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pursuitseternal · 7 months ago

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𝓥𝓮𝔁 𝓜𝓮: a “Hate” Smut with Lord Astarion update to “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3.5 K

🎨 by @kowashites full image ON TWT

Summary: A year after the Netherbrain, you go to celebrate in style, but your husband Lord has gotten on your last nerve, and tonight is the last straw. It’ll be fun pushing to find the edge of his control… until he snaps.

CW: “hate fuck” (taking out all your irritation about those annoying things your partner does), CNC (intentionally provoking rough/angry sex), semi-public sex, against a wall, spanking and choking, marking, rough fuck with deep feelings

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Another gala to commemorate the anniversary of the Netherbrain’s defeat, a less-than-sordid affair, hosted by the Duke. Not Wyll, you grumble, not your friend, not while he’s adventuring in Avernus with your favorite Hellion. No… his father will play host to the usual stuffy, humdrum sort of gathering. A typical Baldurian ball lies ahead for you… wine and toasting, dancing and discussions. Hells, you already dread having to recount your adventure for the umteenth time. The crash… the Goblins… the Shadowcurse… you roll your eyes as the carriage sways on the stone streets through the City. It’s a short ride from the Palace to High Hall, the site of your final battle, now amazingly rebuilt in under a year. A little magic and a lot of money can fix anything, you grumble.

A lot of money, no small thanks to your Lord who sits across from you, his head leaned back against the carriage wall as you jostle and sway. Truth be told, you would have rather walked the little jaunt to the party, but Astarion wouldn’t hear of it.

The Vampire Ascendant must arrive in style, he had crooned, summoning the gaudiest carriage, the one with gold flake embossing, darkest black paint, and rubies from Thay worked into the gilding.

And what was more, his own outfit shimmered, a pearlescent silk suit, embroidered on almost every inch, with shining elven shoes to match. He’s preened himself perfectly like the peacock he is.

After all, it’s his anniversary too—a year as the Ascendant. A year with you in his beating heart and in his warm bed.

Insufferable. Proud and regal and sensual and a total arrogant, raging bastard. Gods, you love him. But you also hate him sometimes.

Like the way his fingers are playing with that little dagger he keeps at his hip… it’s almost as natural as breathing for him the way he flips it over and over in his palms, tapping the edge of the blade on the sole of his shoe. Easy to do with one leg bent over his knee.

Tap… flick... tap... flick... He’s not even watching, head resting back and that grin on his face that screams he knows he’s wonderful and powerful and desirable…

Fuck him.

Actually, maybe you’ll tease him with words and touches tonight in front of all those guests. Work him up into a frenzy and then deny him. Your mouth quirks into a grin, your fang biting into your bottom lip at the mere thought. The idea of driving him mad makes your insides all warm and knotted, and it makes your cunt instantly wetter.

Shit, he knows. You curse yourself for not being careful with your thoughts, for not guarding your feelings that can so easily slip from your mind to his down your soul-bond.

His nostrils flare at the scent, his lips curl in that devious smirk, and lastly, those crimson eyes open to level his gaze upon you. “Why, my Consort, what has you so very… deliciously… flustered?”

Let the games commence, you think as you force all true thoughts of how best to torture him deep inside you. “Oh, it’s nothing love. Just excited to be touted and toasted as the Saviour of the City again,” you preen, fluffing the lace that lines the plunging neckline of your bodice. “Let’s be honest, love, I’ve been playing second fiddle to you ever since. It’s always the Vampire Ascendant first and then his precious, darling Consort.” You mimic his posture, reclining back with your ankle over your other knee, arms behind your head. Decidedly unlady and un-consort like.

Astarion narrows his eyes, shifting forward to lean into your space within the confines of the carriage. “Careful, my dear. You’re beginning to sound rather arrogant and ungrateful…” he purrs, his voice rolling in his throat, edged with that tint of danger and threat.

It makes you shiver more.

You roll your eyes, blatantly petulant, “Forgive me if I’m excited the accolades and adulations are pointed towards me tonight.” You pause to pat your hand on his knee, cajoling him. “Well, on us, I suppose.”

His grip snaps around your wrist, using the sway of the carriage to pull you into his lap. “Careful darling,” he hisses, fanged smile glinting in the moonlight. “I bi—”

“I’m well aware you bite,” you interrupt, unafraid. You gnash your own fangs in a cheeky grin. “So do I now…”

His face twists in a smirk, the kind that makes your walls flutter around nothing, wishing for something. “You little…”

As he crowds you like the predator he is, the carriage rolls to a halt, the door opening to reveal High Hall, the very picture of festivity and merriment.

His smirk fades to a muted smile, his dagger is sheathed once more at his hip, and you wait for him to help you down from the carriage box.

Torches and banners, music and wine, you can’t help but let it go to your head. Maybe you let your hips sway just a little more from side to side, maybe you don’t take Astarion’s proffered arm to lead you into the gala, and maybe, just maybe, you delight to feel him glaring daggers into your back.

The ballroom is alight with a thousand candles, with golden chandeliers and bright burning flames in the sconces. Couples dance, and politicians and Patriars toast the defeat of the Netherbrain and the rebuilding of the City. The only thing flowing more freely than the champagne is the fawning praise that everyone lavishes upon you. Men compliment your battle prowess, and women your attire and sparkling scarlet eyes.

And any attempt to include your vampiric partner glowering over your shoulder is easily redirected in your favor. It’s been an hour of playing the hero, and with each interaction, you can sense him closer and closer to losing control. It’s so much fun, you think. Currently, a noble couple of Half Elves stand hanging on your every word, enraptured to hear your tale. And for once, you don’t mind the effort to retell it for the tenth time tonight—not when Astarion’s fingers claw into your hip, his arm wrapped snug around your waist when you gloss over the details of his Ascension.

“Spectacular,” the man congratulates you, applauding with a wide smile on his swarthy face. “And of course, your union with Lord Ancunín has only ensured the city be rebuilt speedily and even better than before.”

The wave of relief and pride that comes off of Astarion irritates the shit out of you. But you hide it behind an easy smile as he takes your chin and lifts your mouth to his for a possessive kiss. “Of course,” he purrs, “this City would be rubble without us, just as my Consort would be nothing without me. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Terms of engagement. A summons for battle. That’s what he’s issued.

You give him a chaste little kiss. “Oh, I don’t know. I had many allies of even greater power and magic,” you reply as you extricate yourself from his arms. “The list was endless, really. And while Astarion packs quite the bite, I had far more powerful allies in the final battle here in these halls.” You feel the ripples of anger simmering under his pale skin, and you swear you can hear his teeth grinding and gnashing over your shoulder. “Dark forces of the Ascendant?” you giggle, “a handful of ghouls and shadow mastiffs. It was nothing compared to having an Illithid in our ranks, or…”

“You’ll excuse us, won’t you?” Astarion interrupts abruptly, a gentlemanly nod of his head as his nails dig into you so hard, it tears into the silk of your bodice.

The poor Half-Elven couple are left in stunned silence as he pulls you towards the door of the grand chamber. “A word in private… my dear,” he hisses into your ear. “Perhaps more than one word… perhaps more than only words will be required for this discussion.” He snarls the word, spittle covering your cheek as his rage reaches its boiling point.

“What ho!” a familiar, jolly voice calls your name. And much to Astarion’s chagrin, he forgets your new title of ‘Lady…’ Gale comes your way, fairly elbowing his path through the frilly crowd until he’s standing so close to you, arms wrapping around you awkwardly as Astarion refuses to let your waist go. “Apologies, I just couldn’t resist. It’s been six months since last I saw the pair of you, and, well, you know me: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Particularly when the heart no longer has a certain Netherese blight and…”

“Is there something you wanted, Wizard?” Astarion snaps, literally closing his mouth so forcefully his teeth click shut.

Gale remains unphased, used to the vampire's temperament. “‘How are you?’ was my question… I suppose. Is domestic bliss filling the walls of your newly redone palace?”

You snort, a genuine reaction to the implication of anything ‘domestic’ when it comes to the Vampire Ascendant. But you spy an opportunity here, a chance to unleash a few of Astarion’s more private habits that peeve you. Ones he would rather die… again… than have revealed to Gale. “Where do I begin? The entire place is refurbished, you’d hardly recognize it. Astarion here has spared no expense to make the place bright and cheerful. Though it does get rather tiresome with only one another for companionship. You should come for a stay, Gale!”

“I’m sure the Wizard is far too busy with his responsibilities in Waterdeep,” Astarion manages to dismiss the notion with an elegant wave of his hand.

“Oh pish posh,” you giggle ostentatiously. “What? Embarrassed that Gale would observe the decidedly domestic ‘bliss’ we share? That he’ll hear how loudly you chew at dinner? Or notice that you leave your things everywhere around the palace? Or that… hells forbid… he hears you far—”

Your final, embarrassing comment is swallowed by his own mouth on yours. His arms pick you up like you’re a doll, a plaything, and he carries you to the door of the ballroom. Your feet swing midair, your arms pinned to your side, leaving a gaped-mouth Gale staring after you. But he knows better than to follow.

First alcove from the entryway, and you are shoved against the cool, smooth stone wall. Moonlight falls in sharp slats from the tall crystal panes. The angles of his face catch your breath with their ferocity as he glowers down on you, hand to your throat. “I can’t believe you,” he hisses, “treating me like that in front of everyone…” his voice is dripping with venom, heart racing with enraged palpitations. “Tell me,” he whispers so tight and pressed in his throat, “do you hate me?”

You give an insolent grin as his fingers flex gently on your windpipe. “Hate you?” You swallow, your voice box gripped just tight enough to rasp. “You irritate me, annoy me, and sometimes you outright piss me off.”

“Is that so?”

“And sometimes… sometimes… I do hate you….”

He leans away from your face, moving into the shaft of moonlight. The pale glow catches in his silver curls, the swirling ruby depths of his eyes glowing. You’re not sure if it’s from magic or rage or light, but it’s decidedly there. It makes your stomach bind in knots. That dangerous light shines brighter as he licks his lips. “Well, at least you’re not indifferent towards me, that would be a tragedy. I’ll tell you a secret…” His lips tickle in the sensitive spot beneath your ear, warm breath ghosting down your cool skin. “Sometimes… I hate you too.”

With hot breath and tongue, he consumes you, reminding you that you don’t need to breathe to survive anymore. Good thing. You’d have passed out by now as he kisses, your head spinning and lungs burning. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growls into your mouth, hand slipping from your windpipe to claw roughly around your breast, ripping it out from the deep cut of your bodice first. “Tonight is, after all, all about you…. Your victory, your allure. Hundreds of eyes begging for a glance, a moment of your attention. Same as me,” he spits the words between clenched fangs. “You dare to ignore me, insult me. After all that I did for you… with you… ungrateful wretch.”

His hands have already bunched your skirt, arm wrapped to pin your thigh to his waist so he can grind into you. The angrier he becomes, the harder his hips press that confined cock into your sex, back and forth… back and forth.

You take a deep breath finally as soon as his hand releases your neck. Retaliating, you grip into his head and yank, keeping those gnashing teeth from your undead vein. “What about you? Vain and power hungry and controlling bastard,” you sneer, finger clawing your nails into his perfectly sculpted curls.

Hands fumbling between your body to snap open the fastens to his pants, your fingers roughly grabbing the outline of his erection hard enough to make him squeal. His gaze burns with hunger—carnal and sanguine—eyes narrowed in anger even as he smiles.

Roughly, you grip his cock and squeeze him in his pants, making that little bit of precum at its tip dribble out more, enough to stain his front.

“Playing with fire, my cheeky little pup,” he growls, gripping beneath your raised thigh to slot himself tantalizingly close… the hot, thick head of his cock pushing its way along your seam. But not in it. Not yet. “And here I thought you were deep in your annoyance and hatred for me?” That cock pulls back, sliding again where you are positively dripping down your thighs. “You may hate me, but my cock...” he leans in until his lips suck your ear loudly, “you still have a soft spot for my cock, it seems.” He lets just the head of him dip inside your channel… once, twice… then he pulls back out. And you have to swallow a moan. “More like a tight, warm, and wet spot…”

His laughter encases you, deafens you to the din of the gala that is dangerously close to your hiding spot.

“You want me to fuck you,” Astarion hisses, lips and tongue tickling the creases of your ear. “Even hating me, you want me to try to make you moan and sob and weep for your lover…” It’s not a question. He’s happy to play the rules of your game, abiding by the terms of engagement you have been dancing around at this ball.

You give him your own version of his liar’s smile. “No… no I don’t want any of that,” you taunt, sardonic tone and batting eyes to give an effort of innocence. “Don’t do it. Don’t shove your cock between my thighs. Don’t come near me. You disgust me.” Just for good measure you lower your leg, letting his length slip from under you. “Now, let the belle of the ball return to her party so she can be toasted as the hero she is…”

Astarion snarls, feral and angry, a smile on his face all the while. He spins you around and traps you right back where he had you, but this time, he shoves himself to his balls, sheathed totally inside you from behind. “Fear not, you’ll return soon enough,” he’s panting in the back of your ear as he pounds you, your cheek pressing against the stone wall with each thrust. “You’ll return with your insides painted white and my cum dripping down your thighs, just for good measure. You’ll return, my insolent saviour, and get all the praise you��re due, but you’re going to do it… reeking of sex, stinking of me inside you.”

Your back arches, body burning its hatred and annoyance in the flames of pleasure. Fuck, it feels good. All his pent up rage pummels your insides, his possessive hands pinning you in place and wandering over every inch of your body, a body he has worshiped tirelessly and daily for a year. His panting mouth lowers to your neck, and for a moment you fear his bite… Instead he marks you… little brands that will hide so well for the rest of the night beneath your hair. Over and over again, he does this, leaving a trail of love bites encircling the back of your neck, a collar of his own possessive marking. Hand extended, he smacks your ass, your breath hitching to swallow your groan of delight as he gives you another mark of his claim to conceal beneath your skirts. Another spank, just enough to drive you towards the edge in that way he knows you crave.

He ruts into you from behind, and you, splayed with your hands and face against the stone wall, you’re smiling… “Gods, you can’t stand me having any power, any eyes on me that aren’t your red ones.”

“Can you blame me? You’re mine, darling. I’ve shared everything with you,” his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music and chatter in the ballroom and over the slap of your bodies as he fucks harder. “I ascended for us, for you… I fought at your side, gave you my gifts of immortality and sunwalking… and what’s more I gave you my heart, my trust. You are the first person I ever truly, obsessively cared about. And this is the thanks I get?”

Hips snapping slow, hands gripping nails into your hip and neck. He’s close, his pace growing more deliberate and deep. You gasp, his words piercing deeper than his cock as he bottoms out to the hilt with each thrust. Guilt slices into your gut, and you arch your back again, your face pressing against his cheek. “I can be thankful and find you incredibly… vexing… at the same time…” you pant.

“Vex you? Little old me… vexes you?” he’s laughing now, a wicked delight where there was rage a moment before. “Show me, show me how much I vex you,” he smirks against your cheek, fingers wrapped prettily around your throat until he feels you shudder. Your climax slams into you, a wave of heat and twisting muscles and fluttering walls. And gods, do you moan, do you scream for him. Unmistakable as that noise is, you’re sure someone will come to aid you in a moment.

But a moment is all that is required as he’s groaning and coming, head pressed into your back, hand clenched around your waist and throat. His seed fills your cunt, warmth instantly sticking and dripping down your thighs. Damp breath on your skin, a bit of drool wetting that spot, and Astarion kisses you at the nape of your neck.

His voice is rough, ragged from exertion and teeming with emotion. “Well,” he rasps, “as long as we are being honest… there is something that vexes me too, darling. I knew I never would be enough for you, that you degrade yourself to stay at my side.”

“Degrade myself?” you whisper, turning as he pulls from your cunt. His eyes are dull again, that fire of rage smothered and replaced by a raw vulnerability. That was a sight you had not expected as a part of your games tonight. “My love, do you still believe that, after all this time?”

“A year is nothing for the life of an immortal…” he trails off, a bit of his mask snapping back into place as he laces his cock inside his pants and rolls his shoulders to his full height, “especially one as powerful as I.”

You smack him on his shoulder, playful but powerful in your own way. “I do not see it as such,” you reply, “I see you as the man you are, a bastard sometimes, but a glorious one, one that has my heart. But even if you have me, body and soul, you, you do still vex me, irritate me, and make me hate some of the things you do.”

“Well,” he preens, making a show of fixing the lace of your bodice collar where he’s torn it a bit, “as long as it’s only vexation, don’t pretend you hate this, you love this… you love me…”

You lean in and give him the most feral kiss you think you ever have, all teeth and tongue as you pull him into your mouth with both hands. “Of course I do, that’s why you can annoy me so much, why I can feel bursts of such… passionate… hate.”

Astarion breaks the kiss first, thumb swiping along your lower lip. “So long as it’s passionate,” he teases back with a petulant smirk. “You do know, my darling, I am proud of your accomplishments…”

“Our accomplishments…”

His answering smile is disjointedly tender after the rough fuck against the wall. A little nod of his head, and he’s offering you his arm with all genteel decorum. That’s when you sense it, see it in his shoulders and bearing. A confidence and assurance that, despite vexation, you’re proud of him too. And of course you are, you think as you reenter the festivities, rubbing your neck and backside with a smile.

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