WoaaahBrutal

The models are a little bigger in Blender than they would be in the real world. Devil Wyll was 6'7" going by his model in blender, which is just...Not Correct.

This could be because my extracts scaled slightly wrong when i imported them into blender, or the in-game scale is slightly larger than the real world, or they're just modeled a little taller than they're meant to be to make them look biggg. (my vote is that i fucked the scale. rip y'all's estimation of my intelligence.)

Whatever the reason, I knew that they were all scaled wrong in the same way. This means that instead of giving up a futile pursuit, I could do math to figure out something more reasonable.

We happen to know that Astarion is "approximately 5'11"."

I used that as a baseline. So, with our scale established, we get something like this:

Other notes:

Shadowheart/Jahiera/Minthara, Minsc/Halsin, and Gale/Astarion/Wyll share the same heights because they use the same body model.

I'm decently certain that githyanki share an armature with elves/half-elves/drow/humans, so even though the gith body model looks different, Lae'zel is the same height as the other gals to line up with their armature's bones.

I didn't include hair or head accessories (like Shadowheart's) in the total height (that's cheating).

I did include Durge's and Karlach's horns in their overall height, but Karlach's really don't add much (maybe a cm or 2).

Average height worldwide (on Earth) for men is 5'9"/ 175 cm, and for women is 5'4" / 161 cm, so they're all quite tall, but mostly still within a standard deviation of the average.

His movements stop, lips hovering just that little bit away. Hesitation is noticeable in how he waits just out of reach, almost afraid he’d hurt you. A conflict rises in your chest when you come to meet his gaze, his eyes holding a half-lidded want that you could feel yourself wishing to melt helplessly into. But even now, with your soul laid out so plainly, naked in every way but physically, you still feel that nervous tug. It truly had been some time, after all. Every touch against you was electric, his kiss alone already all-consuming. You wished for more, yet your skittishness held you captive. 

And then he tries to pull away, and once more panic beats your worry.

“Don’t-” the word comes out quicker than you can even think it, hands gripping fistfuls of the front of his shirt. Hesitation falls to something much kinder on him. An easy smile takes his lips, his head leaning against yours.

“You needn’t worry, I have no plans to leave you anytime soon,” he assures you. Your hands loosen their grip, a deep breath steadying your lungs. You find only softness in his eyes, patience still there even when you falter. He holds there for a moment, fondness almost hiding the worry still hidden in the corners of his expression.

“Perhaps I am pushing too far. We do not need to do anything more tonight if you do not wish to. This is already more than enough,” he speaks the words you didn’t have the will to form on your own. A final opportunity to pull away laid out in front of you. You consider it, the hummingbird rhythm of your heart threatening immolation if you choose anything else. 

And yet you can’t find it in you to entertain the idea for long. Not when the warmth of him was soothing that neglected part of your soul, not when you were just starting to remember what it felt like to be held – truly held. A war fought itself inside you between what you believed you could handle and what you knew you so desperately wanted. Between that familiar need to protect your vulnerable heart and that unending wish to surrender it entirely.

“I want you more than anything,” the admission leaves you as if the breath was stolen by the wind, the air borrowed for only the moment it took to speak it into existence. You feel the way his hands tighten ever so slightly around your waist, a heavy breath softening every one of his features. But healthy caution tempers it, your words not quite finished.

“But this,” you continue, your hands trailing slowly upward, a small comfort as you bring them to cradle his face. 

“This is the closest I’ve been to anyone in longer than I can remember. I have wanted for so, so long. Craved, even. To have it now is so entirely overwhelming I can hardly remember to breathe,” the words spill from you, unbitten and from the soul. 

As he looks at you now he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more stunning. So open with him, honesty written in your every syllable, expressing your desire like the finest poetry he’d ever heard. And while holding him, no less, so gentle he might have believed you were trying to ruin him. Though you hardly needed to attempt, the soft whisper of your voice did that well enough. He has to catch himself then, as he had wished for nothing more than to take your lips again and taste every last word left on them. But he knows better than that. You were far too fragile in that moment for him to dare.

So he considers your words, turning them in his mind and soaking in their every meaning. In truth you hadn’t needed to admit such a thing to him, he could tell just by how your body reacted to him. Curling away and delving deeper all at once, squirming under his palm like he was the most foreign thing to meet your skin in a century, yet so curious as to have your hands trail almost absently along him. He knew the signs well, perhaps even a bit too intimately given how easily he melted into you. He could feel his pulse quicken at the thought of just how sensitive you must be, absent from touch for so long. If the gasp from earlier was anything to go by he knew you’d have him ruined on just the sound of you-

He quickly pushed those thoughts aside, blinking back to the moment as swiftly as he’d strayed from it. But just that small wander of his thoughts was enough to draw something deep within him to the surface. It was hard to focus with you so close, your presence burning so deeply into him. His desires have plagued him since that first day he’d met you, but never had he felt them so deeply, never had he needed you as he did now.

“Then I would teach you to breathe again,” the words are a murmur on his lips as he leans closer. The way you hold him is a trance he hopes to never wake from. 

“Allow me to remind you of what your body has forgotten. Allow me to teach it more than it’s known,” he continues as if he whispers a prayer. His eyes show his want plainly, a slow, breathy sigh passed between his words. Yet still he remains that same breath away, waiting to be chosen, waiting for you. 

“Allow me to be gentle with you,” he speaks almost against your lips, a honeyed promise. Having him so close crumbles whatever resolve you still had standing, but his words destroy it entirely. Desperation rises in its stead, a frantic need to hold on, to never let this fragile bond shatter. 

You had never wanted someone more.

“Please,” you whisper, voice breaking slightly.

“Please have me,” you finally relent and his lips meet yours not a moment after. The kiss he gives you then is the sweetest you’d ever tasted, as gentle as he promised, soft with his every movement. You fall into the infinity of his comfort.

His hand returns, the subtle tug now holding very clear meaning. He is slow with the request, being sure you understand him. You answer with hands that slip around his neck, allowing yourself to fall deeper still. You prepare for the touch, knowing it’s coming, yet still when the warmth of him meets the bare skin of your torso you can’t help the way each muscle flexes under it, nor the way your breath catches and your hands tighten. But this time he doesn’t pull away, remaining there, tracing soft circles with his thumb against the twitching skin. You maintain enough of your composure to stay on his lips this time, soothing yourself in the rhythm. He moves further, intentional in each graze, so sure of himself that you hardly think to be cautious. It felt as if he did that for you. 

Eventually he’s pulling the cloth upward, inch by agonizing inch, slowing just before breaking the kiss, as if it pains him to let go for even that moment. But soon enough the shirt is over your head and discarded on the grass beside you. Your eyes follow it, skin bristling at the cool night air just as much as it does at the feeling of being so bare in someone's arms. His hands return quickly, warmth radiating off him in waves. When you dare to look back at him you are met with an expression so entirely consumed by fondness you might have wondered if he was staring at something else entirely. A soft half-smile lazy on his face, a hooded gaze hardly hiding the gleam in his eyes. He looked so at peace here, like he had always belonged in this space with you. There was no worry; nervousness was left to the wind in favor of admiring what sat before him. Even now he somehow found ways to dull your fears, to soothe them. It was hard to feel so nervous when he hadn’t a worry in the world. 

Almost in instinct you lean back into his touch, hoping to find refuge from the breeze that sends a shiver down your spine. You fall against his chest and he takes you into his hold just as quickly. Wrapping his arms around you, sheltering you as your shirt once had. You feel yourself relax again, lost in him as pine invades your senses. One slow breath releases some of the tension in your muscles and you feel his hands wander in response. Across the plane of your back where old scars left landmarks to memorize and trace, then back to your sides which once more twitched in recognition of him, then finding your arm, your shoulders, before pulling you far enough from his chest to cradle your face like you had once done with him. You don’t think you’ve ever been so relaxed- so undone by someone. It was as if he wove spells with the trace of his hands, blurring worry and doubt into puddles that melted right out of you, replaced instead by the hazy need for more. Your eyes must have said as much, given how pleased he seemed by what he’d done to you. 

He leans closer again and your lips part expectantly, embracing his return. But he stops just short, breath mixing with yours in the pause of a moment that seems to last forever. When his lips do eventually fall it isn’t against your own, but instead the skin just beside. Your cheek, then the line of your jaw, then lower still. His hands follow, falling again down the side of you, returning to your waist just as his lips pause briefly on the pulse of your neck, the oh so slight tease of teeth catching your breath for the shortest moment. Each fall of his lips is just a little deeper than the last, innocent feather-light kisses bleeding into something more. He lays them until he comes to the shell of your ear, a huff of breath setting every nerve alight.

“To touch you like this is a blessing, to feel your skin against mine a dream,” he mumbles the words into your ear, voice buried in a rasp from low in his throat. Your hands grip tightly onto the loose cloth of his shirt as he does, falling apart at the new sensations. A sound escapes unwillingly from you, something between a whimper and a huff, and you tense at the strangeness of it. He returns the sound with a graveled hum, burying his face into the crook of your neck in response. The hands on your waist grip just that bit tighter, teeth baring just that little bit more against your skin.

“Again,” he speaks against your skin, a slight bite behind his words, a glimpse into what he’s holding back. 

“Sing for me again, little bird,” he makes the seemingly small request. You thought the tightness of your throat would have made an answer impossible until he pulled you closer, hands resting on your thighs as his tongue meets the sweet spot on your neck you only now realize he’d been searching for. The sound that floods out of you then is much clearer, lips parting into a gasping whine. His tongue drags lewdly across your skin, setting alight your every nerve, unabashed in its desire to taste you. 

And oh does the taste of you cloud his mind, flooding his senses. He was searching for every bit of you he could take, every piece you’d allow him. He almost broke when you leaned further, allowing more room to explore, giving into him in just the smallest way. His mind flooded with images of you, of how you’d feel entirely bare against him, how those hands would travel, curious as always, how he’d finally drag sound free from your chest and bless the world with your magnificent song. But he catches himself again, steadying on your tight hands and sweet uneven breath. He refrains from teeth, being as gentle as he’d promised, as agonizing as the slow pace is. Though perhaps it was for the best, perhaps he needed it just as much as you. He could already feel that flicker in his veins, that fire in his heart that threatened to ruin this most perfect moment. And he found the only thing that soothed it was the careful way he dragged his tongue against you, sating the burning beast just enough to calm it rather than provoke it. 

That is until the drag of a particularly sensitive spot makes you rut against him, delicious friction pausing him, eyes shut tight, groans torn deep from his throat. In a moment he’s returned to meet your lips, seeking something sweeter in the hells you’ve raised beneath his skin. And he finds it, a reminder of your caution in how you hesitate for just a moment before returning it. 

Holding your hips he coaxes the two of you to the ground, soft grass tickling the senses. He feels you smile against him, a sensation that nearly makes his heart explode in his chest as he’s quick to lick to the taste of it on your lips. Your hands wrap around his neck to keep him close, and he almost considers staying there for the rest of the night. Just you and him, laying happily under the stars, tasting passion on each other’s tongues. A picture of paradise. 

But he can’t ignore the pull of something more. Skin so hot that a sheen of sweat begins to form, hands needy with every handful of you they can get. You certainly don’t help matters when your hands meet his hair again, gentle for one moment, then lightly pulling the next. Like you had done earlier, and it conjures pictures all the same now as it did then.

So he breaks that perfect kiss, pulling away from hands that seem entirely unwilling to let go, even if they do in the end. In a moment he’s removed his shirt, thankful for the brief reprieve the night air gives his heated skin. He had planned to return just as quickly, to fall back into the ocean of you like a helpless tide. But he finds himself pausing. It’s not hesitation that stops him, nor any return of worry. No, it’s in reverence at the sight before him. Laid among the earth, half bare, wide eyes capturing his form with little desire left to hide. He hardly believes the sight, as perfect as a painting captured by ethereal means, for no mere man could ever hope to paint the entire majesty of you to canvas. Such a thing would be a hopeless endeavor. 

When your eyes finally meet in this brief time he is surprised to see that awe doesn’t melt from your gaze. Instead your hand reaches forward, an action he returns by leaning in. You place your palm against the heart of his chest, fingertips mixing with coarse hair. He relaxes into the sensation, eyes heavy with the peace your simple gesture brings.

“You’re…beautiful,” the words slip your tongue from some place even you aren’t sure the origins of. They stun him, pausing every thought and action, his eyes widening in surprise. He watches panic meet you at his reaction, the small mercy of your hand against him torn away, like you’d touched fire. In pure instinct he steals your hand from the air, capturing it before you could pull too far away before placing it back where you held it- where it belongs. You blink in recognition of the moment, drawn between panic and peace. He smiles then, soft as rain, hoping to soothe the burn.

“Beautiful…” he tastes the word as he speaks it, an adjective stolen from him. He had meant to say such a thing of you, though hardly expected you would think the same of him. He savors the way it sounds, how you had spoken it so truly. A word that’s fallen off his tongue a thousand times, though not one he’s ever received.

“I do not believe anyone has ever called me that before,” but it was how you saw him, it was the word that captured your mind and fell so genuinely off your tongue. Beautiful.

“Say it again,” he asks oh so innocently. Your eyebrows knit, nose twitching at the request. Confused perhaps? Or maybe just caught off guard. But either way you soften, your hand splaying against his skin in a silent return.

“You’re beautiful,” the words fall stronger this time, with much more intention held behind them. His smile only grows, practically giddy at the sound. Beautiful, you thought him beautiful.

“Again,” he requests, laying a quick kiss against your nose. You smile and he can hardly resist laying another on the bridge between your eyes, your forehead, then cheek, then chin. And suddenly you’re laughing, a sound that rings as awful encouragement and he can’t help but oblige. You try to speak through the giggles, your hand pushing lightly against him, a plea for mercy that he ignores in favor of drawing more of that perfect sound out of you.

“H-Halsin!” You try to plea, though it is a weak one given that it’s spoken through a helpless laugh. It doesn’t stop him.

“You’re- gods, you’re beautiful!” you bargain instead and it seems he finds that sufficient, his kisses slowing until he rests inches away, unbridled joy written in every one of his features. 

“And you, little lover, are a sight more enticing than any I’ve known,” he muses through a trickling laugh soon replaced by calm smiles and eyes that hold the world within them. You return just the same look, your hand tracing slowly from his chest and up his neck until your palm rests on his face again. He turns as if it is the most natural thing, laying a kiss against your palm. Then his hand came to grab yours, his kiss trailing to your wrist, following your pulse until coming to your shoulder. Your breath grows unsteady as he continues to your collarbone, still as light as a feather against your skin. One of his hands steady on the ground as the other finds your side again, your body once more shuttering at the touch. His tongue returns with a hunger you hadn’t yet known as he finds the column of your throat, your head tilting up in acquiesce. Tiny love bites nip here and there as he makes it back to your ear, biting the lobe with another release of breath.

“I do wonder how you might react when I finally devour you,” he whispers the filthy words into your ear, already sensitive skin practically alight at his musings. He takes advantage, trailing his hand in ways that make you shutter.

“Can you imagine it? My tongue tasting each piece of you, how you might unravel,” he continues, his hands lowering until his thumb just barely slips under the hem of your pants. You gasp, gripping tighter onto him. This only seems to encourage him.

“How sensitive you must be, neglected for so long. Your body already sings its need for me,” he teases the skin of your lower stomach, so close yet so agonizingly far from where you need him. Your hips move of their own accord, seeking any amount of friction they can find. He pushes you gently back to the ground, your body left with no other recourse than to squirm in the desire his words set fire to.

“Halsin,” you manage his name through a breath, the images he’d conjured nearly too much for your already hammering heart. He hums in recognition of his effect, another kiss against your neck revealing the smile on his face. 

“Yes, my heart?” he answers through the kisses, tone thick with something dangerous. You huff, the sound bleeding into a whine as his lips begin to their line back down again.

“I-I…I need you,” you beg, those few words digging dangerous claws into him, grabbing at instinct and tempting it. His mind flashes with how he might pin you below him, how he would take you in every way you desire, how he'd give you everything you need. He moans at the thoughts alone before swallowing them down, trying to find patience again. But gods how you made something once so simple now so difficult to grasp. Every piece of his being wanted nothing more than to envelop itself entirely in you.

“And you will have me,” he answers with in a low sound, still trying to keep hold of control. Now fervent kisses creep lower, finding new territory past your collar and down your chest. The evidence of his effect is most prevalent there where your breaths run shallow and your heart beats against his lips. He’s enamored by the feeling, caught in it. The rise and fall, the fluttering thrum, the honesty you’d once hidden now entirely on display. You couldn’t hide from him now even if you wished to. 

As he continues down so too does his hand drag away fabric. Lower and lower, cold air teasing the exposed skin. Your quiet cries get needier, tempting him further until finally he’s able to endure a moment away from your skin, shifting so that he might pull the final pieces of cloth that hide you. With a bit of movement he manages, breath torn entirely out of you as he does. It’s instinct that quickly closes your legs afterward, reality setting in again. His smile remains just as soft as he stares down at you, setting the cloth nearby. He’s careful in his return, prior intensity cooling for a moment. A hand on your calf gently pulling you closer, a kiss on your knee a reminder of his promise. I will be gentle with you. 

The slow return calms you, reminds you that you are safe under his hands. And when he trails again it is a ghosting touch, requesting more than it demands, slowly pushing legs apart. You give in rather quickly, once more caught in the feel of him against you. His touch, his kiss, every bit that he allowed was as intoxicating as the last. He soothed you just as much as he ruined you. 

His eyes are shameless as they look upon you now, taking in the irresistible sight before him. A love as fickle as flame and as captivating as deep ocean all at once. His most beloved bird offering him this most sacred rite. His hooded gaze shows his admiration plainly, eyes wandering with thoughts poorly hidden behind them. How you might feel, how you might taste.

“Such magnificence,” he mumbles against where he kisses your knee. Slower than ever before he creates a new line that his needy lips follow down your inner thigh, eyes finding yours with unmistakable purpose. You can’t bear to keep his stare, each breath already difficult.

“Kept so preciously hidden,” he continues, an unspoken request to return in his tone that you can’t bring yourself to answer. Not when he’s so close, not when each fan of his breath sends shockwaves through every nerve. 

“My flighty love,” he muses anyway, and as if to earn your attention again he lays a small bite just along your inner thigh. The squeaking sound you make is entirely undignified, your eyes returning to his in shock only to find something smug written on the curl of his lips. 

“Stay,” the word falls so sweetly as it pins you, daring you to deny him. A part of you wondered what he might do if you did, how he might find a way to claim you again, what lengths he’d go to just to keep your attention on him. But another part couldn’t dare, his undivided stare meeting yours as each kiss brought him closer to the core of you, already slick with desperate anticipation. There is a pause right before he finally gives you what you so crave, lips hovering close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath, his eyes flickering to take in the sight. So ready for him, fluttering at every twitch of movement, needing him.

“Please,” the sound comes out shaky, unable to stand a second more of this sweet torture. He shivers at the word, almost undone by it. To see you need him, beg for him. It was a sight sure to be burned within his mind for centuries. He almost considers teasing you just that bit more, to see how long it might take before you devolve into nothing but a whining mess of nerves. But one look into your eyes dissolves the idea right there, the smallest pout telling him that he might find something sweeter by giving you what you so wished for.

The first touch of his against you is a precious kiss: soft, kind and not nearly enough. Your body flinches at the contact, breath caught in your throat. The sound that leaves after is as obvious a complaint as any, but he hardly allows it to pass your lips before his tongue licks along your folds, a moan drawn out from that forgotten place again. Your surprise shows, eyes widening as you flutter around his tongue. It alights something within him. Suddenly his mouth is all over you, suckling, licking, devouring. He intends to learn just how many ways he can get you to sing for him. 

And sing you do. Each roll of his tongue was like returning to a world of pleasure you had forgotten the existence of. You hardly notice the sounds coming out of your mouth, your mind too fogged to think of anything other than keeping him right there. Eventually the grass between your fingers isn’t enough to grant any relief, your hands soon finding their way into his hair again, pushing him further into you, your tight grip ruining the strands you had once so lovingly placed. The contented moan he lets out when you do vibrates against nearly your entire being, and you roll into the sensation.

His hands find your hips again, holding you in place and pulling you closer, delving deeper. His tongue teasing before it falls inside you, your bucking hips held firmly down. Each new sensation burns you deeper, entirely too sensitive to the expertise of his skilled tongue. 

He was right about your taste, sweet and tangy on his tongue, slick and wet and ready. He tastes your desperation, can practically feel the way you unravel at each touch. Like a blooming flower, like warm spring like- gods he can hardly find the words enough to describe it. It is you. Your sounds, your smell. You muddle his mind. He can hardly count how many times he had imagined just this, buried in your sweet cunt and delivering everything you could possibly need. But even he couldn’t have thought of this. How pliable you’d be, how each touch of his was almost too much. It had a dazing effect, it made him want more. To know how you might feel-

His thoughts are pulled immediately back to the task at hand when he feels the dangerous loosening of your hands, his eyes looking up again to find uneven breath, your body entirely too weak under him. The sound you make when he suddenly stops – hoarse and raw and helpless – almost makes him fall right back into you. The feel of your legs squeezing around him is the only grounding force, his hands gripping tighter onto you in response. You loosen with a broken whimper, breath far too quick. He travels up your body with soft quick kisses.

“Breathe. I have you,” he soothes, his hand coming to rest on your side again, coaxing calm with the familiar careful trace. You try, as best you can, but you have never felt so entranced by someone before. His entire presence was overwhelming, the fan of his breath enough to illicit full-body shutters. All of it only made worse by the pleasure he had brought, your body begging for more despite knowing it was too much.

You groan in frustration, having entirely lost the run of yourself, unable to find a way to pull the reins. All images returned to him and how his tongue felt against you, how you needed more. Everything, all of it. It didn’t matter that you had nearly lost yourself in the process, you needed it, you needed him.

You try to find words again, to beg, to plead that he would continue even in your entirely undone state. But you find you don’t have the breath to, each release of air too quick to find enough of it. As if to sense your protest his lips find their way to yours, a kiss the only thing that is able to bring you back to any type of reality. You taste yourself on his tongue, mixing with the unendingly intoxicating taste of him. When he pulls away his head lays against yours, capturing your eyes before they can flee.

“Focus on me,” he speaks and you try to listen, eyes staying with him, focusing on the mix of green, gray and hazel in them. You absorb their every detail, noticing the way the colors bleed into each other, the undertones hiding near his pupils that have blown nearly wide enough to cover them entirely. He breathes, steady and strong, and you mimic him without even realizing.

He stays there a while, ensuring you catch your breath before he even dares to leave again, kissing sweetly against your face, moving to your neck and down to your collar before returning. Slow and soft, no meaning left behind them. Just gentle lulls that help your lungs find oxygen again. Only once the erratic pace soothes does he return to you, laying a more meaningful kiss on your lips. Less to distract this time and more to pull you back in. When he pulls away he rests himself on his forearms so he might stay with you a while, though the feeling of you being entirely pinned under him isn’t lost on either of you. 

“You were not exaggerating when you said you would forget to breathe,” he teased lightly, though worry bleeds into it. Embarrassment creeps in as you realize you might have almost passed out, even more so that you had been too caught up to care about that consequence. 

“Sorry I uh- I should’ve-” 

“Do not apologize,” he cuts off your words before you can finish them, a look both amused and stern passing across his face. He lays another kiss against your lips, quicker this time, a small comfort.

“I have never seen a sight more breathtaking than that of you like this. I do not blame you for feeling the same,” his words drip with affection that his eyes do nothing to hide. Truly the fact he remained breathing at all was both a miracle and a show of will. Lesser men would have lost themselves the moment your skin laid openly beneath their palm – temptation incarnate. 

But then you smile again. And for a moment he was no better, stealing another kiss to sate his growing appetite, endlessly searching for more. Anything you’d give him, all of you. He has to pull his own reins to keep the hunger in check. 

“You’re too good to me,” you murmur against his lips, your hands reaching again, not as hesitant as they’d once been. He is familiar now, safe. And so you feel no need to hide the care with which you return to his hair, fingers weaving in with the now messy strands. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, a smile spreading noticeably wide on his lips, shoulders relaxing to calm again.

“I do not believe such a thing possible,” he murmured back. This time it is you who deepens the kiss, pulling him closer. His response is the request of his tongue that you part your lips quickly for. And suddenly the two of you are falling into one another again, gentle and slow, deliberate with each movement. His hand returns, caressing your face for one sweet moment before falling lower. Past collarbone and the crest of your chest, fingertips tracing lightly against the skin of your torso, finding your side again, your hips, then pulling you suddenly closer. You raise your hips in response, grinding against him, friction found in the cloth that still keeps you from one another. The kiss finally breaks as you both moan into each other’s mouths, the fleeting second of pleasure not nearly enough. Slightly panting, he falls to your ear again – his favorite place to whisper, you’re starting to realize. 

“Breathe for me this time,” his voice falls deep again, thick with unshaken desire. The trace of his hand falls to your thighs, gripping at the soft flesh, spreading you wider as his tongue begins another lewd drag along your neck. He begins to leave small marks of his presence there, tiny bruises hardly felt, little pieces that he claims. The primal urge to bite emerges at the smallest whimper that leaves when his hand trails closer, teasing sensitive skin with his mere presence. His eyes screw shut, something all too animal clawing its way up his throat. Never had he felt such a profound need to bite before, but gods were you just too sweet. It takes a moment to swallow the feeling. 

“My love, my heart, you will be the death of me,” his words fall through something husky, not entirely meant to be heard. 

Finally he returns, his fingers tracing against still soaked folds, still so ready. Another of those sweet sounds is drawn out of you as you pull him close. He keeps a close eye on you as his thumb begins to rub agonizingly slow circles, counting your breaths just as much as he allows himself to enjoy the way you crumble. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over just how eagerly your body responds to him.

The slow circles tighten, slightly faster. Enough to make you buck into the feeling, but remaining too pinned to get any more friction than he gives you. The moan that leaves is almost drowned by your caught breath when he slows. You think for a moment to beg again, to plead for release from this sweet hell. But the roaming of one of his fingers teasing your entrance takes the thought away instead, a gasp stopping any hope of words forming in your throat.

“Shhh, Relax. I have you,” he murmurs into your neck. You inhale deeply when he does, mimicking his calm breaths, warmth spreading through you at each small movement. His lips travel lower, nipping at your collar in a way that’s almost sweet.

“Let me take care of you,” he speaks into your skin with a voice steeped in devotion. Eyes shut lightly, reveling in every taste and sound and feeling, wanting only for your pleasure. He nearly tenses when you loosen your grip again, worried that you were once more carried away, that he might have pushed too far too soon. But the way your fingers move gently through his hair soothes him just as quickly, a silent assurance that you are perfectly calm. He melts into the feeling, indulging in it just before he finally pushes in. Shallow at first, just enough to get a reaction. But then slightly deeper, and then deeper still. There’s hardly any resistance as he does, hells you’re eager to take him. The feel of your walls squeezing around him drives him nearly mad, his mouth watering. 

“So good for me,” he encourages you, drowned in every new sound he draws out. Breathy moans and squeaks with every inch he pushes. His favorite is when he started working in a second finger, the surprised sound cut off by a low moan. He picks up the pace when both are deep inside you, his head resting on your chest as he focuses, searching, curling his fingers at different points until-

“H-Hells!” You yell, grip tightening, your entire body jolting at the touch.  

“There you are,” he murmured before suddenly he was aiming for that spot in you. Your body falls into unbidden pleasure, sounds more revealing than the last drawn out. When you start to get restless he begins pushing his palm against your clit with each new stroke. The sounds you make then are divine, your hands searching aimlessly for any respite from the feeling. He lays precious kisses on your chest, each a small reminder to breathe. You catch on quickly, steadying yourself as your eyes screw shut, moaning through each caught breath. Until your noises catch too, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders, legs trapping him in place. Words are a lost cause, falling helplessly from you in incoherent curses. Suddenly he can’t take his tongue off you, licking from chest to throat before he finds the will to speak.

“That’s it, pretty bird. So sweet under me. You take me so beautifully,” his voice sounds just as desperate as yours, eyes glazed with hunger. You unravel like a symphony, cresting into silence before you fall into unending breathy moans. You squirm under him, bucking into his still steady pace. Teeth graze against your skin, daring but still somehow restrained as he watches you crumble, tightening around him in a way that drives him wild. He dares to pull away enough to look at you, the sight of your focused brow and open mouth enough for him to rut against you, his body acting before he can hope to stop it. He winces at the feeling, surrounded by the sound of you as he realizes just how tight his pants have become, straining almost painfully. His mind keeps returning to being between your legs, looking up at you wrapped around his tongue. And what’s more he can still taste you, reminders held in the corners of his lips that he licked at greedily, never one to waste such a gift from one of nature’s finest creatures.

It’s only once you start to twitch that he slows again, bringing the pleasure to a soft end. Teeth turn to tongue turn to careful gentle kisses working you down from your high, trying not to lose himself to how intensely he wished to feel you. Engulfed by your pleasure, squeezing in ways he could only imagine the pleasure of. How tight you were, how warm. It was a near impossible task to ignore the effect it had on him, his own scattered breath joining yours, chest heavy in the place your pleasure had brought him to. Lost entirely in you, melting into your every touch. 

When he finally pulls his fingers away his body tenses at the sound you make, a noise that might just be the most desperate thing he’s ever heard. It almost tempts him to delve back in, seeking another release from you with new fervor, anything to see you fall further apart, anything to bring you closer again, anything to hear that again. It is only the weak grip you have buried in his hair that restrains him there, too much of a warning to ignore. And so instead he pulls away, hoping it would bring him any sense in this lustful fog you’ve buried him under. 

He rests his weight on one hand as he pulls away from you, the other still sticky with you. He glances at it, a thought forming, an unmistakable craving. His fingers meet his tongue before he can even think to stop himself, the taste of you returning, somehow sweeter. 

When his gaze returns to you he is captured by the sight. Wide eyes staring up at the filthy act, skin sticky and warm, breath still heavy. He smiles, removing his fingers with a hesitation that shows just how much he enjoyed the taste of you. He revels in the way you shiver as he does, squirming just slightly, eyes flickering away as if the sight is too much. With a gentle touch he holds your chin, guiding you back to him, unable to suffer the absence of you. He leans back in just as your gaze reaches his again, a short kiss shared for a moment before he parted just a breath away again, a small reassurance. 

“Are you ready for me?” He whispers, the words entirely too soft for what they entail. Your breath hitches for a short second, returning soon after at the careful way he holds you. His mere presence alone soothed your worries – his admiring gaze, his gentle hands, his whispered words. An anchor in the sea of pleasure he was inducing. 

Somehow you find the courage to take his lips for your own. He hums into you, something that almost sounds like a purr, a deep breath taking you in as he falls helplessly into your embrace again. But it is another of the short kisses, pulling away while it remained more soft than passionate.

“Yes,” you answer against his lips, almost too quiet in the shuttered breath. The way he looks at you then is half-lidded desire, a shared breath just before he pulls away. You think of stopping him, almost unable to bear the sudden cold the night brings. But you stop yourself when he goes to finally remove his pants. There’s anticipation in the moment it takes him to do so, a slight struggle with his belt that almost makes you laugh, but when they come undone and he is left entirely bare before you…words aren’t even possible then.

He tosses them aside before setting himself on his knees as he returns. Your legs remain open to him this time, the most tempting of invitations. The distance is closed in an instant when he gets hold of your ankle, dragging you suddenly closer. You gasp as he fills your senses again, lips laid on yours, hands holding any piece of you they can. You feel the heavy weight of him resting just against you, and it’s almost enough to distract from the way his kiss grows sloppy, messy, desperate. When the sensations are too much your body seeks relief before you can stop it, rolling up and against him, stuttering his motions to a stop, the messy kiss cut short as he holds back a strangled noise. His brows grow tight and his eyes stay shut, a slight snarl turning his lips upward. When his eyes open the expression quickly fades into another, sharp breath and tightened features softening, a thick swallow of a now heavy tongue. 

“Oak father preserve me; I need you,” he mutters, laying lips to skin, voice hardly holding his desire back. More, hells he needs more. No single taste of you is enough, he needs all of you. Yet when your hands move to caress his skin, his muscles rippling in reply, he can’t stand the gentle touch among the sheer wave of pleasure you were already bringing him. It was too much. A comfort he’d forgotten, sensations he couldn’t handle after so long without. He takes both your hands into one of his, pushing them away until he has them pinned above you. An action he soon realized only made you all the more eager under him, every inch of your body begging for him, bucking and squirming just to feel him. And you were succeeding, his already hard cock twitching against your every movement. 

His body responded in kind, sliding just against your entrance in a way that caught his breath and left you shivering. Incoherent words whispered themselves against your skin – simple praises, curses too quiet to make out as anything other than vibration against your skin. His hands trail low again, almost reminiscent, before he grabs hold of himself, guiding to find the warmth of you. 

He starts the same way he did with his hands, shallow, slow, pushing ever so slightly deeper. Though you feel every inch even more at the stretch he causes, each push spreading you wide to fit him. There are no sounds then but huffed breath and sharp gasps, too captured by the feeling to think of anything else. It is a sweet hell he brings, slow and deliberate, ever so careful with you. Until finally you are entirely filled by him, clenching and relaxing, adjusting to the sheer size of him. He rests there for a long moment, a held breath. 

He pulls away from your neck just enough to get a sight of you, hoping it might ground him enough to somehow break from the haze being so deep in you has brought over him. But hope is lost when his gaze meets yours. Your expression is bliss, eyes begging for his return. No longer the skittish little thing he’d seen before, hunger now held heavy in your eyes. When his grip loosens on your hands they reach slowly for him, caressing his shoulders, quiet requests for his embrace, ones he can’t bring himself to stop anymore when they feel so good. It is…entirely overwhelming how you look, how you feel to him in that moment. Like all of the world is you, like nothing else ever mattered. Duty, responsibilities, the call to something more – all of it fell apart here. There wasn’t anything left to think about but you, the oak fathers most prized creation, nature incarnate. His pretty bird.

“Halsin?” You call his name and he swears it comes from the heavens themselves. Yet still it brings him closer to the moment, blinking back into the full presence of you. He sighs as if the weight of the world falls off his shoulders then, his head coming to rest on yours.

“Forgive me, I…” his voice trails in soft breath, distracted, enamored.

“I’m lost in you,” his words hold an unquestionable sincerity just before he takes your lips. The kiss is gentle, grounding. Kind, careful and coaxing, finding relief in the feeling of each other. When he pulls away again your eyes meet. There is a short moment you both spend there, a brief second before he finally moves again. Slow, one deep stroke that draws mutual moans. Your hands grip tighter onto him, encouraging the movement, your head falling back to reveal your neck again, an open invitation. A sound from deep within his chest vibrates, a growling approval as he buries himself back into the haze, forgoing any resistance and reveling in the openness you allow him. His face buries, teeth and tongue mixing with heated breath as he starts a careful pace. 

In truth, it is taking every once of his willpower to not take all of you here and now, to pin you exactly where you belong and take your pleasure with a brutal pace. To hear you, taste you, smell you, feel you. To learn just how long it takes before you can’t take it anymore, how your already bumbling words become incoherent, screaming his name into the night. It was a pace he was used to, what most craved from him. But it’s your simple touch that gives him pause. The graze of a hand finding the planes of his back, holding him close; the caught breath against his ear, a sound sweeter than spring rain. This pace you set – careful, slow, exploring – it captivates him, as you so often tend to do. He can’t help but allow himself the weakness of it, to fall against it, to give you the same. A beast rages under his skin, demanding more, demanding you, yet somehow it is also you that soothes it, allowing him the calm of simply feeling. His expression is a snarl, fangs half revealed, laying gentle reminders of his presence with each stroke; it is something more intimate than he’s ever felt, something more to the want he has for you than he’s known before. 

“Stay with me,” his lips speak the words, but he hardly thinks them. Lost, so entirely lost in you.

“I couldn’t bear a departure from you; stay, be mine,” breathless, like prayers to a forgotten god. Some half answer forms in your mind, but you aren’t allowed the time to speak before his pace quickens. In a moment of selfish greed he takes your face into his hand, turning you back to him, keeping your eyes on him. 

“Stay,” he speaks as he did earlier, though this time far more demanding. You listen, even if every piece of you wished for nothing more than to fall apart. You keep his gaze, watching each twisting expression, the way he shivers as you hold tighter, how he responds to your every flutter with undeniable hunger. His thumb presses against your lip, a request you more than allow, your lips parting, waiting, wanting. You see the spark in his eyes as you do, something igniting as his thumb slips in, pressing on your tongue, mouth held wide, too blissed to care about any prior decency. You simply taste him, moaning against his hand. The look he gives is more than worth it, like it is the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Gods,” he speaks through gritted teeth, pulling his thumb away just to take your lips onto his again. There is no rhyme or reason to the motion of his kiss, just movement. Like before he is seeking, searching, looking for that place inside you that washes you in bliss. You can feel the moment he focuses, tongue lazy, lips slowed. Then suddenly he breaks away, his arms hooking under your knees, pressing you forward, his bodyweight entirely against yours. It’s then he finds what he’s looking for.

“Halsin!” You yell his name, unable to think of anything else but him. Him, nothing but him. His pace sets against that sweet spot with determined fervor, trying to draw it all out of you. Every whine, every moan, every echo of his name on your lips. Lost, lost, he is lost. 

“H-Hells Halsin- please,” you try to keep his stare, you really do. But when your back arches and you feel that growing pleasure start to burn you can’t help the way you fall back again, sounds torn from you. Another crescendo, another piece stolen so lovingly. You cry out a caught sound, hands gripping onto his shoulders, nails digging like talons. He carries on through it all, whispering sweet praises you hardly hear. How well you take him, how delicious you looked, how sweet you sounded. His pace only slows when your cries start to shatter, broken sounds spilling in exhausted ecstasy. Yet even as he slows he doesn’t stop, heavy strokes still alighting nerves now electric in their sensitivity.

“So good, my heart. You’re doing so well,” his words finally reach you again, though they are the sounds of a man caught in his own pleasure, his heavy weight atop of you unyielding, his breath growing ever shallow. Each of his movements is devastating now – too much, too much. 

“Just a little more,” his words break through a growl in his throat as you tighten, so entirely wrecked. He loses the grip under one of your legs, instead bringing his hand to the side of your throat, tilting you to him again, eyes locking in a moment almost too intimate.

“One more. Please,” he begs this time and you crumble against it, bucking back into him, just as lost. He shutters, eyes closing for a brief moment as his pace quickens again. You writhe in blissful agony, so entirely removed from every thought that all that is left is the feel of him. The stretch, the pull and push and weight. You don’t even attempt to control the sounds that fall out of you, instead only burying yourself in his shoulder, muffling them against his skin in some vein hope it would save you. The rope tightens again, burning bliss building, this time sure to ruin whatever’s left. You cry against him, cut between the pleas of his name. You think you couldn’t possibly feel anything more than this, and as if to hear the thought he reaches between the both of you, hands once more rubbing tight circles, drowning you in pleasure, allowing no escape. 

He is a man entirely drunk on the feel of you, restraint long since abandoned, feral in his need to see you fall apart. Even as his own pleasure starts to mount, as he knows he can’t possibly hope to hold on for much longer against all that you are, he still seeks it. Every piece of you is as addictive as the last and all he ever wants is more. Even as you break against him he can’t help how deeply he wishes to see you shatter.

Too much, too much, all of it is too much. Both of you deprived of such closeness for so long, filling voids that had grown nearly all-consuming. Wanting for more, even in the face of bodies too eager to make it last. Drawing out a moment for however long you might, but knowing it would always be too short. 

Yet again his skilled hands prove too much for you, your voice silenced as the rope snaps. In a haze too devastated to do much else you bury your hands in his hair again, pulling him impossibly closer, teeth burying in the skin of his shoulder. Seeking any sort of comfort, any reprieve from the white hot fever he runs through you. Still trying to remember how to breathe.

It isn’t a moment later that he follows, a strangled moan against you, his grip as tight as yours, his pace a shuttering mess as he unfolds. Each ragged breath drinks in the scent of you, each drawn out pull a taste of more. It is a moment so brief for how endlessly he wished to revel in it. Buried in you, lost in you. Entangled in a warm mess, no definite place where either of you ended or began, only limbs and hearts, bare and revealed, no piece left hidden. But ragged breaths soon calm, bruising grips loosening to gentle holds. Slowing to a stop, daring only a few moments more before the bliss passes into quick exhaustion. A second more stolen, a final moment when he holds you just beneath him. It could never last long enough.

Only when he can no longer hold himself up does he fall to your side, pulling you with him, still unable to bear the distance. Tangled and warm and right. Exactly where he was meant to be. He muffles contented sounds against you, hums as softness returns to his touch. A hand tracing along the skin of your thigh, a kiss laid gently against your temple. Ever closer, never close enough. 

Breath is hardly caught before his lips find yours, a short kiss, a calming return. You lock eyes when you part, and you could not have found the words for his expression then. An admiration beyond speech, beyond language itself. Something so foreign. Never before had you loved someone so open with themselves, soul bared in his eyes alone. 

Perhaps it was the look you gave, taken aback at his stare and unknowingly mimicking the vastness of it back to him, but he returns again, another brief kiss. Then again, and you can taste something almost desperate on his tongue, the low vibration of a warning as he pulls you closer. You gasp into it, taken aback by the quickness. Breaking again he is quick to bury his head in the crook of your neck this time, resting there with a huff.

“Every kiss is temptation. You would do well to stop me,” he mutters the words like they are already a forgotten thought carried weightlessly into the night. You smile at that, almost amused by how readily he fell back into you. But you relent anyway, knowing better than to stoke the fire more than you could handle. So instead you move to cradle his head against your chest. He steadies himself on the slowing of your heartbeat, taught muscles loosening once more, your hand returning to the strands of his hair like a fallen leaf to the earth below. Slow, hesitating on the breeze before you find where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. He sighs as if just the simple caress is enough to mend any suffering he’d ever faced, as if all burdens fall away with the breath.