#baker writes

Thanks to @deadly-diminuendo for the tag!

So…I listened to Unholy and I’m really into Jayvik now so of course I combined them. Big WIP incoming(and if there’s mistakes, pretend you don’t see them)

Confinement…Read on Ao3

A huge thank you to one of my dearest friends @amoremagnificentbastard for the tag! 💕

Hey! What’s that? A Roasted WIP? Why yes, yes it is. (I know there’s a typo/typos. I was blackout writing)

Thank you for tagging me @roguishcat!

Do I need to say it? It’s Roasted because I’m still chipping away at this chapter.

A sigh escaped the author’s lips as his eyes closed again. “The painters will be arriving at the house soon.”

Astarion licked up his shaft before looking up through heavy eyelids. “Tell them you’ll be a little late.”

“Astarion, love…”

Astarion let out a huff of air before leaning an elbow on Gale’s thigh, resting his head against his fist.

“Isn’t it fair of me to ask for some time with you?” The barista pouted, bottom lip jutting out just so. “You’ve hardly acknowledged me the past few days. A passing ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ with a cheek kiss. A cheek kiss. I mean, honestly Gale, I’m not your mother. Forgive my dramatics, but the distance is unbearable.”

Heavy In Your Arms…Read on Ao3

Thanks for the tag @roguishcat!! 🥰

A snippet from the next chapter of Roasted that’ll be posted soon! ☕️

“I’ll be back!” he shouted over the music, pointing behind him. “Bathroom! Find Jen?”

Gale nodded and let the barista’s hand slip away. He searched the club, finding Jen had only shifted over two seats since he’d last seen her. She tossed him a water bottle.

“Here. You look a little thirsty,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Gale rolled his eyes but gratefully drank half.

Three songs later, he was glancing around every few seconds for Astarion. He wanted to give benefit of the doubt, but something felt off.

His head swiveled towards the restrooms. Only two people stood in line and neither of them were Astarion. He walked forward and stood on his toes, trying to spot a head of silver curls in the crowd. His worry increased.

A hand fell on his shoulder, gripped tightly, squeezing at a nerve. Gale winced and turned to see Cazador, looming over him.

“Gale, isn’t it?” He asked.