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thedarksilkpen · 17 days ago

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The Rite of Blooming

Pairing: Halsin x Tav (female reader) WC: 3,811 Summary: There's a rite of blooming that Halsin feels called to do in the forests surrounding camp. He feels safe with you, secure in the knowledge that you'll keep him safe as he brings fruit to bare in a ritual. Tags: ritual sex, grounding, body worship, female oral, breeding if you squint? NSFW

this is written in a new writing software so sorry if the formatting wound up odd in the cross over (ellipsus, i quite like it actually), and edited by my always lovely and amazing beta @emfirebender! enjoy some Halsin! we sure did :) 💙💚

(Suggestions/pairings/spicy ideas or challenges are welcome!)

Halsin’s invitation is not spoken lightly.

He says your name as if it belongs in his mouth; deliberate, careful, like a sacred verse recited at the foot of an altar. His voice is low and laced with meaning, but devoid of demand. It’s not a command. It’s a gift, and an exceptional one. “Come with me,” he says, and though his tone is gentle, something ancient stirs beneath the words, rooted and waiting. The air thickens, the soil seems to warm beneath your feet, and every leaf in earshot stills.

He doesn’t reach for you. Instead he simply turns, barefoot and steady, and you follow him as if pulled on an unseen tether. Past the soft boundary of the camp, past the sentinel trees whose branches seem to bow in recognition. Soon enough you find yourself deep into the wooded copse and with every step into the forest’s heart, the world grows quieter, more reverent. The air grows heavy with moisture and meaning, nature holding its breath at your approach. The moonlight here feels different, weightier somehow, with the shadows coiling at your feet. You feel it in your belly— in the slickness between your thighs.

The trail disappears beneath the new Spring’s eager growth. Moss thickens beneath your soles, plush and yielding. Blue flowers, tiny and luminescent, bloom as your skin brushes them, as if called to life by your passing. Spore-laced air drifts thick as incense, curling in your hair, clinging to your lashes. The scent is damp and green and faintly sweet, like something blooming after rain. You feel seen. Unmade. Desired by the land itself.

At last, Halsin stops.

The glade is alive. Not in the way that plants are alive, but in the way that even long forgotten temples remember. Moss breathes beneath your feet. Stones encircle the space like ancient sentries, half-swallowed by ivy, crowned in white nocturnal blossoms. In the center, an ancient tree towers with impossible grace. White petals spill from its limbs like falling stars, blooming only in the hush of night. The air here is dense with meaning. You feel it settle into your lungs, into your blood. Everything here has the unmistakable taste of beginning, of renewal.

Halsin turns, golden even in the shadows, his silhouette cut in solemn lines against the bioluminescence behind him. His bare chest catches the moonlight in silver arcs. His hair is damp with sweat or dew. When his eyes meet yours there’s something in them. Something sharper, hungrier. Something ritualistic.

“The Spring Equinox,” he says, voice rough velvet, “is not simply a date. It is the axis upon which the entire season turns. It marks the end of sleep. The beginning of bloom. The moment the world remembers itself. The time when all things, beast, tree, and man, must remember their need to touch, to hunger, to thrive."

You swallow hard. Your throat is dry and tight.

"This rite is older than any written instruction," he continues, steadfast eyes never leaving yours. "It is not performed. It is surrendered to. We submit to it. We become the vessel.” He puts a hand to his own chest, dipping his head to regard you with respect. This is Holiness to him. “We offer our bodies, yes, but also our breath, our blood, our will. We let the seasons pass through us. We let the body be broken open by it. And when it finishes with us… we are changed, and the world blooms anew."

"It blooms anew?" you echo, the slightest bit of hesitation evident in your voice.

"The area will be cleansed, the ground sanctified. It's not just the soul that's changed in the rite. The land remembers. Where we join, the forest marks it. It blooms louder the next spring. It beats back the darkness that we've both seen encroaching on the land." Your mind flashes back to the Shadow-cursed lands and the darkness emanating from Thaniel, tainting the ground and the very essence of the world.

"Then let me see you as you are, antlers and all. Don't mistake me for something fragile at the center. We've come this far together, so take me the rest of the way there. I came here to bloom." Your own voice feels foreign to your ears with how assured you are.

His eyes glow faintly in the dimness with their rich intensity, earthen and grounding.

“I have prepared,” he says, voice quieter now, gentler. “Three days without food. Without fire. I let the river scour me raw until my skin burned with cold. I walked barefoot beneath the stars and let the wind cleanse me. I’m empty now. Carved out by the Mother and made ready.” He takes a breath and it’s shaky despite his poise; he’s just as nervous as you are. “But a vessel alone is a hollow thing. I need one who can anchor me. One who will not break when I come undone. Who will see what I become and not turn away.”

Your heart is pounding hard enough to bruise bone, pulse thundering in your throat and blood rushing in your ears.

“Why me?” you ask, your voice a tremor against the stillness. It escapes before you can stop it, a momentary show of weakness.

He steps forward. It’s just one step, but the air reacts like he’s crossed a boundary. It presses in around you, warm and thick and humming, like the glade itself is listening for his answer.

“Because the forest listens when you moan. Because your scent is carved into my bones. Because you undo me with a look, and still, I am not afraid. Because I have imagined taking you a hundred ways beneath a hundred trees, and still it is never enough.” His jaw flexes. “And because when I lose myself tonight, I want to be found in you.”

He’s close now. Not touching, not yet, but the heat of him rolls over your skin. The scent of resin and warm leaves radiates from his chest. Under it: something darker. Not violent, but vast. Wild. Like wet fur and lightning, feral musk and fresh-cut blooms. It terrifies you. It thrills you.

“You may still say no, still walk away,” he says, voice gone rough and hushed. “But if you remain, if you open yourself to this rite… I will not stop once it begins. There will be no holding back. No gentleness. No false restraint. I will take you until the forest itself is sated.”

The glade tightens around you, listening with bated breath. Nothing stirs, and time pauses to the perfect point of a needle, poised on a dew drop. Mother nature herself kneels to you, holding space for your momentary internal pause.

Then, softly, reverently, he speaks your name. It's no longer a question.

It's a ritual unto itself.

“Will you let me bless you?”

“Yes.”

The rush of air that leaves him is replicated by the forest around you and it seems to surge forward as he does, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him in one motion. Halsin’s lips find yours quickly, a soft hesitation still behind his motions. You part your lips against him and return the kiss, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek gently. At your touch any pretense of holding himself back disappears, and a low growl rumbles in the back of his throat like rolling thunder. A small part of you cowers at the sound and the implication, but it shrinks away to nothing when Halsin’s calloused hand lands on your waist.

His hands are large for an elf, but you never expected that he would be able to engulf your whole hip in one palm. You’ve never felt so fragile, yet so gently handled. Halsin’s lips move from yours to the hollow behind your ear. His hair tickles you and goosebumps erupt on your arms and neck. When he speaks again his voice is raw, thick with emotion.

“You… Are the whole of me. Would that I could have filled you with only myself before the rite… But this was needed of me, of us.” The hand on your waist flexes just slightly, just enough to show how much he’s holding himself back, keeping the beast at bay a little longer, to be present with you as just himself. His strong, tanned arms wrap around your body like ivy along a beautiful trellis.

One hand presses gently between your shoulder blades as the other tilts your chin upward. Halsin’s lips find the hollow at your collarbones and he presses another kiss there, starting to sear a scorching path to your navel. He lowers himself in front of you, sinking to his knees and running his nose gently along the hem of your low-slung cloth skirt. On instinct you drop your hand to his head, carding your fingers through his brown locks.

A gasp tears its way from your throat when he positions his mouth between your thighs, lifting one leg over his shoulder with careful strength and balancing you on him. The weight of you against him draws a pleased sound from deep in his chest, rumbling and animalistic with its intent. Heated air from his quick breaths spreads along your center and you’re not surprised to find a low burning fire already in your core. The first press of his tongue against your cunt is met with groans from both of you— yours of pleasure and his of embers stoked to roaring flame.

A kiss, light and breath-warm, pressed to your slick center. Then another. His mouth opens, tasting you slowly, savoring like it’s his first drop of water after days in the sun. A peach, pared open for him and dripping with the simple press of a finger to the flesh. Large hands manipulate your body with ease, and the same gentleness and care you’ve come to expect of him.

The moan he gives is low and shaken. “You taste like spring. Like waking up.” At his words you tighten your fingers in his hair, looking down at him and watching with soft pants of desire. His eyes are closed, eyelashes tickling the insides of your thighs as he caresses his nose along your pussy. With every movement of his nose and tongue across your clit you breathe out in a rush, your hips starting to move counter to his tongue.

“Are you… Are you still you?” you venture, tugging his hair gently until he pulls back and allows his eyes to meet yours. They’re clear, fully him.

"You will know when I'm gone, love." His voice rumbles in your core and you watch him with half-lidded eyes as he runs the tip of his nose just below your navel. "This body is precious. I'm afraid of harming you."

"Sweet bear," you croon, your hand running soothingly through his hair. His eyes close again and he leans his forehead against you, wide palms caressing either leg where he holds you against him. "I came with you willingly. I didn't come here to tremble like grass before your storm. Show me the gales inside, and let the Mother heal." This time when he meets your gaze again there's something deeper- an acceptance that you truly won't turn away. A letting go.

"As you wish." With no more hesitation he devotes himself entirely to your pleasure, tongue slow and deliberate, unfurling you with each stroke. His lips seal around you, sucking softly, and your hands twist into his hair again. You brace against his shoulders, gasping, thighs shaking with the effort of staying upright, fingernails digging in the meat of his shoulder. Halsin holds you firm, one hand spanning your back, the other gripping your thigh with reverent possessiveness.

His eyes flicker open to meet yours, and it’s almost like staring into the forest itself.

Wild. Rooted. Eternal.

When you cry out, when your legs begin to tremble and your orgasm threatens to crash over you like storm tide, he doesn't stop. He holds you tighter. Guides you through it. You cum with a shudder, head thrown back, body arching against him, and Halsin's hands tighten in response against you. He holds you like that as the echoes fade, as the night seeps back into your awareness, and when your breath finally steadies he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Now is the forest's turn," he murmurs, presses another sticky kiss to the sensitive skin below your navel. When you nod your continued assent he lets your leg drop gently back to the forest floor, rising with one fluid motion. Before he can speak again, your hand finds his chiseled jaw.

"Let the forest remember us." He smiles at your words, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to yours.

"It will." The arc of his shoulders and the tremble in his breath betray how staunchly he’s holding the beast at bay, how deeply your permission steadies him. You can feel it in the air now, thicker and warmer as if the rite is already blooming around you in response to your first climax.

The moss beneath your feet has gone plush. Springy. The petals that have fallen from the great tree seem to gather themselves into a soft nest where he guides you with care. There's no force in his actions, only quiet inevitability and soft affection. Like water drawn downhill. When your head touches the soft moss pillow he follows, pressing his forehead to yours and locking eyes with you.

He presses his forehead to yours again. “Lay back,” he whispers. “Let me see you.” When you obey, the hush that falls over the glade is absolute. Even the wind goes still. His hand rests at the junction of your hip and thigh, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin there.

You watch his eyes scan across the whole of your body, drinking in the sight of supple flesh and devotional beauty. His tongue darts out to meet his lower lip, the only nervous gesture you've ever seen the man make. The other hand, somewhat shakily, goes to the base of his cock where he strokes himself, flushed and pulsing.

You watch the moment that his restraint breaks.

There's the curl of his lip as he presses just the head of his cock inside of you that gives it away, and the furrowing of his brow as your tightness envelopes him. Your cunt is already soaked from his mouth and the glide is smooth, easy. He tries and fails to bite back a groan, meeting your eyes with a wild look in his own. A single bead of sweat runs down his temple and you track it until it meets his jaw.

With one hand splayed beside your head and the other steadying your hip, Halsin pushes inside. Slow. So achingly slow you can feel every trembling inch. It’s overwhelming and the stretch feels nearly unbearable, until it isn’t. Until it feels right.

You don't breathe, not fully, at least. Not until he's buried to the hilt and trembling above you.

You gasp as he moves, testing the rhythm, drawing halfway out only to sink back in with an unhurried groan. The weight of him is immense, both in body and presence, his thrusts steady as rain. The tree overhead groans with it, shedding petals like offerings to your joining. Your fingers dig into his back, sliding against the sweat gathering there. Each thrust presses your hips into the moss, grounding you to the land itself.

"This," he breathes against your mouth, "is what the season aches for—this heat, this wetness, this closeness of two beings." Halsin's hand comes to your cheek, roughly cupping your face in his palm as his breathing grows heavier. "Do you feel it? Tell me you feel it."

Your moans aren’t quiet now. They can’t be. He pulls them, aching, from you with every motion of his cock. They echo, and you realize that that is part of the rite too— your pleasure, your sound, your yes, filling the clearing. Letting the gods, if they still listen, know you chose this. That you welcomed it.

Halsin’s head drops into the crook of your neck. “Say it,” he whispers, voice frayed and tight, "say that you feel it."

"I feel it." Your lips ghost against his as you reassure him. "I feel it all. The forest is here with us, Halsin. Let go." Halsin growls lightly in response, his hips stuttering. A low rumble grows from his chest, something deeper, more wild. A sound dragged from the heart of the rite, and in response he starts to move harder. Not rough, but full… Devouring.

You wrap your legs around him instinctively, gasping each time he sinks home, and you swear the flowers bloom faster, the wind stirs stronger. The entire glade is being rewritten with every thrust of the druid above you. Just before he falls apart you feel the shift. Not in his rhythm or pace, but in him. A tremor ripples through his limbs, the power coiling under his skin.

"Stay with me," he growls, his voice low even as his eyes briefly reflect something deeper, something worried.

You do.

His thrusts deepen into long and unhurried strokes that seem to reach into your very lungs, claiming every breath before it can fully leave you. The moss gives slightly beneath your back with each movement, springy and wet. It makes for an interesting dichotomy, cool where your spine presses into it but burning where his skin touches yours. Halsin's strong body surrounds you entirely, his forearms braced by either side of you, chest brushing yours with every motion of his hips, and the thick root of him pulsing inside of you a second heartbeat.

One of his hands slides beneath you to the small of your back, levying you against him and changing the angle, allowing his every thrust to press hard against that aching place inside of you that makes you see stars. The sounds that spill from you are wholly ones of filthy pleasure, echoing against the canopy of the leaves. Every breath you drag is filled with him now— his sweat on your tongue, his name on your lips and your slickness still lingering on his. You cling tightly to him, your nails digging furrows into the skin of his back, making him shudder with each score.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice deeper, more primal. Halsin pulls back from you just enough for your eyes to meet. His eyes are intense, blown black with arousal and the presence of… something else. "Don't look away. Not when I make you cum."

He doesn't wait for your response, reaching between your bodies with a shaking hand, rough thumb finding your clit with precision. His pressure is just right, circling, coaxing, devastating— you aren't prepared for it. Your body arches against his as you tighten on his cock, mouth falling open with a wordless cry of pleasure, every sound swallowed greedily by the glade around you, the forest itself drinking you in.

"That's it," Halsin whispers in encouragement, his eyes taking in every inch of you, "let it take you. Let it change you."

And gods, does it.

You shatter like a storm breaking over the treetops, the band of pleasure in your gut snapped taut and broken by gale force winds. Halsin holds you through it once more, hips still thrusting against yours and whispering to you, even as you come down gasping, dizzy, wet with sweat and the thick scents of moss and sap and sex.

Halsin groans again, lower now, the sound scraping raw from his throat as though he's been waiting a lifetime to release it. Your name falls in a litany from his lips, fractured and reverent. He loses whatever fragile restraint remained to him, his rhythm stuttering and then breaking entirely. His hips snap into you with no identifiable pattern, each thrust driving a cry from your mouth, body already oversensitive and trembling.

You cling to him anyway, taking all of him, as you promised you would.

The full weight of him bears down on you like thunder made flesh, all primal arousal and self gratification.

"I can't-" he chokes, voice sticking thickly in his throat, "I can't stop- you're-" His body tenses over you, every muscle pulled as taut as a bowstring. The he surges forward, burying his cock in you as deep as he can, whole frame shuddering and breath catching against your skin as his climax finally takes him— forceful, unending.

Halsin groans your name like it's the only thing tethering himself to his body, spilling inside of you in hot, heavy pulses, hips jerking with each wave of pleasure. Finally his forehead drops to your shoulder and he growls from deep within his chest, clutching you to him as though he might fall apart without you there to hold him together.

The forest holds its breath.

So do you.

Everything is still except for the tremor in Halsin's limbs and the sharp, panting breaths he draws against your neck. He doesn't pull out. Doesn't move. Not yet. He just lays over you like a great oak fallen in worship before a storm, chest heaving, cum leaking from where the two of you are joined.

Beneath the thunder of release and beneath the sweat and your pulse, you feel it— the glade remembering, waking up, blooming anew.

You lie together in the silence that follows, the sound of your mingled breaths slowly softening. Halsin's weight remains above you, grounding, anchoring. His arms are wrapped fully around you, not with passion, now, but awe. The tremble in his arms is different as well, as though something vast inside of him has finally quieted.

And then the glade exhales.

A warmth pulses beneath you, faint and golden, spreading in slow and deliberate rings. Where your bodies met, where your breath caught and his name left your throat in a cry of release, the moss grows deeper, thicker. From the base of the great tree, white blossoms unfold, the petals full and dewy. The earth beneath your spine thrums with new life and around the edge of the glade, new vines creep and curl. Ferns begin to stretch toward you like supplicants.

The forest remembers.

You feel it claim the shape of your pleasure and the weight of his body, the place where his seed spilled inside of you. It records each gasp and rhythm and whispered name in every root and petal, in soil and in leaf. A prayer written in sweat and joined flesh.

Halsin brushes a kiss to your temple gently. "We've given the land something to sing about, hm?"

Overhead the tree shivers in full bloom, shedding soft white petals across your skin like falling stars.

An agreement.

#morning reblog

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