I do so like it when you ask so sweetly,” he raised his brow, grinning widely as he leaned towards her breathtaking face. “So refined and smoothed over your edges, and yet…” His fingers pressed on her chin, tilting her upwards and drawing her close to his lips, “I still see that willful, feral playmate of mine who never once treated me like the son of the High Lord…”

“Quit your stalling, Acunìn,” she snapped, smiling all the while. Her body was pulsing, hotter than the fire before them should have made her. Her skin grew tighter the more he touched her.

“I can show you,” he whispered, smirking as his eyes darted towards the door. “But I’ll not do it in your father’s domain. Not when I’ve just garnered his dissenting approval.”

Her breath grew heavy, her dress suddenly too tight. “Where… when…?”

“It’s your home, darling. Can’t you think of someplace quiet… someplace intimate…”

“The gardens,” she couldn’t reply quickly enough. “I can slip from my terrace, if you meet me.”

“Then I shall be there,” his voice was thick, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. It made her stomach knotted and fluttery. Made her skin burning and her blood pounding. Whatever it was she was about to learn, she could barely wait the few moments it would be to sneak away.

Then he kissed her, more than just the little pecks as children. More than the courtly press of his mouth on her gentle fingers. He spared her nothing, for she knew full well already the twist of his tongue around her own, the sucking of his lips and the clack of his teeth against hers. But this kiss, this devoured her. Sucked her breath and filled her tastebuds with him alone. Until she forgot to so much as breathe.

A loud footstep outside the door made them suddenly draw apart, the turn of the handle making Astarion shoot right up from the couch to stand coolly at the mantle, a chilled, contented smile on his lips as her father returned.

As if those lips weren’t just consuming his daughter.

“It’s late, Master Acunìn,” the General commented, always direct, always commanding.

“Yes, well, there will be many years ahead of us for goodnight and goodbyes, isn’t that right, my darling?” the young elf nodded his head to his future bride. Who, very wisely, kept her flushing face away from the sight of her father.

“Yes, Astarion,” she replied, all joy and music in those two words. “Goodnight to you both,” she stood to dip a curtsy. “I am ever so pleased with our arrangement,” she added, smiling as she made her way from the room.

“As am I,” Astarion replied, locking eyes with the General. “Goodnight, my future bride and father. I can see myself out.”

“So long as you don’t see yourself back in, boy,” her father laughed under his breath. A cold sort of laugh, wisened by experience past the machinations of youth. “You have years for that. The blink of an eye for our kind.”

Astarion nodded his head, eyes still fixed on his exit. Careful not to give away the racing of his heart in anticipation. Gratified that his instincts were sharper than the General, the aging elf whose eyes he could feel until the moment he shut the door to their home behind him.

It would be an easy deception, to head down the path towards the road and double back to the little garden. The moon was bright, and the stars even brighter. Hanging arbors of bright purple and rosy blooms covered the walls and trellises.

She had chosen well, a secluded spot, hidden and muffled. He watched her room, a little cutaway on the ground floor, as he had before. Her shadow moving in the light, the flicker of candles gutting out as he heard the door to her terrace open.

He peered out from behind the arbor, her eyes instantly setting on him, her mouth parting in a smile. Hoisting her skirt, she ran over the little tiled terrace, scrambling, almost vaulting over the balustrade to land in his arms.

“I can’t believe you did that, Astarion,” she panted, instantly pressing her lips against his. “You’re so much trouble…”

“Yes,” he breathed in between her moving lips, “but aren’t I just worth it?”

“Show me what you were doing and we will see,” she growled into his mouth, his hands already skating over the silks of her gown, pawing beneath the edges of her robe. His fingers traced down her arm, weaving into her hand. Pulling her, they reached the little bench, nestled among the hanging vines of sleeping flowers. All was quiet and shadow. The air was cool against their burning skin, the stone of the bench even colder as they slammed into it, tumbling down to sit side by side. Pressed so tightly together, her leg draped between his. His arms pulled tightly around her waist.

“First day giving me your word you’ll be mine,” he panted, “and already all you want to know is how to pleasure me?”

“Well,” she shoved him away, hand planted firmly on his chest. “I already know how to tease you, to best you, to anger you and calm you…” she tilted her head with a sultry, knowing smile. “I’m sure there is much I have yet to learn… and I am eager for you to teach me.”

“You’ve come a long way from flinging mud in my face and threatening to tattle on my father, darling,” his words tickled her cheek as he hovered over her ear. “If you wish to learn, this lesson will be completely… hands on.”

“Save your wit, Astarion,” she hissed, a smile on her face, her hands already straying over the soft fabric of his tunic. “Need I remind you, after today, you had the advantage of knowing the sight of me… all of me. I have yet to have the same pleasure.”

“All in good time, after all…” he pulled away to stare into her eager eyes, so bright as they caught the starlight, “we have years ahead of us now.”

His hand covered hers, sliding it lower, letting her fingers brush over his belly that clenched as he struggled for air. Astarion said nothing, just giving her that half a smile that made her blush. His eyes watched her face blanch as he moved her hand even lower, to press it against where he was hard yet again that day. Slowly, he moved her fingers up and down it, her mouth hanging open slightly to feel its length from where it met his pelvis to the tip that pressed somewhere down the leg of his breeches.

She swallowed hard. Her breath was harsher than ever. Than even after sprinting.

“Well,” he finally purred as he kept their hands working over him slowly. “I only saw the parts of you that glittered in the water above its surface, and I have never been more jealous of some dewy drops on your skin before.”

Cordehlia smirked, beginning to move her hand more freely, fingers tracing the rounded edges of whatever it was beneath. “Now poetry? I prefer you razor wit…”

“How about nothing more than the sounds we make all on our own?” he breathed, his hands pulling the laces from his breeches free. She felt it shift as the fabric released. That hard thing twitching as he reached inside. She couldn’t look away, the sight of him making her mouth water.

And her body even hotter than she had ever been in his presence, in his arms before.

She shut her jaw, clenching it as she watched his hand wrap around its width, watched as it jerked and twitched as he beat over it back and forth. “It’s not like you to hesitate or to balk when something is… hard.”

One hand shoved his shoulder, the other wrapped to join his grip around that… thing. She exhaled as she squeezed, the skin so smooth, the whole shaft so hot and pulsing with the beat of his heart. And so hard as he had joked. Rigid and silken, hard and smooth. Her touch straying towards its tip, she saw it dripping, little white, almost clear drops as she touched it. She swept it in her fingers, tacky and slick over that fleshy tip.

He groaned as she did so, and instantly she pulled away. “Sorry,” she hissed, her cheeks growing even redder in shame to hurt him.

“No,” he panted, grabbing her hand back to encircle that tip again. “The opposite, it felt amazing, the way you touch my cock…”

“Oh,” she smiled, reapplying the same sort of stroke over that little slit, feeling it seeping again as she touched him. “So…” she tilted her head, meeting those dilated, violet eyes, “…you like this?”

“Mmm, very much, even better than when I touch myself and think of you. The real thing is so much better,” he groaned again as she stroked harder, faster, like he had before. Head thrown back, he closed his eyes, savoring that no-longer-timid touch.

“What happens next?” she asked, somehow breathless herself.

“The best part,” he replied through clenching teeth. “Whatever you do, don’t dare stop…” he was growling, his hips raising as she kept that beat. He rocked on the stone bench, hands gripping into the edge. She watched as he contorted, seeming to be in agony, that cock in her hand growing harder and hotter, but she didn’t dare stop. Like he asked.

She felt it shudder in her fingers, his body clenching as he groaned. Collapsing forward, he kept shaking as noise after pained and panting noise came from his mouth. More of that sticky white drips shot from him, and Cordehlia held her breath, so certain she had hurt him.

A fear that was dispelled the moment she looked at his face now. His slack-mouthed smile, his eyes wide and glowing in the moonlight, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her against him. Lashing his mouth to hers, he muttered such sweet things into her lips. “That was…” he paused to breathe, “amazing. You were perfect. Better than I had dreamed…”

“It looked painful,” she replied, breaking away with a push on his chest again. Turning her head, she looked where the stones of the terrace were discolored and wet, where his cock still dripped a little more of that gleaming whiteness. “And you call that pleasuring yourself?”

“I assure you, he grinned, brows raising, lips quirking, “it is quite the opposite of painful.”

“Hmm,” she hemmed, skeptical as she turned to look back into that face.

“You look like you need some.. convincing…”

His hands wrapped around her waist, slowly starting to gather up the thin silks that covered her perfect, pale skin.

“I think I can show you, if you let me,” he crooned, mouth smiling wider.

“You’re going to teach me how to… pleasure myself?” Oh, she was so haughty, so confident and daring. Even when she was wrong, it was stimulating.

“Really?” She kept that hand firmly on his chest, even as her body gave her away, her hips sliding slightly closer as his hands pulled her skirts to her knees. “I take it this knowledge was not garnered from first… hand… experience…” she tested him.

“No, no,” he shook his head, smiling with reassurance, “I read it in a book, a most fascinating book…”

“So fascinating that it made you pursue release in… pleasuring yourself after?”

“Seems like you know more than an elegant, righteous she-elf should…” he touched her skin then, sliding two fingers higher from her knee. “You weren’t watching me, were you?” he taunted, fingers tracing back down only to dare higher beneath her skirts.

“No, that seemed to be your duty, my darling,” she laughed as she spoke, low and slick. Her breath came heavier. Her skin flamed hotter the higher he touched.

Then, she looked right into his eyes, all that taunting evaporated, her smile softened, her eyes wide and pleading as she could do nothing more than breathe and lean back even more.

And he kept touching, awed by that look of trust and… love. And then, he slunk those fingers beneath the thin line of her undergarments.

She was… wet. Hot. Those folds he had read about, observed in drawings… it was so much better now. But he needed more.

His other hand gripped her knee, pulling those strong legs of hers apart. A gasp tore from her throat as she let him. Her fingers clutched at the back of his head, locked into his hair as if she was about to collapse.

And then, his touch slid inside. Her eyes shot wide, her face contorting like his had, now she knew why.

He slid those fingertips back and forth, dragging that hot slick more and more through that seam. At last, he circled through that point at the apex, drawing his touch over that hard little spot. Just as he had read. But the way it made her clench and groan was even… more magnificent.

Her cheeks were so pink, her forehead beading with sweat. “What… is that…” she managed to speak, breathless and deep in her throat.

“Give me you hand, sweet Cordehlia, and you can tend to your own needs when I can’t be with you in the shadows.”

She obeyed, keeping that one grip tight around his neck. But the other slipped in to join his so quickly. Pushing harder, sweeping faster, his fingers tried to keep up with the way she was… touching herself.

“Gods,” he groaned, “how does it feel?”

“I… can’t…” she panted, eyes shutting hard as she groaned.

So he slid his fingers in deeper in… in her quivering walls.

“Ah!” she mewled, forgetting they were still in danger, forgetting anyone could hear them.

But Astarion didn’t care, not when she clenched hard and tight around his fingers, not when his cock was pulsing again, aching for another round of his own release.

She shook so hard, she almost pulled him down, her arm releasing instead to hold herself up. Her eyes looked at his body again, settling on where his cock still stood hard and twitching in his lap. “I want to watch you… watch you touch yourself while I…”

“Yes,” he growled, hand slipping from her skirts, rubbing that slick that coated his whole hand over himself. “Gods, Cordehlia,” he couldn’t keep his eyes open, not needing much more than a few more pumps on his cock to set him nearly off again. One last glance of her face wracked with ecstacy, the sound of her orgasm as she beat her own fingers into that hot slick he could smell… it was enough.

It was more than enough.

He watched as she bit her lips and screamed through them, hearing that wet squelch of her fingers beneath her skirt grow somehow wetter sounding.

She was divine. Worthy. Beyond compare. Worth all the wagging tongues of the nobles and disapproving scowls of his parents to make her his.

His.

And with that, he groaned and came again. Harder and more intensely than ever before. Spurting streams of his cum covered the tiles and dripped from his hand.

He looked at her then, her eyes glazed with lust, with sated desire and yet burning up for more.

He was hers as much as she was his…

And he would never be the same.

————

She released his mind. His mouth hung open, his breath ragged.

His heart warmed over, despite being dead, all fluttering and hot. Maybe a fragment of his soul returned to him, he wasn’t sure. The way her silver eyes beat open, that ember of desire in them from the memory of so long ago… it made him realize just how achingly hard he had become.

More than her blood in his stomach, more than the sight of her bathing… it was an ache in his groin and his chest that only one thing could satisfy.

And he could smell the same need between her legs, could hear it in the way her heart raced and rapped in her chest.

Swift and sure, her hands clutched into his shirt, grabbing him hard and pulling him. To make him climb on her body, to cover herself in the only remedy to quell her burning. She pushed his clothes off his skin, his voice reduced to a growl in his throat. Those eager, dexterous fingers ripped his own clothes off, relieved only once he was freed. Once they both were freed, nothing but their skin and desire to share.

“I was your first,” he rasped, crushing her with his body, consuming her with his mouth. “The first to know you, to touch you…”

“To taste me and pleasure me and have me…” she purred, “and I you.”

“And none shall have you like I have… like I do…” Astarion groaned, slipping his fingers into her, just as he had perhaps a million times before. Her arousal was so hot and plentiful, all resistance was gone.

As if her body was made for him. The same way a key can slip so perfectly into its lock.

After those memories, he wouldn’t be surprised if it were so. “You enjoyed learning from me,” he grunted into her mouth, the visions of their memories still flaring in his head. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed back. Her hips bucking hard, riding each crooking touch he made deep inside her.

“Your little shakes of excitement, your wide, innocent eyes and pink little lips wet for me…”

“Yes,” she sighed again, arching and clinging hard around his neck.

“Your lips, your breasts, your honey-dripping cunt… Gods, I want to fuck them all, make every inch of you mine, make them swollen and marked by my bite…” he looked down at her then, teeth glinting as he gave a wide-mouthed grin. “Not the Druid, not the Wizard, not a single one that looks at you would doubt you are mine…”

“Astarion, I’ve been yours,” Cordehlia said, hands gripping hard as she shuddered, feeling her own juices beginning to gush around his fingers, his thumb commanding her with all the dexterity he plied, all the knowledge of her body he now recalled from centuries.

He crooked his fingers even harder through her orgasm, working and fighting against every time she bore down in ecstacy. Panting, she softened around him, beneath him. Yielding to every part of him, body and soul. “Your turn,” she rasped, face nestled against his shoulder. Her hand gripped around his cock, slick already from the drips that already leaked from its tip.

Hips bucking into her fist, his lips peeled back to bare his teeth. “May I?”

“Bite me a dozen times so everyone sees your markings? Yes,” she snickered, rubbing over his shaft just a little faster until he groaned. From her touch or her words, she wasn’t sure. But she loved it either way.

The base of her neck, the throbbing of her jugular, the crest of her collarbone… one after another he nipped and drank. Each bite making her fist clench so tightly around his cock, he had no choice but to let his body rut into her grip. His tongue lapped all over her own ivory skin, her crimson blood thick in his throat as she pleasured him.

That age-old touch that commanded him, pleasuring him as only she could. Thousands of forced lovers over hundreds of years, and for once, he reclaimed that feeling of intimacy, that near-first-time thrill he thought long dead. Making love to one he wanted. One he…

“I love you,” he whispered between her blood-dripping breasts.

“I have always loved you,” the reply couldn’t leave her lips fast enough. Her fingers gripping into the locks behind his pointed ears, pulling his dripping copper-tanged mouth to hers. Furious. Crazed. Matching that possessiveness stroke for stroke with her tongue, nip for nip with her teeth on his lips. Her hand dragged through the pooling blood on her body, running that warm, thick liquid over his cock.

Making him shudder as she ran her touch up and down it again. He groaned with that hot slick gliding over his length. The scent of her blood was too delicious to resist. “As fun as it was to cum all over you when we were young, I’d much rather be invited inside, my love.” He tried to sweeten his voice, but that play on his cock already had him undone.

She only chuckled, guiding him inside her so quickly, he barely could tell what was her fist and what was her folds until her thighs clenched tight around his waist, her hips bucking hard against his own. Riding him with every little bit of passion she had stored inside for him alone.

Possessing her for centuries. Making certain he never forgot now that he was hers to possess as well.

[gortash]

MISTY GROVE — SANGUINE'S MYRIAD REALMS OF REVELRY