You wince as the blade slices into your thumb. Thankfully, you only drop the wood which you’d been carving into your lap, rather than the blade itself.
That would’ve been an awkward injury to explain.
Blood starts to bead along the cut and you pop your thumb into your mouth, hoping to stem the flow, naively thinking that it would dull after a few moments – so many of the other knicks had. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that this cut is a little too deep to ignore. A search of your own pack comes up empty of potions, but you’re sure there’s a few in the chest as you get to your feet.
Truth be told, you hadn’t whittled in gods know how long – you hadn’t even thought of it until Halsin mentioned it as one of his own hobbies. You’d thought of telling him you’d dabbled in it in the past, but the moment slipped by and now it would seem desperate, surely.
Especially after he’d oh so kindly rejected your advances at the party hosted by the tieflings.
Besides, everyone had their hobbies – Gale and Astarion were often to be found with their nose in a book, Lae’zel sharpening her weapons constantly, Karlach in some state of perpetual motion…
So when you’d picked up whittling again a couple of days ago, you’d conducted it in the confines of your tent, away from prying eyes.
“Hells,” Astarion exaggeratedly sniffs as you emerge from your tent, a little too familiar with the particular bouquet of your blood from the nights you’d graciously allowed him to feed. He stalks towards you in a blink of an eye, grabs hold of your wrist and tugs your hand up from your side, red eyes scrutinizing the wound. “You’re bleeding. What were you doing in there?”
“Nothing.” You retort, shaking off his grip and stepping to the side of him - your sights set on the communal chest.
“Darling…” He chides with now crossed arms, once again blocking your path. “You know I am not going to let this slide – I delight in being stubborn. Tell me.”
“I was…” You hesitate a split second - think. “..just a little careless cleaning my blades.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion for a moment, though he seems to relent. “Fine.”
“Can I go get a potion now?”
“No, no”, he waves you off. “Go see the druid. He’s been lazing around in camp all day, so he can spare you a cure.”
You cast your eyes over in the direction of Halsin’s tent – he’s sat cross-legged in front of it, eyes closed in meditation. He’d been enjoying the new rural camp location after a few nights spent within the city confines.
“I… No, it’s not worth bothering Halsin. Besides, we have plenty of potions.”
Astarion hums in thought. “We had.”
“What?”
“I don’t pay attention to the details, darling. All I know is that Karlach had some sort of incident, so her and Shadowheart have gone to procure more.”
“I can wait for them to get back, then.”
His grips your wrist again, holding it aloft to show you the blood dribbling down your palm and growls. “May I at least partake in this waste if you insist on bleeding yourself dry?”
You roll your eyes, wondering why you ever left your tent. “I’m not going to-“
Astarion mumbles under his breath, clearly directed at you – probably not the most pleasant of sentiments – but you can’t decipher any of it before he yanks you forward and sets off at pace towards the ex-archdruid.
“Halsin,” he barks, causing the wood elf’s eyes to snap open – the vampire spawn is not one to often call upon him. “Can you deal with… this?” He holds your wrist aloft in demonstration.
Halsin is up to his feet with far more grace than you’d expect. His eyes widen with concern, itching to take hold of your palm at once. “By Silvanus, what happened?”
“A blade cleaning accident, if you can believe. We are all out of potions and this one is convinced she’ll just wait it out.” Astarion berates, finally letting go of your wrist to push you forward towards the druid.
“Wait it…” Halsin mutters, his brow furrowing a little in disbelief. “You should’ve come straight to me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you over something so minor.”
He smiles wryly at that, stepping back and beckoning to the pile of furs at the entrance of his tent. “You are never a bother – consider all that you’ve done for me! Please, sit. You are looking a little paler than usual for my liking.”
You carefully drop down to your knees, tucking your feet beneath you. You were feeling a little light-headed, true, but you blamed that more on the wood elf’s gaze being so thoroughly directed upon you.
“Weak at the knees, darling?” Astarion teases and your cheeks warm. “I’ve done my duty, so excuse me.” You watch as the white-haired man saunters off – back to the solitude of his own tent and tome.
Halsin kneels down besides you, offering out his large palm. “May I take a closer look?”
You nod, resting your injured hand on top of his. He looks over it for a moment, turning it slightly this way and that, before gently pressing the thumb of his other hand perpendicular to your wound.
“Can you feel that all right?” He’s staring into your eyes, trying to look for a flicker of discomfort to gauge severity.
“Yes.”
“Can you flex your fingers for me? I just want to check the movement.”
“Mm.” You demonstrate, though the pain makes you grit your teeth as it pulls at the wound.
“That’s good – no signs of tendon damage. An easy fix.” A golden light begins to glow in his free hand before he smooths it over your palm. The light is absorbed into your skin and soon the cut is healed, not even a scar remaining in its place.
“Thank you.”
But Halsin’s already looking at the other nicks on your skin, the ones dotted around your fingers.
“If I didn’t know any better, these ones look like whittling injuries.”
“Oh. Erm, no… Just a little enthusiastic cleaning my blades today.”
He gives you a wry smile. “Well… Perhaps Lae’zel will be happy to assist you in future, to avoid such accidents.”
--
If you enjoyed a lil' preview of this, please go follow UltimateH3RO on Twitch who does some amazing cosplays, especially Halsin. He's streaming tonight at 5pm PST/8pm EST in his Halsin cosplay AND an Owlbear cub, and is gonna drop a new Halsin pic when he reaches 1,500 followers on his Twitch x
I absolutely love how you write Halsin, can I request a fic with a fem Tav having a nightmare sometime after Orin's kidnapping. The possession scene still haunts me to this day and keep imagining Tav seeing that over n over on top of struggling to rescue him. It ends with him waking and comforting her. Keep up the great work!
Thank you, lovely anon! I hope you enjoy - please let me know! xxx
Nightmares
Your limbs feel heavy, vision somewhat blurred around the edges as you walk past strangely empty tents in the camp on the outskirts of Rivington.
There’s an overpowering smell of rust in the air as you approach the barn, the dirt soon growing damp under your boots and it isn’t long before a squelch accompanies every step.
A sinking feeling in your stomach as a large figure emerged from the shadows.
Halsin – your sweet, caring druid - looms over the lifeless bodies of Gale, Astarion and Shadowheart. They’re splayed out almost atop of one another, arms and legs at unnatural angles, gruesome tears in their flesh, the straw sodden with red that matches the splatters across Halsin’s bare chest.
“What…?”
“Go,” Halsin growls between gritted teeth. There’s a look in his eye you haven’t seen before, his muscles shuddering with exertion as he tries to catch his breath. “Go - now - before I do the same to you.”
“No.” You shake your head, furiously, as if it might change the scene. “This isn’t real. it can’t be. You wouldn’t, Halsin-”
“It’s this city,” he grunts, thumping his chest with his fist as he glares at you. “The corruption, I cannot hold it back any longer. Why did you bring me here? I said-“
His eyes flash gold for a split second before the light engulfs his entire body – fur swiftly taking its place as he transforms and emits a mighty roar.
You take a step back in retreat and immediately trip over something – an arm or a leg – falling and knocking the back of your head upon stone. Above is no longer the ceiling of the drafty barn but what appears to an endless chasm. You sit up, scrambling back on your hands, heart pounding as you recognize your surroundings.
The Temple of Bhaal.
Halsin lies on the altar, his knuckles grazing the floor as his arm hangs off the side. You stumble up to your feet without further thought, not even checking for any Bhaal cultists or Orin herself, only focused on reaching him.
His eyes, once so full of warmth and love, stare blankly skyward - lifeless and bloodshot.
You’re too late.
There’s a scroll clenched in the fist resting upon his still chest. You tug it out with gentle fingers and unfurl it, only for to burn into ash immediately, only allowing you a glimpse of what was written at the top.
Speak with the dead.
Halsin’s body is illuminated in an eerie green glow. Not the greens of nature that he so adored, but something entirely unwordly. His neck cracks as he turns his head to face you, a hollow, foreign voice emitting from his mouth.
“You did not come for me.”
“No, I did. We did. We were just-” Cold fingers encircle your wrist, keeping you in place by the altar.
“No.” He cuts across, emotionless. “You left me here to die – alone.”
“No, Halsin. No, I swear. I don’t know what happened. We were just in camp and-“
“I called out for you.” His fingers squeeze your wrist so hard you swear the bones are about to break. “I called your name over and over and over, until my voice grew hoarse.” He places his other hand at the base of your throat, fingers splayed out over your collarbones. “I called for you, the one who lay with me, claimed to love me… yet still you did not come.”
“Halsin, please, listen-”
“You killed me.” He trails his fingers up your neck, pausing to cup your chin. “And, now, with the Oak Father as my witness, I will reset the balance of nature.”
With one powerful squeeze around your throat, your breath is cut off.
--
Whilst most elves favour four or so hours of trance, Halsin has proved to be quite the heavy sleeper in comparison – most likely due to the time he has spent in his ursine form – though a whimper from your lips is enough to wake him immediately, concerned.
He releases you from his spooned embrace, laid upon the pile of furs upon the ground, in fear that he’d somehow caused you pain, perhaps squeezed a little too tight in his dreams as he sought your warmth.
The furrowed brow, twitching limbs and mumbled, somewhat frantic protests, however, suggest you are in the throes of a nightmare. The druid swears his heart breaks, knowing it is best that you wake under your own steam rather than him call or shake you.
Mercifully, he does not have to wait long. You sit bolt upright with a desperate, gasping breath, drenched in a cold sweat, eyes flitting furiously side to side as you try and work out where you are now.
Your heart is pounding dangerously loud in your ears, so much so you can’t hear how hard you’re trying to gulp down mouthfuls of air, but it’s as if it stagnates at the top of your lungs, never truly getting deep enough.
Tears burn at your eyes at the effort and Halsin cannot hold himself back any longer. He places a large hand against the small of your back, hoping his gentle touch would help ground you.
You flinch at the contact, eyes widening as you finally see him in the dim light of the tent. There is a momentary flicker of fear across your face that Halsin prays to Silvanus that he will never see again.
It’s a short, gasp of a breath in and out and the colour now drained entirely from your cheeks that drives him to act. He pulls you onto his lap in a smooth motion, pressing your back snug up against his chest, ignoring another flinch as he places a palm between your collarbones.
“Forgive me, my heart,” he bends his head to speak directly into your ear, too aware of how hard your heart is beating and wanting to be sure you’ll hear – he can feel the dull thud against his own chest. “I need you to breathe with me.”
His body feels warm. You twitch, trying to turn to face him, check his face over for injuries, feel his heart beat beneath your fingertips, but he has you nestled perfectly between his thighs, keeping you still.
“I have you, petal. I promise you are safe.” His breath dances across your neck. “Close your eyes, focus on my touch and breathe as deep as you can. Please.”
Dark spots are dancing around your vision now, so it’s easy to close your eyes. Halsin is breathing deliberately slowly - exaggerating his inhales and exhales so your body shifts with each of his breaths in the hopes that you’ll mimic the movement.
It is trial and error - more than a few resulting in short, sharp gasps and spluttering breaths – but, slowly and surely, your heart beat slows and your breaths grow more productive.
The scent of moss, wood smoke, various herbs and flowers permeate through the panic and you finally recognize where you are in – in your dwelling in the commune.
It has been four months since the fall of the Nether Brain.
You twist in his lap again, desperate to see his face, to check if his eyes are still lifeless. Halsin permits it this time and it is with a sigh of relief that you see your druid whole and alive.
“My love?” His tone is so cautious that you break into a sob.
Halsin pulls you back against his bare chest in an instant, maneuvering you into a more comfortable position with ease as you cry. He does not make to hush you, or ask you what is wrong, only rocks you back and forth in his arms, pressing periodic kisses to your crown as he does.
Even when your sobs eventually cease into teary, pathetic hiccups, he does not press for details, remaining in silence until you build up the courage to speak.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, unsure if he has even heard.
Halsin presses a final kiss to your crown. “There is nothing to apologise for, petal.”
You look up at him, shaking your head. “No, there is. I was too late. T-the Bhaal Temple. I was too late. You-”
“You were having a nightmare. Please”, he lifts a hand to your cheek, stroking away a stray tear with his thumb, “do not torment yourself with recollection of such dark dreams. All is well – we are both safe.”
His other hand leaves your side for a moment, grabbing something you can’t see. You make to protest – it’s not safe, it’ll never be safe, Bhaal still exists, what if it was a message, or a threat? – but it dies on your tongue as he holds up a small bouquet of dried flowers under your nose, the scent calming you almost instantly.
“Humour me a moment, do you recognize the scents?”
“Mm-hm.” You take them from his hand, twirling them between your thumb and forefinger. “Lavender, roses, daisies…”
“Very good. I feared I had been somewhat distracting during our lessons.”
Lessons – that coaxes a soft, breathy laugh from you. Long, leisurely walks around the lands surrounding the commune, all with the intention of Halsin imparting his knowledge of the natural world had often turned into anything but.
Of course, he had always started off with pure intentions, he’d even keep his hands behind his back in an attempt to give focus, but all that seemed to break it was you bending down to inspect a sapling, or take in the perfume of a flower he’d pointed towards and then somehow you’d find yourself pinned against a nearby trunk or tackled oh so gently down into a flower bed, hot open-mouthed kisses pressed across your throat and collarbone…
“Mm, a little. But not enough that I don’t recall what you’ve taught me,” you look down at the dried bouquet. “For I do know that these are all known for their calming properties.”
“Indeed.” He chuckles. “I find placed under the pillow works wonders for troubled sleep, as well as keeping bad dreams at bay.”
You look up at him then, brow furrowed. “You have trouble sleeping?”
“I did – not for a while now. I find that having you nestled in my arms, my heart, is more soothing than any of the Oak Father’s creations.”
You feel the warmth prickle across your cheeks – Halsin’s compliments never fail to leave you a little flustered. He chuckles again as you drop your eyes back into your lap, a tell he has come to know well during your time together. He tilts your chin back up and presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Do you think you can go back to sleep again, petal? Dawn is still a way off.”
Tomorrow will be another long day. Though the commune continues to fall into place more and more each day, there is always so much to be done.
“I can try.” You concede.
“Here,” he plucks the dried bouquet from your hand and slips it inside your pillow, giving it a firm pat to make sure it remained comfortable. “With the hopes that it makes your dreams as sweet as you are.”
Halsin coaxes you to lie down wordlessly, spooning you against his chest and draping an arm around your waist with a light squeeze.
“Comfortable?”
You inhale deeply, the bouquet of dried flowers seeping out from the pillow, the warmth of Halsin behind you, the way his hand begins to rub gently up and down your side.
“Mm.” You mumble, closing your eyes. “I love you, Halsin.”
Halsin smiles as he feels the tension leave your body fully at last – he hated seeing you in any sort of distress, whether it be minor or major.
“I love you too, my heart.” He bends his head down and starts to kiss your neck slowly and softly - a favourite spot of both his and yours for a few moments before he retreats.
“Now, sleep, petal. Regain your energy so that I can show you precisely how much I love you in the morning, hm?”
He is unsure you have heard for sleep seems to have claimed you once more...
..but that doesn't mean he won't keep his word when dawn breaks.
Halsin x reader
Inspired by this post by @amorgansgal.
Halsin’s jaw aches.
He’s been clenching his teeth from the second the camp discovered you’d been spirited away by Orin to the Temple of Bhaal, intended as a sacrifice to the god of murder.
He hadn’t been able to relax for a moment – muscles tight, shoulders held up to his ears - despite his pleas to the Oak Father to keep his mind focused on the objective of finding the entrance to the cursed place.
His heart had stopped in his chest when he’d seen Orin hold the curved blade underneath your chin as you lay motionless on the altar, shackles around your wrists and ankles.
It was a true test of his resolve to prevent the beast from taking control. He’d dug his nails into his palms and forced himself to focus on the pain and take a deep breath. Although it would be all too easy to swipe out with his claws, rip out Orin’s throat with his teeth as retribution for ever leaving a mark on your skin, he knows that he’d never make it over in time to stop her from slicing your throat.
He’s thankful to Wyll for speaking up in a measured tone, of reminding Orin that Bhaal would relish a fight than a subdued sacrifice and unclenches his fists as she withdraws her weapon.
As soon as the slayer’s body hits the ground and disintegrates, Halsin hurries to your side, dropping to his knees besides the altar and rests a cautious palm on your chest.
“Thank Silvanus,” he murmurs, feeling you breathe.
A spell or enchantment, then, keeping you under.
His eyes fall next to the chains. He doesn’t look to see where Astarion is, ask whether he has any thieves tools to hand, but simply takes them in his hands and pulls with a grunt, the metal snapping under his brute strength and adrenaline.
He makes quick work of the ones around your ankles, heart aching as he sees the raw skin around your limbs – clearly you’d fought against the restraints furiously. He calls the spell of restoration and smoothes his palm over your face, caressing your cheek as your eyes slowly flutter open, brow furrowed in confusion as he tilts your head towards him.
“Halsin?” Your voice is hoarse, vision blurry but you’d recognize the silhouette of your partner anywhere.
“Hush, my heart.” He attempts to keep his tone soft and measured, but it is proving difficult already – a lump burning in his throat. “You must conserve your strength.”
But you’ve already sat up, catching sight of your other companions hovering behind him, concern apparent across all their faces and a netherstone now in Astarion’s possession.
Orin – she kidnapped you, whisked you away in the shadows and chained you down…
“You defeated Orin?”
“Ye-“
“We can discuss this back at camp – in the morning, after you have rested.” Halsin cuts across your companion, a firm tone perfected in his days as archdruid. His arms swiftly encompass you before any further interruptions - one around your back, another under your thighs - and you are lifted up from the altar before he begins to stride towards the exit.
Halsin has never been a swift walker. In fact, you’d describe his style as lumbering almost, much like the bear form he favoured would traverse – but on this occasion he is walking with an almost fevered haste.
You go to protest that you can walk - you just need some water and a moment to reorientate your bearings - but as you look up there is a clear tremble in Halsin’s jaw, tears lining his lashes…
You may not need this, but he certainly does.
He needs you pressed up against him, soft, warm and alive in his arms as he keeps you close against his chest.
You raise a cautious hand to his cheek and he quickly presses a kiss to your palm, eyes only flickering down to meet yours before an embarrassed smile crosses his lips.
You drop your hand and he squeezes you cautiously, ascending the stairs out of the temple.
There is so much he wishes to say, but now is not the time. Once he has you back in the safety of his tent, after he’s healed every bruise and abrasion on your skin – alongside a kiss for each for good measure – he will permit himself to relax.
You close your eyes and rest your cheek against his chest, letting out a contented sigh.
“I knew you’d come for me.”
Halsin presses a kiss against your crown, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Always, my heart.”
--
Just a short lil' drabble to try and get me back in the flow x
aka fuck it I’m cranky because it’s 9:30 on a Sunday and I’m rewriting an article for work because the writer did a bad job so you’re getting a smut-adjacent snippet
From part two of this.
Rating: T
CW: food play, I guess 🍯
————————————
He pinched a piece of honeycomb between large fingers and hurried to scoop it into his mouth before the honey could seep out. Tav watched a small pearl of honey drip off his lower lip, leaving thin, sticky threads on his chin before landing on his bare chest. Halsin’s tongue ran across his bottom lip, trying to capture the lost droplet.
Tav blinked furiously a few times before she leaned forward and tucked her knees under her. She grasped his thigh and crawled closer, then lowered her mouth to his chest. She tongued the sweet, viscous honey off his skin in a few slow swirls before kissing him there. He groaned and rested his clean hand on her back as she pressed more slow kisses across his chest, up the column of his throat, on his chin, licking away the strings of honey as she did, and then finally on his open, waiting mouth. The kisses were slow and heated, glowing embers of a fire that had burned for hours. After a few minutes, Tav pulled away.
“You looked like you could use some help,” she said.
“If those are the services you offer, I welcome the assistance,” he said. His tone was playful but his eyes were dark with desire.
Pointless Halsin fluff, afab reader - mentions of period
You wake alone, which is not unusual, but there is a dull, somewhat unfamiliar ache in your stomach, encompassing your pelvis.
It had been many months since your last moon cycle, just before you’d been kidnapped and a tadpole had slithered through your eye. You had been concerned you’d been with child – nightmares of a half mindflayer baby erupting from your stomach – but no such thing had come to pass. You’d confessed to Halsin one night and he’d assured you in times of high stress that it was not unheard of for moon cycles to pause, until your body settled back into a natural rhythm of things.
Now, as you recall how generally awful they made you feel, you wonder why you’d ever worried about their absence.
You turn and nuzzle your head into your partner’s pillow, closing your eyes and inhaling his lingering scent, trying to imagine he’s still there.
Halsin is an early riser, up often before dawn itself. He likes to start off each day with a patrol around the perimeter in his wildshaped bear to make sure it remains safe and secure for his community. You used to wake as soon as his arm released its hold on your waist, a mumbled protest before warm lips pressed against your forehead in a kiss.
“Rest, sweet one.”
He’d tuck the furs back up around your shoulders, smoothing a large palm over your hair back and forth until you settled and you’d soon sink back into slumber, despite how often you promised yourself that today was going to be the day you joined him on his duty. It had been a while now since you’d woke at his departure, but the way you woke up every morning with the furs tucked just so, you knew he still made sure you were warm and content before he left.
His absence this morning gnaws at you more than any other - a stupidly desperate need for comfort as the ache worsens. You, the hero, the savior of Baldur’s Gate reduced to sulking in your bedroll over your moon cycle.
Despite how much you want to remain curled up, the children’s voices grow louder and louder from outside your hut. They too are early risers, though know to wait until the sun is at least risen in the sky. You wince as you get to your feet, the pain seeming to grow worse the more awake you become.
But there are hungry mouths to feed.
With a resigned sigh, you force yourself to wash your face and dress and feel guilty for the smile you plaster on as you retreat from your hut to be greeted by a chorus of orphans.
--
It was an accident.
Yenna and a couple of the other children had been chasing one another – a lovely sight to see after all the atrocities they’d witnessed, of course – but they’d grown a little too rambunctious, not looking where they were going, too consumed in their game. The large pot of porridge you’d made now lay on its side, dropping it when Yenna had crashed into your side at speed.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, looking truly horrified as you stared at the split porridge. You should say something – anything – to console her, but no words come.
You cut her off with a sob as you drop to your knees, overwhelmed. You can’t do this.
“I can make more! I promise I can,” Yenna blurts out, trying to heave the pot back upright. Little fingers begin to prod at you, demanding what’s wrong as you bury your head into your knees.
“By Silvanus, what’s happened here?” Halsin’s voice booms as he enters the clearing, taking in the scene before him. The children’s attention is diverted towards him immediately, all scrambling towards him.
“Yenna bumped into Mama and she dropped the porridge pot!”
“Is anyone hurt?”
A young tiefling girl tugs at his tunic. “Daddy Halsin, Mama is crying.”
“Mama is…” Halsin’s voice drifts off as he searches for you, finding you curled up in on yourself – a most unwelcome sight. He hurries over to you at once, dropping to his knee and laying a hand on your arm cautiously, scanning you over.
“Are you injured, my heart?”
You lift your head, tears streaming down your face, shaking it frantically. “N-no, I just… I-”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He wraps you up in his arms at once, pulling you flush against his chest as he feels your body tremble and brings you up to your feet. “Tasha, please will you go fetch Art and a few other of the adults?”
Tasha nods, hurrying off in the direction of the other huts before Halsin steps the two of you in the direction of your own. “I will be with you in just a moment, darling. Go lay down.”
You nod again, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks with the heel of your hand as you quickly scurry back into your sanctuary, making for the bedroll at once.
Halsin turns to settle the rest of the waiting children, all unsure as to what they have just witnessed. “Now, then, I see some fine fruits and honey laid out that will satisfy any rumbling tummies until a new batch of porridge is ready, hm?”
“I’m so sorry,” Yenna apologises again, mortified. “I didn’t look where I was going and I didn’t mean to make her trip.”
Halsin crouches down to face her as a handful of children begin to help themselves to the sundries on the table. “It is all right, Yenna. Those tears are not for split porridge, I am certain.”
--
Your tears have dwindled to soft hiccups as you lay on your side, knees tucked up into your chest when the door opens and quietly shuts once more. Halsin is quick to lay behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a long kiss to your crown before he speaks.
“Your moon cycle has returned.”
You twist in his arms, wanting to see his face. “How did you know?”
He smiles, sheepishly. “Truthfully, I could smell something different about you when I rose this morning. I should’ve stayed.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“I would’ve insisted you stay in bed whilst I brewed you a tea to relieve the pain. I was ambitious, thinking I could complete my patrol and return before you woke.”
“Stop blaming yourself. I am the one who sobbed over split porridge. Poor Yenna.”
“Yenna is fine, my heart. In fact, she is making a new batch as we speak, aided by Art.” He begins to rub a circle with his palm on your lower back.
“I feel such a fool.”
“That is one thing you can never be.” Halsin presses a kiss upon your forehead as you begin to relax in his embrace. “Allow me to prepare a warm compress and the tea, and then I shall dote on you for however long.”
“We do not have time to be doted or doting on one another-”
“We do – I insist upon it.” His tone is firm – reminiscent of his Archdruid days. “Yenna is quite keen to take over cooking responsibilities the rest of the day. Enid is going to take the younger ones down to harvest the vegetable patches. The camp will survive without us.”
You wince as a cramp starts, digging your nails into his arm.
“I cannot bear to see an ounce of pain across your brow, my heart. I must go prepare that tea.”
You’re reluctant to let go, feeling pathetic as you pout. “And then more cuddles?”
Halsin leans down and presses a long, gentle kiss on your lips. “With the Oak Father as my witness, the cuddles will be endless.”
--
I am sad and I'd just like some Halsin cuddles, please hence... whatever this is.
Hieee, I made us something fluffy. This is from my current WIP, which is part 2 of Like Coming Home (rated E, though this snippet is not, but it is a little suggestive).
Below is tooth-rotting fluff and return of the honeybuns. Also they say the name of the fic.
—————————————————————
When she returned, she found Halsin stripped down to his smallclothes, facing away from her with a stack of his own letters in his large hands. Tav kept them on the nightstand under the whittled duck he had long ago gifted her. The edges of the parchment were soft from being so often handled; Tav read them most nights before tucking herself into a trance. She leaned in the doorframe a moment to drink him in: his aura of quiet conviction, his chiseled back, the way the ends of his hair curled softly and brushed against his neck and shoulders.
“These letters were written by someone who loves you very much,” he said, sensing her presence. “I should like to meet them one day.”
Tav smiled as she made her way to him. She balanced her tray of snacks on the bed, snaked her arms around him from behind, and planted a kiss on the mole near the center of his back.
“Mmm, you need your spectacles, old man,” she teased.
Halsin smiled and turned around in her embrace, then kissed the top of Tav’s head, tucking her hair behind her ears before trying to make a subtle grab toward the tray for a pastry. She laughed.
“Help yourself, love.”
“Oh, I think I already did that,” he replied, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. Tav flushed. She perched on the corner at the foot of the bed and watched him munch happily on the honeybun.
“Good?”
“I don’t know how you’ve done it,” he said, licking clean the sticky pads of his fingers. “But you’ve made something that tastes like coming home after a long journey.”
