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In the bounty of Baldur’s Gate where promises of opportunity and splendor walked in the footsteps of the citizens, Karlach and Astarion knew they could not escape the torments of their lives. No matter how much pain and control she could assert over him, there was still the engine in her chest that made her feel helpless. No matter how desperately Astarion begged for her dominance, Karlach could never truly make him feel as wretched as he felt in the shadow of Cazador’s grasp. He never admitted aloud to Karlach that he only returned for these nightly escapades because she is the only person who made it feel good to hate himself. And she never forced him to say it, just as he never forced her to admit that she could die at any moment without coming close to the vengeance she deserved. They both knew what the other gained from these nights without having to say the words.
Reposting since the first post didn't format correctly. AU hellspawn fic that is a dark psychoanalysis of Astarion and Karlach after both of them failed to achieve their revenge after the events of BG3. Please comment and enjoy!
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here is chapter 2 of my hellspawn smut fic! It is a psychoanalysis of Astarion and Karlach after the events of Baldur's Gate 3. I'm sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it and please don't be afraid to comment.
Dont mean much but im still here. Im still working on it i swear. Im just struggling! I will update Cinder and Smoke if it kills me! I will complete this story if for no one else but for me!
Cinder and Smoke - decembersiris - archiveofourown.org
Summary:
In the bounty of Baldur’s Gate where promises of opportunity and splendor walked in the footsteps of the citizens, Karlach and Astarion knew they could not escape the torments of their lives. No matter how much pain and control she could assert over him, there was still the engine in her chest that made her feel helpless. No matter how desperately Astarion begged for her dominance, Karlach could never truly make him feel as wretched as he felt in the shadow of Cazador’s grasp. He never admitted aloud to Karlach that he only returned for these nightly escapades because she is the only person who made it feel good to hate himself. And she never forced him to say it, just as he never forced her to admit that she could die at any moment without coming close to the vengeance she deserved. They both knew what the other gained from these nights without having to say the words.
Tumblr's being a pain and not embedding the link correctly
Here it is! This is the dark somewhat psychoanalysis story with lots of smut I told you I've been writing. I've been hard at work with this one, and I really hope you guys give it a chance. There will be more chapters to come. I hope you like it! Please like and comment!
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Hey everyone! I'm steadily working on the story, and so I thought it would be fun to give you a preview of what I've started! Hope you like it.
Please keep in mind that this story is a work in progress that deals with dark themes of smut and violence. If this interests you, carry on! If not, you know what not to do.
He went for her throat. He always liked to go for her throat; perhaps that made him predictable, but the spawn didn’t care. She was warm in his grip, her living flesh pulsing against his palm as he gently squeezed. He could pretend it made him powerful. He did not need to glance up at her to feel the heat of her scornful stare.
He moved to sink his teeth, not to pierce—he knew well enough that her blood was scorched with the flames of the Hells, deliciously forbidden but the sweetest of temptations—but to mark and claim. Before he could, Karlach leaned back slightly and struck him with the back of her hand. Astarion cried out in surprise as he released her and staggered back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away red.
“Is that the best the Demonsbane of Avernus can do?”
The furrow of her brow darkened the glint in her golden eyes. Astarion knew she hated that name branded into her skin, and the look she gave him sent a chill down his spine. Karlach rushed forward, a snarl on her lips, as she swiftly moved to grab him by his upper arms. Acting quickly, he ducked and maneuvered around her body to attack her from behind, jumping up to wrap his arms about her throat and under her armpit. Karlach choked in his grip, his swiftness and aggression surprising her enough for her knees to buckle slightly and his feet touched the floor.
“You’re mine,” he said darkly, burying his incisors into the crook of her neck, careful not to break skin.
Karlach cried out and seized his arm, pulling it away from her throat. Astarion strained to maintain his hold but the tiefling’s strength was far greater than he could bear. And then with sudden viciousness, she swung her elbow backward, slamming it into his abdomen. The elf yelped and stumbled back, holding his side in an attempt to stifle the pain but before he could recover, Karlach grabbed him by the arm and flung him across the room.
His voice came out in a sharp cry as he was thrown with unforgiving force, his lower spine striking the edge of the desk. He grabbed ahold of the edge, steadying himself and feeling the blunt, warm pain creep up his spine. Baring his fangs, Astarion growled in frustration. A physical fight against Karlach Cliffgate was no trifling matter, nor was it one that his slender form could win. But he wanted the fight; he just needed to gain the upper hand. Between the white curls matted with sweat that dangled in his vision, Astarion could see her form approaching fast, and by instinct, he grabbed at whatever he could find purchase and emphatically threw it in her direction. He heard the metal mug clatter, but he didn’t stay long enough to see if it smacked against her head or against the wall behind her. He was already out the bedroom door and running.
Karlach who thinks Astarion is just so cute and adorable, in spite of his rough edges. And Astarion who has no idea how to respond to that, because like, he's used to people thinking of him as hot, maybe sexy in a dangerous sort of way, but not cute. And he chafes against it at first, because he acts thorny to keep people at arm's length, damn it, not because it's cute, and he has to keep his edge. But the more comfortable and safe he starts to feel with her the less awkward it feels and the more he's like maybe being Mama K's prickly little angel isn't so bad after all
