waterlilylullabies

[waterlilylullabies]

A Perfect Storm

Summary: You and Gale give in to your passions, but there are some obstacles along the way.

Sequel to 'A Tight Fit' and 'A Generous Portion'. A reimagining of the Gale romance in Act 1 and Act 2, featuring nosy menaces Karlach and Astarion.

Word count: 5.6k

Disclaimers: Gale x female Tav/reader. NSFW. 18+. Smut. Oral sex. Vaginal penetration. Heavy petting. Light angst.

AO3 link

Beta: @dekariosclan, thank you so much, you are amazing and wonderful.

****

Peach juice gleams on Gale's beard, trickling down the thrust of his chin. He makes a slow sucking sound as it spills down the folds of your fingers. He pauses, his tongue darting over the bulge of his bottom lip, thick and wet. 

His eyes are full and black, sparking purple from the throbbing of his orb. You were not certain what that meant before. You have no doubts now.

He lets out a low moan as he bites down again.

The peach falls from your hand. He does not move. Neither do you. There is a moment when you simply stare at him, alight with the pulse of his desire, rippling with the slick fire spreading from your core. Entranced by the unmistakable swelling between his thighs. 

And then, you feast.

You fall on each other. A gush of peaches cascades across the ground. He laps and sucks at your fingers in a tumult of groans, as your tongue draws frenzied arcs over his soaked stubble, the honey of his skin. His hands are everywhere at once, weaving through your hair, grasping at your breasts, pressing your hips against his. You cannot get enough of him, pawing at his shoulders and his chest and his tousled waves, the bristled heat of his neck, the broad grooves of his back. When your mouths meet, you devour each other, ravenous for touch, scent, taste, anything, everything, more.

You are no longer aware of the open vista around you, the impending return of your companions. Nothing exists but Gale’s panting breaths, the velvet swirls of his tongue. His smouldering flesh against yours, crushing out all space between you, as it had been the first time, when there was no room for pretences and nowhere to hide. All that exists now is your desire, revealed and returned, at long last.

When your hand dips beneath his robe, his hips cant up to meet you. And when your fingers find what they seek, he shudders into the nook of your neck. It is no longer a memory, an ache that beset so many listless nights in your bedroll. You take hold of his hardness, hot and familiar. Searching fingers trail down the inside of your thigh, and you whimper as he rasps your name like a plea.

In the trance of your lust and longing, you do not notice the deepening flare of Gale’s chest. Blinding blades of indigo cut through Gale’s skin. As you move your hand along his length, he buckles into you. He lurches back with a cry. 

You freeze as Gale doubles over, clasping at his chest. Ebony-purple tendrils writhe on his neck like poisoned veins, his chest a searing brightness that hurts your eyes. 

“Gale, what's wrong? What's happening?”

He clenches his jaw, folding into himself. Choking breaths sputter out of him as he balls and unballs his fists. To see Gale deprived of speech is a unique brand of horror. You have no idea what to do.

“Do you need a magical artefact? A potion? Should I get–”

He jerks his head. You watch, terrified and helpless, as he extends a shaking palm. Wait. Please. Wait. His eyes wrench closed, his lips rippling as though in prayer. 

Is this what it was like for him, that year in his tower, before your paths had crossed? The thought of him alone and abandoned, trapped in these convulsions of torment, shoots through you like pain. 

You are not sure how long you sit there.  Gradually, excruciatingly, his breathing slows to a laboured rhythm. The orb dims to a lavender wash. Relief overwhelms you as he lifts his head.

“I'm alright,” he heaves. “I'm fine, Tav.”

“Are you sure you don't need–”

“I'm fine. It’s safe. The orb… it's safe now.”

You suddenly feel so foolish. So blind.

“I'm sorry, Gale. I'm so sorry.” 

“Whatever for?” His voice is broken, but still so tender. You could cry.

“All this time…I thought you were avoiding me because…”

You look away. He dips his head to chase your gaze. “Why?”

“Because you felt embarrassed. Because you didn't want me.”

He lets out a huff of disbelief. His gaze is urgent, so urgent, as he looks at you.

“Tav.” He moves closer. “I've wanted you since the day we got locked in that room. You're all I think about. All I dream of. I've never felt…”

He trails off. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, strained and uncertain.

“I've never met anyone like you,” he says finally.

You understand his struggle. You, too, cannot explain what it is between you. What you feel for him.

“Neither have I. I don't usually do this.” 

His crow's feet crinkle. “That makes two of us. I don't make a habit of throwing myself at people tongue first.” 

For an instant, you are lost in the memory of his tongue. He clears his throat. You tear your eyes away, fixing on the creases of your tunic. 

The orb remains, mercifully, faint.

When you look up again, he is studying you. He scratches at his beard, still damp from your earlier exertions. You can still taste him, and you still want more.

“I’ve always considered myself a disciplined man.” He grimaces. “Surprising, I know, because I just can't control myself around you. Even the threat of imminent destruction couldn’t keep me away.”

You swallow. This is new territory for you, too. You have never felt so desired, and you have never desired someone more. You cannot make sense of it.

“You should have told me,” you manage. “If I had known this was hurting you…”

“I think I had more pressing priorities than talking.” He pauses, chuckles. “I never thought I'd say that.”

Despite the circumstances, you laugh. “You do love talking.”

“There are things I love more.”

Your core tingles as you linger over the swell of his lips. The orb flickers as his eyes hover over your parted mouth. You wonder if you should pull away. He does not.

“I wanted to do things properly. Charm you with dazzling displays of wit. Conjure a canvas to rival your beauty. Dance with you beneath the stars.” 

Is that sorrow in his voice? Regret? He frowns, and in the shadows of his face, you think you see shame.

“If things were different… if we were home… I would give you everything you deserve.” 

It is not quite shock you feel, but you cannot fathom it. When Gale had told you about his past, his greatest mistake and his fall from grace, you had wondered at the fairness of his self-judgment. It did not sit well with you, the crushing burden of the blame he carried, as though the sin was his alone. For you, that guilt had always jarred against the proud veneer Gale projected - the bluster of a wizard of considerable acclaim, a scholar of exceptional accomplishment.

Now, you see him so clearly. The passion that drives him, the gentleness that sets him apart. The conviction that he will always fall short. 

You reach forward to cup his cheek. His breath catches, a mirror of your heart. You have touched before, drawn together by the whirlwind of your yearning, a surging, panting need. But this is different. 

“You already have.” 

His eyes ebb with surprise, doubt, something like fear. There are things you wish to say, but you do not know how. They go beyond the language of your bodies, into the recesses within you that no one else has stirred. 

But still, you try.

“Being with you… It’s everything.” 

He is speechless for a moment. When he looks at you, you know he sees. He smiles.

And as he kisses you, you realise it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

****

���So, let me get this straight.” Karlach leans forward. “All those nights in Gale's tent, and you still haven't ridden that wizard’s staff?”

You rub at your temples. You already regret those extra glasses of red. Wine has always made you loose lipped.

Astarion smirks. “Come now, Tav. That tent lights up like a signal flare every time you go in. You must be doing something.”

You glare at them pathetically. You know they will not let this go, no matter how mortified you are. No matter how much you dig your heels in.

“We can't,” you sigh. 

Astarion arches an eyebrow. “Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Gale does leave a lot to be desired. Though I’d assumed there'd be spells for that sort of thing. Enlarge, for one–”

“No!” you splutter. “For the love of – No! There's nothing wrong with Gale's–” 

You catch the grin Astarion shoots at Karlach. Karlach gapes at you, expectant.

“It's his orb, alright? Not his… anatomy. We can't because of his orb.”

Karlach's eyes widen. “Are you saying that if Gale nuts, his orb will explode?”

You wince. “That's the worry, yes.”

“Gale’s cock could bring about the apocalypse.” Astarion chortles. “Who would have thought.”

You give Astarion a shove. “It's not funny.”

“Of course it isn't!” Karlach looks genuinely distressed. “You poor things. I can hear you two going at it sometimes–”

“Like a pair of clumsy teenagers,” Astarion pushes in. “You’d have to be deaf not to hear everything, by the way.”

Karlach scratches her head. “Seriously though. What are you guys doing in there? If you can't wet that wand–”

“For gods’ sake!” 

Astarion snickers. “Are you finding all his special places and kissing them better? Is he putting that mage hand to good use? Whispering sweet nothings into your–”

Your face burns. “Just use your imagination!” 

“Poor Gale.” Karlach blows out a breath. “He must have the biggest, bluest balls in all of Faerun.”

“And you must have the most swollen–”

“Right!” You leap to your feet, lunging away from the campfire. “I'm done! I'm not discussing Gale's balls, or my–”

You crash into Gale as you turn. He catches you, alarm and confusion flitting across his face as you squeeze his hand. Sorry, you signal with your eyes as you retreat. I'll make it up to you later.

“What did I miss?” you hear Gale ask behind you. You cringe at the delight in Astarion's voice.

“Oh Gale.” He titters ominously. “I'm so glad you asked.” 

****

“Oh, I get it.”

You chuckle as he wraps his arms around you from behind. Everything feels and smells like Gale - every nook and cranny of his study, plush and warm, every chime of the well-worn piano beside you. The teasing dance of hands around your waist, the tickle of his hair against your neck. The familiar scent of sandalwood and scrolls, indistinguishable as fantasy or flesh. Your fingers hover over the bookshelf before you.

“This is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, isn't it? You seduce me with kisses and honeyed words–”

“I seduced you?” Gale barks out a laugh. “I seem to recall that you were the one who touched my–”

“You whisk me away to your wizard’s tower, ply me with mood music, and then–”

“Excuse me, but you willingly accepted my invitation. No whisking was involved–”

“And then–”

“I might also remind you that technically, we haven’t left the boundaries of my tent, given that this is an illusion, though admittedly, a masterful one–”

You jostle him. He nibbles at your earlobe, and you bat him away half-heartedly.

“And then, you show me your personal, and very extensive, collection of porn.”

Gale titters as you gesture towards a cluster of tomes in the upper left corner.

“A gentleman can never be too well-read.”

“Clearly not.” You crane your neck. “‘Beauty and the Beast with Two Backs’. ‘Longsword of Love’. ‘The Wand of Wonder.’”

“Oh, that's a good one. The sequel was a poor imitation, though. ‘The Tiefling's Horn.’ Disappointing.”

“What a shame.” You squint. “‘Two Wenches, One Goblet’. What's that about?”

Gale opens his mouth, then promptly closes it. 

“Wait. Maybe don't answer that.” 

You laugh as you delve further. You remember that Gale has conjured all of these books from memory. You have no doubt that he recalls their content in exquisite detail.

“I wasn't sure whether you'd misplaced some of these. ‘Exploring the Underdark.’ ‘How to Tend Your Garden.’ ‘Studies of the Kraken.’”

Gale huffs. “I'm offended you'd think my library would be anything but impeccably arranged.”

“Ah.” You turn to face him, nuzzling into his neck. "Shall I beg for your forgiveness?”

His hands wander down your spine, over the small of your back. A violet shimmer fills the space between you. You have learned which shades you should flinch from, and which you should welcome. You cannot help but feel Gale's arousal as your own, after all. To see it displayed so clearly - it drives you wild.

“Tav,” he murmurs into your hair. “You could take a first edition of ‘Etheril’s Enchiridion of Enchanting Easements’ and burn it in a ritualistic bonfire, and I’d forgive you.”

You brush your lips over his jawline, running your thumb over the arc of his collarbone. You feel him tremble against you. 

“So you're saying I have you wrapped around my little finger.”

“Wrapped?” He tuts. “Bound and double knotted. Triple knotted, even. If you had an inkling of a desire for me to jump, I'd catapult myself to the other side of the Chionthar.”

“So…” You bite your lip. “You’d do anything I asked?”

His eyes are misted, lips curled in a sideways smile. “Within reason. But yes. There's very little I wouldn't do for you.”

You tilt your mouth to his. He opens to you without hesitation. A soft moan escapes him as he presses you against the bookshelf, enfolding you in his lavender haze.

“I’d do the same,” you whisper, before you melt into each other.

****

You stare up at the peak of your tent, flickering in the candlelight. Your bedroll feels foreign, the ground beneath you impossibly hard. You kick away your blanket with a grunt, abandoning the hope of sleep.

Should you go to him? After Elminister’s departure, you had made your feelings on Mystra's charge - and Mystra herself - abundantly clear. When you had sat with Gale, watching the sun set with his hand in yours, he had been uncharacteristically quiet. You had known, without him asking, that he needed space.

He had not been at dinner - a haphazard assortment of beans and fish heads which you were too preoccupied to taste. When you returned from a wash in the river, you thought you glimpsed the curve of his back sliding into his tent. You have not seen him since.

You imagine Gale, tossing and turning, wondering how long he has left. Sifting through his memories for triumph, and finding only despair. Convinced that his life has no meaning outside of his death. Standing at a precipice, alone.

You lunge up, darting through the slit of your tent.

He stands outside, features shadowed in the empty night. There is a weariness in his stooped frame, an exhaustion that he cannot conceal. But when your eyes meet, his face glows with unmistakable joy. He reaches for your hand.

“Come with me.”

****

“This was going to be a surprise.” 

You marvel at the illusion around you. The bed of lush grass beneath your toes, adorned with a

fine spray of daisies. The lilting forest canopy, framed by a boundless azure canvas bejewelled with stars. The sky glimmers with the most vivid shades of turquoise you have ever seen. 

In awe, you follow Gale to a clearing, where a velvet rug awaits, soft and welcoming. A billowing bouquet of peonies rests beside a basket of peaches, two glasses and a bottle of Gulthmeran Reserve. All your favourites.

You are at a loss. 

“I've been trying to make it perfect, or as close to perfect I can get, in the circumstances. It's not quite finished, but…” 

He looks down, grimacing. 

“Well, there's no time like the present.”

You step forward, resting your hands on his chest. “This is incredible, Gale. It is perfect. Beyond perfect.”

He shakes his head. “I wish I could give you more. There's so much more I would give you, if only we had time.” 

His eyes are shining. You realise that he is holding back tears. You cup his face in your hands.

“You've given me more than I've ever dreamed of. More than I could ever imagine.”

He is silent for a moment. Through the storm of your emotions, you watch the quiver of his lip, the spasm of his brow. He gestures towards the rug, arrayed with all the gifts he has prepared for you. You sit beside him, caressing the petals of a scarlet peony, rolling a honey-ripe peach around in your palm. He smiles as he watches you, a smile that puts the stars to shame.

“All of this,” you breathe. “How did you know–”

“Tav.” He chuckles, mock-chiding. “You should know by now that I'm a keen observer and a meticulous scholar, especially when you're the subject matter.”

You are not sure why you suddenly feel shy. You fiddle with his collar, the chestnut curls around his neck. He draws you closer, his legs bracketing you, the tip of his nose tingling over yours. 

“No one has ever done anything like this for me.” 

It is difficult for you to understand it. The things Gale has done, the feelings he has professed. You struggle to explain the magnitude of them all. The miracle of him.

“Then I'll do everything in my power to make up for their shortcomings.”

You stare at him for a long time. Without warning, a tear slides down your cheek. He catches it with his thumb, stilled by the admission, the implication. Your hands find his as he plants a slow, searing kiss on your forehead. In his touch, there is the warmth of home. 

“Do you remember when you said you'd do anything I asked you?” 

“Of course.” He nods. “I said what I meant.”

You know it is a risk. You know the consequences of what you are about to say. But you cannot stay silent, not after all you have been through together. Not after all you have discovered about the man he is, everything he has become to you. You cannot abide it.

“What if I asked you to trust me? To trust that we can find another way?” 

He hesitates. The lines on his face deepen, his eyes darkening.

“You don't have to die, Gale. We can fight the Absolute together.”

He jerks his head. “Tav…”

You clasp his hands against your heart. “I'm asking you to trust me. Someone who knows you. Someone who… cares deeply for you. You don't deserve this. You don't need her forgiveness. You don't have to die.”

“Tav.” His chest heaves. “What you're asking…”

“I'm asking you to live.” 

It comes out as a plea, though you had not meant it as such. It is your beating heart, held out before him - the truth laid bare, without reservation or fear. You cannot run from it any longer.

“I love you, Gale.”

The words are everything, yet not enough. Perhaps love cannot capture the hunger you feel for him, frantic and insatiable, the desperate ache that possesses you whenever he is near. The candle he has lit inside you, illuminating the world with a wonder you have never known. A steady tide, washing over everything within and around you, making all things new.

A thousand feelings stream across his features as a comet soars through the sky. And as he surges forward, clutching you against him like a lifeline, you recognise the promise that is sealed between your skin.

“I love you too.”

His tongue is tender at first, almost reverent as it slides against yours. Your mouths move slowly, savouring each other like the richest banquet, the finest wine. But when his hands roam under your robe to palm your breasts, when your fingers weave under his waistband to grasp his need, all is lost.

You had imagined this, the minute Elminster calmed the orb. The implications had been immediately clear to you. But all that had fallen to the wayside in the face of Gale's suffering and grief. Now, as Gale’s chest flares to the rhythm of his juddering breaths, you are unleashed. 

Suddenly, all you want is his skin on yours. He tears your robe off with a ferocity that makes you whimper. You wrench his tunic off, shoving his breeches and briefs down in a frenzy. He rolls his tongue around your nipple, sucking it roughly into his mouth. As you arch into him, you tighten your grip around his shaft. He gasps, digging into your ass as you begin to pump.

“Wait,” you think you hear. But he is lapping wet whirls on your areola, parting your soaked panties to find your fire. You can feel the veins twitching on his girth as his fingers flutter into your cleft. You grind into his hand with a whine. 

When he draws back abruptly, your first instinct is to check the orb. Before, that indigo blaze would have been a warning. But Gale's eyes are wide with desire, not clenched with pain.

With a low murmur, he flicks his wrist. A crackle of blue thread bends in the air. He rises, lifting you up into his arms. 

“A gesture towards your comfort.” 

You gape at the four poster bed that has appeared behind you, its violet canopy and silk sheets. You look back at Gale, incredulous. 

“Are you telling me that all this time, you've had this in your back pocket, and we've been messing around in your bedroll?” 

Gale dips his head, half amused, half sheepish. His hands meander down your curves, distracted, insistent. You lean into his touch.

“Maintaining an illusion like this requires concentration. Concentration I was devoting to making sure the orb didn't take out a small city every time you and I were having a…particularly heated interchange.”

“I see.” 

You run your fingers over the scar of the orb, sunken into Gale's skin. It pulses, cold as metal in winter. Tentatively, you bend down to dart your tongue over its edges, lingering over the bruise in its centre. You can taste the static as Gale sucks in a breath.

“And you won't have a problem maintaining concentration now?” 

His voice is strained, but his eyes glint. “I won't now.”

You gasp as he pulls you onto the bed, his cock stiff against your belly as you straddle him. You wet your lips as you skim his beaded head with your thumb. His head falls between your breasts as he shivers violently against you.

“That remains to be seen.”

When you slide off his lap, he makes a muffled sound, reaching for you. You hold his gaze as you roll his briefs and breeches down and off, caressing the exquisite muscles of his thighs, the arcs of his strong calves. As you settle between his legs, the smell of his sweat and arousal fills your senses, heady as a drug. Gale tenses in anticipation as you look up, his length twitching against your cheek. 

He swallows.

You plunge his cock into your mouth. His back bows as he bites back a whine, the bed quaking beneath you. He is hard, so hard, and the warm silk of his shaft glides against your tongue like butter. You ache with a throbbing, swelling fire at the slick sounds of him sliding in and out of you, stretching you wide as you take him deeper and deeper. You want nothing more than to gorge yourself on him.

“Gods above…Tav… Gods…”

You are wild with the sounds of Gale's pleasure as he writhes to the rhythm of your mouth. You move faster, firmer, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on his girth. Spit spills down your chin and neck, and you keen as his cock thrusts against the back of your throat. You can feel the bud of your desire thrumming against your folds, bursting for release. 

“Gods, you're incredible…that feels incredible…Tav…. ”

Arousal trickles down your thigh as you hum in approval. He is surging, impossibly stiff against your flurrying tongue. Tears prickle at your eyes as you continue to pump, losing yourself to his pleasure. 

“Tav.” He clutches for you, frantic. 

The tightness of his grip stills you. You slow for an instant to look at him. His brow is twisted, his hair mussed and cheeks flushed. The orb pulses like a heartbeat. A sheen of sweat ripples on his abdomen, glittering on the damp down of his skin. His beauty is maddening. Dizzying.

He springs up, pinning you beneath him. Your eyes roll back at the force of his weight grinding down into you, the stark demand of him. His hair is a tousled curtain around your faces, his chest rubbing against your nipples as you pant. 

“Did you not like it?” Your hips cant up, desperate for more of him. 

“I loved it. Too much, in fact,” he rasps. “I didn't want this evening to come to a premature end.”

You can feel his cock, steely and determined as it nestles into you. Your flesh burns in every place he touches. His musk is a haze, blurring every boundary, making you one. You are struggling to think, to speak.

“How considerate,” you manage.

“I'm nothing if not thoughtful.” 

He begins at your neck – that secret nook just below your ear. A discovery he had made on one of the first nights, when you had come undone beneath his hungry mouth, a mewling mass of nerves. He has remembered ever since. 

He rolls his tongue across your skin, teasing it between his plush lips. You shiver as he licks a tantalising trail of kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts, around your navel. He hums as he peels off your panties, drenched with your arousal. Your legs quiver as he spreads you wide, firm fingers edging into the sensitive flesh of your thighs. You whine at the wet sound of your folds opening to him, the hot puffs of his words over your bulging clit.

“You have no idea how much I've wanted to do this.” His voice is low and hoarse. Ravenous.

“I have some idea.”

You can barely breathe. The smirk on his lips sends a shudder through you.

“You have no idea.”

You let out a needy cry as he drags his tongue through your folds. He tastes you slowly, painstakingly, savouring every inch and corner of you. With every messy swipe, every moan that spurts from him, your back arches, your thighs lifting higher as Gale pushes into you, devouring you like a man starved.

“Gods,” he murmurs, and you think you might explode at the flick of his tongue on your clit. “You taste like heaven.”

You have no words, only a whimper. You will not last. Every fibre of your being condenses into the throbbing ache under his tongue. As he begins to draw small, swift circles around your fire, sparks spasm up your spine, spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes. His groans vibrate against your swollen centre, his nails digging into your thighs. His beard chafes against your flesh with a friction that gathers like a flaming coil inside you. You clench at the sheets, your toes curling with mounting ecstasy.

“Gale…Gods… Gale, I’m going to–”

He hums again. Even in the midst of your unravelling, you can hear his appreciation, his pride at having uncovered another mystery, another key to your undoing. His eager, plump lips close around your desire, his tongue flat and snug against you. He sucks at your clit with a loud, slapping sound, and you throw your head back as your last nerve snaps.

Blinding pleasure jolts through you in waves, shattering your every sense and thought. Incoherent sounds tumble out of you, your hips jerking frenetically as Gale continues to feast. He does not stop, even as you keen and bend beneath him, even as your climax erupts from you in bursts of sweet release. You have never come so quickly or so hard.

Overwhelmed by sensation, frenzied from it, you twitch and flinch, thighs clamping around his head  as he holds you down. You cannot take any more. As you lurch up onto your elbows, his eyes meet yours, fully dilated, drunk with bliss. You reach for him helplessly. 

“Gale,” you plead. “Come here. Please.”

He lingers, lapping up your delight in long, sloppy stripes, greedy for every last drop of you. When he rises, you can see streaks of your slickness glistening on his beard and chin. You tremble as he licks his lips. 

You lunge for him, wild with want. Your mouths meet again in their furious dance, your taste thick on his tongue. You are closer than you have ever been, your bodies flush against each other, the sweat on his skin mingling with your own. He presses your arms down above your head, his fingers entwining with yours as you groan into each other. 

“I need you.” Your hips roll against his, his cock jostling against your folds. It is anguish, your yearning to be filled by him, to be eaten whole. “I need you inside me. Please.”

You do not need to ask twice. You can feel the pounding of Gale’s heart, the billow of lust in his dark eyes. There is no more reserve, no trace of deliberation. When your legs part to welcome him, he makes a sound you have never heard before, all gentleness lost in the urge to consume you. He notches himself at your entrance, coating himself with your slick. With one rough thrust, he sheathes himself inside you, and you almost scream from the delicious drag of his cock against your aching walls.

“Gods,” he pants. “Tav…Gods… you feel…Tav….”

Your calves clench around his waist as he plunges into you, an erratic, gasping rhythm of wet, slapping skin. You flutter around his girth as he drives into you again and again, splitting you open then filling you to bursting. He releases your hands to cup your cheek, crushing his forehead against yours, and you cannot catch the words that stream from his lips, only his raw and wanton need. Your fingers fist into his tangled waves as you pull him closer. 

“Gale.” Your entire being quakes beneath him, for him. “I love you.”

His brow steeples as he clasps your face, eyes shimmering with awe and exertion. He kisses you like it is his last night alive, taking what is left of your breath away.  The world around you swirls into a purple storm as he pumps faster and faster, hips snapping with dizzying force. Your head rolls back, your eyes shuttering in rapture as he thrusts into the deepest parts of you over and over again. 

“Tav.” His thumb pushes into your moaning mouth. “Look at me.”

You obey. As your tongue twists around his questing finger, you look at him with all the love and longing within you, every inch of you that cannot get enough of him. His eyes are bright as summer earth, his lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. You can feel the tremors through his muscles, the convulsions of his gut, as he nears the peak of his climax. 

“I love you,” he whispers.

The orb flashes like an eruption of stars, the bed flickering in a chaos of colours. For an instant, you are floating in a lavender sea, drifting in the abyss of the night. With a final, keening stroke, he spills himself inside you. You whimper against each other, writhing through the aftershocks, a convulsion of shared breath and flesh. And as you lie on the bed he has made for you, with his arms around you and his warmth inside you, you wonder how you will ever part from him again.

****

You are curled on his chest, tracing the peaks and valleys of his body, studying the fine dust of hair over his flushed skin. His touch roams, tender and earnest, mapping the topography of your being, every dip and dune of your drowsy, sated flesh. Cocooned in him, cloaked in a passion that goes far beyond need, you feel a peace you have never felt before. You know, in an inexplicable way, that he feels it too.

He huffs, that quiet laugh you have come to love so much. You draw back to look at him. 

“What?”

He smiles, rubbing his nose against yours.  “Nothing. Just thinking. Marvelling, really.”

His lips graze your forehead as he pulls you close again. You nestle into him with a contented hum.

“At what?”

He chuckles, drawing languid circles over your hip bone, the curves of your thigh, the dimples on your back. 

“The miracle of serendipity that brought you into my life. What fortune, what divine calculus, what wondrous confluence of circumstances…”

You pause, drinking in the joy that radiates in every lilt of his speech, every dance of his features. The love that burns in every part of him, pure as sunlight, fierce as life.

“A perfect storm.”

Gale stares at you. The grin that bursts on his face thrums with pride, a glee that would be ridiculous were it not so endearing. You laugh through the sprinkling of kisses that he peppers all over your face, a whirlwind of affection that floods your heart. 

“My love,” he sighs, as his lips find yours. “I couldn't have said it better.”

********

A/N: Not wanting to blue-ball everyone after 'A Generous Portion', I decided to write a conclusion to this saga - but what I didn't realise was that I was going to end up rewriting the whole of Gale's romance in Act 1 and Act 2...

This is what I imagine happened if instead of the Weave scene, Gale and Tav were locked in a room together.

I tried to stay true to the canon as much as I could, with the orb, call backs, Elminster's visit and such. Most of all I wanted to capture a romance with Gale that begins with an explosion of passion / physical attraction, and then deepens into love.

I hope you enjoyed it! I am forever grateful for your support, and as always, would love to hear your thoughts and comments <3

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[waterlilylullabies]

open discussion: do you think gale lets himself go fully grey or does he see one silver hair too many and immediately start looking for the fountain of youth

[waterlilylullabies]

You see me as I am, and do not find me wanting. With these stars as my witness, I swear - you will always be enough for me.

[waterlilylullabies]

Study Session: Vol. 1

Gale x OC Smut, MDNI!

Pure smut. Total nonsense, enjoy.

CW: Softdom Gale, AFAB

As Gale steps into the room, a copy of Azebin Jeqor’s Ars Magicka very nearly glances off his head. The projectile is swiftly followed by a cry of “Oh Gods Gale, I’m so sorry! Did I hit you?” He bends to retrieve the book, checking it over for damage before turning to Roslyn, who has spirited herself towards him and is hovering about him with frantic concern. He places a swift kiss to her forehead “I’m fine dearest, though I do strongly object to you attempting to pulverize the only surviving copy of one of the greatest treatises on conjuration ever put to parchment”, he gives her a look which he hopes is stern, one that he often gives his students, but he can tell from the smile she is only barely biting back that it’s a lost cause. “I’m sorry” she says, batting her lashes at him. He sighs and goes to the bookshelf to return the tome to a place that is safely out of Roslyn’s reach. “May I ask what inspired you to throw it?” He suspects he already knows the answer. Roslyn has collapsed onto the settee in the corner of the room. She chews absentmindedly at her thumbnail. “Tedious” she harrumphs. “Ah” he smiles, “I take it the summoning spell Jeqor outlines is proving more challenging than you anticipated?” He settles himself next to her and she drapes her bare legs over him.

He runs his hand along her calves, her skin is warm and soft and he notes with no small amount of interest that she is wearing, what to his mind is the most perfect, if entirely impractical item of clothing ever created. It is a burnt orange silk slip, which sets off the pale pearlescence of Roslyn’s complexion and leaves perilously little to the imagination. The day he bought it for her she joked that she loved it so much she’d never take it off. She’d slipped it on and stepped out from behind the ornate changing screen she’s propped in the corner of their room. The sight of her, glowing and delighted and achingly beautiful had him half hard before she even laid a hand on him. “Leave it on.” He’d growled in a voice so full of hunger that Roslyn had blushed. His hand twitches involuntarily at the memory of silk beneath his hands and his lips against her throat as he’d thrusted up into her.

He’s shaken from his musings by Roslyn’s disconsolate sigh. She’s gazing mournfully at the ceiling. “If it’s any consolation Ros, it took me almost a week to master that spell” he smiles. She laughs softly “that’s no consolation at all Gale” she closes her eyes “I’ve been at it for nearly a month”. She sits up abruptly, swings her legs off him and goes to stand in the centre of the room. She speaks the incantation. Her enunciation is clear and the quick decisive flick of her wrist is perfectly timed. Still, the porcelain vase which she had placed on the small table on the balcony a month before remains resolutely in place. He frowns, crosses the room, comes to stand behind her. “Try it again”, he observes more carefully this time, taking note of her stance, watching the careful way she summons up the weave before releasing it. The vase stays put. She turns to him with her fists balled “why isn’t it working?” her tone sharp with impatience and frustration. He paces slowly around her, “are you focusing on the vase?” he asks. “Yes!” She snaps exasperatedly, “that bloody vase is all I think about! I can sketch the pattern around the lip from memory, I know how much it weighs, I know it’s exact dimensions, I know-“. He cuts her off “therein, my dearest one, is the source of the problem.”

She is scandalised “I’m trying to summon the vase Gale. I think it’s probably helpful to focus on it”. He comes to stand in front of her “Ros, you have more innate magical ability than most wizards could ever hope to wield” he pushes back her dark tangled curls and cups her face in his hands “but you have yet to learn that you cannot approach spell work with sheer stubbornness”. She groans “you’re making even less sense that that bloody book.” Her eyes are fixed on the vase and she shifts her stance, about to try again, but he steps behind her, wraps an arm around her waist and bends to her ear “try focusing on yourself, not on the vase” he whispers. “What?” she snaps. He grazes the side of her neck with the back of his hand. “Relax, stop trying to force it.” She sighs, then turns to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes professor” she says sardonically rolling her eyes, but all the same, her voice is pitched ever so slightly higher.

“Close your eyes, good. Now breathe in. Hold it. And breathe out.” She does as instructed. “Keep your eyes closed” He says softly “and don’t move”. He presses a lingering kiss to the back of her neck, breathes in something like honey and spice, the ineffable scent of her. She shudders. “Do you trust me Ros?” He murmurs against her neck. She nods. He moves to stand in front of her, presses a kiss to each closed eyelid and then kneels.

“Have you ever wondered” he asks, lifting her right leg and propping it on his shoulder “why wizards are so insufferably arrogant?” He kisses the inside of her knee. She clears her throat “Frequently, yes” she replies. He trails kisses along her the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Well I’ll tell you a secret Ros, a hard earned trick of the trade. Contrary to popular belief, Wizard’s don’t exert their will through the weave” he bunches the fabric of her slip in his hands, lifts it higher, exposing even more of her to him. “Magic is much more akin to a dance, between two partners who are intimately familiar” he reaches the apex of her thighs and inhales deeply. Roslyn suppresses a little whine “A wizard trusts their partner will follow their lead, even through the most complex of dances. They don’t watch their partner’s footwork, they focus on their own” He looks up at her, her cheeks are already flushed and her breath is coming faster. He smiles “Any decent wizard knows, that they needn’t force anything, they need only trust that the object of their desire’s will come to them”. He flattens his tongue against her core and suppresses a smile as she moans.

His eyes flick to her face, she is looking down at him, mouth agape “Keep your eyes closed Ros”. She does as he asks and he buries his face deeper between her thighs.

He laps at her slowly, methodically, His nose bumps against her clit and her fingers come to tangle in his hair, urging him on.

He notices that she is hovering slightly, trying to keep her weight off him. No, he thinks, that won’t do. He reaches around and grips her left thigh and pulls her down firmly and decisively. “Gale” she sighs. He’s already hard, but she speaks his name and he wonders, and not without justification, if that alone will tip him over the edge.

He traces circles around her clit, he knows it is almost, but not quite enough to undo her. He wants to ruin her completely. He wants to coax from her those noises that he loves so much. He wants her to come undone on his tongue over and over again. He wants her under him; insensible,shuddering, and sated. He wants all of this, all of her, all of the time, with a ferocity that would frighten him if he didn’t see that same hunger mirrored in her eyes. He pulls away for a moment “Are you still focusing on the vase?” He pants “No, Gods no, don’t stop”. She whimpers. As if he needs to be told, as if he has any intention of stopping. All the same, hearing her ask for it, beg for it so sweetly, stokes a fire in him.

He squeezes the trembling thigh propped on his shoulder and she moans, loudly and shamelessly. “Gale I’m close, I’m so close, I’m so close” she chants and he knows she is, he can taste it, sweet and perfect on his tongue. He hums against her and suddenly she is crying his name brokenly and then he is holding her up and then she is laughing in disbelief.

He looks up at her, she is holding the vase. He grins. Roslyn turns it over in her hands bemused “Did you know that would work?” She asks, her cheeks are flushed so prettily and she looks so very happy that he can’t help but smile wider. “It was, I’ll admit, a novel and highly experimental approach” he says struggling to his feet.

Her eyes sweep to his crotch and she grins, “Well, it certainly warrants further consideration. Perhaps you’d like to join me on the bed Gale? I could use your help summoning that tea set”

[waterlilylullabies]

WIP Tag-along

I'll pick up your tag @strixamans!

Today I got possessed by the spirit of Galethara (18+!!!)

"On. Your. Knees. Wizard", Minthara commands, her voice sharp and dripping with authority. Before Gale's mind can process the order, his body obeys, dropping to his knees before her, his gaze lifting to meet hers with a mix of reverence and raw anticipation. A smirk curves Minthara's lips as she closes the distance between them, each step deliberate, her hips swaying with a calculated grace that speaks of control. She places one leg over his shoulder, her thigh pressing against him. His hands instinctively rise to her hips, steadying her as she balances effortlessly on a single foot. Yet, she doesn't falter—her stance remains unshaken, her dominance absolute. With a swift, possessive motion, her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. "Now, wizard", she commands, her tone both teasing and unyielding. "Put that eloquent tongue of yours to good use." There is no hesitation. Gale dives in, the edge of her demand igniting something primal within him. This isn't the ethereal dance he once shared with Mystra—otherworldly and intangible. This is visceral, consuming, grounding him in a way that strips away all artifice. It is life itself, burning and raw. Driven by hunger, he presses his tongue to the heart of her need, moving with a desperation that surprises even him. He laps at her like a man dying of thirst, drinking her in with an urgency that sets his blood alight. Her low, throaty moan is his reward, spurring him to delve deeper, to explore every inch of her. Her scent is intoxicating, a heady mix of arousal and power, filling his senses until there is nothing else. The taste of her lingers on his tongue, salty and electric, each stroke drawing more from her. Behind his eyelids a kaleidoscope of color explodes as his own need for her surges. Beneath his fingers, her skin feels impossibly soft, a contrast to the iron will she exudes. He tightens his grip on her hips, pulling her closer as her fingers curl tighter in his hair, urging him on. “Harder, wizard”, she breathes, the command punctuated by a sharp gasp. He glances up, catching sight of her—head tipped back, eyes closed, her face a portrait of ecstasy. Her hips buck against his mouth, seeking more, and he gives it without question. Every part of him—his focus, his mind, his very being—narrows to a single purpose: to make her call his name. Not just his occupation. His name. He adjusts, moving rougher, deeper, his tongue coaxing sounds from her that he commits to memory. Her breaths quicken, her moans becoming sharper until finally, it happens. “Gale!”, she cries out, her nails digging into his scalp as if to anchor herself against the tidal wave crashing over her. Her voice is raw, filled with an unrestrained pleasure that echoes in his ears like a symphony. Her climax is undeniable, the evidence of it pooling on his tongue, branding itself into his memory. For a moment, the world narrows to just this—her taste, her voice, the weight of her pleasure mingling with his own exhilaration. And he knows, even as her cries fade and her breathing steadies, that this moment is burned into him, even more irrevocable as the orb that simmers in his chest.

No pressure tags for @dramatiquechipmunk @fartasticdurge and @andauril

[waterlilylullabies]

There are a few silly little things I always do for roleplay reasons on every single playthrough no matter what.

Like, in Act 1, I always buy Gale the Periapt of Wound Closure, because the icon is pretty—like a heart held between two hands—and of course because Tav would do anything, no matter how small or desperate, to try and keep him alive as long as possible.

In Act 2, I always be sure to find and give them the True Love's Embrace/Caress rings to carry, if not actually wear, as a symbol of their bond. Lately, I've been speccing Gale into Abduration, and between that and the Warding Bond afforded by the ring set, I adore what a fortress he becomes, how innately protective he is of his love.

I also always have one of them carry the Book of Poetry from the same area. Although the flavour text makes it sound bawdy, THIS POEM... It's so fucking beautiful, and it is SO GALE. I have this persistent image in my mind of him reciting it to Tav back at camp that night. 🥹

I hold my breath for the sun to fall, For in the hot collapse of day, I'm brought to you. While Reithwin sleeps, the world entire is ours, The grass - our bed, the dew - our silver candles, The moon and stars our private canopy, And you the brightest of them all, My light, my heart, my world. I would watch the stars with you to the end of time - But night forever arches into day, And the sleepy nothing of the sunlit hours will mutter on. So instead I shall find eternity in a moment, And by the glance of moonbeams in your eyes will I be brought to rest As rest should be - enduring, still, Longing for naught but itself.

Kudos to whichever writer decided to casually break my heart open this way. ✨💜

[waterlilylullabies]

I’m posting my stupid little fic

A Wilder Wind

He was a burnt out, down on his luck, former Chosen of Mystra, burning with ambition.

She was a poised and perfect ice queen, on the run from her past.

And then they fell in love.

Follows the main storyline of BG3, a romance between my Tav Roslyn a half elf sorcerer and The Wizard Man ™️.

Epilogue

Gale of Waterdeep is falling, from the sky to be precise. He is currently facing the terrifying and very real prospect of his imminent death. And although today is a strong contender for the highly competitive title of ‘the worst day of his life’ he’d rather it wasn’t his last.

[waterlilylullabies]

patiently waiting for @nightingale-rob to post more art with Yona :c

[waterlilylullabies]

[waterlilylullabies]

I am no hero girls, gays, they/them friends. I think about the romance scene with Gale on the shadowlands and to horny town I go 😮‍💨.

So here's Tavi and Gale after Gale said 'one time with her would be enough to keep him satisfied for a lifetime', the big fat liar.

[waterlilylullabies]

Late Night Gale Thoughts

NSFW under the cut!

Gale’s cock twitches every time you tell him you love him, and he was half hard after you kissed him for the first time.

Gale loves having your legs over his shoulders while he makes love to you.

Gale squeezing your ass any chance he gets, even if it’s in public. (He tries to be slick)

Gale is unable to sit still when you are the one showering his body with kisses.

Gale holding his cock still and whispering sweet praises as you worship his cock. Reminding you to breathe, and you don’t have to take it all.

Gale still masturbates to you even when you become a couple. You even caught him a few times.

You licking the outline of the orb scar on his chest, making it glow brighter and Gale shivers.

Giving Gale a blowjob in front of Mystra’s statue, he is your wizard now.

Gale trying to read but you are riding his thigh, and distracting him.

Gale trying to sleep but he can feel your hand wandering down his happy trail, tracing the waistband of his pants.

Gale always cleaning you up and cuddling after sex.

That’s it my Gale romancers, goodnight.

[waterlilylullabies]

Juniper & Starlight: An Astarion x Dark Urge Fic

Between the nightmares, prophetic visions, and violent hallucinations, June is losing grip on reality, but she has enough awareness to know that Astarion's flirtation is part of some sort of con. He barely even likes her, after all. When she decides to call his bluff and play along, thinking he'll back down, she's surprised to discover that she and the vampire have more in common than either could have anticipated. And his touch might be the only thing that can keep her sane.

(art by @/redraccoonart)

pairing: Astarion x f!durge (June)/OC rating: Explicit genres: romance, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, some horror elements, game retelling current chapters: 33/?

Read on Ao3

***

PREVIEW (snippet from chapter 8)

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?” 

Scratch growls again, moving to stand protectively in front of June before Astariion can shift closer to her.

“It’s all right, boy,” June assures the dog, reaching out to give him a pet.  “He ain’t gonna hurt me. Not real bad, at least.” Scratch whines and leans into her hand as she pets his ears. “Go on, now. Go check on the others.”

Scratch looks between June and Astarion for a moment before giving one final growl in Astarion’s direction and then bounding off toward the fire and the circle of sleeping party members.

Astarion watches the dog go with clear fascination. “The mutt has taken a liking to you rather quickly, hasn’t he?” He turns to look at June again, a flirtatious smile curling his lips. “Though, who could blame him? You are a captivating creature.”

“Captivating?” she repeats. “Really? That’s the word you’re gonna use for why a dog might like me?”

“It’s the word I’ll use for why I like you.”

June doesn’t have the energy to call his bluff tonight. Instead she just sighs and asks, “So how do we do this?”

“You lie back,” he says, his voice a low purr as he shifts closer to her. “And let me take care of the rest.”

June resists the urge to roll her eyes as she unfolds her legs and lays down on the bedroll. She wills the tension from her muscles as Astarion moves to hover over her, crawling up her body until his face is only a few inches above hers. One of his hands moves her curls away from her neck before sliding beneath her head and cradling it gingerly. 

“Just relax,” he whispers. But June can’t help feeling like he’s talking to himself, not to her, when he says this.

This thought is quickly chased away by the sudden, icy pierce of fangs in her neck. June gasps and her back arches, but this only serves to press herself closer to Astarion. The pain fades soon enough, overwhelmed by a rush of adrenaline. June’s heart races, her body trembles. She finds herself clinging to him in an effort to hold herself still, one hand in his hair and the other on his beck, clenched in the soft fabric of his shirt. 

Astarion’s chest rumbles against hers as he makes a noise of intense satisfaction into her neck. His knee pushes between her thighs as it presses down into the bedroll, and the hand beneath her head tightens in her hair. His other hand rests on her ribs before it begins to make slow, soothing caresses along her torso. 

June’s breathing becomes deep and steady and the trembling eases as she begins to relax against him. This is the first time she’s been touched since waking up in that pod. She hadn’t realized how starved she was for physical contact - for tenderness - until now. 

It’s so much more than that, though. She can feel her blood flowing into him. It’s a connection unlike any she could have imagined. She doesn’t know when the last time she had sex was - or with whom - but she can’t imagine it compared to this sort of intensity. This intimacy . This is what it feels like to become a part of another person. This is what it feels like to sustain someone. 

This is what it feels like to be consumed. 

Her heart rate slows and her vision begins to swim. It’s a pleasant sort of delirium as her consciousness begins to ebb away. Astarion keeps drinking. The hand on her side moves so that his arm slides under her back, pulling her even closer. June has the distant realization that he is as lost in this as she is. He isn’t going to stop.

Does she want him to?

After all of the visions of gruesome acts and urges to kill, she can’t help but wonder what it feels like to be the victim. And with what happened to Alfira, June thinks she probably deserves to die. For the sake of everyone around her

And if this is what dying feels like, it’s not so bad.

[waterlilylullabies]

Firsts

Gale x OC

NSFW Minors DNI!

Drabbly nonsense. A series of ‘firsts’ in Gale and Roslyn’s relationship. I don’t know, the brainrot is real, they’re idiots in love.

TW: Canon typical violence, sexual content, minor minor spoilers for Act I of BG3

The first time he makes Roslyn laugh, really laugh, he realises that what has been passing for laughter from her — a pretty coquettish little trill — had been hollow, false. A sound she had been dispensing politely when called for and even then, only as an absolute necessity. True they have had precious little to laugh about, but as they pass through the forest beyond the Emerald Grove, all it takes is a well placed eye roll at the conclusion of Lae’zel’s conjectures on the relative uselessness of wizards, to send the Sorceress into a gasping, wheezing, snorting cacophony. When she recovers, eyes streaming and cheeks flushed she looks at him — and indeed at the entirety of the group, who are equally stunned by her outburst — with horror. Her poised, perfect facade has been entirely compromised. She gives a polite little cough, apologises and scurries past them into the trees. Gale stares after and finds to his surprise that he likes the sound. Likes it very much indeed. He immediately resolves to hear it again, as often as he possibly can.

The first time he sees her cry terrifies him. She is always so calm, so in control. But when a barbed arrow fired by an errant goblin (how had they missed him? The last one in all of the camp?) pierces her side, all of her cool confidence vanishes and she falls to the ground with a cry. Karlach swiftly divests the goblin of his head with a single swing of her axe, but Gale takes note of this only vaguely, because he is running to where Roslyn has landed in a small,crumpled heap. Shadowheart is already beside her, hands hovering over the arrow. “Roslyn, stay calm” she is urging. But Roslyn isn’t listening, she is panting and swearing through gritted teeth. “Roslyn, I need you to stay still so I can help you!” Shadowheart snaps. Roslyn spits a string of curses in response and violently twists away from the cleric. Shadowheart meets Gale’s eyes over Ros’ writhing form “I need you to hold her down” she says in a tone that brooks no argument. A wave of nausea sweeps through him, but he nods. He kneels beside Roslyn. Her eyes flick towards him, her face tight with pain as he gently lifts her bloodied hands from the wound. Then he folds her arms over her chest, propping her up and pulling her to him as carefully as he can. Then he folds his arms around her, trapping her in place. Shadowheart gets to work but Gale keeps his eyes on Roslyn’s face. “It’s rather gruesome I’m afraid” he says with affected ease, trying to keep his voice light “I’d advise you not to look,speaking from experience, it’s always better not to look, if you can help it”. She grimaces. Her breathing is rapid and her eyes dart about her, she reminds him of a rabbit in a snare. He keeps his eyes trained on her face, shushing her and squeezing her gently when she tries to wriggle away from Shadowheart. Minutes pass, long enough for him to notice how pale she looks, how frightened. “It’s alright Ros” he murmurs “you’ll be alright”. Gradually she seems to become fully cognisant of where she is, of what is happening. And even though the worst is passed — from the corner of his eye, Gale can see the snapped shaft of the arrow in Shadowheart’s hand — Roslyn closes her eyes and tears begin to slide down her face. “It’s done” Shadowheart announces with a long exhale. But Gale doesn’t move. He holds Roslyn while her body shakes with sobs and wipes away her tears as they fall.

The first time she comes apart under his hand delights him. She looks at him with something like awe as his name spills from her mouth over and again until her voice cracks and tails off into a little cry which he thinks, no he is certain, lodges itself somewhere under his left rib. It is a perfect sound and he spends the night coaxing it from her again and again and again.

[waterlilylullabies]

[waterlilylullabies]

Masterlist

Study Session: Vol. 1

Gale X OC Roslyn

NSFW MDNI

Gale helps Roslyn overcome some difficulty with a summoning spell. Set post-Epilogue.

A Wilder Wind —Ongoing

Gale X OC Roslyn

NSFW Minors DNI

He was a burnt out, down on his luck, former Chosen of Mystra, burning with ambition.

She was a poised and perfect ice queen, on the run from her past.

And then they fell in love.

Follows the main storyline of BG3, a romance between my Tav Roslyn a half elf sorcerer and The Wizard Man ™️.

Firsts

Gale x OC

NSFW Minors DNI!

A short Drabble of a series of ‘firsts’ in Gale and Roslyn’s relationship.

TW: Canon typical violence, sexual content, minor minor spoilers for Act I of BG3

Something to Remember Me By

Gale x OC

NSFW, MDNI!!!

TW: Mentions of suicide (Netherese Orb) Minor spoilers for Act II of BG3

This will be hers, she realises, always. Long after he has left her; gone back to his tower in Waterdeep, or returned to Mystra’s embrace, there will have been this night, when he chose her, when she was what he wanted. She knows already, through the haze of pleasure, that someday she will carry this moment like an old wound.

Who Are You?

Gale x OC Smut

NSFW, MDNI!!

TW: TW: Softdom Gale, mentions of PTSD, slight BDSM elements.

Tonight, her eyes snap open, she is trembling. Her mind is slick with visions of a burning roof above her, —some awful amalgamation of Waukeen’s Rest and her own childhood home — and he is already awake. He presses a kiss to her temple. “A dream Ros. Just a dream. Come back to me” he whispers. And then he sets about pulling her back into the world.

[waterlilylullabies]

Who Are You?

NSFW | Gale x OC Smut MDNI!!

TW: Daddy!dom Gale, mentions of PTSD, slight BDSM elements.

Some half baked Gale smut, can be read as Gale X Tav if you want. Part of a series but this works as a standalone. Set after the epilogue, slight spoilers for Act I!

Possibly ooc, this is quite literally my second time writing smut.

Enjoy!

The smack lands roundly on her left cheek, and the sting of it sends a jolt straight to her core. Although she is on all fours and he is behind her, she swears she can sense him smiling. Gale kneads the area tenderly, heat blooming under his hand. He repeats the action on the right, then the left again, until her skin burns and the ache between her legs becomes painful.

“Are you here Ros?” He whispers softly into the dark.

***

This had begun months ago, after they had first come to live together in Waterdeep. Amid the bliss, the unbridled joy of their days, Ros’ nights would sometimes fill with terrifying visions of what had passed during their ordeal. And sometimes, on the worst nights, her dreams would be full of everything that had come before; the fire, the screams, and all the horrors that followed.

On these nights she wakes with a start, wide-eyed and gasping. Her lips and fingers numb and her stomach rolling with nausea.

Gale will wake too, as if attuned to her and will pull her into his arms and at a signal from her will slowly and methodically reduce her to tears.

She can pinpoint the exact moment they settled on this approach, when she realised, truly realised at long last that she really was safe, that this was home, and that he was hers. It was one of those long hungry nights that they sometimes spent, returning to each others bodies over and over as if they posed a question to be solved. He had held her on the precipice of release for so long that she really thought he might kill her and then, in a singularly uncharacteristic move he had bitten down on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise. She came undone instantly and the strength of her orgasm left her almost insensible.

He panicked of course, apologised, berated himself. But eventually, through tears she managed to choke out that it was good, better than good. Because in that moment she knew she was safe at last. Because under his hand, pain could become pleasure. That here, with him, it was safe to hurt.

He understands.

Tonight, her eyes snap open, she is trembling. Her mind is slick with visions of a burning roof above her, —some awful amalgamation of Waukeen’s Rest and her own childhood home — and he is already awake. He presses a kiss to her temple. “A dream Ros. Just a dream. Come back to me” he whispers. And then he sets about pulling her back into the world.

He sits up on his heels and arranges her in front of him. Ass high, face pressed to the pillows. He bends over her and runs his tongue along her spine then nips at her earlobe “You’re here Ros, you’re here with me. And you’re safe” he seems to be reassuring himself as much as her. Because he dreams too and what he sees, he doesn’t dare to speak. But Ros knows enough. She knows that there are nights when he is forced to watch as she is taken from him again and again and again and he is powerless to prevent it. Nights when this life they share, this perfect life, turns to ash in his mouth.

The sting of his hand on her skin slowly but surely brings feeling back into her body. She starts to become certain of things. The weight of her body against the mattress. The scent of him, sea salt and cedar. The sound of the waves in the harbour, the breeze through the balcony doors. His hand circles her left ankle, gripping it tight, while his other hand drifts from her ass, lower, lower still. He teases his index finger over her entrance. She whimpers.

“Can you tell me where you are Ros?” She keeps her face pressed to the pillows. She is afraid that when she speaks, it will be with her mother’s voice and not her own. He doesn’t relent. He slides a finger inside her and she sighs. “Where are you Ros?” He pumps his finger in and out of her slowly. “I’m in Waterdeep” she answers, her voice muffled. He pulls his finger out and delivers a swift sharp slap to her right cheek. “Try again” he whispers.

This time his finger ghosts over her clit. He could make this quick. He knows by now exactly how to make her come undone, but he is slow, cruel almost, never giving her enough. “Where are you Ros?” His grip on her ankle tightens almost imperceptibly, grounding her, and biting her lips to keep from crying out she lifts her head from the pillows and whispers raggedly “I’m at home. I’m in our home.” He presses down firmly against her clit and she moans low and wanton. “Good girl.” Then he takes his hand away and she is left aching and desperate and wide awake.

He flips her over, pins her wrists above her head and smiles down at her. “Who am I Ros?” She swallows thickly. She feels vulnerable and small beneath him. But she doesn’t feel afraid, has never felt afraid of him. “You’re Gale” she whispers. He presses his forehead to hers, while his tip nudges her entrance. “And who am I to you?” His hand leaves her wrists — she knows better than to move them — and slides downwards. His finger circles her clit once, twice and then he stops and she cries out in desperation “you’re my husband”. He can’t seem to hold back a smile at this and he presses a swift kiss to her cheek. “Yes Ros, that’s exactly right. I’m your husband” then he pushes inside her and buries himself to the hilt.

One hand pushes her left knee against her chest, the other drops back to her clit, and she whimpers, tears forming behind her closed eyelids. “Look at me Ros, you have to look”, she obeys. He is magnificent, so handsome, his face at once both stern and tender. “I’m your husband, and I love you, Gods-“ he groans as he picks up his pace, setting a brutal rhythm that chases away the trembling in her limbs, chases away everything. “I love you, I adore you. No one is going to hurt you, if anyone so much as tries I’ll destroy them, I swear”. He’s close, he’s always at his most vocal when he’s about to come. She can feel herself getting close too.

Gale knows the signs and his thrusts become rougher, deeper. He catches her jaw in his hand and forces her to look at him. “Who are you?” He asks. She tries to speak but the pleasure is so intense, it feels so good and she is so relieved, so grateful to be here in this room in their bed, because yes, that is where she is. “I’m Roslyn” she gasps “and I’m yours”. He moans and his lips meet hers in a fierce kiss. And then they are falling, both of them at once, into the dark.

***

In the easy silence that follows, she rests her head on his chest. His fingers trace abstract patterns across her back. “There will be nights like this Ros” he whispers “perhaps there will always be nights like this”. He drops a kiss to the top of her head and she feels him smiling “But our days Ros…” he sighs contentedly “oh our days…”

[waterlilylullabies]

what if i did