#gale fluff

Gale Dekarios has a habit of counting stars when he can’t sleep. Not aloud, never aloud, unless someone asks (Gods, he loves it when someone asks), but in the quiet of his own mind, tracing constellations with his fingertips against the fabric of his bedroll. Tonight, the sky is a mess of clouds, so he counts the stitches in his tent’s ceiling instead. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.

Outside, the fire pops softly, sending up embers that flicker like dying fireflies. Someone, probably Astarion, has left a half-empty bottle of wine near the coals, and the smell of it, warm and faintly sour, drifts on the breeze. Gale shifts onto his side, listening to the chorus of his companions’ breathing: Shadowheart’s measured exhales, Karlach’s occasional snort, Wyll’s steady rhythm. All asleep. All content.

Except, no. Not all. Not everyone is asleep.

There’s a rustle near the edge of camp, the sound of fabric shifting, then a quiet, frustrated sigh. Gale sits up, pushing his blanket aside. He knows that sigh. He’s heard it before, late at night when the others are lost to dreams, and the world feels too big.

Gale slips out of his tent, bare feet whispering against the dew-damp grass. The night air is cool, invigoratingly so, and he wraps his night robe tighter around himself as he pads toward the source of the sigh. There you are, sitting with your knees drawn up to your chest, fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of your neck, the ones he’s always thought looked like spun moonlight when the fire caught them just right.

“Darling,” he croons, crouching beside you. His voice is rough with sleep, warm as the embers still glowing in the firepit. “Still awake, I see.”

You startle, then relax when you recognize him. “Couldn’t sleep,” you admit sheepishly, picking at a loose thread on your trousers. The fabric is worn thin at the knees, and Gale makes a mental note to mend it for you later. “Mind’s too loud.”

“Ah, the dreaded insomnia.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “A most unwelcome companion.” When you don’t respond, he nudges your shoulder with his. “Come on, then. My tent’s far cozier than this patch of dirt, and I’ve just the thing to quiet that busy mind of yours.”

You hesitate, fingers stilling against the frayed fabric of your trousers. The offer is tempting, Gale’s tent always smells like old books and something faintly spicy, like cinnamon left too long in the sun, but the thought of being so close to him sends a flutter of nervous warmth through your chest. “I don’t want to be a bother,” you mutter, tucking a curl behind your ear only for it to spring free again in stubborn retaliation.

Gale huffs a quiet laugh, his breath visible in the cool night air. “Sweetheart, if you were a bother, I wouldn’t have offered.” He stands, offering you a hand, his palm upturned and waiting. There’s ink smudged along the side of his thumb, and the sight of it, so ordinary and domestic, makes something tight in your chest loosen. You take his hand.

His tent is exactly as you remember, cluttered in the way of someone who’s always thinking three steps ahead. Spellbooks are stacked haphazardly beside his bedroll, a half-finished letter to home, Waterdeep, peeks out from beneath a teacup, and a single candle flickers on a makeshift desk of overturned crates. Gale kicks a pair of socks out of the way with the heel of his foot, clearing a path for you. “Make yourself at home,” he says, waving a hand. “Though I’ll admit ‘home’ is currently somewhat… lived-in.”

You snort, settling onto the edge of his bedroll. “Lived-in is one way to put it.”

Gale kneels beside you, his fingers brushing against the spines of his spellbooks before settling on a well-worn volume with gilded edges. "Ah, here we are," he murmurs, flipping it open with practiced ease. The pages are dog-eared and annotated in his cramped handwriting, margins filled with scribbled thoughts and corrections. He clears his throat dramatically, adjusting an imaginary pair of spectacles. "Tonight's selection: The Ballad of the Moonlit Duel, a rather charming tale of mistaken identities and ill-advised wizardry. Unless you'd prefer something drier? Theories of Arcane Transmutation has a particularly soporific chapter on- "

"No, no," you interrupt, giggling softly. "The ballad sounds perfect." You tug at the hem of your sleep sweater self-consciously, suddenly hyperaware of how it rides up when you sit. Gale notices, fucking of course he does, but he doesn't stare. Instead, he reaches for a blanket draped over a nearby stack of books and shakes it out with a flourish.

"Cold?" he asks, already tucking it around your shoulders with almost too much care. His fingers linger for a moment, warm against your collarbone.

You nod, pulling the blanket tighter. It smells like him, ink and ozone and something indefinably comforting. "A little, yeah."

Gale settles beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not so close that it panics you. He holds the book in one hand, the other gesturing absently as he begins to read. His voice is smooth, melodic, the kind of voice that could make a grocery list sound like poetry. Damn him. You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the rise and fall of his words, the way he lingers on certain syllables like he’s savoring them.

“And so the rogue, cloaked in shadow,” he reads, “crept toward the duelist, unaware that the moon had betrayed her silver silhouette…” His free hand finds yours under the blanket, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in absent comforting circles. You don’t pull away. Instead, you curl your fingers around his, anchoring yourself to the moment.

Halfway through the ballad, you shift, trying to find a more comfortable position. Gale pauses, glancing down at you. “Alright, darling?” he murmurs. You nod, but he’s already moving, adjusting the pillows behind you with a flick of his fingers, a touch of magic, just enough to fluff them into something more inviting. “Here,” he says, guiding you to lean back. “Better?”

You hum in agreement, sinking into the softness. Gale resumes reading, but his voice has softened, slowed, as if he’s tailoring the rhythm to the steady rise and fall of your breathing. His hand never leaves yours.

Your eyelids grow heavier with each word, the cadence of Gale’s voice weaving through the quiet like a lullaby. The tension in your shoulders melts away, replaced by the warmth of his hand in yours, the gentle pressure of his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin. You’re vaguely aware of the blanket slipping down your shoulder, but before you can adjust it, Gale’s fingers are there, brushing the fabric back into place with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

“There we go, you can relax, Gorgeous…” he coos, pausing mid-sentence to tuck a stray curl behind your ear. His touch lingers, tracing the shell of your ear before retreating, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you. “You’re nodding off, sweetheart.”

You blink up at him, fighting the pull of sleep. “M’not,” you mumble defiantly, though the words slur together. The candlelight paints his face in gold and shadow, softening the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He looks younger like this, unguarded.

Gale chuckles, closing the book with a soft thump. “Liar,” he teases, setting it aside. “But I’ll forgive you.” He shifts, turning to face you fully, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. His palm is warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says quietly, as if it’s a secret. “All soft and sleepy.”

You want to protest, to scoff or roll your eyes, anything to deflect the warmth pooling in your chest, but exhaustion weighs heavily on your limbs, and Gale’s thumb tracing slow circles under your cheekbone is hypnotic. Instead, you nuzzle instinctively into his palm, a quiet sigh escaping you. His breath catches, just slightly, at the movement.

“Honey,” he murmurs, shifting closer. The bedroll dips under his weight as he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, chaste but lingering, his lips warm against your skin. “Let’s get you properly settled, hm?” His hands slide down to your shoulders, guiding you to lie back fully, and you go willingly, boneless with drowsiness.

Gale arranges the blanket around you with a precision that borders on ceremonial, smoothing out every wrinkle before draping a second one that’s thicker, and woolen over your legs. “There,” he says, satisfied. “Now, unless you’d like me to resume thrilling tales of magical mishaps- ”

“Stay,” you interrupt, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, holding fast. The request hangs between you, vulnerable in its simplicity.

Gale goes very still. For a heartbeat, you think you’ve overstepped, that he’ll politely extricate himself with some scholarly excuse, but then his breath leaves him in a quiet rush, and his fingers tighten around yours. "Well," he says, voice rougher than before, "since you asked so nicely." He doesn’t move to pull away. Instead, he shifts carefully, stretching out beside you atop the blankets, his body a warm line against yours. His arm hesitates for a fraction of a second before settling around your waist, his hand splaying possessively across the curve of your hip.

"You fit, almost perfectly," he murmurs, surprised, as if he hasn’t spent months imagining this very moment. His nose brushes the crown of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair, campfire smoke and the faint herbal tang of travel soap. "Like you were made to slot right here." His thumb strokes idle circles through the fabric of your oversized sweater, tracing the curve of your waist. You shiver, and he misinterprets it, tugging the blanket higher. "Cold still?"

You shake your head, pressing closer. His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath your ear, a counterpoint to the rustle of canvas in the breeze. "Just... never done this before," you admit. "Been this close to someone." The confession hangs between you, raw and unvarnished. Gale’s hand stills on your hip.

"Oh, sweetheart," he says softly. There’s no pity in his voice, only a quiet wonder that makes your throat tighten. His fingers resume their path, mapping the swell of your hip, the softness of your belly, with a reverence that steals your breath. "Then let me tell you," he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, "you are wonderful to hold." His palm presses flat against your stomach, warm even through the layers of fabric. "Like holding sunlight. Or… no, that’s not quite right." He huffs a laugh, his chest vibrating beneath you. "Perhaps I’ll think of a better metaphor tomorrow when I’m not half unconscious. For now..." His arm tightens, pulling you flush against him. "Rest.”

Gale’s heartbeat is a slow, steady drum beneath your ear, his breath stirring the curls at your temple. The weight of his arm around you is solid, grounding—an anchor in the quiet dark. You trace idle patterns against his chest, fingertips skimming the soft fabric of his shirt, and feel him shiver.

"Tickles," he giggles sleepily, catching your wrist with playful gentleness. His fingers slip between yours, lacing tight. "Though I’ll hardly complain if it keeps your hands busy." There’s a smirk in his voice, warm and teasing. You huff, but don’t pull away.

The candle flickers, casting long shadows across the tent walls. Gale exhales, his thumb stroking the inside of your wrist. "You know," he says, quieter now, "I’ve spent years memorizing incantations, tracing every line of power in the Weave, but this?" His hand squeezes yours. "This is the first magic I can’t quantify."

You tilt your head to look at him. Firelight catches in his lashes, gilds the curve of his lower lip. "Poetic," you tease, though your voice wobbles.

Gale's smirk softens into something tender, his eyes reflecting the candle's glow like pools of molten honey. "Only for you," he croons, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His lips linger just a heartbeat longer than necessary, and you feel the warmth of it travel up your arm, settling somewhere beneath your ribs.

Outside, an owl hoots, low and mournful, but inside Gale's tent, the world has narrowed to the space between his breaths and yours. He shifts slightly, his thigh brushing yours beneath the blankets, and you freeze, suddenly aware of every point where your bodies touch. Gale notices, because of course he does, and his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your curls. "Easy," he whispers against your hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

You exhale, unclenching muscles you didn't realize were tense, and let yourself melt into him. Gale hums approvingly, his fingers massaging slow circles into your scalp. "That's it," he coaxes. His other hand finds the small of your back, rubbing soothing strokes up and down. "You carry so much tension here, sweetheart. Like you're always bracing for impact."

Your fingers absentmindedly threaded between the soft strands of his hair as you continued reading, determined to reach the end of the page. The afternoon sun made his silver hairs glint so prettily against his brunette, but your eyes were focused on the words before you.

Yet even divided, your attention was enough to make Gale groan contentedly. His eyes closed and his lips curved into a blissful smile. You knew he’d happily stay there as long as he could, until his feet went to sleep and his back was stiff.

“Have you finished planning your lessons?” you asked, finally slipping an embroidered silk bookmark carefully between the pages– a gift from Gale's mother, Morena.

The wizard chuckled, “Not even close. But my eyes were beginning to ache and my heart too. I was starved of your affection.”

“You poor, neglected thing,” you said, the warmth in your voice clear as you stroked the hair back from his temple and tucked it behind his ear. “What has it been? Two? Three hours?”

“Oh, it must have been a tenday at least. But no matter, just a minute of your attention is enough to fill my heart to the brim. There's even more magic to be found here in your lap than between the pages of a book.”

He gazed up at you like you were his very own sunrise, the corners of his warm chestnut eyes adorned with lines deepened by years of happiness. No matter how long you'd been together, the wonder in his eyes when he looked upon you had never once faded. And you were certain he saw that same adoration reflected in yours. He must've. You certainly felt it radiating from you with every breath, every heartbeat.

Gale was yours completely and you were entirely his.

Slowly, your hand drifted down the curve of his cheek, your fingertips rasping through the coarse hair of his beard that the two of you had fought hard against his mother– and even harder against Tara– to keep. A contented hum rumbled from his throat as you cupped his chin, and tilted his face toward your kiss.

Pleasant tingles rolled through you at the warmth of his breath and the gentle graze of his lips against yours. Chaste at first, then hungrier and deeper. And oh, how he kissed you; like you were beyond precious. Like you were sacred.

Soft and slow, his lips parted, welcoming the caress of your tongue. He rewarded you with the sweetest sighs and muted moans that made your toes curl.

Those doting eyes pleaded with you when you drew back; please, more. But he simply rested his brow against your knees and chuckled breathlessly.

“The things you do to me,” he sighed. “I beg that you never stop kissing me like that.”

“I promise. I couldn’t if I tried. But I shouldn’t distract you, not while you’re planning your classes.”

Gale’s eyes sparked with that familiar glint of mischief. “Ah, well, while I appreciate your attempt to keep me on track, I fear I would be remiss to point out the abundance of evidence that a rested mind is an efficient mind, and that it is far, far, far easier to focus on a particularly laborious task, such as lesson planning, when going about it undistracted.”

“Ah,” you said, mirroring his playful tone. “So you’re saying it’s easier for a wizard to focus on his books when he isn't distracted by the whims of his quarterstaff?”

“My love, I can assure you we’re way past a quarter. Suffice to say this particular wizard is wielding a full staff, and quite an achy one at that.”

“Is that so?”

He simply smiled, a little pleased with himself, and gazed up at you with the utmost affection. Warm, careful fingers wound around yours, bringing your hand close enough to his lips to feel the caress of his breath.

His voice was sincered and deliciously honeyed as he finally replied, “It is.”

“Well,” you said, closing the gap between your hand and his lips to trace their shape with your thumb. Your breath shuttered as Gale's eyes closed, bewitched from the slightest touch. He parted his lips to allow your thumb between them, softly caressing the tip with his warm, wet tongue. “I suppose it would be cruel of me to leave you aching…”

- When you two get together he would feel very proud to be the person you speak to the most. Astarion can be a little insecure sometimes so knowing that you choose to talk to him despite being selective with who you speak to would mean a lot to him. It would help him to trust you more too, knowing the the deep bond between you is almost a secret that you would never dare whisper to anyone else.

- Astarion loves being able to communicate with you with just a sly glance or a single whispered word, the two of you often having entire conversations without saying a word to those around you. When you need to talk your way into somewhere Astarion's always happy to do the talking, but he can't help but be impressed with the way you can navigate through a room quiet and unnoticed.

- As a partner Astarion needs more reassurance than he ever likes to show, so knowing that you'll go against your shy instincts to whisper a flirty thought or a sentimental memory to him when he starts to look worn out always boosts his spirits. He didn't know how much he needed someone just like you in his life until you became a core part of it.

Wyll:

- Wyll never shies away from the public or a spotlight, announcing himself as he enters almost any room, so when he meets someone who prefers to listen to those around them instead of interrupting, he'd become very interested in what you have to say. He'd make the effort to get to know you even if it didn't happen as naturally as sometimes other bonds have come to him, but as he worked to gain your trust and attention he'd never regret a moment of time spent getting you to warm up to him.

- When the two of you are together Wyll will never miss an opportunity to sing your praises, no matter how bashful it makes you! He needs you to know how amazing and appreciated you are, as he can never tell if you fully recognise your own brilliance.

- Wyll falls in love with the way you think before you speak, listening to every part of his story and really considering everything he tells you, never jumping to an assumption as so many people in his life have. He finds your accepting nature makes him a better man, and in return he only grows a deeper fondness for the way you carry yourself.

- As a partner Wyll always needs someone to be there for him, listening and reassuring, and he really finds that partner in you. He's never felt more loved and respected as he does when you give him the time and space to work through his feelings and history, the quiet stillness you bring to his life letting him find a peace he's never known before.

Gale:

- Gale has spent enough time studying magic at scholarly institutes to have met more than a few shy souls in his past, so when he notices you playing the shrinking violet he knows exactly how to give you all the time and space you need to finally share a bit of yourself with him.

- He knows that the most important things to hear usually come from those who don't speak unless they have something to say, and there's no exception to that in you. He really gives weight to everything you share with him, every opinion you pose, and every compliment you reward him with through flushed cheeks and nervous laughter. It only makes it that much sweeter that you don't dish out such comments absentmindedly.

- Gale also enjoys using a bit of your shyness against you, gaining a certain amount of satisfaction from being overtly flirty in public once the two of you are well into dating. He can't help but smile at the way you shy away from his loud declarations of love and the flirty comments whispered far too loudly across a tavern. His heart practically bursts when you try to hide your face in his hands when he's being far too vocal about how beautiful he finds you in front of the rest of your companions, and not a day goes by that he doesn't remind you of that fact.

- Thankfully he usually waits until you are alone to let his adoration pour out in his gentle words and touches, enjoying that while he can be a brash as he wants in public, he can feel your true appreciation in the quiet you spend alone. His life has held more than one dramatic chapter, so having someone who loves him so sweetly and mutters his name so softly when they praise him really means the world to Gale.

Shadowheart:

- More than anyone else, Shadowheart can appreciate the desire to keep parts of yourself hidden behind some firmly closed doors. She finds herself drawn to your quiet personality as the rest of the party are a bit boisterous for her taste, often favouring the seat beside you at any given campfire, knowing her boundaries will be respected, and any conversation made will be worthwhile.

- Once you two are together, she sees you as a respite from the endless questions of the outside world. The two of you can spend hours in comfortable silence together, only your interlocking fingers letting the other know you are still there. You give her the space to think through her decisions, but at the same time she knows that if you choose to speak up then she really should consider listening to what you have to say.

- Shadowheart finds herself more able to share pieces of herself with you, as you open up at the same gradual pace that she does. You don't rush to tell her everything or bombard her with questions like the others. Instead she'll often finding you waiting outside her tent at first light when she rises, offering her a hand for a quiet stroll through the forest as you softly tell her a tale from your childhood and she tries to imagine herself growing up alongside you, in a sweet version of her life she could almost convince herself is the truth.

- Shadowheart doesn't fully know her past, but with you as her partner, her future finally starts to come into focus, all because of you.

Karlach:

- Karlach has been loud and brash since the moment she could speak, so at first she thinks your shy demeanour is a sign of rejection of her friendship. It's disappointing that you don't want to talk to her, but she's not sensitive enough to worry about what every single person thinks of her. It would be endlessly frustrating to you that you have to really put yourself out there, making every effort to be by her side and forcing yourself to respond to her every remark to try and let her know you really do like her. In the end you'd just have to ask her to dance at a celebration with the rest of the group, and when she laughs and says she thought you didn't like her, please prepare yourself to tell her you like her so much that it makes it genuinely hard to talk sometimes.

- Once Karlach understands the concept of shyness and that it is not a personal affront to her, she will be very happy to do all the speaking for both of you. Every journey you take across the lands she will gladly fill the silence with every thought and tale, celebrating loudly every times she manages to make you gasp or laugh along with her.

- Karlach will take a lot of pride in the thought that you like her so much that you are almost rendered speechless, and get quite jealous when she realises you are being shy around other people too. Worried that everyone will be seduced by your strong-silent type behaviour she would definitely insist on holding your hand as much as possible, or loudly shouting across combat that you and her are an item just in case anyone was getting the wrong idea.