#bg3 enemies to lovers

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Part 30

Summary: A little bit of dialogue to get us back in the swing of things, maybe Gale's opportunity to set things right. We're back, baby. I will likely skip over big action scenes and such since many people have likely played the game. I may include some if it feels relevant to the story. TBD. My goal is to follow these two until the end.

Part 29 | Big List of Fics | A03

Gale’s mouth was drier than the Sands of Itzcala and his palms were coated in a slick sheen of sweat. They were approaching a burly looking creature as Karlach and Wyll had caught up to them, the strange noises that echoed through the tower unsettling. 

“You alright?” Karlach frowned, hitting Gale lightly on his shoulder. He nodded although it was far from the truth, offering a fake grimace of pain. She rolled her eyes. “Come off it, I barely touched you.” 

Moments earlier when they ascended to speak with Disciple Z’rell, Tav distracted her mental prodding with lustful images of Gale. She filled her mind with scenes of their bodies entangled, echoed sinful gasps for air within the corners of her imagination as she envisioned their indulgence of one another. Gale’s face was hot, and sweat pooled at the back of his neck. The bulge within his robes had not quite deflated. His ears were hot and he ignored the murmurs of Shadowheart and Astarion and their pointed looks. It felt like he was underwater. 

He wondered whether or not the images highlighted her true desires or if they were merely a strategic move to detract from their (in Gale’s opinion) obvious infiltration. She could have thought of anything, though, and her immediate reaction was to think of him. Z’rell’s distaste for Tav’s choice in sexual partners barely registered for him to be offended. 

“Gale, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Astarion cooed, nudging him in the side. “It almost makes me want to take a bite out of you myself.” He bared his fangs slightly and licked his lips and Gale rolled his eyes, stepping away. 

“You wish - I’ll have you know, my blood tastes awful.” Gale’s lips twitched in a smirk.  

The downside to the tadpoles influence included thought-sharing so both were privy to Tav’s unholy thoughts - it wasn’t often they encroached on one another’s private musings, however in the seat of the absolute with Z’rell’s modeling it was if their thoughts were one. Once dismissed, their minds grew quiet once more. Tav stalked ahead of them and Gale was too nervous to utter a sound. 

“So,” Shadowheart said cooly, inspired by Astarion’s bravery, “You and Tav must know each other more… intimately than I thought.” 

Heat flicked up his neck. “Gods, no,” Gale said, dropping his head and ignored her eyes widening. If only. 

“Oh. Her imagination could have fooled me. A shame, I was hopeful that your tongue was really that practiced..” Shadowheart tapped her fingers against his shoulder, grinning. 

Gale rose a brow skeptically and cocked his head. “Are you flirting with me?” 

Shadowheart’s cheeks flushed and she shrugged, “Merely curious about your portfolio of talents.” 

“Hm, aren’t you just,” Astarion said, running his fingers up Shaodwheart’s back. “I admit, I am too.” 

Karlach snorted and shook her head, “Easy. Let Gale dig himself out of the ditch with Tav before either of you try a thing. Don’t put my hard work to waste.”  

Gale turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “What work?” 

But before Karlach could answer, the bugbear they were approaching spoke. “Well. Flo didn’t tell a lie. She said you’d find me, and here you are. Karlach, isn’t it?” 

Karlach bristled and Tav turned to them, watching as the four approached. Her eyes darted back and forth between Gale and Karlach, each time she caught his gaze she’d look away abruptly. Gale knew that look, he had seen her throw it his way thousands of times. But, he knew better than to hope. 

“Now there’s a name I’d hoped never to hear again.” Karlach said, sighing and straightening her shoulders. “What was Flo doing here?” 

“Didn’t think to quiz her about her business.” The bugbear said, shrugging. He snorted and pulled out a handful of Soul Coins. “Told me to hold onto these in case I ran into you,” he jostled them in his hand. 

“Hm,” Karlach mused, “I should have known better. What does she want, then?” 

“Nothing, just told me if you wanted them you’d have to hear the stories of each one.” 

“Classic,” Karlach shook her head, and looked to Tav. “Well?” 

“Do we need them?” Tav asked skeptically, but the look on Karlach’s face edged her forward. “Alright, let’s have the coins.” 

Gale hissed through his teeth, “Karlach, we haven’t needed them yet -“ the icy stare she shot back at him was foreign so his lips sealed instantly. 

When the merchant was done with each sordid tale, he handed Karlach the coins and they turned away, lingering in the grand hall. 

“Who’s Flo?” Tav asked. 

“Florenta the Garrotter. A cambion I knew back in Avernus. The closest I had to a friend,” the weariness in her tone was unmistakable and Gale laid a hand on her shoulder. “That said, she would’ve choked the life out of me if I ever turned my back on her. The fact she knows where I am or might be going doesn’t delight me.” 

“Do we need to worry about her?” Tav said, folding her arms across her chest. 

“You’re safe with us,” Gale said reassuringly, ignoring Tav’s question. Though he had never gone toe to toe with a campion before, surely it couldn’t be more difficult than what they’d faced thus far. 

“I doubt she’ll come looking, her precious feet are too delicate for the material plane.” She snorted and leaned into Gale’s touch. “Thank you, though.” She put her hand over Gale’s for a moment before moving it from her shoulder. “I’m grateful to have friends, real friends now who care whether or not I burn alive.” 

Wyll came up behind them, shaking his head woefully. “In my years as the Blade, I’ve witness countless cruelties, faced unimaginable evil…. Thorm is made of pure hate - the coast will rejoice when the bastard’s fallen. I know my father is somewhere in this tower and I won’t leave him in Thorm’s hands. I’ve scouted the premises, there’s a dock at the back - my guess is that it leads to the prisons, we may find both the Tiefling hostages and my father in one fell swoop. And, whether or not you care to help her, Minthara was likely dragged there as well.”

Tav dusted off her hands and took a sip from her canteen. A drop of water lingered on the edge of her lip. Gale’s fingers twitched, as if they had a mind of their own to brush it away. He clenched a fist and she rubbed her thumb against the corner of her mouth, clearing the water. “Seems like we have our work cut out for us.” 

They stood in a tight circle, Tav’s robes brushing against Gale. He felt the electricity move between them, the buzzing of their cells eager to know one another. He shook his head. Focus. 

Gale felt the knot in his stomach tighten - if they were truly at the heart of the absolute, it was only a matter of time until he would need to use the orb. He could see no other way. Defying his already miffed Goddess did not seem like a viable choice - the notion of being trapped until the end of time in a wall of faceless, being crushed and assaulted at the forefronts of the blood war… no. Gale couldn’t bear it. 

Astarion pursed his lips. “If we’re going to talk, shouldn’t we do it less conspicuously? I love a little drama - but I would like to walk out of here alive. Talking about our plans at the heart of the source we are trying to usurp is foolish, don’t you agree?” 

Shadowheart nodded curtly, “Astarion’s right. Last Light is less than a quarter days walk - we should head there, make camp.” 

“Tease out a plan,” Wyll offered, his excitement for justice palpable. 

Gale interrupted, rubbing his chin “While we’re here, shouldn’t we at the very least inspect Balthzar’s chamber? We may find something of use.” 

“We should,” Tav said, nodding once. “Alright - Gale, you and I can explore the chamber, Karlach and Wyll can you both chat with the folks lingering around? They may know something. See if there’s anything worth battering around here. Astarion, Shadowheart - why don’t you start headed back to last light, gather whatever supplies we need? It may be the last time we set up camp there for the foreseeable future.” 

Astarion gave a mocking salute, “Yes, captain.” 

Gale’s throat constricted. His eyes flicked to Karlach who seemed to try to communicate this was his chance to set things right. He felt his heart thrumming against his chest and waited a moment before turning his gaze to hers. “Gale,” Tav looked up, her eyes locking with his. “Shall we?” 

[bruised-halo]

The enemies to lovers dialogues are going to be hitting in this playthrough 😅 I can already tell

[melonalemonade]

I think they umm they

[taruolentow]

wine drunk

[wolfiemun-official]

Shadowheart got tuckered out while repairing the farm

Not to fear! Lae'zel and her red hen, Quiche, will make sure she's safe while she sleeps 🐤

[sizzlesouce]

Part 1/2 Part 2 - A bit spicy :> kinda not safe for work

Someone asked Shadowzel, I deliver Shadowzel. Also, somebody, take away her wine bottle. I think she had too much. Challenging a githyanki. Crazy.

[dreorcaul]

A WHOLE PARTY RIGHT HERE! I just need to draw more enemies to lovers shadowheart and lae'zel AH so good!

[starrforge]

I have a problem.......

[grezzirossi]

Wyllach my beloveds <3 Mini strip under the cut (Tw wounds)

[lwiann]

Play teeth by 5sos

[galebrainrot2024]

Enemies to Lovers Part 36

Summary: In their final night before they face the Absolute, Gale contemplates his life, the choice before him before he is interrupted by Tav. This part is a bit short because I need to get the next part right - for everyone XD

Part 35 | Master List | Ao3

“Again,” Tav fumed, leaning forward slightly with her fingers outstretched as if trying to rip her body in two. 

“Are you sure?” Gale asked, smirking. 

“Again.” She turned around this time, scowling, concentration etched on her face like runes. 

“As you wish,” he chuckled and rolled up his sleeves before tying his hair into a topknot. They had been at it for hours, his brown slick with sweat and his mind bursting at the seams. 

“Here goes,” she inhaled before flicking her right arm over her left and turning their hands outward, “umbra,” Tav whispered, pulling at the weave desperately.

Gale shook his finger, clicked his tongue and pointed it to her. “Impero Tibi,” he countered. Tav was trying to cast a relatively simple, yet effective incantation of darkness but with each attempt Gale effortlessly refuted her. 

It was thrilling, almost like a transposition into a past that could have existed, the two of them pushing one another and learning together as peers rather than adversaries. 

“UGNH!” She groaned and let out a cross between and wail and grunt. 

“If you’d like,” he said, moving behind Tav. He lowered his voice, stepping into her periphery and glanced sideways, smirking. “I can go a bit easier on you.” 

She pushed his shoulder away with her own, though not with any sense of force. Gale felt a jolt and felt his face flush. “Again,” she said, though a playful grin toyed at her lips. 

When Tav agreed, albeit begrudgingly, to practice alongside him they had to lay down ground rules to prevent further animosity. Karlach and Wyll, ever the diplomats, sat with the two as they hashed out their ‘terms and agreements.’ 

“If you so much as suggest I pull at the weave harder,” Tav had said, arms folded across her chest after having lost the prior agreement, “I will throw it at you with such a force…” 

“Alright, so, no threats,” Wyll muttered and wrote it down. Gale laughed and Tav huffed. 

“You have my word, I will not encourage you to try harder.” Gale said solemnly, holding a hand to his chest. 

He did, unfortunately, break that rule. But, it was of little consequence now. The two found a steady rhythm, one where their tension fueled their abilities, their emotions entwined with the weave to manipulate and wield it with remarkable force. 

Gale was pulled into the present, “Far be it from me to interrupt,” Karlach poked her head into the tent, pointing to her stomach. “But the rest of us are famished out here.” 

Gale laughed when Tav retorted, “Gale isn’t the only person capable of preparing a meal.” 

“My stomach begs to differ,” Karlach huffed. “You saw the eggs Shadowheart tried to cook up the other morning.” 

Bile rose in his throat as Gale recalled their horrible texture, both watery and firm, the flavors too sweet and frankly insane. It was like she had never seen, let alone tasted, eggs in her life. 

Shrugging, he brushed past Tav and gave her a gentle smile before emerging to the ‘thank the gods’ and ‘it’s about damn time,’ from the rest of their companions. 

*** 

“I hope all of those lessons are headed somewhere,” Karlach nudged Gale at the riverbank, once again on dish duty. He sat on a rotting log, keeping her company, a goofy smile plastered across his face as he thought about their lessons. 

“Towards friendship, I assure you,” Though Gale knew this was a lie. The two spent hours together each night, the air crackling with electricity as they focused their abilities and tested one another. It was somehow more intimate than Gale expected, manipulating the weave together, learning together as they once had in their youth. 

They spent hours arguing over proper pronunciations, how to focus on which element to control, each time ending with playful, light hearted teasing that made his heart ache. 

Tav had not brought up their conversation again and neither did Gale. He wondered if the past was best left there. In response to her question, though, he gave her a noncommittal answer. At the end of each practice, she would ask him again. 

“So, about the orb…” Tav would begin sheepishly and Gale, forever the optimist, would brush his hand.

“A nonissue.” He would reply each time. 

Though it was. It was an issue. An issue he still grappled with, though his confidence grew with each ten-day that passed as his abilities took on their former glory. He felt powerful again, for the first time in quite some time. 

“Right,” Karlach said, sighing. “You know, one of these days it might be too late to share how you’re feeling. Why not just get on with it?” Before, she was understanding. Now, her voice was tinged with an edge of impatience. “Listen, my clock is ticking. I will only be able to survive so long up here. Although I’d prefer you didn’t use it, you won’t say one way or another whether you plan to use that bloody thing in your chest.” Karlach turned to him, her eyes swimming with countless emotions. “What are you waiting for?” 

The question made his stomach twist and heat creep up the back of his neck. The sound of water splashing across the dishes filled the silence until he said, “I’m not entirely sure. Having two potentially life-ending conditions doesn’t exactly do much for ones self esteem. Neither does the fact that she insisted not too long ago that she hated me.” The words came out deflated. 

Karlach groaned and rolled her eyes, “Regardless of what’s gone on between the two of you, biology doesn’t lie. Everyone else can feel it, so why can’t either of you? It’s mental, man.” She continued to scrub at the pan before continuing, “Who knows how much time any one of us has left. The last thing I want for either of you is the burden of regret.” 

Gale ran his fingers through his hair before wiping his face. “I know.” He whispered. It felt ridiculous, almost, to think of professing his love at a time like this with so much at stake. It hardly felt the time or place, and wished for a moment he were back in Waterdeep, back at Blackstaff, where he could have expressed himself properly rather than make an utter fool of himself. 

But, the past was the past. No matter how desperately he wished it were different, it was not.

**** 

The conversation with Karlach weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried through each battle, panic engulfing him whenever Tav was injured or in harms way. He positioned himself accordingly each time, trying to command the space in front of her, keeping her from the direct line of fire. 

Despite this, he kept his thoughts to himself. Best to meet it, on his own terms. 

They were finally close to the heart of it all. Gale knew his time was running thin, slipping through his fingers like sand. Through their efforts, they managed to rescue the Tieflings, open the portal for Halsin to retrieve Thaniel, mend his missing half, and discovered the nightsong was in fact no mere artifact, but a person. An aasimar. 

To their surprise, despite Shadowhearts desperation prior to become a dark justiciar, she spared her life earning Shar’s retribution. 

Now, they lay scattered across Moonrise, bloodied and battered after their first assault. Tomorrow, they would face Kethric Thorm. 

His time had run out. 

Once they settled in for the evening, everyone tending to their bruised and broken bodies, Gale meandered to the docks and gazed across the black waters. 

He thought of Tara, of Waterdeep, of his mother. How the sun dipped below the horizon, into the rippling shores beyond, his tower filled with tomes, knick-knacks of his adventures and mis-thereof. The smell of old tapestries, pine, and hearth. How even if he chose not to detonate the orb, he very well not make it out alive. 

A tearless sob bubbled from his throat and he hung his head in his hands. 

“Gale?” Tav’s soft voice carried through the late-night and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He did not turn around. 

[bruised-halo]

So we finally hit the lovers stage of enemies to lovers..... and let me just say it is HITTING

Like... the absolute adoration in Shadowheart's eyes 😍😭😭

[isda-bata]

Posting this here on tumblr too cause god I put so much work into this. In an alternate timeline where Astarion chose to go through with Ascension. Monthas confronts him the morning after. Astarion says he'd let the world burn for Monthas but all Monthas sees is the world and the people he protects burning in ashes.. all the people he cared about and all those who begged for help burning away. Despite all of his words of devotion and promises of a future full of lavish love being rained on him, Monthas sees the truth of how their lives will go if he stays by Astarion's side. A bird in a gilded cage.

[cowboygenesis]

1/2 fatum invenit | gale x reader

part 1 of the "fatum" mini-series. | buy me a coffee?

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and Gods, do they cut deep.

pairing: gale dekarios x sorceress!durge!reader tags: fluff, angst, tons of cursing, mutual pining, forced proximity, enemies/rivals to lovers. word count: 5.3k notes: whew, here we are at last. if you've read "knuckle up" you might find the ending a little similar but... what can i say, im a softie. also, the durge aspect of the reader is truly very minimal, i just added it for the sake of flavor, whatevah... oh, and reader is super cheeky and generally curses a lot, im case that's something that bothers you. i want this to be a two-parter eventually, so expect some smut in the future chapter. as always, let me know what you think! enjoy! masterlist.

You… you fucking knew it. The one time in your life you decide to give a wizard the benefit of the doubt he… he screws you the fuck over.

It was supposed to be an easy job: infiltrate Kereska’s chapel, retrieve the relic Raphael demanded, and slip away unnoticed. Hey, no big deal— you’ve handled worse without breaking a sweat.

Most of your companions weren’t so eager to take on the devil’s dirty work after a night of drinking, so, you figured you’d tackle it solo. No problem. After all, you’d just returned home to Baldur’s Gate. The evening was warm, the streets thrummed with energy, and after a night of revelry, you were in a damn good mood.

So when Gale, with his calm, holier-than-thou attitude, offered to “assist,” you’d thought sure, why the Hells not?

And what a mistake that would turn out to be for you. Just as your gut had warned you, things ended up going sideways. All because of him.

You both had made it past the wards, the traps, and even those fucked up, undead necromancers that you hated dealing with—no thanks to Gale’s constant commentary on your spellcasting techniques. It was always some remark about how your magic was “undisciplined,” how you were “too reckless to be at your best.” Fuck, like you hadn’t been doing this shit for years, now.

Warranted, you weren’t exactly the nicest person, either. Meals at your camp were a battlefield of their own, filled with biting comments and passive-aggressive stares, often over trivial matters that had nothing to do with magic.

Plus, combat was no different. It rarely took more than a few minutes before you and Gale were mired in a heated debate over the “best course of action for the situation”. Naturally, these debates only added to the tension, making every encounter feel like a personal clash as opposed to a friendly discussion over technique.

You two were polar opposites, discordant, incompatible.

But you were an idiot, then. A dumb, tender-hearted idiot in a great mood who had hoped you two could eventually get along if the stars aligned just right. But that’s all hindsight.

After all the hard work, you had almost had it— your hand was just within reach of that damned necklace, caution thrown to the wind, when Gale decided to get fancy. A small “adjustment” to the magical aura surrounding the relic, he’d explained— something about minimizing risk and stabilizing the flow of the Weave so you could extract it safely.

You discarded the idea, of course; “fuck your tricks,” you had said (your actual words), rolled your eyes at him, and said goodbye to the remnants of your good mood as he reprimanded you like a teacher would a novice— and that, naturally, you weren’t.

Unlike him, you didn’t need a stack of tomes to inspectthis kind of arcane energy. It felt powerful and intricate, yes— but beneath it all, it was just a trick of the eye. The glowing, golden-tinged sphere wasn’t malevolent whatsoever, and instead served as a cheap ploy to repel those tempted by the artifact.

So, knowing what you knew, you reached for the relic despite his suggestion.

But, just as you were to lay a finger on it, he… he cast his fucking “safety” spell. And everything went to hell.

The forcefield around the necklace reacted— wildly. The air rippled in waves, the ground shifting beneath you, and suddenly, you were trapped in some kind of collapsed chamber beneath the chapel— cut off from the rest of the world, with no way out.

Worst of all, you were in heartbreaking proximity. The dugout was deep, but narrow, allowing you maybe a centimeter of privacy before your chest collided with his. And Gods, did that happen often. Any movement you made, your bodies would collide in one way or another, be it feeling his thigh rub against yours, grazing fingers, or smacking his chin— the last one being a complete accident on your part, of course.

And yes, as two magic-wielders would, you tried your luck. As it turned out, the stone binding your bodies together seemed to have a sort of Weave-repellent property that rendered your only functional skills worthless.

So, here you were, stuck with your arch-rival, and with every passing second, your frustration grew. It must have been half an hour since the disaster struck when you finally felt your head pound with frustration.

“Gale,” you sigh for the millionth time, “Are you even listening?”

He’s been doing a great job ignoring your commentary by seemingly occupying himself with analyzing your surroundings. Smart, sure, if it wasn’t for the simple fact he refused to collaborate with you whatsoever. After your initial scream-off, he seemed reluctant to give you the time of day again.

He finally clears his throat to speak, and you shoot him a glare in the dim light.

"You just had to do your thing, didn’t you?" he sighs.

“And you just had to show off,” you retort through a bitter snark.

Gale glances at you with narrowed eyes, yet his expression remains infuriatingly contained. “I was trying to prevent a catastrophe. If I hadn’t intervened, the entire chapel may have collapsed.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap, “It collapsed on us instead. I’m so glad we avoided a disaster, Gale.”

He exhales slowly, then gives you a haphazard eye-roll. “Perhaps if you hadn’t rushed things—”

“Rushed things?” Your chest flares, making it collide with his. “I didn’t touch a damned thing. You’re the one who decided the Weave needed tuning or whatever other bullshit.”

Gale’s eyes narrow, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “You think I did this on purpose? I made the right choice. But you—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” You cut him off, “Honestly, fuck you, man. If you were half as concerned with doing a good job as you are with peacocking we wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

He looks away, his jaw tightening. “Peacocking?”

“Yeah. Peacocking, showing off—Are you okay? I thought you were supposed to be the clever one.” You shrug in mock nonchalance, rolling your eyes as if the circumstances weren’t already driving you up the wall.

You feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with a steadying breath, the sort one might take when trying to stop themselves from saying something they’ll inevitably regret. When it came to containing his bubbling rage, he beat you to it every time.

His casual lilt, when it comes, makes your teeth grit. “Obviously.”

You groan loudly, letting the back of your head thud against the stone wall behind you. A tense silence falls between you, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing, a sound that seems to grow louder in the small space whenever conversation dies down.

“You would’ve been buried stone-cold dead under the rubble if I hadn’t cast that spell,” he mutters, and just like that, your patience snaps.

“I— I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” Your words are sharp as daggers, eyes burning into his as you twist your body just enough to face him head-on. “The barrier was a ruse, Gale. A fake. I told you not to cast that damn spell—”

“And I suppose explanations are beneath someone of your obvious talents,” he snaps back, his words dripping with venom.

You glare at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re a scholar— Gods, don’t you know this kind of illusory magic is Kereska’s whole thing?” you spit, watching his face aptly in hopes of catching a glimpse of something; remorse, sympathy, fuck, even just a bit of pity would satiate you.

But it never comes. His eyes bore into you with practiced reprimanding, and because he must see you on the precipice of breaking down, he continues to poke the metaphorical bear. “You should’ve waited.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you became the authority on everything. In case you somehow overlooked it, I’ve been doing this for years without your lectures.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for you,” he retorts, his voice low, treacherous. There’s a mocking smile imbued on his face, and you quickly realize it makes you want to tackle him to the ground and claw it out yourself. If it wasn’t for the minimal space, you probably would’ve even attempted it. “This wasn’t some petty street magic. That relic was infused with layers of defense—complex protections you clearly didn’t even account for—”

“I knew what I was dealing with!” you hiss, pushing against the wall for leverage. You brush against his chest again, sending an electric jolt of tension through the confined space. “I didn’t need your over-calculated, pompous meddling. I had it under control until you—”

“Under control?” Gale’s voice rises, his frustration finally splintering through his quiet facade as he emits a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you even hear yourself? Your recklessness nearly got us killed!”

You scoff, pushing back even harder. “You’re so damn smug— acting like the world will end if you don’t micromanage every little detail, but guess what? You don’t always have the answer. And right now, we’re stuck— all because of your fucking arrogance.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it, jaw tight, eyes blazing as he holds your gaze. For a second, you think he’s about to let loose another lecture, but instead, there’s silence—a strange, electricity-charged stillness that envelops you like a cold breeze.

You can’t speak. It crackles between you with a strain, thick enough to feel suffocating. Every breath you take only draws you closer to him, and somehow, it almost feels like the walls enveloping you have only grown thicker throughout your argument.

The closeness, the heat, the sheer intensity of the argument—it’s all too much, and yet, neither of you looks away once your gazes inevitably connect.

The wizard licks his bottom lip languidly, lips smacking as he seems to be taking you all in. His eyes scan over you, and somehow the fact makes you feel vulnerable.

Finally, he breaks the peace.

“If I’m so arrogant, why did you let me join you?”

His eyes are dark, but not just with frustration; they’re searching, questioning, as though he’s daring you to give an honest answer, knowing it’s something you can’t afford yourself right now.

“You asked me to let you come,” you bark out, pushing his chest with the heel of your hand, the contact sending a spark of heat through your outstretched arm. “I didn’t want you here. I figured we’d get through this, grab the necklace, and go our separate ways again. But no—you wanted to come. Play the hero, do all the dirty work, whatever your reasoning was.”

Gale doesn’t flinch at your words, but his eyes narrow slightly— they flicker to the space your bodies connect at, then back to your tautened face.

His gaze lingers on where your hand presses against his chest, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might back down. But instead, his jaw clenches, and when his eyes snap back to yours, there’s a fire behind them that ignites something deep in your gut.

“And you agreed,” he counters mockingly, the smile adorning his face making your head spin. “Why?”

The question hangs between you for a beat. You falter, mouth opening and closing without a reply.

He’s right. He’s fucking correct, and you hate it.

Why did you agree? You could’ve said no, barked back at him, insulted his stupid wizard frock— pushed him away with one of the countless options you had at your disposal.

But you didn’t. You let him come with you, willingly.

You clench your fists, pushing against the surge of discomfort bubbling in your belly. “Well, forgive me for being an optimist,” you mutter, voice tight. “I thought, for once, that maybe— Fuck. Maybe we could get through one fucking mission without trying to jump at each others’ throats.”

He exhales at your explanation, tilting his head to glance through the top of the crevasse and toward the chapel ceiling. You follow suit, albeit subtly, noticing the intricate engravings lining the skylight; in the dim light of the afternoon sun, they look elegant, beautiful, even. How didn’t you notice that when you first walked in?

“And how’s that going for us?” he asks suddenly, the smile curling at the edges of his mouth turning bitter.

You huff, running a hand through your hair. The condensation sticks to your fingers, and you can’t help the joyless chuckle that escapes your lips when you look at him again.

“Well, I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders lazily. Your cynical laughter shifts into the shadow of a smile. Somehow, as he glances down at you, you find yourself with a pang in your chest that overshadows the frustration you’ve been drowning in— it’s deep, and resonant, and feels like it’s swallowing your heart whole when his dark eyes meet yours. “We still hate each other.”

The wizard exhales sharply through his nose, and strangely, you can’t seem to read his expression even as your eyes squint.

His gaze is fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken; you feel it best when his hot breath hits the sweat-slicked skin of your face as he leans in. It’s a slight, almost imperceptible gesture, yet just enough to make your breath hitch with… rage, aversion— or perhaps, most frighteningly, something else you’ve been pushing down for months since your first quarrel.

You’re forcefully dragged out of your stupor when the pad of his thumb grazes your palm— the touch sends a sharp, almost uncomfortable jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving you speechless as you chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. Nothing more, it couldn’t be.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, and though his tone is stiff, the words cut through your pause like a skilled blade.

It couldn’t be.

Your breath catches in your parched throat, heart pounding with a force that would surely reverberate through his body hadn’t his robe been so thick.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, each shallow breath you take only drawing you closer— or, at least, that’s exactly how it feels in the tiny space you’re being forced to share.

His thumb is still brushing your palm, slowly, gently, and deliberately enough that you cannot ascribe it to a simple accident anymore. For a second, your eyebrows arch and there’s this urge to pull away, something thrumming in your head and telling you to hold to principle.

But you don’t… you— you physically can’t. Not when he’s gazing down at you with… with patience. Understanding, maybe. But why?

A beat passes, then another. The tension coils so tight you almost want to scream to break it, and his gaze remains locked on yours, his palm grazing yours.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper.

“You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours. "You’re fucking with me. I… you hate me, Gale, I can’t—"

He glances down at you with a strange glint in his eyes, then exhales loudly again. Did you strike a nerve?

“Why do you always do this?” he questions with exasperation tugging at his tone. You feel his touch momentarily drop from yours, and in the heat of the moment, you find yourself missing it.

“What?” you blink, eyebrows furrowed.

“This,” He gestures between the two of you with a frustrated sigh. “You’re— you’re always picking fights with me. Always pushing, always assuming the worst—”

“I’m picking fights?” Your eyes narrow, the sneer coming back to your lips like armor. “You’ve been criticizing every godsdamn thing I’ve done since day one, making me feel inferior, questioning my skill— and now I’m the one picking fights?”

He shakes his head sharply, then sighs in frustration. When you look up, his eyes are locked on yours—deep brown with flecks of gold, catching the fractured sunlight streaming through the cracked skylight. You could drown in them, given the chance.

“No, that’s not— That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “You don’t— you just refuse to listen to me. When we fight, in camp— even now. The relic, that barrier, you— Gods, you always act instead of—”

“Don’t you dare paint me as the villain now,” you snap, bumping his chest with the pad of your palm again.

“You almost got us killed!” he bites back, “I don’t care for your talents if it means you don’t utilize them properly. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, raw talent doesn’t equal capability?”

Right.

Your lips purse, the pit in your stomach suddenly overpowering your ability to retort. It was a mistake— you should have known the niceties were a convenient gimmick to ascertain his position over you, and not an actual instance of humanity, for once.

But somehow, your false hopes only drive the wrath within you. You let the nausea overcome you and have it fuel your bitter tone as you finally find the power to speak up again.

“All you care about is being right— about having the last word against anyone who dares question your abilities,” you mutter, challenging his stern gaze with your own, “And the rest of us? We’re just supposed to sit by and watch, grateful to be in the presence of Gale Dekarios, the great, tragic wizard who thought his tricks could satiate a fucking Goddess!”

You’re fuming. The words that come out of your throat are only half-baked as you shrill at him, but… but at the moment, it feels right— warranted, somehow.

So when you catch him give you the space to continue, you take it.

“…But the truth is, you need to feel superior. You need everyone to see you as the sleekest in the room because deep down, you’re still clinging to the ghost of a woman who abandoned you. And that’s why you’ve been picking me apart since day one—because I’m not afraid to tell you how full of shit you are.”

Suddenly, you feel his hand catch your wrist, his grip firm as he holds you still. His thumb presses lightly against your pulse, sending a sharp, unwanted jolt of awareness through your body as your arm tries to jerk away.

“You don’t know the first godsdamn thing about me,” Gale growls, his breath fanning your face as the words spill out, thick with venom. “You’re so wrapped up in your own insolence, so blinded by your stubborn pride, that all you can see in others is a reflection of yourself. And trust me when I say that it’s an ugly one.”

You laugh, a bitter, angry sound, but your heart is hammering now. “Oh, so you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

His jaw clenches, but his grip doesn’t waver. “I know enough. I know that your actions speak louder than words. I know that you’re reckless, impulsive, and too damned proud to admit when you need help—”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the heat between you scorching as your breaths mingle. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You’re the one who’s blinded by your own self-importance— always thinking you’re the wisest, savviest person in the room, like the rest of us are just pawns in your little fucking game.”

Gale’s eyes flash with something wild and uninhibited, and you watch his sneer shift into a bitter smile again.

“You— You really think that?” he questions through a chuckle, voice gravelly and low. “Do you really think I’m just using you for some game?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. You sneer at him, and the outrage bubbles out again.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh. You’ve only ever looked out for yourself. This was never about helping me—it was… it was about proving something. To me, to yourself, to fucking Mystra,” you trail.

The moment the words leave your lips, the air shifts between you like a storm about to unravel. His grip on your wrist tightens, not painfully, but with a deliberate firmness that forces you to stop and feel the tension between you. His face is suddenly too close, and for the most succinct moment, you catch something flickering in his eyes—something dim, and dark—but not the rage you were expecting.

He should be angry with you— Hells, he should be furious. You just tore into every insecurity you knew he had, ripped open wounds that never quite healed, and worst of all, dragged his old lover into it all.

And yet… his gaze isn’t burning with the fever you’ve grown used to seeing from him in every argument, every fight.

Why the fuck isn’t he furious?

“Gods, I actually— I used to admire you. You know that? Before all this, I thought you were someone I could… I don’t know, respect. You were this brilliant, woeful man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I thought, ‘Maybe there’s something more underneath all that.’ I thought we could, I don’t know, actually be something—friends, allies, whatever the fuck. I wanted us to trust each other. But… but you…" your voice lowers to a near whisper, and somehow, unbeknownst to you, your eyes go glassy with hot tears.

You’re left reeling, heart hammering in your chest as your mind races along with your bitter confession. The air around you feels viscous, mucous-like, but when your throat goes dry with impending tears you look up to see something that makes your breath hitch.

He’s listening.

Not just waiting for his turn to speak as he usually does around you, not calculating his next clever retort, but listening— really, truly listening.

His gaze, once so sharp with ire, has softened. His dark eyes are fixed on yours with a vigor that nearly undoes you, and there’s no anger in them now, no resentment.

Your breath catches.

“You never gave me a chance, Gale. Not once. It was always about you, your guilt, your past, your Mystra— Fuck!” you cough out and rub your eyes with the pads of your palms, massaging your vulnerability away. “I tried. I really, really tried. But none of this seemed to reach you, not through that… that mental barrier you’ve created around yourself. I think that since the very beginning, everything else was just noise to you. I was just noise to you,” your voice dies down to a mutter, and you inhale sharply to fight the sorrow back into your grieving heart.

You withdraw your hands and finally feel brazen enough to face him.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, aware that your nose is red from the tears you tried so hard to hold back, that your eyelids are probably puffy and swollen, and you’re a fucking mess.

But it doesn’t matter now. You’ve come undone, and now, nothing mattered to you anymore; not the anger, not the sorrow, and especially not the way his kind, gentle touch seemed to soothe your aching heart when his palm met yours.

You scan his face, but there’s nothing— or at least, you can’t seem to read it through the coating of tears obscuring your eyes. The light above has shifted to cast his face in a warm, velvety light. You catch the subtle lines etched into his forehead, the faint silver threads streaking through his hair, and his lips curling into… a smile.

Despite your desperation, despite your pain, he was smiling.

Your chest tightens, fists clenching at your sides, and before you can stop them, a stream of hot tears finally spills down your cheeks.

This was it. You braced for impact.

“…So do whatever the fuck you need to fill that void in your heart, but don’t involve me in any of it. And— for fuck’s sake, Gale, don’t act like you give a shit about me because you—”

But you never get to finish.

Before you can witness the gentle glint in his eyes as he leans into you, before you can even register it, his lips crash onto yours.

Your gasp is muted against the softness of his mouth. When he moves, it’s not gentle, not soft, but raw in its intensity and so, so desperate.

His grip on your wrist tightens briefly before finally releasing, his free hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his hand is a pleasant change to the cold, hard stone you’ve been leaning against, and suddenly, just as your mind threatens to flood you with dopamine, it all dawns on you.

You’ve been here before—no, not here, but in moments that feel eerily alike.

You recall the edge in his voice during arguments, the way he’d insist on ‘rectifying’ you at every turn, the blunt critiques you assumed were borne from pure vanity. But now… now there’s a clarity to it all. Worry. Fear. A softness, a hesitation. Like when he would offer his hand to you after a fight, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as they brushed over yours.

You loathed him… Hells, you detested him.

But how deep were you willing to draw the line between hate and devotion?

Against all your instincts, against the sharp, burning ache in your chest—you drink him in. His warmth, his touch, the power behind it all.

You know you should push him away, shove him off, scream, but instead, you find yourself frozen— trapped in the certainty of this moment. And despite every ounce of fury burning inside you, you can’t deny the spark it ignites in your indigent heart as he caresses you so tenderly.

And with that, you seal your fate with his.

Your lips press against his, head tilting until you feel you’re melting into him. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound makes your chest thrum with a melody you’re afraid to place.

Your hands, trembling, inch towards his chest, but this time they aren’t formed into spiteful fists or an accusatory point— your palms lay lax against him, resting at the junction of his ribs and pushing, pushing… just in hopes of catching the steady thrum of his heart against your fingertips. The anger, the pain, the confusion—it’s all still there, but in this moment, none of it matters.

Just him. Just this.

For all the times you’ve misread him, all the moments you thought his criticisms were barbs, meant to wound—now you wonder. You had mistaken his care for contempt, his frustration for hatred. But now, as his lips part slightly against yours, the world narrows down to just the two of you. No damned relic, no mission, no war; only the benign sensation of his hand cradling the back of your neck, the warmth of his mouth on yours, and the undeniable truth of it all:

You’ve never hated him. Not once in your rotten life.

And when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, you want to come undone. You’re tired, hot, melting into this fiery, passionate kiss that has slowly turned languid and gentle.

So despite the zeal enveloping your body, you’re finally forced to part.

When your eyes open, you find him already watching you. A shiver runs down your spine as you drink him in; tousled hair, half-lidded eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his plush lips as the both of you pant in tandem with each other.

He looks wrecked. But then again, you’re certain you do too.

Your face feels flushed, still burning with aftershock and when you bite your bottom lip, you find it swollen. Raw. The taste of him lingers there too, sweet like bourbon and sharp like anise.

You stare at each other. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again, really seeing him, and it softens your heart as much as it terrifies your lust-addled mind.

The silence stretches between you, so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin. It pulls taut with every second, coiling tighter, and you can’t stand how fragile it makes your heart feel.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper. “You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky— you’ve never found that aspect of it attractive until now.

You open your mouth, but the words—whatever they are—die in your throat. Instead, all you can do is look at him and fall deeper into his embrace.

There are questions that swirl in the back of your mind, ones you know you should ask, but they slip away the moment his thumb brushes your cheek again. Why did he kiss you? Why did you let him? And why, despite the chaos and pain that’s passed through your mind, did this—he—feel like the only thing that has made sense since you forgot all else?

“I never hated you,” he murmurs and shifts slightly, lifting his hand to cup your cheek. You nuzzle into his touch.

“I didn’t want to hate you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought it’s what we were meant to be. Enemies.”

“We aren’t,” The corner of his mouth twitches. “We never were.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and just like that, the fragile walls around your heart crumble. Gale Dekarios, the man you had sworn to hate, has somehow intertwined himself into your very existence in a way you suddenly think might last centuries.

—

As it turns out, the solution to your predicament was surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly straightforward. The anti-magic barrier encircling the sunken crypt could be dispelled by reciting the incantation inscribed on the rock walls— and with Gale’s surprising proficiency in Draconic, it proved quite an easy feat.

After that, it was just a matter of a few rudimentary spells. Naturally, the task took longer than anticipated, thanks to the lingering, newfound tension between you and the wizard— fleeting glances, soft touches, and even an occasional, stolen kiss as you recited your magic; things you surprisingly found yourself quite fond of.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you inhale deeply, savoring the crisp, refreshing breeze. The sunset paints the world in a warm, golden hue, casting long, soft shadows across the cobbled streets as you pass by groups of chattering townsfolk.

“I’ve been thinking,” you hear your companion muse through a playful smile. “After all of this, do you think we could avoid arguments for a little while?”

You meet his gaze with a puckish eye roll, a smile tugging at your still-swollen lips. The warm glow of the streetlights casts his face in a soft, intimate glow, and your smile widens into a grin when you catch his lips bearing that same sign of your carnal affection.

“It depends,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug, pushing against him playfully.

“Mhm, and on what exactly?” he hums, his hand squeezing tighter around yours. When his thumb caresses your palm, you feel your heart thrum with something you can’t quite describe.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, glancing up at him with a grin. He returns it within a beat, and now it’s your turn to knit your fingers tighter. “How much longer are you planning on nagging me?”

He chuckles from the belly, and the coil in your chest that you’ve long expected to be spite emerges as something much larger, softer, and most unexpected. You fear to name it out loud.

You smile when your gaze meets his, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the softness of your own. He leans in, and the world narrows to the touch of his lips against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that seems to linger in the evening light. In that fleeting moment, all the doubts and anxieties are swept away with his voice calling your name.

“For as long as I live,” he retorts softly, his voice laced with tenderness as the air between you, once again, fills with his laughter.

[trappedinafantasy37]

POV: Evil murder kitten tries to evil murder you in your sleep. She's desperate for a reason not to evil murder you because she does not want to.

[zombie-bait]

These two have big “no one’s allowed to kill her except me” energy and I think they should kiss about it

(i think they also deserve a nice break)