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misfitlunatik · 1 month

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Summary: A thoughtful retelling of Halsin's first night with you.

Pairing: Halsin x F Reader

A/N: Inspired by this fucking incredible work by @misfitlunatik - sometimes the brain rot gives gifts.

Word Count: 2,482

Spice: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️Picante

Ao3

He doesn’t want to annoy you. You have a lot on your mind. And, well, in it. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and he smiles when you say that. Your ability to face a hopeless situation, not just with grace and courage but also with humor, draws him in.

After so many years carrying the burdens of others. Carrying his own guilt. Feeling so lost, but unable to feel it because, after so long, lost is all he knows. It’s almost painful to think about finding direction, finding true north.

Lucky for him, you found him first.

In a dank and dirty goblin cell, forced into wildshape and tormented, you came into that dungeon and it was like someone had thrown the windows open to let in the light that would pierce centuries of darkness. You didn’t even know him. You had only the praise of others and the knowledge of his experience with your condition to guide you to him, to liberate him. You did so with a savagery that was almost beautiful. You were beautiful. There was nothing “almost” about that.

Later that night, when he watched you, tipsy and dancing with your companions and the grateful refugees you had helped, he felt something stirring in him, something he had not felt for a long time. Naming it “love” was a dangerous path to tread. Love often vanished as quickly as wood smoke being torn apart on a fretful breeze. And if what he had already seen of you was any indication of what to expect, he suspected he’d be facing the idea of truly loving you much sooner than he was comfortable with. When you made thinly veiled advances under the guise of first offering drinks and then “something else,” it was all he could do to keep his bear from slipping its leash, taking you in his jaws, and dragging you off somewhere private where he could ravish you.

Instead, you had followed Astarion into the woods that night. Though he questioned the wisdom of the decision to go after a vampire, alone, he could not blame you for it. The vampire elf was stunningly beautiful, and you were, after all, a big girl and could make up your own mind. And you weren’t his. Not to command or control. He allowed his heart to run free and his desires to flourish wherever they found purchase. How could he fault you for doing the same?

Logical as it was, it didn’t stop the small, angry, jealous voice in his head from pointing out that he was not the one whose desires were “finding purchase” in your garden. He wasn’t prone to possessiveness, or so he liked to believe, but possessing you was starting to become a fantasy he was having difficulty keeping in check. Though he had nothing against Astarion, he was secretly pleased when your night of passion did not blossom into a full-grown romance.

Halsin had always been susceptible to dwelling on things. Ideas rooted in his mind like scrub trees, and though in nature he let those saplings flourish wherever they took hold and spread by nature’s design, he knew he could not allow the thought of you, of touching you, holding you, and feeling your skin against his, of tasting you, to gain a foothold. Not with so much left undone, hanging over the both of you and your companions, over all of Faerûn, like heavy storm clouds.

Nature, as it so often did, had other ideas. Or maybe it wasn’t nature herself that had other ideas. Perhaps it was just you. He smiled to himself when you brazenly asked if he had someone waiting for him at the Grove or somewhere else, subtlety appearing to be the only area in which you were lacking. You prodded him, again and again, saying without saying that you wanted him. It wasn’t a new experience by any means. To his delight, wee little slips of girls like you were often drawn to his height and his build. And other things about him. But with your sweet, sincere interest, you tortured him, too. He had miles to go before he slept, could sleep with you, and the wanting of you made his resolve to see his promises kept waiver.

And then, almost before he knew it, it was all just… done. Thaniel was safe and healing from captivity, playing happily with his brother, Oliver. Ketheric Thorm was dead again, abandoned by his God, and his Netherstone was secure in your inventory. And best of all, life and light were returning to the former husks of Reithwin and Moonrise Towers. For the first time in a century, Halsin could breathe easy again, knowing that the failures of his past were not permanent. At long, long last, he had finally gotten what he wanted, and now, with at least some of the danger receding into the distance behind him as you all made your way to Baldur’s Gate, he could turn his attention to something else he wanted. Not something. Someone.

Halsin doesn’t want to annoy you. Or push you, or cross your boundaries, or do anything that would otherwise make you turn away from him. He has no reason to suspect that making his feelings known to you would do this, but he still worries. His need for you is counter-weighted by his fear of running you off.

It’s his need that wins out in the end. When you come to speak with him, as you do daily, his heartbeat is roaring in his ears and he feels like a gods damned juvenile, stumbling over himself in his rush to show you that there is absolutely no pressure. Though his deceptively confident mouth tells you that he will let the matter drop if he read you wrong and do not share his interest, his mind and his guts churn with anxiety. All he hears his inner monologue saying is “pleaseohpleaseohplease” over and over and over again.

He didn’t want to annoy you. But he should have known he wouldn’t. You said yes to him without hesitation, adding you’d been waiting for him, too. He trusted you implicitly with almost all things, so why couldn’t he trust you with knowing your own desires? It’s one of the many questions he finds swirling in his heart as he stands on the riverbank, waiting for you. It’s no accident that he picked that spot. A young oak tree stands apart from the other trees, silently offering Silvanus’ sturdy support to Halsin’s racing thoughts as he waits for you to join him.

He's so wrapped up in his prayers that he almost doesn’t hear you approach. But you’re there. You came, and he’s so delighted he doesn’t think to hide it. His mouth runs away with him, the unvarnished, naked truth of his longing for you pouring out of him like water flowing downhill.

He doesn’t want to push too hard, but you surprise him again with your reassurance that you want him. You want this, and you’ve been waiting for him. With no desire to keep you waiting longer, he strips his clothes off in the blink of an eye and takes you in his arms, crushing his lips to yours as if he were a man dying from poisoning and your kiss was the antidote.

You have more self-restraint than he does. You want to make your time in this sacred space, under the bounty of nature’s heaven, last just a little longer. You may also delight in teasing him just a little if the smirk on your lips as you slip behind a tree to disrobe is anything to go by. Halsin isn’t greedy by nature, but when it comes to you, to seeing what he’s imagined more times than he can count, he’s a miser. The sight of your bare skin is almost too much.

“Just as nature intended,” he blurts, the tension in his lower abdomen ratcheting up, pulling on his desire for you harder and harder. It’s arousal, that’s certain. Arousal and desire and the idea of a longing finally so close to being satisfied that he can taste it. It tastes like your kiss, and he knows he needs you closer. “Come here to me,” he pleads. He needs you in his arms immediately, or else he’ll…

And then, he’s cocked it all up.

He’s sure of it. He should have known that the stirring in his loins was more than just the raging erection between his legs. He knows what the bear feels like when it’s clawing at his skin, trying to get free. But he was so lost in you, so drunk on you and on the idea of finally having you that he didn’t pay it enough attention, and he lost control. The prickling, burning sensation of fur and fangs overtaking his skin and short incisors swept through him so quickly that he couldn’t have stopped it no matter how hard he tried. His arms flail, and enormous paws hit the ground. If a bear can look sheepish, he’s sure that he does in the seconds before he can marshal his composure and change back into his elvish form.

“Forgive me. I… lost the run of myself,” he stammers, babbling out an explanation that gets lost in his self-disgust.

Halsin is starting to think you’re treating surprising him like it is your profession. You cup your small, warm palm around his cheek, bringing his gaze to yours. The warmth he finds in your eyes when you smile and say, “I’m flattered I have that effect on you. Now come here,” is astonishing.

He needs no further encouragement. Gone is the insecure, tentative Halsin who worries about displeasing you. The man in his place is strong and confident, and he allows the certainty of what he wants to guide him as he pushes you against that same steadfast oak. He pours all of his heart, his passion, his loneliness, and longing, and concerns into the kiss he bruises into your lips as if he could smother those lesser parts disquieting his mind with your mouth, your tongue, your breasts, and hips, and thighs. When he drops to his knees in front of you, the mischievous grin that greets you, glinting in his hazel eyes, is enough to have you moaning before his tongue reaches your wet and swollen sex.

He wants to be gentle with you, not to batter you too severely, but despite his preparation, you are still smaller than he is, still tight as he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance. Your face contorts with pain, the stretch momentarily overpowering the pleasure, but you won’t stop him. He has to remind himself to move slowly, to take you slowly. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He only wants to love you. Astonishing him again, you whimper into his ear, stroking your fingertips along its sensitive pointed helix as you start thrusting your hips against his again, wordlessly begging him for more.

If more is what you want, more is what you’ll get. But not without at least a little torment, first. After all, you did drive him near to madness with your flirting, your teasing questions about his lovers, your sheer camp shirts, and mischievous looks thrown his way for tendays on end, knowing full well he would not, could not act. He pulls his hips back, savoring the wet, silken drag of his cock sliding almost entirely out of your tight cunt before thrusting back into you sharply. He savors the gasping, startled cry that tears out from deep within your throat as he stretches you deeper. He repeats it, withdrawing only to push back in harder and deeper until, at last, he’s rooted within you, and all you can do is wriggle and moan and sigh beneath him. The two of you rock back and forth together, your thighs and stretched cunt gripping him, the music of your moans and grunts harmonizing with the slap of skin on sweat-slick skin.

Your whimpering keening grows louder with each thrust he buries in you. You must be getting as close to finishing as he is. He grinds a few more sharp, fast thrusts into you, loathe to leave the warm wetness of your pussy, but knowing he should before he releases his seed in it without your permission to do so. Before he can withdraw entirely, your legs wrap around his hips, and your hands find his ass, gripping hard enough for your fingernails to leave little crescent moon-shaped bruises on his flesh later.

“No, don’t, please don’t leave me, I’m so close, please stay,” you babble, breathless, near senseless, as your hips buck up into his, frantically trying to pull him back down into you. “Please,” you whine again, trailing off.

“Please, what?” he asks, biting his lip hard enough to bruise as he tries to keep the harness on his orgasm just a little bit longer.

You look up at him through your heavy lashes, eyes glazed over with lust and need. “Please come in me,” you grind out, your thrusting hips punctuating each word. It’s too much, and before he has time to think, he’s forcing your hips down to the ground again, burying his entire length within you with a guttural animal growl that’s neither man nor bear but somewhere between the two. His vision blurs as his lower abdomen tenses, and he comes harder than any orgasm he’s had in his recent memory. Your keening wails of pleasure dance and swirl around his own as the two of you shatter together.

When he finally stops shaking, he pulls out from you slowly, mindful of how you still shudder and whimper as he leaves you. He’s not in the habit of enjoying seeing women debauched, but something about you lying spent in the grass, with a dazed, fucked out grin on your sweaty face, your legs still spread and stretched for him, his come drooling out of you calls to that base, beast-like creature that lives in everyone. It’s an image that will stay with him and stir his passions long after you part ways, no matter how long or short of a time you have together.

For now, though, he wants to cradle you against him. He wants to rub any sore muscles in your hips or thighs and soothe any scrapes or bruises sustained in the throes of passion. He lays down beside you, one arm out for you to snuggle into his side while he pulls stray leaves from your hair and hums contentedly against the top of your head. Your breathing settles into the mellow, steady rhythm of sleep, and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

“My heart,” he murmurs for the first time, and you smile in your sleep.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little treato for your Saturday night!

Tag List:

@arzen9, @nyx-knox, @pursuitseternal @monowritestoomuch, @waterdeep-weavemoss, @snumlik , @ladyofcrowsandcoffee , @bleedingseeds , @gylving , @charmandabear , @qualitygoateephantom , @babblebrain-blog , @scrapsovereign , @roguishcat , @hello-nat-here , @vixstarria , @yennefer-of-vengerbergs , @1waywardbirdlane , @grimgiggles

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