No NSFW, though it references past sexual encounters. This does have graphic gore.
A/N: The GIF you see is what they are wearing in the story. Enjoyy!!
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Just a few…few more days.
I’ll have my engine fixed, we’ll get out of the Hells, and have the life of luxury.
All for you, little leech.
It had been several months since Astarion and Karlach had been at their reunion party. Such fun it was, seeing his woman dance free like a newly born colt and hug each of their companions with heavy arms. For Astarion, that’s all the enjoyment he needed. To know that soon, this would be there normal.
But of course, seeing how everyone was keeping themselves was incredibly intriguing to see; Lae’zel a mother? Gale a teacher? Shadowheart a farmer? Wyll even more boring than before (okay that was a bit rude, but as if Astarion would admit to it), had he mention Lae’zel and Shadowheart were married? As in together?
Everything really can change in six months.
But soon, with heavy hearts, he and Karlach love were transported back to Avernus.
Since then, Karlach had been sobbing mess; and Astarion couldn’t blame her. Seeing her upset to be back in the place she hated broke Astarion’s heart. Even as they pillaged and fought every force their way, in the end of every fight—dust settling and last breaths drawn—Karlach would sob once more.
And each time, Astarion would be right at her side—drying her eyes, combing guys from her red-streaked raven-colored crown, holding her closely as she nuzzle into his hair.
And they would camp, nurturing each other’s woulds with care and affection. Astarion would peel her hair from her face with gentle hands, braiding tight and firm.
He would catch her eyes, amber and ruby sparkling from the fires that surrounded them—and in themselves.
Their hands would cup each other’s cheeks.
“I adore you, y’know?”, Karlach would say, a soft smile to her face.
Those dimples, those dark freckles. Gods, what a woman.
“I know, and adore you ever more,” Astarion replied.
He would push her to the ground. She would let him.
He was 5’11. She was 8’3.
How badly he looked, head between her breasts looking up with big eyes of lust.
And they would love each other, every night, legs twisted and arms wrapped. Souls melting as one in heat. Soft huffs of air. Scratches deep and red.
Morning would come, and so would the coming battle.
Such was the routine—a beautiful, loving routine—but a routine nonetheless.
And it would continue for several more months. Several months of killing, or surviving, of scratching up mountains to escape imps, planting bombs to blow cambions sky high, traps to keep monsters at bay—until now.
An infernal blacksmith was found.
And through pleading, bargaining, threatening, and (more effectively) body-out-the-window-ing, it would be made.
Three days, and they would be free from Avernus.
Three days, and Astarion would return to the surface. The sun.
Karlach’s soft voice awoke the vampire from his thoughts. Astarion looked to the left, to the lying woman against his being—body warmth radiating and wrapping around the cold elf.
They had been able to camp in the blacksmith’s workshop, and now slept beneath a small canopy with pillows and blankets beneath them. The smell of coal and soot was strong, but it wasn’t better than the constant stench of imp piss staining every inch of dead soil.
Astarion rolled his eyes, hand coming up to the tip of Karlach’s ear. A small cut—healed, but scarred. A permanent reminder to him and his failure to watch Karlach’s back.
“No…just thinking,” he said absentmindedly. “I’ll have to buy a sunhat. Ugh.”
Karlach giggled. “Aw, you don’t like being a grandma? You have the hair for it.”
The vampiric elf gasped in dramatic feigning. “You little devil, you!”
A soft push against her arm made the strong red tiefling laugh more, now infecting Astarion—fangs shown and all.
“I’ll have you know, that while you shall grow old in our mansion by the sea, I will be the cougar-loving man who shall feast upon you every night.”
“A mansion?”, Karlach said bemused, a hand on her cheek as she laid idly. “How will you afford for that—pay theif to pay theif?”
“Oooh, you fiendish little pup.” Astarion rolled over on-top of Karlach’s stomach—petite and lean. She had placed a cambion’s large belt around her belly—a trophy, she said. Astarion couldn’t argue with that—the way the golden matched her eyes looked good on her.
Astarion bent down, nipping under her jaw like a mother would do her babe. “Gods, just a few more days.”
“Karlach?” Astarion asked, a touch of concern in her tone.
The elf looked downwards to the woman, who seemed to be clouded in thought. She swallowed, before speaking.
“Karlach?”, Astarion asked, head cocked to the right.
“I-I just, I’m worried—for you,” she said, her hands coming up to Astarion’s waist—holding tight and secure. “You’ll have to hide from the sun.”
“Yes.” Astarion agreed, his mind momentarily fleeting within itself.
He hadn’t thought about it, until now. To hide in the shadows, to never be able to walk like a man again—boundless and carefree. And yet, Astarion found himself…not caring.
Well, isn’t that something.
“Strangely, I am not worried.” The elf man replied. “At least, not a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it will be an issue…”
Karlach froze, shutting her eyes. “I-I just, I mean..”
The tiefling woman took a deep breath, sighing heavily. It was a few moments, but Astarion sat—patient and listening.
“You’ve dealt with me, dealing with me, and Astarion…now I’m—.”
“Oh no, there’s no need for that.”, said Astarion, his hand on Karlach’s cheeks—squishing her facing together, lips puckered. “You, my salivating sweetheart, are not an issue.”
“Hush hush. You’ve lost your speaking privileges.” Astarion settled upon Karlach’s body, before slowly shutting his eyes—his left and right hand now covering her mouth.
“Lalala. Cannot hear you. I’m off to trance.”
Astarion was thrown from Karalch’s body—sliding across the coal-coated floor. Airborne was he was, the vampire was slowly awaking—in his blurred vision, only seeing the claws of his lover throw his towards the other end of the room.
With a large thunk, Astarion landed square against the wall. His head ached and pounded in pain, his hand coming up to soothe it. As the elf man grumbled from his trance, eyes blinking awake to see the woman screaming in pain, her hands upon the thick cambion belt.
And that is when Astarion’s fears and nerves crashed upon him like a stack of bricks.
The agonizing screams that echoed throughout the forge were ear-splitting. As the pale elf scrambled to his feet and ran, the screaming only got louder and louder.
Sliding to Karlach’s side, Astarion was incensed at once—looking all over Karlach for any wounds or new blemishes.
“What happened?”, Astarion screamed, fear evident in his voice.
With a deep belly roar, Astarion watched as Karlach ripped off her belt and throw it just as she did with him, now revealing her mid-drift.
Her very large, very swollen mid-drift.
Before Astarion could speak, he watched Karlach barked at him in a rageful gaze, her own sharp teeth bared like a predator to its prey. Not longer was this his Karlach, but the barbarian Karlach every victim of hers had faces before their death.
“GET THESE FUCKING PANTS OFF ME YOU ELF BASTARD!”
Astarion said nothing, and with a quick swipe of his blade, did her pants come down in loose rags, only partly held together by stitches. Sharp pale nails rakes the loose pants down her legs, now seeing the wetness drip down her legs, pooling on the ground like a heavy waterfall.
The air stung with a smell of Karlach. Pure, unbridled rage with a tinge of sweetness and painfully evident this was amniotic fluid.
“FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! FUCK ME, GODSDAMNIT!”
“I’m here, I’m here. Lay on your back, darling.”
There’s a small relief within Astarion—Karlach looked slightly less angry on her back. Oh, how she looked so beautiful, with her brow furrowed and nose scrunched.
Astarion moved himself between Karlach’s legs, staring between her thighs. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, her womanhood throbbing and heaving, covered in slick and water-like fluid.
“Darling, how long were you—?”
“STOP ASKING QUESTIONS AND HELP ME YOU MOTHERFUCKER—!”
The voice alone blew Astarion’s hair back just as accurately as a heavy wind on the open hills. With no response, the elf man ducked his head and watched her cunt.
Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.
Her vaginal hole was breathing hard, and soon, more fluid began to exit down to the ground. The dirty, disgusting, coal-sooted ground.
With haste, Astarion grabbed his silk purple outfit and with no hesitation, tore the cloth apart to be longer lengthwise. The sound was no scream, but it was loud—each stitch popping, embroidery crying as it was being split in two.
A deep huff exhausted from Karlach. Another contraction.
“Fuck fuck fuck…”, she hissed. This wasn’t angry, but it was in pain, and it was afraid.
“I have you, my dear.”, Astarion cooed, bringing a hand upwards
Almost immediately, the elf regretted it as Karlach took it in her palms, squeezing it irregularly and tightly. Astarion hissed in pain, but gritted his teeth as he looked between the tiefling’s legs.
The contraction wanes, the thighs shake, and Karlach’s breath grows stable.
“Good,” Astarion encourages. “Good—well done, darling.”
Astarion saw in his side-view Karlach nodded her head furiously as the mixture of sweat and tears on her cheek bones flow down her face. Her hair curling upon her forehead, her eyes half-lidded and pained.
The vampire placed his second hand upon her face, brushing her hair away.
“Gods…you have that glow midwives speak about.”
“R-really?” Her voice was now a whisper, her throat strained.
“Yes…” A cheeky smile grew on Karlach’s face.
He didn’t encourage her to push, only the loud anguished roar that shook the room around them told him her pitiful attempt. Astarion watched as his lover clenched her teeth and bared down as hard as she could, letting out a gritted scream he hadn’t heard since their time in Faerûn.
Looking between her legs once more, and now—now Astarion watched her vaginal entrance was beginning to open. The sounds exhales and huffs of pain rang in his ear, accompanying the raging symphony of Karlach’s cries and scream of pain as she began another push. Astarion gently rubbed her forehead, a soothing motion to allow her to continue.
His action worked, and fueled the woman with a second wind of courage.
“I’m gonna…I’m gonna. Please, please don’t leave.”
Karlach inhaled, shuts her eyes, and pushed again.
Her legs opened wider, her hole pulsed with pain, and just like that—the skin on the side of her womanhood tore.
Karlach’s eyes opened wide, and the rage returned in full blast.
Blood began to pour from the wide of Karlach’s hole, and Astarion acted fast. Quick as he could, Astarion tore his shirt up, quickly balling it up to a point. Gently as he could, the elf dabbed the tear to cease the bleeding, dribbles upon dribbles of scarlet water pouring down her curving toned thighs.
As the new father began to calm him nerves for a thirteenth time in the last five minutes, he felt his arm get soaked in a flush of clear fluids. It was cold, it was warm, it was thick, it was thin; it was as beautiful as it was surprising.
And there they were—in the opening of his lover’s hole was the top of a head.
“Again,” Astarion looked up at her seriously. “I need you to push again, Karlach.”
“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? THIS IS THE WORST PAIN I—!”
“Listen to me!” His voice loud and clean, eyes narrowed with emotion, fear, anger, and joy. He felt his lashes wet, but pushed his tickling feelings aside. “Push hard and hold it for as long as you can. It’s going to hurt, Gods know it will, but you must push.”
Astarion held their intertwined hands up for them to see. “For our baby’s sake.”
It was a wordless agreement; just a nod and Karlach squeezing Astarion’s bones together as she cried in jolting screech.
A crunch, a snap, and a squish went Astarion’s hand—no doubt sprained somewhere.
But watching Karlach, his strong tiefling love, pushing as hard as she could, was something that Astarion was enthralled with. Such beauty, such resilience, such strength.
Dear Gods, darling, where did you come from?
Something changes. More fluids gush—this time, thicker than before.
He can tell, not just by the look of reverence on Karlach’s face, but by the increasing warmth on his arm.
Astarion looked down, and the head hadn’t moved.
Instead, blood was everywhere. The tear had grew, now stretching down her thigh. Red was everywhere, and the smell of Karlach was filling Astarion’s lungs more than ever. His eyes stared to the head, and it was so small, so tiny, but Astarion saw it.
The head moved, just an inch to the right.
“They’re here!” Astarion exclaimed prematurely from his throat, so fast he was unsure who was speaking.
The spreading of vaginal lips only got worse, the blood flowing down, the water gushing upwards.
The more the seconds past, the more the screaming cried, the more Karlach sobbed, the more she squeezed, she pushed, she stretched herself in two, the scene looking incredibly painful and horrendous for Karlach’s body.
“I can’t!” She wails, gasping before letting out a sob. Her legs began to shut, but with his adrenaline running Astarion kept her open.
“LET ME GO! I CANT DO THIS, ASTARION! IM DYING! IM GOING TO DIE—IM KILLING OUR BABY AND IM SORRY!”
Tears flowed down Karlach’s face, her lip quivering.
“Hey!” Astarion snaps at her. “Listen to me—you are okay—you’re here with me and you are okay.”
She is weeping uncontrollably now. Astarion leans down upon her belly gently. “I am not going to let either of you die.” He assures her. “I know it is unbearable, but you are so very close.” He encourages her. “Don’t give up—I know you can do this.”
She lets her body take her where she needs to go, panting and whimpering as she does. She angles her hips, her thighs toughen by themselves, and she grabs Astarion’s hand as she bears down.
This contraction reaches its peak when Astarion places the ball of her hand on her knee and commands her.
The head was halfway out. Black tufted hair, two small bumps on the lower side of the head, and Astarion didn’t realize until now that he was crying.
“Puff,” Astarion sucks in a breath through puckered lips and exhales quickly and sharply to demonstrate. “Puff, now. Little pushes.” Though he doesn’t breathe, Astarion looks up to see Karlach matching him.
A moment, an ever louder scream, a second of ears ringing, and the eyes of the vampiric elf widen.
“Head’s out!” Astarion looks up at her, triumphantly. Though, the relief which should come with such a feat eludes her. He discards this thought and gives a pat to her knee, and she pushed again, giving Astarion time to take his hand from her knee to under her womanhood.
He took his hand from hers, now assured his hand was broken in seven places. And yet, the new father took the silk he had ripped minutes before and into his hands.
The pain reached another crux.
And in a desperate attempt to keep from drowning in it, Karlach sucks in a breath, squeezes her eyes shut and pushes through with all her might.
Astarion watches in awe as blood and clear fluids now exploded from Karlach, and in their wake, a small black furred head popped out.
Before Astarion could begin to panic, his new fatherly instincts took hold. With gentle clothed hands, he pulled their child out from Karlach’s sacred place.
The cry it gave was their bell, their last hurrah.
The wrinkly baby screamed and wailed, his fists and eyes scrunched so tightly it looked liked it hurt. His black hair was covered in gunk, so much that no matter how much Astarion wiped there was still a shine.
Their small, innocent boy.
“A boy…”, Astarion sobbed with joy. No longer did he hold back, his nerves coming out in bulbous tears that streamed down his face.
“Astarion…” Karlach’s voice was soft. “Please…”
Onto her bare chest Astarion but their boy, and begins to rub circles on its back. He then pulled away to rummage through the duffle bag again.
Returning back, his hand showed a red potion to Karlach’s lips. “Open, sweetheart. It will help.”
The sudden shift upwards caused the baby to let out a hearty cry. Karlach—in turn—bursts into tears.
“My baby,” she weeps. “Oh—my baby!” Karlach lifts her head and allowed Astarion to feed her the potion. With each gulp, the cut upon her thigh began to heal just as quickly it was given.
Astarion had moved to cradle his love and his child in his arms. The child has a full head of Karlach’s dark hair, his skin few shades lighter than hers.
The elf slowly raises his hand and brings it to rest on his son’s back; his tiny stature shakes as the tearless cries leave his lungs. Astarion strokes the baby’s skin, he is so enamored by the child, he cannot think of a better way to comfort it.
“He is magnificent,” He says in awe, as he still cleaned the babe with gentle movements. “Well done, my love.”
They stay this way. Astarion shimmies a new, cleaner cloth over the now clean baby. The baby had quieted down, having adjusted to the environment outside of the homely womb.
Astarion lays eyes on the new mother and the baby lying on her chest. As Karlach regained her breath, she slowly adjusted her shirt off of herself, and gently nudge her large breast to the baby. The sleeping baby slowly fussed awake, before calming down and suckling the nipple greedily.
“He’s perfect.”, Karlach grinned. “The little leech.”
Silence between both new parents—in awe and in peace.
“So…was this the other “issue”?”
Astarion was gentle, a bit teasing, but gentle.
“About two weeks after coming back to Avernus. I…I couldn’t tell you.”
Astarion opened his mouth, when Karlach quickly interrupted.
“N-not because I didn’t know how you react—well, kinda, but not the entire reason. We had that general, then we had those imps. We never had a moment, y’know?”
The elf went quiet, before looking down at the feasting baby. Eyes fully of joy, as Astarion pulled his hand up and softly rubbed the boy’s head.
“What should we name him?”
“Something smart. Like his father.”, Karlach replied.
“Something brave, like his mother, personally.” Astarion smiled as Karlach nuzzled her head upon the shoulder of Astarion.
A few moments passed, before Astarion spoke—eyes never leaving his boy.
Not in a possessive way, but a loving way.
“How about…Ivaebhin?”, he suggested. “The Boy with Brightness.”
“Ivaebhin…I like it.”, Karlach smiled. “Are you okay with a double name?”
“Double name? Quite unique.”
“For a unique child.”, she chided. “How about Ivaebhin…Astarion”
Astarion perked at this, looking at Karlach with questioning eyes. “A-Astarion?”
“Yes. Quite a good name. I fell it love with it the moment it first threatened me.”
Tears flowed from Astarion, as he lovingly dug into Karlach’s hair.
“You insufferable fury.”
And such was the family of Astarion, Karlach, and Ivaebhin-Astarion Ancunín-Cliffgate
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