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writingjourney · 3 months

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Small Beauties

Life at court while beneficial to your station is above all else one thing – unbearably lonely. With a youth spent in unreciprocated longing, the trap of an unhappy marriage, illness, loss and untimely farewells there is one thing that does not change throughout the years – your infatuation and blossoming friendship with Otto Hightower. After all is said and done, are you not both deserving of the very thing you never allowed yourselves to have?

pairing: Otto Hightower x fem!reader // rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 19k words in five parts + epilogue, pining, forbidden romance, mostly gentle!otto, talks about pregnancy/infertility, minor character death, grief, religious themes (faith of the seven), smut (thigh riding, hand job, oral sex f!receiving, p in v, unprotected, coming inside, mild hand kink)

This story is available on AO3, split into five chapters ♡

1 The Maiden Days

Otto Hightower lifts the ornate cup to his lips, taking a lazy sip before he slowly lowers it yet again. A crimson stain lingers on the soft skin, the Dornish wine momentarily painting them red. You are transfixed by the sight. No matter how often he repeats this simple action it never fails to incite a war in your chest – heart beating rapidly, your lungs fluttering with every breath.

You fold your hands in your lap to ground yourself, observing him from your spot on the cool stone bench that sits at the far end of the balcony. Around you, a handful of other young ladies has erupted into lively chatter, most of them a few years younger than you.

“Ser Alister is so very handsome,” one of them chirps, giggling under her breath as they all turn to look at the man. “A fine knight, tall and strong and most honourable. His blue eyes are captivating.”

“Have you seen Ser Matthos? I hear that he has never lost a battle, the strongest knight in all the Riverlands.”

“Who do you admire, my lady?”

The voice resounds close to your ear – your friend, the Lady Emeline. You answer in a low hum, feigning contemplation. But your eyes still follow his every movement. Often times the lord will keep to himself, observing these gatherings more so than participating. His auburn hair shimmers golden in the warm sunlight and you are so very grateful to behold him outside of the gloomy chambers of the castle.

“Ser Otto,” you whisper.

They all burst into laughter like you told a hilarious joke, guffawing quite unladylike which garners the attention of the entire balcony, including the man you have been speaking of.

“I am not jesting,” you inform them.

Their laughter stops at once. Emeline’s hand wraps around your forearm. “But, you cannot be serious?”

Your eyes stay on the Lord whose solemn gaze still holds you captive. “The Lord Hand is handsome and tall, he is intelligent and experienced in life. An honourable man who serves our realm most faithfully. Any young lady would be lucky to be wed to him.”

“But he is… old,” she whispers now.

“And he is the Lady Alicent’s father,” another girl adds.

You decide to end your rhapsody, if only because you know they could never understand your infatuation. The Lord Hand is not older than half of the men your father is considering as a match for you, even though he certainly appears to be wise beyond his years. Recently widowed and in no want of a new wife, you are well aware that all your dreams of being with him are hopeless. However, this knowledge does nothing to quench your desires as his eyes remain fixed on you for longer than is appropriate. You confidently hold his gaze, even as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Finally, he averts his eyes, just as the red stain slowly fades from his pale lips.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your father has been pacing since the sun began to wander westwards, his arms crossed behind his back as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers. You’ve seen this nervous gesture plenty of times in your life, only this time his distress has been inadvertently caused by you. Not even the splendid view over the prospering gardens of King’s Landing seems to calm his agitation. “She is of age, she has been of age for long enough that anything but a swift betrothal would be considered shameful, especially now that we are here.”

“Surely that should not be an issue, my lord?” your mother asks. “I hear from the other ladies that she has many a handsome suitor.”

“Suitors, yes, but no promising match. We have to entertain the possibility of sending her to the Riverlands or even the North, though I would prefer for her to stay in the capital. It is always useful to have a direct line to the crown.”

“Perhaps a Lannister?” she asks. “Or Ser Alister? All the young girls seem enamoured with him and his father sits on the king’s council.”

“What about Ser Otto?” you interject.

“The Lord Hand?” Your father barks out a laugh. “He will not have you, girl.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not important enough, child, and most certainly not handsome enough to tempt a man like him. If he harboured any interest in you he would have already expressed it.”

“My lord.”

You startle at the sound of the deep voice that haunts your very existence these days, followed by the crunching of heavy footsteps on the gravely path. Your face instantly drains of all colour until you can feel the blood rushing back to your cheeks tenfold. You and your mother are seated underneath a rose-colored pavilion but the shade does nothing to cool your heated skin. At the arrival of your guest, you both stand for a polite greeting. From your spot close beside him you make out a familiar pair of leather boots and the ornate hem of a set of dark green garbs, the elaborate pattern of which you could describe in great detail from memory alone.

You cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“My Lord Hand,” your father greets. “To what do I owe the honour of such an unexpected visit?”

“I was informed of your arrival, my lord. I deeply regret that I was kept busy for most of the day – as you well know from your own time in the capital the council never truly rests.” He stops for a moment when your father chuckles, then his voice softens. “My ladies.”

“My lord, what a pleasure to see you,” your mother replies. “It has been nigh a decade.”

“Indeed, my lady. I trust that your lord father is in good health?”

“He is,” she says with a playful smile. “The only ailment he cannot quite soothe is his growing ennui. He so loved to meddle in politics, now all he gets to dictate are his servants while my brother commands his army.”

The Lord Hand gives a kindhearted chuckle and you can almost feel the deep rumbling of his chest vibrating against you, a quake that has your own body trembling helplessly. You realise that every second of silence raises the risk of appearing unseemly to the lord, and so you finally glance up at him, only to find his green eyes already resting on you.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” you say, wishing the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

“My lady.” The corner of his mouth bends into a kind if not sympathetic smile. He must have heard his name coming from your lips upon his arrival and you cannot help but suspect that he finds the suggestion pitiable.

For the remainder of their conversation you stay quiet, withdrawing into yourself to nurse your deep embarrassment and sneaking glances at the lord only when you’re certain that his attention lies elsewhere. Soon your father follows the Lord Hand back inside the keep for a private audience and you remain seated in the gardens with a broken heart. Your mother inquires about the knights and lords you have met in your time in King’s Landing, riddling you with questions about potential marriage candidates.

She does not ask about Otto Hightower.

✦ ✧ ✦

The lady Alicent pulls the book from the shelf ever so cautiously in the way that she was taught to handle the ancient tomes that reside in her lord father’s library. You stand by her side, reading the spines of the books in the collection that his lordship as well as his predecessors have accumulated over the past centuries. Storybooks and fairytales are scarce, you are quite certain that you have read all of them thrice at this point, and so you and your friend have moved on to the historical accounts that the septa never taught you about.

The Lord Hand is eyeing you from his desk where he is taking care of his correspondence, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the quill scratches the ink into the parchment. Alicent, who has retrieved the book by now, presents the title to him.

“Hm, a good pick, my daughter.”

You both smile at him and his eyes stay on you for so long that you are inclined to stall your departure even as Alicent makes her way to the door. You have never been very subtle about your feelings for the lord and for the past few moons he has indulged you by meeting your eyes more often than would be deemed appropriate should anyone notice.

“A word, my lady?” he asks, sensing your apprehension.

You glance at Alicent who merely gives you one of her kind smiles. “I shall wait for you in the godswood.”

A nervous sensation spreads in your limbs, numbing your fingers as you link your hands behind your back. His lordship stands and beholds you for a moment, his gaze betraying none of his thoughts as it flits between your face and the rest of your form. You stand still, meeting his eyes as you are wont to do, trying to uphold an air of confidence and maturity beyond your years.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your betrothal, my lady,” he says eventually.

“Thank you, my lord.” You hesitate for a moment in surprise as he is the first to bring up the subject since your father presented you with the news. “I was not aware that it had been announced already.”

He sits down behind his desk, neatly folding his long hands on its surface. “I assisted your father with the arrangements. The match was my suggestion.”

“Oh.” You feel your limbs trembling, the realisation like a knife in your chest. “I see.”

“I know he may not be who you dreamed for yourself,” he continues with a knowing expression that softens his features in a way that makes you want to weep.

“My lord has a keen, observant eye.”

“Indeed I have noticed your glances, my lady.” His brows pull together in a display of almost fatherly sympathy but it only makes the knife twist and sink in deeper. “And while I am flattered by your… infatuation, I must point out that this arrangement spares you a life by the side of a man much older than yourself. Ser Alister is in the prime of his youth, a well-favoured knight, and he will make a fine husband for many years to come.”

You nod, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I am fortunate to be betrothed to such a brave and noble knight. And yet **I feel that I must point out that you are being most unkind to yourself, my lord. Your age only adds to your character, your wisdom and gentle disposition are unmatched by any knight I have met in my life. If you ever chose to marry again, the lady would be most fortunate indeed.”

“Your generous words are appreciated, my lady.” He gives a smile that feels more genuine than the ones you have seen before. You refuse to get lost in the way it makes his eyes glow in the light of the candles. “May the Seven watch over you and bestow you with a prosperous future.”

You swallow around the tears that are painfully forming in your eyes, willing the corners of your mouth to return his kindness. “Thank you, my lord. I am certain with your blessings they will.”

2 The Wedded Days

“Seven blessings on your hunt, my lord. May your arrows fly true.”

You press a kiss to your husband’s pale cheek, the courtyard a cacophony of neighing horses, shouting men and clattering weapons in your ears. The hour is early and yet the keep is already alive as it prepares for a day that promises fresh game and other spoils of the woods.

He mounts his horse with a chuckle. “Can you not hear the deer already bawling? They are quivering with fear.”

You fight off a grimace, feeling sorry for the poor animals, and wave after the party as they depart for the Kingswood. A few other ladies who have bid their husbands farewell are waiting with you, waving until the last horse is out of sight and quiet settles in.

Your husband of three years recently inherited his father’s titles and has risen significantly in the king’s esteem ever since. As a proficient hunter since his childhood days it is no surprise that he was invited to join the party. You are surprised, however, when you encounter the Lord Hand on your way back inside, the quiet of the keep’s interiors enveloping you most welcomely.

“Are you not joining the hunt, my lord?” you ask when he stops to greet you.

“No, my lady, it is a small party.”

“His Grace would leave without his most trusted advisor?”

“His Grace has little use for me in the Kingswood, my lady. I am tending to important matters of the realm during his absence.”

You nod in understanding. Naturally the Lord Hand knows to prioritise his tasks but that does not mean you cannot tempt him to a small diversion. “Perhaps his lordship would allow me to keep him company, then?”

He scoffs mildly. “I hardly think that is appropriate, my lady.”

“Why not?”

The lord stops in his tracks, his gaze suddenly softening. “My lady.”

You raise your brows. “Are you concerned about matters of propriety?”

“I am concerned about the matter of your propriety, my lady, yes.”

“If you are alluding to…” You pause and he quirks an eyebrow, almost as if in amusement. “If you are alluding to my childish infatuation with you, my lord, I can assure you that it has long since passed. All I wish is for some company. It has been quite some time since I had the chance to enjoy the sunrise on a morning walk and I merely wish to share the beautiful view the gardens offer at first light.”

For a brief moment, the lord regards you as though he is trying to decipher one of his books. Eventually he tips his head to the side, locking his arms behind his back. “Very well, my lady. Since you are so fond of the gardens, I shall let you lead the way.”

You chuckle good-naturedly. “That is only because his lordship is so busy with politics that he hardly leaves the council chamber. Something he has in common with my husband.”

“There are duties that require an environment free of diversions, my lady.”

“Beauty is a diversion, then, my lord?”

“It most certainly is.”

You exit the keep onto a rather large balcony, the view opening up to the gardens that are still draped in deep shadows as the sun slowly rises above the horizon. A clear sky stretches out in purples, pinks and oranges, their pastel hues blending into each other with the soft brushstrokes of an artist. The sight takes your breath away for several seconds and when you come to, you notice that the Lord Hand is observing you.

“A marvel, don’t you agree?” you ask.

Otto Hightower smiles softly, his eyes crinkling beautifully in their corners. “A marvel indeed.”

The pink on your cheeks must mirror that of the sky when you descend the stairs and tread along the path. The cool air is not unwelcome even though your gown with its southern cut is not meant to keep you warm. You have only known the warm climate of the capital, hardly remembering your time before you were sent here as a ward, but you imagine that this is what the earliest signs of fall would feel like further up North.

“I don’t think I have properly conversed with anyone but my own servants in over a fortnight,” you muse as your footsteps lead you past flowering bushes, their blossoms still closed from the night. “Not even my lord husband has any time to spare for me these days, so busy is he with the council and his… lordly activities.”

“My lady, if you suffer from feelings of loneliness, I am sure we can make some arrangements to ease that affliction.” The tall lord's footsteps are heavier than yours, a reassuring sound that follows you along the path. “Perhaps we can send for one of your sisters.”

“I do not wish to talk to my sisters who I hardly know and hardly remember.” You pause, trying to hide your disdain as you let your hand hover under a particularly beautiful flower. “My lord, I so long for easy conversation or even just the silent companionship that being in the mere presence of a familiar person offers. Since becoming a wife my social circle has only grown smaller which I find quite odd.”

“Perhaps it simply lacks the carefree nature of childhood,” he says wisely.

“Perhaps it simply lacks another intelligent being to converse with.”

“In which case you flatter me, my lady, by seeking my companionship.”

You cannot hide the small smile that slips onto your face. “I have always enjoyed listening to you, my lord. Your insight and wisdom in any conversation over a shared meal has taught me more than my septa during her lessons.”

He rewards you with a deep chuckle and you glance at him, the way his usually stoic face lights up in a smile. “I should think that your septa did a fine job in raising a knowledgeable, kind-hearted young lady.”

“She did, you are quite right. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” You continue to walk, trying to focus back on the sun that wanders along with you. “However, I cannot deny that I regret the ways in which time has passed. I have lost my friends to motherhood while I myself have been less than fortunate in this area. I now suffer the consequences of these shortcomings.”

“There is still time, my lady. You are quite young.”

The smile you give him is tinged with sadness, even though you appreciate his kind words. In truth, you are close to giving up all hope to ever conceive. You have been married for three years now and in all that time you have not once been with child. Not for a lack of efforts from your lord husband nor from your unwillingness to endure said efforts, no matter how unenjoyable you found them. As of late, however, he has shifted those efforts to other recipients, if your staff is to be believed who has spotted him frequent certain establishments in the city. You are not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

“You speak very kindly, my lord, and yet deep in my heart I can feel that this marriage will not be as prosperous as anyone would have hoped. Perhaps the Gods did not intend for me to be a mother, as much as it pains me to entertain this possibility.”

“My lady, let me assure you that it is not necessarily the fault of the mother,” he says, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Many good men have not sired a child in all their life.”

You consider his words, consider their implications that perhaps the fault of your childless life is not yours alone. “You may be right, my lord, and yet if the purpose of a woman is to bear her husband’s children then I cannot help but feel like my worth has been impaired by my failure to give him an heir.”

“Some narrow minds may view it like that, yes, but I cannot agree. My own lady wife was much more to me than just the bearer of my children and I miss her dearly to this very day.”

You cannot help the wave of pain this opens in your chest, your eyes stinging the faintest bit. “How beautiful it must be to be loved and cherished as you did her.”

“Do you not feel cherished, my lady?” he inquires.

“I never expected to be blessed with a happy marriage, my lord,” you confess truthfully. “And yet the reality of it disappoints me greatly. They say a lady may not love her husband but that she will love his children. It fills me with great sorrow to find that there is no love in my life when my heart is overflowing with all that I have yet to give.”

He halts right beside you and you do the same, the view from the edge of the retaining wall quite spectacular now that the sun has risen above sea level.

“I know my lady is visiting the city’s orphanages quite frequently,” he finally says. “And that she is very fond of my own grandchildren, generously helping my daughter in her care for them.”

“Indeed and it may not be quite the same as having a child of my own that I can spoil as I please but it brings me a few moments of domesticity now and again that I deeply cherish.”

He nods sagely, his sombre gaze meeting your own. “Seeing that you find yourself lacking for company perhaps I may extend an invitation to join us for supper more frequently, my lady? With or without your lord husband, as his schedule allows.”

You find yourself smiling freely at him, awakening sensations that are altogether too familiar, too intimate. If only he had not married you to a man incapable of such affections. “I shall gladly accept your kind offer, my lord. It would please me greatly.”

There is no pity in the expression he gives you this time but a gentle friendliness that you cannot remember seeing in his eyes before. You resume your stroll through the gardens, the increasing warmth of the sunlight invigorating your cold limbs the further you go, and when you reach a fork in the path that leads either further down or back towards the keep you do not wish to turn around.

“Shall we keep going, my lady?” the lord asks.

You cannot help but smile when you agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

Otto senses some reluctance as he glances at the names of staff that is working for your household, if only because he is keenly aware that the findings of his current research may upset him in ways that will tempt him to folly. However, if your husband is mistreating you then he simply must know. His net of spies within the palace is tight as it is in the rest of King’s Landing but the proximity will make it much easier to have him observed.

It instils amounts of regret in him that border on a stomach ache. Marrying you to Ser Alister had been a logical decision at the time but he cannot deny that keeping you in King’s Landing influenced his judgement severely.

A handsome young knight, to inherit his father’s titles and possibly even his seat at the king’s council, Ser Alister was an easily agreed upon match for your father, easier still for Otto who felt like he was doing you a favour after he had noticed your attentions for a while – attentions he could not return at the time, for your protection and out of the overwhelming grief he still felt after the death of his wife. Even so, Otto has to admit to himself that your very openly displayed affections have always flattered him, that you are a true beauty with a comely face that is not just a joy to look at but also a delight to listen to. You are educated, intelligent, sweet, bold in private but shy in the company of others. Endearing even to his old and fractured heart.

Alister did inherit the title as well as the seat on the council within the next three years after your wedding, having wrapped the king around his finger with his open support for the Princess and his Grace’s adamancy in keeping her as his heir. Otto can see now where he went wrong – a severe lapse in judgement of his character, to think him respectful and harmless despite their political disagreements. To think him even remotely worthy of you.

The questioning of your staff as well as a few of his spies in the city reveals quickly that the man he had you marry is a well-known customer in the Street of Silks. Otto cannot, will not believe that anyone would discard a woman like you so foolishly and after only three years of marriage. Such disrespect to the Maid and the Mother of whom you are such a striking image, deserving of nothing but reverence and adoration and a family to love. There is no honour in men like Alister, in men like Daemon Targaryen and so many others who do not know how to cherish their wives as they vowed before the Gods.

A vivid feeling of contempt takes hold of Otto, at himself as well as your husband. He cannot alter what he did in arranging this match but he can make sure that you are comforted in knowing that you deserve more.

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower of the Hand has not changed much over the past few years, the narrow staircases, the cool stone walls still caging you in. To be summoned now makes you wonder what his lordship could possibly need from you. When you enter, the Lord Hand swiftly dismisses his guards and they close the door behind you. The chamber is dark, only a few candles flickering from his desk and the mantelpiece of his unlit hearth, and yet you can make out the lines of worry on his handsome aging face.

“My lord,” you address him.

“My lady, I am afraid that I have requested to see you on a rather… delicate matter. Please, have a seat.”

There is hardly enough time to scan the circular room before you sit at a small desk with his correspondence spread over top, the wax still melting over a candle. You can see his bed from the corner of your eye – his private quarters.

“My lady, after our conversation in the gardens…” He stops himself, making sure that you are meeting his gaze. “I could not help but look into matters that you have hinted at, in genuine concern for your well-being, and I am afraid that I have uncovered a concerning truth.”

“Pray tell, my lord, what truth? You do not have to spare my feelings.”

“I got word from a trusted source that your lord husband has been seen in… certain establishments in the Street of Silks.”

“I am afraid that this is not news to me, my lord,” you say and he regards you with surprise.

“You are aware?”

“If it please, my lord, I would prefer for this to remain private. It is already shameful enough without the entire court knowing.”

“Of course, my lady, I merely wished for you to know the vicious acts–”

You have to suppress a dry chuckle, wondering why he seems so astonished by your husband’s ways. “Vicious? My lord, I am hardly the only lady bound to a husband who seeks his pleasure elsewhere.”

Otto’s voice drips with venom. “That does not make it any less despicable.”

You nod, conceding to his point. “May I be truthful, my lord?”

“Certainly.”

“I would rather he takes his needs elsewhere than continue to…” You pause, trying to phrase your thoughts without leaving respectability. “I have given up hopes on a child of my own, so there is no need to continue our efforts. I find no enjoyment in them and with no remaining purpose I find myself incapable of putting my body through the pain.”

His gaze changes now, sympathy perhaps. The crease on his forehead is deeper. “Pain, my lady?”

“Were you not aware that it is painful, my lord?”

“You say this as though it is a fact.”

“Is it not?” you ask, confused as to his meaning.

He looks at you as though there is something weighing on him, something he is desperate to share, but when his mouth opens no words come out. The lord spreads his palms on his desk as he sits up straighter, his hands pale and broad, adorned with rings that reflect the light of the candles. “My lady, I fear that the continuation of this conversation will lead us beyond the realms of propriety.”

You nod, averting your gaze in shame. “Please forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady. I understand there is a… curiosity that grows upon the discovery of such intimate matters.”

You fight back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. “No matter, he is not requesting my presence anymore. I just wonder–” Again, you have to pause, feeling like a child again and not like a woman of two-and-twenty years. “Is it true, my lord?”

He furrows his brow. “Is what true, my lady?”

“Am I not handsome enough? My father–”

“Your father should never have spoken to you like that,” he interrupts, only catching his tone after the words left his mouth. You are surprised he still recalls that conversation. “I can assure you, my lady, that your beauty is greatly admired at court and certainly not the reason that your husband is disrespecting you in such a way.”

“And yet, perhaps he cannot find it.” You swallow the tears of irritation that are threatening to spill. “Please forget that I ever mentioned this to you, my lord. I hope you can forgive me for my transgression. I am aware that my intent is one that does not befit a lady of my station and that you cannot give me counsel in such matters. I thank you for your concern and for looking out for me when no one else does.”

“My lady.” His voice is soft, hardly more than a whisper and when you meet his eyes you see a glimmer in them that is akin to the longing you feel in your heart.

Perhaps it is this notion that gives you the courage. You place your delicate hand on top of his, feeling the lines and ridges, scars of a long life spent with a sword in his grasp. He does not pull away, not even when you smooth your thumb over his skin in a tender stroke. You repeat the movement, his eyes fixated on your joint hands, and round the table without letting go.

Once you are in his lap, you let go of his hand to toy with his doublet, tracing the chains around his neck, the brooch that shows the world that he is the hand of the king, the second most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms. And yet the power he wields over you far surpasses that of anyone else. Your faces are at the same height now, your noses brushing together before you lean back. You take his hand in both of yours, admiring how large it is, how you have to use both hands to fully grasp it. For a brief moment you bring it to your lips, breathing a kiss to his knuckles. The silver ring on his finger feels cool against your mouth, his skin softer than you expected.

“My lady,” he warns, the hesitation evident in his eyes.

You place his hand on your waist and to your delight he curls it around your shape. When you reach for his other hand he meets you halfway. They settle over your hips, holding you in place, and you rest your own hands on top of them for a moment to feel the warmth of his skin. This is how a lover’s touch should feel, you think. Gentle and warm. Safe.

“This is foolish,” he comments but his voice is too soft to convey the sentiment.

“Perhaps,” you agree. “Let me be foolish for once, my lord. I want to know what it feels like to follow my desires, to have a memory that I can retreat to when I need it.”

His throat constricts as he swallows, his gentle gaze fixed on you as you inspect the soft wrinkles on his face, the discoloured skin below his eyes that crinkles when they move. You lift a hand to caress him, shy fingertips exploring the shape of his face. Your lord stays still for you, allowing you the innocent touch even as his heart tightens at the intimacy of it all. He has not been touched by a woman in so long that he quite forgot the reactions it lures from his body, the want, the need it stokes when such a sublime creatures offers him the tenderness and comfort he so craves.

You shift forward and suddenly his thigh is pressing against that soft part between your legs. The pressure sends a jolt through your body. You gasp and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. You move your hand to comb his beard, your fingertips grazing the skin underneath until you can cup his cheek. The lord leans into your touch, eyes still shut, and breathes a burdensome sigh.

“Let me adjust you,” he finally says as his eyes open, waiting for you to give a nod before his grasp tightens. He lifts you enough that your leg slides between his, shifting his hips forward to give you more space. You are straddling his thigh now, the fabric of your dress bunched up high enough that you can feel him pressing against your core through your shift and your linens.

“My lord,” you whisper.

“Move your hips,” he instructs. “Gently, and tell me when you feel it.”

“Feel what, my lord?”

“You will know, darling girl.”

With your eyes on his you do as he says, rocking your hips clumsily at first. His hands guide you into a more fluid rhythm and you find more confidence when you feel the first sparks of pleasure his firm leg sends through your body. Your gasps soon fill the room, even as you try to hold them back. You recognise the feeling and the heat, you have felt it at times when your husband happened to touch certain parts of you, when you tried to touch yourself but weren’t courageous enough to continue. Only now the intensity is tenfold, especially with the lord’s keen eyes so focused on your mouth, on every sigh that leaves your lips.

“My beauty,” he whispers. “Carved from marble, a face that even the Gods must envy, and yet he does not see it, does not treasure it. What a shame to be gifted such a beautiful flower and to let it wilt in neglect.”

His words hardly register as he bounces his leg to meet your rhythm. The sparks of pleasure that spread in your body feel wrong, almost shameful, and yet you want to chase, need to chase them. But then the pressure slowly becomes uncomfortable, a tension that you don’t recognise but that is bordering on painful. You whimper, stopping your efforts, whispering that it is too much.

“Keep going,” your lord orders, gripping your hips tightly to drag you across his leg. “Do not stop.”

“I c-cannot–”

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Trust me, my girl.”

You cry out softly, picking your rhythm back up as he helps you with strong hands, the hands of a knight, a powerful man that you have wanted since you knew what wanting really meant. The tension pushes you towards an invisible edge and then you fall–

“My lord. My lord.” You wail as if in pain, your face falling against his as your breathing becomes more shallow and the pleasure tears through your body. He does not stop you as you hide your face, his beard soft against your cheek as he drags out the sensation by moving his leg back and forth, pressing against that spot again and again. The fabric of your linens as well as his pants feels damp against your core.

Your body goes slack and his arms wrap around you, cradling you against his broad chest as you catch your breath. Even as your body stops trembling the warmth and contentment stay trapped within you, your muscles slowly relaxing now.

“My darling girl,” he whispers, breathing a kiss to your hair. “And how well you did.”

“What have you done to me?” you ask breathlessly.

“What you are owed, my lady,” he says with a chuckle. “I have given you pleasure”

“Pleasure.” The word tastes sweet on your tongue but it comes with a sting. How cruel to give you a crumb of bliss only to pull it away again.

You lift your head to look at him, a softness on his face that lets you believe he holds a warm affection for you, at least for this fleeting moment. The desire to kiss him is overwhelming and you place your hand on his other thigh. Immediately you feel the hardness between his legs against your arm and you flinch back in uncertainty. “My lord.”

“Pay it no mind,” he says.

You ignore him and place your hand on his stiff member, feeling the outline clearly even through the fabric of his garbs. The gasp that leaves him sounds like music, the first sign that this is affecting him beyond what he is willing to share. You want to kiss him still, your face inching closer on its own accord. His hand moves up to cup your chin and he places his thumb on your plump bottom lip, only allowing you to hover above his own mouth. It is but a futile attempt at restraint, at keeping up the illusion that nothing here is untoward. You move your hand to stroke him through his pants and his hips buck to meet your movement.

“Gods have mercy,” he breathes, his voice raspy and barely audible.

You wonder how long it has been since someone touched him like this. Mesmerised by his reaction, you do it again and his eyes flutter closed, his unkempt brows furrowing so tightly that they almost meet. After only a handful more strokes he releases a scarcely concealed groan and you feel him kicking against your hand, the thick fabric turning wet as it soaks up his spend.

His ragged breathing betrays his state, even as he controls any other sound that leaves him. You are still trapped in the haze of your own bliss, in the newfound sense of power you have gained from whatever it is that you just did to him. He still won’t let you kiss him, his thumb firm against your lips. Perhaps it is better that way, you think, the only skin of his you have touched being that of his hands.

“My sweet girl,” he says after a moment, clearing his tight throat with some effort. “We can never speak of this again.”

The words tear you back down from your high, their reality so evident, so clear. You nod and allow the pain to spread in your heart, expected but all the more severe. Of course nothing has changed, not in truth, even though you feel like you will never be the same again.

Otto removes you from his lap, making sure that you can stand on your own and waiting patiently until your legs stop wobbling, his hands firm on your hips. His face betrays his regret – he cannot hide his emotions from you anymore, not after what you just did. He is such an honourable man, valuing propriety and respect above all else, that this must pain him more than you can understand.

You make sure your gown sits correctly and smooth out the strands of hair that have fallen into your face from moving so erratically. The door-handle feels cool against your warm hand, a feverish sensation spreading within you. You spare the lord one last glance, your eyes meeting his for a burning hot moment, and then you slip through the door, a profound sense of loss slowly settling in your bones.

3 The Lonely Days

Your handmaiden carefully adjusts the sleeves of your gown, a deep blue fabric with golden accents to match the colours of your husband’s house. Bejewelled earrings and a bracelet complete your look, dainty jewellery with blue stones just like he once told you he prefers. You stare at your reflection in the polished metal for a long moment, struggling to recognise yourself even after years of wearing his colours. You are almost ready when the door to your chambers opens and a footman enters with his gaze lowered.

“What is it?” you ask impatiently.

“His lordship has requested to stay in bed tonight,” he says. “He is not feeling well enough to accompany you to the celebration, m’lady.”

“He is unwell?”

“He has been sleeping for most of the day, m’lady, complained about a headache.”

“Why have I not been informed?”

The servant simply stares at the floor and you sigh as you realise that the signs point to a long night down in the brothels more so than an acute illness. It would certainly not be the first time that he is leaving you to your own devices to nurse the ailments of a night spent drinking and– You clear your throat.

“Send for a maester should he not feel better in the morning,” you tell him. “And inform me of his condition the moment it changes.”

A nod and the door softly closes. Another event you will have to attend by yourself. You would be glad to avoid a night of his indifference were it not for the fact that his absence must appear even more worrisome to the other houses. You are anything but a strong unit and talks about your childless marriage never cease – you see them whispering their rumours from ear to ear whenever you enter a room, followed by pitiful glances.

“Anything else, m’lady?” your handmaiden asks. “Perhaps a shawl in case you feel a chill?”

You falter for a moment as you look down at yourself and suddenly detest your whole attire. Why are you dressing for a man who disrespects you at any chance he gets, who cannot even exert himself to appear by your side when it truly matters? “Apologies, Malena, but I have decided that I will wear the green dress tonight after all.”

She bows and you begin to undress as she fetches the garment. There is only one pair of eyes that you want to feel on your body tonight and it won’t be drawn to blue fabric.

✦ ✧ ✦

The hall is filled to the brim with people of all houses – a banquet to which not only the capital’s nobility has been invited but any noble who was willing to commit to the journey to King’s Landing. It is a celebration in honour of the Prince Aegon’s nameday but Otto insisted on the opulence – the prince has to stay on their minds, his grandson, namesake of Aegon the Conqueror, and as far as Otto is concerned the future regent of the Seven Kingdoms.

Noisy chatter fills his ears as he watches his lovely daughter introducing Aegon as well as the Princess Helaena, her second child, to the lords and ladies who have not had the pleasure yet. His Grace is watching them with a gentle smile on his face and Otto cannot help but feel a hint of complacency. Thanks to Aegon the mess the king created in naming his daughter his heir can be mended, if he plays it well.

Even though he feels a deep affection for his grandchildren, two innocent infants who are blissfully unaware of the role they are going to play in securing peace and order in the realm, Otto’s eyes are drawn to the entrance. You are late, a few minutes of tardiness that Otto spends wondering if you decided against attending after all, perhaps in favour of staying with your lord husband. He was informed just an hour ago by one of his little mice that the lord is feeling rather unwell this evening, that he has been complaining about different symptoms for a while now. Otto is not surprised by the news. These may well be the first signs that his increasingly frivolous whereabouts are affecting the man’s health and, therefore, his accountability.

When you do arrive at last, Otto is quite struck by the sight of you entering the hall – so much so that Alicent rouses him with a concerned look on her face. He gives her a reassuring smile, then trains his eyes back to your form. It is quite distracting, the way your dress accentuates your womanly figure. His colour, he notes, the dark shade of green he usually wears. A mere moment later you eye him with a gentle smile playing at your lips and his suspicion is confirmed that you’re wearing it for him. Gods, he finds that your beauty is taking his breath away even more so than usual. Not that he did not admire you before, you have always been a sight for the Gods, but now that he knows what you sound like in the throes of your pleasure you fully and irrevocably occupy his mind.

Perhaps tonight, then, he thinks, toying with the small box he has been keeping in his pocket for a few weeks now. You are tempting him to folly, evoking emotions of a strength he has not felt in years. Even his work is impacted by this attachment. He finds his hands forming fists underneath the table whenever your lord husband speaks up during council meetings, most days still half drunk from the night before. Pathetic, with no sense of honour, besmearing your good name in the process. Seeing you now without this worm hanging by your arm is most welcome, wearing his colour no less, a beautiful deep green. It seems that you are well aware of who you truly belong to.

No, who you should belong to, Otto must correct himself. A constant reminder of a mistake that caught up to him faster than he would have wished for. A mistake that calls for more mistakes that he cannot allow to happen.

Dinner passes with stolen glances and timid smiles. Ever since the moment you shared in his quarters you seem to blush and turn away whenever you catch sight of him and yet it seems like your gaze never strays too far. It is quite endearing, the shy glances, the rosy cheeks that no one else knows are just for him. As daring as you were in the privacy of the tower, you have respected his wish to never mention it again. It is for your own protection, of course, although Otto fears what it would do to his own integrity if word spread about an illicit affair, no matter that what occurred between you hardly deserves the name. He has been meticulously crafting his reputation for decades now and he cannot allow these foolish desires to taint it.

Soon, the dancing is in full swing. For a brief moment he indulges in the fantasy of asking you to do him the honour, to see the cheerful smile on your face he has not seen since he married you to Alister. Judging by the expression on your face as you observe the dancery, he imagines that you long for a partner to share the delights of a joyful evening. Young as you are, it is a shame that you should sit in your chair all night. Another reason to loathe your husband, not that he is lacking for those.

Perhaps this is the reason why you slip away the moment the steady flow of wine and musical distractions allows you to do so unobserved. It is his only chance. Otto rises as soon as he can without arousing suspicion. The hour is late enough to justify a reprieve.

“Excuse me for a moment, your Grace,” he says without waiting for an answer.

The castle is abandoned and his steps echo loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the keep. He finds you in an empty hallway halfway back to your chambers, gazing out of a window that overlooks the gardens that he knows you are so very fond of. The two guards who are closest pay him no mind, yet he dismisses them with a nod and they take station at a more unobtrusive spot.

You turn as his steps approach, confused momentarily as to who could be following you. When you recognise the figure as him your expression visibly softens and your guard is let down once more. The effect he has on you should alarm you but on the contrary, you seem to be eager to welcome him in your presence.

“Are you tiring of the festivities, my lady?” he asks, approaching you with cautious strides.

“I do not have much to celebrate, my lord. You might have heard that my lord husband is feeling rather unwell.”

“And yet you are not with him, no?”

You eye him with barely hidden annoyance and he chuckles lowly, satisfied. There is hardly any cause for jealousy when your disdain is so very obvious. Otto approaches, closing the distance cautiously to make sure that you remain comfortable in his proximity. He stops about two steps away from you, a towering and broad figure compared to your shorter frame, and you have to look up to meet his eyes. He drinks you in for a long time, not lustful but in admiration, letting his gaze wander over your body in a way that has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. He would count every single one of them, if he had the time.

“You look beautiful tonight, my lady,” he whispers. “A new colour?”

You meet his eyes, boldly this time, in the way that makes him want to pull you into his arms and ravish you. “My favourite colour.”

“Is that so?”

A timid smile. “I know, I should not, I cannot… But, my lord, you know that it is true.”

“It is alright, my sweet,” he assures you. “Indeed, catching you alone allows me to do something I have been avoiding for too long and I do not mean complimenting your beauty.”

“And what would that be, my lord?”

“I do not wish to offend your sensibilities, my lady, I know it is not my place to lavish you with gifts and you may find it presumptuous, but… I have something that I wish to offer you.” Your eyes widen, so he quickly continues. “I am in no position to put a claim on you and yet it would please me greatly to see you wearing it on occasion. I am certain that you can think of a plausible explanation as to how it came into your possession.”

Before you can protest he retrieves the small box from his pocket. Taking off the lid he reveals a finely crafted ring with a sparkling green gemstone – a real emerald. He must admit the choice of colour was quite on purpose, green as the beacon of the Hightower when his house rides to war. A war Otto cannot win, he knows, but it is a war he is fighting every day nonetheless. To see you fighting it with him, if subtle, would be a great source of comfort.

“My lord, but this is…” You admire the beautiful piece of jewellery, your eyes drawn to the way it shimmers in the moonlight, subtle and delicate but breathtaking nonetheless. “It is too much.”

“I am afraid that no gemstone will ever suffice to express what I truly wish to say, my lady,” he says. “And yet I hope you will honour me by wearing it.”

You nod and stretch out your hand. The lord takes the ring and carefully slides it onto your finger. A perfect fit of course, he made sure of that. His larger hand gently holds yours so that he can admire the jewel and you briefly rest your other hand on top of his. His skin is warm and weathered. It is all you want to feel for the rest of your life.

“Forgive me,” he says and you’re not quite certain what he means until he lifts your hand to his mouth and places a reverent kiss on the back of it. He lingers, his beard tickling your soft skin as his lips travel along your knuckles and finally rest on the gem.

“I shall think of you whenever I wear it,” you supply. Then, with a softer voice: “Though, in truth and in shame I must admit that I already think of you more than is proper, my lord. You occupy my mind and heart at all times. You always have.”

He smiles, a tight-lipped, pained smile. “You honour me, my lady, in ways that I fear I do not deserve.”

“It matters not what we deserve, my lord.” You lift your hand and cradle his face, stroking his cheekbone tenderly with your thumb. “I shall find comfort in knowing that you return my affections at last.”

“My darling girl,” he whispers and the words sound like a prayer from his lips.

You close your eyes for a moment, trapped in the sensation of his lips on your skin, the feeling of his beard against your fingertips just like he is trapped in the gentleness of your touch, in the longing for more of your simple comforts that he has to deny himself over and over again. You both pray in silence that the moment never ends, and yet he has to let go of you eventually and come to his senses. How cruel to ache for a love that he denied himself in the first place.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your sitting room is illuminated by burnt-down candles, the hour late as you have reclined on a settee to read in your book. Truth be told, you should be sleeping, but you cannot bear to let your mind wander as it tends to do in the quiet of your canopy.

To your surprise, the door opens and your husband stumbles in. Even from afar you can tell that he reeks of wine and the fumes of the city. He sits down in a chair and stares at you in a manner that has always made you rather uncomfortable. Rare as it is, you do not enjoy his company.

“I overheard a most interesting conversation in the council chamber,” he says out of nowhere, a smug smile playing at his lips. “About the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower.”

You pause, closing the book as you gaze at your husband in interest now. He is not in the habit of discussing politics with you and certainly does not bring up the council on his own accord.

“He was dismissed as Hand to the King,” he continues, standing now to pour himself a glass of wine from your private pitcher. “Finally, thank the Seven.”

“Pray, what do you mean?”

“The king finally had enough of his little schemes. He does not wish for Aegon to be his heir, he insists on keeping the Princess in the position and rightfully so. Your lord got too bold with his endless attempts at installing his own grandson as heir, spreading rumours about the Princess. His greed for power is so obvious even our blind king can see it now. Perhaps you should go and bid your lord farewell before he departs.”

“He is not my lord, whatever are you talking about?”

He sets the glass down, turning to you with a withering expression. “Do you think I am not aware that you are wearing green more often? That you’re suddenly wearing emeralds instead of blue stones? That your lord continuously eyes me with disdain when I speak up during council meetings and dismisses any of my suggestions, even proceeds to work against them? How his eyes linger on you when we are invited to sup with the king and his family? I may not be the most devoted of spouses but I do have eyes in my skull.”

“Unlike you I remain in control of my desires. As does he,” you reply coldly. “The Gods see what you are doing in the Street of Silks, what you are doing to your own wife.”

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But my sins do not absolve you from your own and, let us be frank, my dear lady wife. The difference between thought and action matters little to the Gods when it comes to corruption. Whether it festers on the inside or the outside you end up rotten. I might as well take what life offers to me instead of pining after someone who could be my own father. It makes you look pathetic and not just in my eyes.”

You bite back a reply. His provocations mean little to you, especially with the knowledge that the Lord Hand has been dismissed from his position. If it is true then he may leave King’s Landing for good.

Leave you.

Without another word you abandon your book and exit your chambers. In the quiet of the old hallways of the keep you take a few deep breaths, the tightness of your dress suddenly suffocating you. This cannot be true, you think, His Grace would never dismiss such a trusted advisor, such a devoted servant of the realm. But then you know Otto is ambitious, that his plans at times may be unpopular and that the peace of the realm has always ranked higher for him than the will of the king. The Princess threatens the delicate balance between the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, threatens the loyalty of many houses to the crown who will not accept a queen where there is a male heir to be had. And while you always loved the Princess and considered her to be a worthy successor you can see why he may have tried to sway the king in Aegon’s favour. He is his grandsire, after all, and he knows the ways of court politics.

As soon as your racing heart beats a more bearable rhythm, you hurry to the Tower of the Hand. However, the guards inform you that you cannot enter as it has been abandoned not long ago. You are unaware as to when this conversation your husband overheard took place and the hour is late, or perhaps too early, when you finally decide to retreat to your own chambers.

You see nothing of Otto over the next day, even though you are pacing the hallways of the keep in a way that must make even the guards nervous. You all but give up on ever seeing him again until from a window you spot Queen Alicent by the gate across the courtyard with a rider who you can only assume is her father.

He is leaving, you realise.

Heart pounding anew you hurry down the stairs, nearly tripping over your dress as you run faster than is deemed appropriate for a lady. But you care not, even as your feet begin to ache and you finally reach the courtyard. It is pouring, the rain mercilessly beating down from the skies above but you cannot wait for anyone to fetch you a coat. When you approach the gate you hear the clicking of the hooves on distant cobblestone but the rider has already left.

You don’t, cannot, stop, not until you are by Alicent’s side, your Queen, your friend, who falls into your arms in painful, shaking sobs that vibrate deep within your chest. Something inside of you breaks with a finality that weakens your very bones. You cannot hold back your tears either, letting them mix in with the rain until you cannot tell them apart any longer.

4 The Widowed Days

Every morning, you observe the murky water rushing down the river and mouthing into Blackwater Bay – a steady, endless stream with harsh currents as well as the occasional softer tide when the weather is more agreeable. Time passes in much the same way.

It has been nearly ten years since the first symptoms showed, made memorable by the night of Prince Aegon’s name day celebration. While the illness progressed slowly at first, with years and years of mild symptoms, your husband’s health has been declining rapidly over the past two years. You take care of him to the best of your abilities but as a proud man he does not wish to be fussed over and more often than not he sends you away. The maesters are clueless as to his condition, perhaps the repercussions of his drinking excesses that would not cease even as his affliction progressed. Whenever you look at him you see a withering face, the face of a man much older than the years he truly lived. Even though you don’t hold much love for him it pains you to see him succumbing to such an undignified illness.

You have not much to hold onto besides the fantasies your mind conjures up in the quiet hours you spend in the keep, a weak attempt at comfort. The years have not diminished your love for Ser Otto, or rather the desire for a love that could have been. He comes to you in dreams, fragments of memories of the feel of his weathered hands in yours, the scratch of his beard against your fingertips.

Alicent knows about your affections for her father as you spilled your heart to her the very moment he had left and you found comfort in each other’s arms upon his departure. Ever since, your bond is as strong as it used to be in your childhood, perhaps even more so with years of hardships added to its weight. Thanks to her you know that he is in good health, that he is safe in Oldtown, and as much as you long to see him again you are comforted in knowing that he is faring well.

You spend much time helping her raise her children, especially the Princess Helaena, an intelligent but misunderstood girl who struggles with the life she was forced into, not unlike her mother. Alicent’s role as queen is demanding and you notice how she is changing, becoming more and more like her father, a clever woman forged by court politics and increasing responsibilities as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Life at court has become tense with rumours about the legitimacy of the Princess Rhaenyra’s offspring, with tensions between her children and those of the queen as well as the notable decline of the king’s health. You do not envy her.

The night he left, you found a letter from Otto on your bed, delivered to you in secret – a brief message that was written in haste before his departure. My lady, I regret to inform you that my time at court has come to a premature end. However, I remain hopeful that we will meet again under improved circumstances. Know that it pains me to leave you without as much as a spoken farewell. In my absence, I ask you to remain by my daughter’s side, if not for the affection that I hope you still hold for me then as her loyal childhood companion and friend. May the Seven keep you in good health, Otto.

You know it by heart, the parchment old and scarcely readable by now. Since then, some letters have been exchanged between Ser Otto and you in which you have informed him about the whereabouts of his grandchildren and he thanked you for your support of his daughter and family. Even so, you remain a married woman and regular correspondence with a man who is not your husband raises too many questions, too many rumours on top of an already strained reputation. So you keep the exchanges sparse, hold the replies he sends you as dearly as you can, and tell yourself that he must be thinking of you fondly still or he would not write to you at all.

With your husband bedridden and often unresponsive, you find yourself a widow in all but law. Though your life feels even lonelier than during the first few years of your marriage, you found solace in frequenting the gardens, supporting the capital’s orphanages as well as keeping the queen’s company. Every morning you go on a lengthy walk, reminiscing about the time you spent here with Otto, following the exact route you took with him the morning of the hunt. It feels as though centuries have passed since then – the bushes have been replaced, the paths altered, even you yourself don’t feel like the same person anymore. What never changes, however, is the beauty of the sunrise over Blackwater Bay, though the colours vary and are never quite the same – every morning a welcome but familiar surprise.

When you return one morning, the Keep is more alive than usual at this hour. Servants are running past you almost as though you are invisible. Perhaps they prepare for the arrival of some noble guests, you think and head to the nearest window facing the outer courtyard. You cannot see any larger wheelhouses, nor do you spot anything out of the ordinary. That is, until one of the riders by the gate lifts his hood.

You scarcely believe your eyes. It must be a trick, an evil one at that, but you could swear that he looks like Ser Otto. It would not be the first time that you see him in someone else’s face, that your mind deceives you so cruelly into believing that he is near. Missing him has been one of the harder burdens of the past decade and sometimes relief means delusion for just a few precious seconds. However, as you continue to observe the man, you cannot help but see Otto in in his shape, his height, in the way he moves.

Of course you know that Lord Strong and his son Ser Harwin recently perished in a fire at Harrenhal but you had not assumed that Alicent would send for her father to replace the Lord Hand. It is entirely possible, however. Suddenly invigorated, you storm down the stairs and head outside in what may be unseemly but entirely necessary for your own sanity.

You nearly stumble when you finally exit the keep, though fortunately the lord does not notice your ineptitude as he gives orders to a footman. Seeing him in the flesh feels like a dream, his tall stature only slightly more slumped with age but not diminishing his dignified presence in the slightest. Your heart begins to hammer in excitement, in relief, and you have to hold back the tears to feign an indifferent politeness.

“My Lord,” you say. “How it delights me to see you back in the capital.”

He turns to offer you his full attention. Within a split second recognition flits across his face. “My lady.” A soft chuckle. “Well, you honour me. How lovely to be greeted by a welcome, familiar face.”

“It gladdens me to see that you are in good health,” you say happily as your eyes meet the very face you have not seen in near a decade. “In fact you have not changed at all, except perhaps for a few grey hairs.”

He smiles at your mild teasing and you wonder if the years away from court have softened him. “As a wise lady once told me: My age only adds to my character. And the same appears to be true for you. You have…” He pauses, weighing his words. “… matured.”

You give a soft laugh. “It has been ten years, I should hope so. Or are you implying that I look old, my lord?”

“I would not dare suggest such a thing,” he says. “Let me rephrase, my lady. The years have served to enhance your beauty.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at the first openly spoken compliment after so many years and for a moment you feel like the little girl that used to admire him from afar. If she were here now she would be floating on saccharine clouds for the rest of the day, daydreaming about him reciprocating her hidden desires. But you are not that girl anymore. The past decade has left its ugly marks on you and coveting what you cannot have has only brought you the deepest misery. You vow to protect your heart, no matter how much it wants to beat out of your chest and land in his gentle hands.

“Thank you, my lord,” you say. “I trust that we will see each other more frequently now.”

“I should hope so, my lady, since I am reassuming my position as Hand of the King.”

You perk up in delight at the news, your suspicion confirmed. “I do not wish to keep you, my lord, I am sure you long to be reunited with your family and acquaint yourself with the current state of affairs. I do hope we will get the chance to speak in more depth.”

“I will make sure of it, my lady.”

His expression gives you hope that his promise is sincere.

✦ ✧ ✦

“A green dress,” you order, dabbing some of your scented oils to your neck and wrists.

“Which one, m’lady?”

“The darker one with the lower neckline, I think. Or the green-gold one?”

Your handmaid smiles to herself; you think she must be amused by your antics. “I think he would like the lower cut, m’lady, if I may speak so freely.”

As always she can read your thoughts and you have to agree. “Then that one it is, Malena. And don’t forget to bring the emerald ring.”

You hope his lordship won’t be cross with you. He did not seem opposed to your initiative the last few times you were alone together, even if that was over a decade ago, so you hope he won’t mind you paying him a visit so soon. He has been rather occupied since arriving but tonight Alicent invited you to sup with their family and you are quite certain this means the Lord Hand must be ready for company.

The hour is still early, the sun has only just risen and you are getting ready to start your day with a visit to the Tower of the Hand before your morning walk. You are not sure you could sit through supper without having seen him for yourself first. The past days have been filled with anticipation, the sheer prospect of being in his proximity enough to keep you awake at night.

As your feet carry you up the stairs after many years of absence, your heart is beating mercilessly against your ribcage. You carry a small basket, clutching it tightly to your front so its content comes to no harm.

The men of the Hand’s household guard allow you to enter without a second glance, announcing you briefly. Otto Hightower stands from his chair, surprise but no dismissal in his features. He easily rounds his desk to approach you and you are once again struck by his tall frame, the grace with which he moves.

“Good morrow, my lord,” you say, trying to find your courage. “I have come to deliver a welcome present for you. I thought you might still be weary after your long travels and–” You pause, looking at him and his tired eyes. “Forgive me for being so forward. I am certain that you are quite occupied and–”

“No need for apologies, my lady, I would have sent for you shortly.”

“I wanted to give you more time to arrive, my lord, but I simply could not–” Again you pause, your heart hammering so fast that it drowns out the thoughts in your head. “I could not fight the urge to see you.”

The lord takes a step in your direction, an untamed emotion in his eyes now, and he only falters for a moment before he fully closes the gap between you. His hands grasp your wrists and wander up your arms, careful and slow, as though he is trying remember the shape of you. With a tender expression he finally captures your face and while his openly displayed attention confuses you you can’t help but melt into his touch. The lord leans forward, his beard and nose brushing against your cheek as he inhales, taking a deep breath to have his fill of you. All of his senses satiated, he releases a wistful sigh, the depth of which sends heat pooling into your lower belly.

“I brought you some oils, my lord, lavender for sleeping a– and–” You pause when his lips trail along you jaw, so soft you hardly feel them. “My lord–”

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me you feel the same, my sweet girl. That you did not forget me. You must let me know.”

You can’t help but whimper, his insistence making your skin tingle with need. “I have missed you every single day, my lord,” you whisper as if in silent prayer, the truth spilling out despite your resolution to be cautious. “No day would pass that your vision did not haunt me. I have dreamt of the day that the Gods would return you to me, begged for it in the darkest hours of my existence.”

Another deep breath, shakier than before, and he looks at you with a fire you have never before seen in the calm lord’s eyes. “The Maid herself sent you into my arms all those years ago, the sweetest girl I had ever seen, and I was fool enough to refuse her gift. To this day it is my biggest regret.”

“Regret not, my lord, please.” You set the basket down on his desk right by your side, then you place your hands on top of his, gently grasping them where they are still holding your face. “You did what you thought to be right and honourable.”

“And doomed you to a life by the side of a man who could not cherish you as I wished to do.” He huffs out a breath, two long thumbs stroking over your wet cheeks. You are unaware as to when you started crying but now you can feel the tears burning in your lash line, pearling onto his fingers. As you grasp his hands tighter his eyes are caught by the sparkling emerald on your finger and his expression softens with sentimentality. “You still own it?”

“It is my greatest treasure.”

The lord closes his eyes, his brow furrowed tightly in a way that betrays his pain. “I shall make things right, sweet girl. I promise this to you.”

“But my lord, I am still ma–”

A loud knock interrupts your words. You break apart just as a servant enters the chamber and you are certain that you must be red and hot as the flaming tips of dragon’s breath. The servant appears to be quite winded, as though he ran up the many stairs of the tower in quite a hurry.

“Excuse me, m’lord, m’lady,” the man says. “It is urgent. I was sent to come looking for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, brow furrowed in increasing confusion. You look to Ser Otto for help but his expression is filled with sympathy, almost as though he knows what the man is going to say even before you do.

“It is your lord husband, m’lady. He passed in his sleep.”

✦ ✧ ✦

An orange sunset coats the roofs of King’s Landing in its golden light as you let the evening fade out on a balcony with Alicent by your side. You were supping with her family just earlier, for the first time in a decade joined by her father as well. Even though you had to push the occasion back, caused by the recent news of your lord husband’s passing, the evening was pleasant and a welcome distraction. You had not seen the Lord Hand since visiting him in the Tower and though not many words were spoken between you this evening you found comfort in the way he would meet your eyes so reassuringly.

It has only been little over a week since the Silent Sisters took Alister for cleansing, to prepare him for his final goodbye. Since then you have received many offers of commiseration, in letters as well as from people here at court. You wanted to spend your period of mourning alone but your queen forbid it after a mere four days of isolation. She said she needed you, having received her own news of loss, and that you should spend each other comfort in these times. Now, watching the sunset for the first time after you lost him you are glad that she is here with you.

“The Stranger has visited us again and so soon,” Alicent says, pouring you a glass of wine. “First your husband and now Laena Velaryon.”

You accept the wine, even though you don’t drink before your queen has taken her first sip. “And they were both too young, though I am afraid my husband won’t be as direly missed as the Lady Laena.”

“Perhaps he sensed that my father came back, that it was his time to go knowing you would not be alone in your grief.”

“He would not have done me the kindness of letting go so that I could be with your father,” you reply, no emotion in your voice as you speak the words frankly for the first time. “If he had known he would have made sure to live another decade, just to make me miserable. He once said that my feelings for the Lord Hand made me pathetic and I doubt he ever changed his mind. He was always too fond of the Princess.”

She regards you hesitantly, the monotony in your voice no doubt unsettling her. “No matter, he is gone now, a blessing after all the pain and suffering he had to endure. May he rest with the Gods.”

She finally drinks and you take a sip as well, tasting the sweetness of the wine in contrast to the bitter reality of your life. A childless widow now, at just over thirty years of age. Even though you never loved your husband you feel a sense of loss. For the life you could have had, perhaps, a life without the stain of a childless, loveless marriage that ended far too soon. The family he never gave you, the true love he took from you.

“If it is still your wish,” she says, sensing your thoughts, “then I will not object to a match between you and my father when the time comes. You are already an integral part of our family, we might as well make it official. And I want you on my side for what is to come, the both of you.” An awkward smile. “Though I must admit… it will take me some time to get used to calling you mother.”

“Please, do not call me mother.” You both have to laugh at that notion, the first real sign of emotion you allow to bubble out of you in days. “However, I am not sure if the Lord Hand’s affections run so deep that he would propose a wedding.”

Alicent smiles, grasping your hand in hers. “He would be a fool not to marry you and my father is anything but.”

5 The Happy Days

You roll up the letter and place it back on the table, staring at the broken wax seal with the sigil of your father’s house. Amongst the bustle of the royal family arriving back from Driftmark you nearly missed the raven this morning. The keep had been entirely too quiet as the king’s family was away to attend the Lady Laena’s funeral but now that they have returned rumours are spreading like fire.

It is easy to tell that something has gone awry. The Prince Aemond is missing an eye, the people at court whisper when you take a stroll in the gardens to clear your head. A conflict, a bloody fight between the children of Queen Alicent and the Princess Rhaenyra. You have to refrain from intruding as your concern grows after hearing increasingly violent stories, the need to see Alicent and the children overwhelming. It is almost enough to distract you from the news you received that very morning.

You don’t expect anyone to call on you soon in the aftermath of what happened and with the tension still so very palpable within the Red Keep. The very evening of the family’s return, however, a footman arrives at your door carrying a small chest with a familiar crest.

“The Lord Hand sends for you, m’lady. He wishes for you to wear these.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower smells of incense. It is the first thing you notice and you wonder if your lord has been praying, calling to the Gods for his grandson. Unlike many times before you do not find him behind his desk but on a daybed that must have been brought in recently. The padding looks unused, rich green brocade, and it is positioned perfectly in front of the hearth to provide ample warmth during cooler nights. You wonder if his joints are troubling him.

Otto Hightower looks up, the flames casting an orange glow on his handsome face, and his features soften remarkably as he beholds you. Under his gaze you fiddle with the matching pair of emerald and gold cuffs he gifted you and that his eyes are drawn to immediately.

“My lord sent for me,” you say, hovering by the door.

“I should like to have your company tonight,” he says, patting the spot beside him. “I am in need of a gentle face and a soothing voice. But only if it please my darling girl.”

He looks weary, you note. Despite his sweet words there is a heaviness to him that he must have carried here all the way from Driftmark.

“Can I offer you wine?” he asks as you approach.

“Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am perfectly content.”

As you sit down beside him the scent of incense grows stronger; like perfume it clings to his robes and skin. His hands are folded in his lap and you see the tension in his white knuckles, in the way his rings bite into the soft flesh of his slender fingers.

“May I, my lord?” you ask cautiously.

He nods and you reach for one of his hands, pulling it into the lap of your black linen dress. You gently take off his rings, soothing the abused skin with a kiss. Your lord allows you to linger and when you press your lips to the next finger you meet his gaze. The warm light of the fire has softened his features even more but his eyes are keen as always as they observe your doings. When his lids flutter shut as you press yet another kiss to his knuckles it satisfies you greatly.

After a few more kisses you stand to rid yourself of the rings, placing them on his desk instead. The oils you brought him before his departure still lie in their basket and you take a deep purple phial before you settle by his side once again. Applying some drops to his wrist you begin to massage the tincture into his skin with a circular motion of your thumb. The lord sighs and visibly relaxes as the rich scent of lavender penetrates the air.

“How are you faring after your loss?” he asks after some silence.

“I am quite well, my lord. I have long since started the process of grieving, tethered to his bedside for years. Now the Stranger has ended his suffering and I feel at peace knowing that my husband is with the Gods.”

“I am glad to hear it. I would not wish for you to be in pain.”

“It is a tragedy,” you say, carefully then, “what happened to your grandson, my lord. Will the prince be alright?”

He gives a court nod. “He will, though I am afraid that his eye will not. But that is the price he paid for his dragon.”

“His dragon? You mean Vhagar, my lord?”

“Yes, my sweet. I am certain you heard the rumours.”

You smile at the term of endearment, ending your massage with a kiss to his palm before you reach for his other hand. The lord is rather pliant, allowing you to move him this way or that with the odd grunt of amusement. You do not dare ask for details, aware that he is looking for distraction and comfort tonight.

“Such good care you take of me,” your lord says, his voice deep and calm. “I should like to have you in my chambers more often.”

You glance at him, your resolve melting at the fondness in his expression. “I should like to take care of my lord whenever he is in need of me.”

“Otto,” he corrects softly. “Please.”

You look into his eyes. “Otto.”

A smile, gentle and warm. You continue to relieve his muscles, giving his second hand just as much attention as the first. However, your heart is heavy as you sit on the news you do not wish to bring up. The letter that arrived this morning makes any moment you have with your lord bittersweet.

“I am not sure how many evenings we will have, my lord. It seems that the Gods do not wish to see us together,” you finally say.

His left eyebrow rises. “What do you mean, my girl?”

“A letter arrived this morning in which my father requests my presence at our family’s seat.” You swallow, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice. “An old friend of his has expressed a specific interest in me and the match would bring me much closer to my family.”

“I certainly cannot fault him, my darling. Your presence is a gift to anyone who is fortunate enough to enjoy it.” He begins to stroke your hair with his free hand, gently running his fingers through the loose strands that aren’t pinned to your head. His movement carries the calming scent of lavender back to your nose. “However, I shall not allow it.”

“My lord?”

“Otto,” he corrects again, his brow furrowed in disapproval as his fingers curl underneath your chin, firmly holding it in place.

You try again. “What do you mean, Otto?”

He resumes his attentions, trailing his hands over your shoulder now in a gentle caress that mirrors the movement of your hand. “I claim you as my own, sweet girl. Your father will not dismiss the request of the Hand, I am quite certain.”

You sit up straighter. “And you mean it?”

“I will not see us parted again,” he states and his hand comes to rest on your cheek, more tender now. “If it is agreeable to you then I will send word to your lord father and after a reasonable period of mourning we arrange for the wedding.”

You cannot hide your relieved smile. “That is most agreeable to me, Otto.”

“Very good.”

You resume the treatment of his hand, noting the subtly pleased smile on his lips. He has always been sweet with you, sweeter than with anyone else as you know him to be stern and not too sentimental outside of his family. As a child you interpreted the changes in his demeanour as sympathy, pity even, and perhaps it truly was at times but now you realise that he must have always had this soft spot for you. Perhaps this was inevitable, perhaps it was always meant to be like this.

His hand tenses in yours, then, and his expression sours. “I do not know the extent to which my daughter has let you in on the tensions that are rising within the royal family but I feel that I must–”

“I am aware,” you gently interrupt with a hand on his arm, not wanting him to speak the words that trouble his mind. “My lord – Otto – whatever may come, I promised my Queen to be by her side a long time ago. In what function matters not.”

Perhaps it is his fatigue that makes him accept your decision so easily or perhaps it is the conviction in your voice. You were always rather adamant that you saw yourself by his side, that you were loyal first and foremost to your queen’s party. When your eyes meet you exchange a silent promise and there is no need to speak of it any longer.

Otto’s hands reach for yours then, softened by the oils. His eyes take in the sight of the finely wrought cuffs adorning your wrists, his thumbs trailing their rims where they meet your skin. The bracelets are narrow enough to remain delicate but still allow for the emerald ornamentations that run along their outer curve to stand out. The gems sparkle in the firelight, endless shades of green.

“Do you like them, my darling?” he asks.

“They are beautiful, Otto.”

He smiles, then runs his thumb over the matching ring on your finger. “I had them made for you before I left for Driftmark.”

For a brief moment the memory of him gifting you the jewel flickers in your mind, how hesitant he was at the time and how you both had to stop yourselves from speaking the truth of your feelings. Now he seems less hesitant to stake his claim, less hesitant to open himself to you.

“Thank you for such generous gifts, Otto,” you whisper. “I do not know how I deserve them.”

“You are deserving of more than mere jewels,” he replies, grasping your hands even tighter. You are surprised by the strength he still has in them. “You must know how very dear you are to me.”

You give a weak nod, getting lost in the intensity of his blue eyes. His lips part and you realise that you have leaned closer, a mere hairsbreadth separating you. The rough tips of his beard tickle your chin and you shut your eyes. His breath is warm against your lips.

“Otto–”

You want to ask for it but you cannot bring yourself to say the words. He does not close the distance but he also does not pull away. You blink your eyes back open and find his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes trained on your mouth.

He is conflicted, you can see it plainly written on his face. “You are in mourning, I would not offend–”

“There is no offence,” you whisper. “Otto–”

“If you are sure–”

Your lips meet before he finishes as you desperately press yourself against him. He groans lowly, his grasp on your hands tightening as he leans into you. Your lord tastes of sweet wine and tart berries, the flavours of a fading summer. No kiss has ever felt so warm and inviting but then you have gone without a lover’s touch for so long that you can hardly remember.

With some effort your lord pulls away, a sharp exhale through his nose following. His forehead comes to rest against yours, fingers searching for your cheeks as he cradles your head. “Is this what you want?”

“You said the Gods placed me in your hands,” you whisper in reply, skin prickling where his beard touched it. “I believe you are right.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, long thumbs swiping along your cheekbones. “You would let me have you, tonight?”

“I would let you have me every night.”

“Hm, such tempting promises.”

His lips wander, so very soft in contrast to his beard as they travel along the sharp line of your jaw and down to the much more sensitive skin of your neck. You inhale the smell that clings to his hair, incense, lavender and something that is distinctly Otto, some mix of ink, parchment and the crackling fire in front of you.

“We have denied ourselves for so long.” Your voice is desperate even to your own ears. “I do not think we have to repent any longer for sins of the past.”

“No,” he whispers against your jugular. “We give thanks to the Seven for their graciousness. Worship–”

“Worship?”

He stops as his hands stray, ghosting along your bare neck and then, suddenly, he tugs at your bodice. You gasp in surprise, and after another attempt it finally loosens, your breasts spilling over your dress as you shiver in the cool air. The lord’s warm hands soon find the soft flesh and with his slender fingers he kneads them, drawing noises from you that sound so very unfamiliar to your ears. You can tell that he is quite overcome as well. His breathing comes in hard bursts that betray his state and yet he is gentle with you, careful.

“Worship their gift,” he clarifies, glancing down at your partly revealed body. “Cherish it, treasure it.”

His mouth presses to the pliant curve of your breast and you realise that it is you he is idolising, your body the sole object of his adoration. You are melting under his lips, the reverence with which he kisses every bit of exposed skin exhilarating and new. When his warm mouth closes around your nipple you bury your hand in his hair and he moans deeply, wantonly. You feel yourself clenching at the sound.

It must have been some time since he touched a woman and just like you even the simplest contact seems to affect him. You would explore the possibilities if he allowed you to but presently he is too occupied with the mechanisms of your dress. You gently urge him away and help with the fastenings on your back, but he soon finds that he prefers to peel it off your skin in a rather slow, torturous fashion.

“Black,” he states with a hint of distaste, freeing your arm from one of the wide sleeves.

“I know my lord prefers me in green,” you whisper.

“And soon you shall be wearing it for me, my darling. It suits you so well.”

It gives you a thrill to have him take off your mourning dress with which you commemorate your late husband, a husband who shamed you for your attraction to the very man you are intimate with now. It is a sick feeling, a sinful feeling, to strip off your memory of him so soon and give into your desires with the man he so loathed. It gives you a perverse sense of satisfaction. But you have suppressed your needs for too long and you think it truly must be a sign of the Gods that they have brought you and Otto Hightower together again tonight.

When you are in nothing but your shift, the lord sinks from the daybed and kneels in front of you, bunching up the sheer fabric until your legs are exposed. You want to alert him that he should not rest on his poor joints on the cool stone floor but then his lips press to the inside of your knee and the thought is forgotten. He is yet unhurried, languid kisses pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the roughness of his beard sending pleasant tingles into your belly.

The nearer he draws to your core the more restless you become. You feel yourself getting wet, throbbing in anticipation. You grasp at his hair, a blush spreading over your cheeks and when he does not stop you tug at the thinning strands. The lord’s eyes find yours, heavy-lidded, and you feel the warmth of shame blossoming in your chest at the lustful display.

“My lord, I have never–”

“Otto,” he corrects yet again, a mild reproach with one hand stroking your calf. “Lean back, my girl, I want a taste.”

It is not a request. You rest your back against the brocade and he grabs one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder to reveal your private parts to him, to angle your hips just right. He holds your gaze and even though your heart is hammering almost too violently you cannot bring yourself to deny him. His lust-blown pupils paint his eyes black, a thin sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. It is an odd sight, a new sight, the usually so composed and controlled lord driven by his carnal impulses in a rare loss of composure.

He beholds you for another moment to make sure you are in agreement before he presses his mouth to your cunt. It is entirely too much, the lighting bolts of pleasure it sends into your body, the way he feels so hot and wet against your most sensitive parts. You moan, an obscene sound that you stifle with your hand the moment it leaves your lips. Otto’s eyelids flutter shut and his lips part against you. His tongue is soft in contrast to his beard that is chafing your thighs, licking along your slit and flattening against the sensitive bud at the top that you only rarely found the courage to explore on your own. He continues like this, his nose pressed to the swelling knob while he devours you like a man starved. When the lord pulls away to breathe you roll your hip in his direction, trying for more, and he gives an amused chuckle.

“You are a wanton thing,” he says. “I should have known.”

He says it fondly, running a thumb over the coarse hair that gathers where your legs meet, wet with your arousal and his own spit. He rubs along your slit then, circling the spot that lures the most sensual sounds from you. Your hips move on their own accord, trying to meet his rhythm, and you feel the heat building in your lower belly as he stokes the fire.

“Please–”

You clench around nothing and the lord withdraws, leaving you aching. His beard is glistening wetly in the light and you watch as he cleans the digit with a low hum. “My girl has the sweetest of tastes.”

You do not know whether he speaks the truth but his eyes are filled with devotion and desperate longing. When he stands, you pull your legs to your body to nurse the dampness and unsatisfied pulsing between them. The lord flinches as he straightens his knees, no doubt feeling the pain you anticipated but he recovers before you can inquire and reaches for your hand to help you up. You understand he does not wish to feel old tonight.

“On the bed,” he says.

His voice is firm and controlled. When you stand before him he surprises you with a hungry kiss, hands following the lines of your scantily clad form and squeezing at every bit of soft flesh he can reach. You feel like a debauched woman and modesty seems to be out of place. With shaking hands you pull your shift over your head and crawl onto his heavy four poster bed. The fabric of his sheets feels soft against your bare skin and you sense a thrill running through you at the prospect of what he might do to you. You are nude safe for the jewellery he bestowed you with.

“You are an exquisite sight,” he says as he watches you from the foot of the bed, the buttons of his garments coming undone with practiced fingers. “And you are mine now, sweet girl. Does it please you?”

You forget to reply, quite distracted as he reveals the tunic he wears underneath. The lord knows, as he always does. The admiration for his body must be written all over your face and you cannot look away as he fully exposes his torso to you. Despite his age his body is that of a knight, toned in places but overall softened by decades spent behind his desk. Tufts of greying hair cover most of his chest, the supple curve of his belly resting right above where he is already hard inside of his breeches.

The same bravery you felt all those years ago takes hold of you at the sight of him and on your knees you crawl over to where he is standing. Cautiously, you run your hands through the hair covering his upper body, feeling the soft skin underneath. He seems rather docile, allowing you to squeeze and palm whereever you want to, silence interspersed with the odd hum of approval at your exploration. Starved for the touch of a woman there is no resistance but a deep infatuation in his eyes. Perhaps he is just as enamoured with the sight and feel of you as you are with his.

“Pleased is hardly a word I would use at present,” you finally reply and allow your hand to cup him through his breeches. “Are you aching for me, too?”

A dry huff of a laugh, as though the question itself is superfluous. Two fingers tilt your chin up, the fire burning in his eyes answer enough. His free hand dives into your hair, not gentle but not rough as he frees it from its constraints and allows it to fall over your shoulders. Once he can angle your head how he pleases the lord closes the distance and litters your neck with kisses, teeth and tongue teasing at your skin. You find the fastenings of his breeches but your fingers are too jittery. The more you palm at him the rougher his kisses become until all breaths between you are drawn in desperation.

His patience has run thin. He climbs onto the bed, effectively urging you to lie back as he settles between your legs. His weight on top of you is heavenly, the feel of his skin against yours enough to have you whimpering underneath him. Otto grabs your wrists, one in each hand, pinning them down on either side of your head. The gold cuffs bite into your skin but not unpleasantly so with his warm hands covering them. His fingers slot between yours, grasping them, and you feel your pulse hammering against the ball his hand. Large as they are his hands almost completely cover your smaller ones and as his weight comes to rest on his forearms you feel like he is spreading you open for him.

“You are a sight for the Gods,” he whispers. “Such beauty, even they must envy me.”

You buck your hips, desperate for the feel of him now that he is within reach. “Please, Otto–”

“Needy, shameless,” he chides, voice sultry and deep. “Tell me, how many times have you fantasised of this? Or have you stopped counting?”

The arrogance in his tone only makes you want him more. His hands tighten almost painfully in yours as he kisses you, feverish and filthy, forcing his tongue between your lips with a distinct possessiveness. It is evident that he intents to claim you in more ways than just adorning you with jewels. You are not resisting but you cannot match his pace, overwhelmed with the intensity of your desires for him.

When his mouth releases yours, bruised and wet, you moan at the loss of him. The gasping breath you take burns in your lungs and once again you cannot help but tilt your pelvis to try and find some relief.

“Shhhhh, I know,” he whispers. “I will have you, my girl. You were very patient.”

The blood flows back through your wrists when his tight grasp loosens and he finally works his breeches open. His member is coated in arousal, thick and throbbing after his own stalling. You release a sob when you feel him sliding between your folds, grazing your swollen bud. The lord groans when you reach down to help him find your entrance and you notice how hot he is, how painfully stiff against your soft fingers.

“Yes,” you whisper when you feel his tip parting you. “Please, more.”

He relents, tries to go slow for your sake but you are slick and worked up and one thrust is enough to fill you to completion. The feeling is unlike any of which you have experienced before, no pain or discomfort but just the dizzying need for more of him that burns through your veins. He stretches you open, both of you glancing at where your bodies join so beautifully before your eyes meet once more. Your lord takes your wrists again, softer now, and as your hands link together it is you this time who tightens their grasp.

He begins to rock his hips, gentle at first as he holds your gaze, swallows the first of your moans with his puffed lips. Soon his thrusts harden, the pace he sets merciless as he drives himself into you over and over. You are both too sensitive for it to last long, the lingering fire inside of you spreading into your fingertips, your toes, and you feel as though you could explode with the sheer bliss of it all.

You come undone a moment later, crying out his name and spasming with a force you have not known before. Your lord holds you and you sink into the feeling, trembling and weightless in his arms. Otto hums at the sight but he only pauses for a moment before he resumes his movements, prolonging the pleasurable sensation. He moves to pull out of you as he nears his own end and you catch his wrist, pressing it against your chest.

“No,” you whine. “Please.”

He holds your gaze as he continues to take you, chasing his own pleasure more savagely than before. You cradle his face, brush the sweaty hair back that has fallen into his forehead, and when he finds his release the sound that comes from his throat is broken. His hips still but you feel the heat of his spend as he fills you, his body going slack on top of yours after the efforts of the night.

You recover with his gasping breath warming the crook of your neck and even though he is resting some of his weight on his elbows his strength has ultimately left him. Wet skin clings to wet skin, soft and comforting as you stroke his back through the aftershocks. Your chests heave in sync and you swear you can feel his heartbeat matching your own.

A deep sigh tickles your shoulder, then, and he carefully rolls you onto your sides, wrapping you up in his arms as he gathers you against his chest. The position is much more comfortable and you curl up against him with a warm, sated feeling in your belly.

“Will you stay a while?” he asks.

“For as long as you will have me,” you reply, using the quiet to allow your fingers to explore more of his chest. “I thought you might tell me about Oldtown.”

A smile, so soft and genuine that your heart stutters. The lord brushes your hair back, thumb following the line of your brow down to your jaw and resting on your lips. You can only imagine the mess you look but he does not seem to mind.

“Perhaps you should like to dine with me tomorrow?” he asks.

“I should like that very much.”

“Good,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Very good.”

He is exhausted and you know sleep will take him within moments. Lips softly pressed below his ear you reach for the end of the comfort and provisionally pull it over your entangled bodies. The fire is still burning but you know you will catch a chill once your skin cools. You will have to leave before the morrow but right now dawn is far away and you are too content to rest in the safety of his arms. At last.

Epilogue: A year later

A yawn parts the lord’s lips. He stifles the noise quite quickly but it does not escape your notice how his hand flies to his mouth. He so rarely makes a sound, a man of silent concentration, choosing every word with a deliberation that requires his full attention.

You smile to yourself. “I did not take you for a man who falls victim to ennui, husband.”

“It is a slow night,” he concedes, rubbing an ink-stained finger along his brow.

“And you have copied this letter…”

“Seven times, my heart.”

You softly close the book you have been reading while sitting in quiet companionship with the Lord Hand. You so love watching him when he dedicates his evenings to his correspondence, the scratching of the quill a calming noise in the background.

“Perhaps I can aid his lordship in finding a less tiresome occupation?”

He leans back in his chair, surrendering the quill as well as his efforts as you saunter over. A smile tugs at his lips, amusement. You find him less serious these days, less stern, at least when he’s sharing your company. The months have been kind to you both.

“My darling wife is as insatiable as during our first night,” he muses, pulling you into his lap.

“How disappointing, I made such an effort to become worse.”

He kisses the mock pout from your lips. For a man who has aged so gracefully his hunger has not dwindled. He tells you that your enthusiasm keeps him youthful and perhaps that is true. After over a decade in a love and passionless marriage you have a lot to make up for. Otto is happy to indulge you.

“The hour is late,” you whisper against his lips, a subtle proposition.

“Indeed,” he says, one hand sliding up your hip, then pressing down gently on your belly. “What are we to do with this hunger of yours, lady wife?”

“Perhaps my neglectful husband can sate me.”

“Neglectful?”

“At times I feel that he prefers the touch of his quill over mine.”

He lifts you abruptly, placing you on the surface of his desk where you can hear the parchment crumpling underneath your skirts. Your lord stands tall in front of you, broad-chested yet slender of frame save the small pouch of his belly. You trace the soft curve up to his chest but he quickly grasps your chin to draw your gaze up to his, ever imperious.

“Audacious,” he chides, “that you would make such accusations.”

The hint of teasing in his voice sets you alight. His long fingers curl underneath your jaw, denting your cheeks with his grip. With a raised eyebrow he studies your face, knowingly, your flushed skin betraying his effect on you. His patience is like to drive you mad as he is methodical and studious even in your shared intimacy. You think he reads you as though you are words written on a page of his books, drawing meaning from tracing the shape of you with his eyes.

Only when you are writhing does he close the distance in a heated kiss. As if to prove you wrong his hands eagerly roam your body, unfastening the lacings on your dress and groping every soft spot he meets in the process. Before long you find yourself stripped and heaving under the strain of your passion. It is a well-rehearsed dance by now, the undressing, the way from his desk to the bed where your lord likes to take his time with you, pleasuring you, teasing you until your begs and whimpers fill the quiet of the chamber and at last he is satisfied.

Under the canopy he leaves scratchy, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as his fingers work you open. So far his seed has not taken and the maesters are not sure it will. You had hoped that you could refute the rumours of your barrenness but even so your second marriage is a much happier one than your first. The Gods have been good to you and you wonder if in time you may be blessed with a son after all.

“Focus on me, my girl,” Otto rasps, then, and you find him staring down at you, pupils so wide that they swallow his irises. His hair has fallen into his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. You reach out to brush them back and as always he leans into your touch, starved for affection. An ink smudge stains his brow. He works so much that the signs never leave his face.

“Forgive me, I lost myself for a moment,” you whisper and push at his shoulder.

He removes himself and sinks into the pillows beside you, reclining with a soft, weary sigh. You climb on top of him, easing him inside of you. Otto pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you as you both begin to rock against each other. You can feel his soft chest hair tickling your breasts, pressed together as you are, and you breathe broken moans into each others mouths.

“Where were your thoughts, then?” he whispers, biting into the soft skin of your neck.

“I thought about the future,” you say. “I thought about you giving me a son.”

His hips buck and you keen as he hits you deeper than before. You tug at the hair on the back of his head, following his rhythm as he groans into your ear with that deep, raspy voice. You smile, enjoying the feel and sound of him so desperate for you.

Whatever the future may hold, you know that you will never tire of this, the small intimacies with your lord, the knowledge that he burns for you so vigorously after a lifetime forced to spent apart. You can taste your own fire on his lips, feel it as you both crest and his seed drips down your legs. Otto kept the promise he gave you – he made things right, he cherished you, and now nothing shall part you again.

“I am doing something I learned early to do, I am paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have – as if it were our duty to find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.” – Sharon Olds, from "Little Things"; Strike Sparks: Selected Poems, 1980-2002

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#otto hightower #otto hightower x reader #otto x reader #otto hightower x female reader #otto hightower fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd x reader #hotd #team green fanfiction #team green #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic

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lilylovestowrite · 2 months

Text

TO NURTURE GROWTH ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Al Haitham x AFAB! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ Degradation, fingering, mentions of bondage, dirty talk, spanking MDNI

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Al Haitham finds a new way to help you revise for your exam

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 2.6k (Doctor, you're huge)

A/N ୨♡୧ I believe I've crossposted this in the past, don't worry, if you've seen it on Wattpad, it's still me! I just lost my password.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Focus.”

Al Haitham picks up a pointer rod left in the lecture hall of the Akademiya and extends it. You don’t peer up at him, already averting your gaze in pure trepidation in meeting his sneering eyes. You hear his footsteps cease. The aroma of his cologne, surprisingly light and floral, similar to your own perfume, the scent of Sumeru roses, mix and the smell is so strong it makes you shiver slightly. “If you have time to daydream, I’m sure you can memorise that entire page.” He scolds you, his voice sounds authoritative but you can detect the traces of sadism. However, pointing out his enjoyment would only put you in a worse position.

The sunlight bleeds through the skylight above you, the architecture of the Akademiya so intricately planned out so that every inch of the classroom is kissed by the glorious splendour of light. The golden haze that illuminates the ivory marble and desks still do not manage to vanquish the looming tension that builds up between you. You’re starting to regret asking Al Haitham, your classmate, to tutor you in biology. He only accepted on the terms that you participate in an experiment he’s conducting. Al Haitham is constantly trying to pester you, intentionally getting under your skin using harsh words and even striking your hands with a ruler (albeit gently) to see how you react and then scribbling it down on a damned notepad.

Silence permeates across the lecture hall, plants decorating the lecture hall and the flowers act as jewels that make the resplendence of the Akademiya just that more defined. The lack of noise makes you nervous, as you should expect some type of demeaning comment by now. Instead, you yelp as he trails the rod he stole from the lecturer’s podium down your shirt. The contrast of the scorching sunlight and the cool metal touching your bare back and trailing up to your neck makes you jolt and sit straighter. “Your back is going to suffer if you stay hunched over like that. Don’t frown at me, I’m helping you out.” He chides, not concealing even a drop of the demeaning nature that floods his very manner of speaking. “Now, why don’t you tell me about the difference between plant cells in elemental blossoms and natural ones?”

“The elemental blossoms are more likely to react to elemental reactions and they-” Your speech is cut off by a slightly stingy strike to your thighs with the rod. “Al Haitham! Don’t you think you’re abusing your power here? You can’t just discipline me without reason!” You exclaim, standing up and accidentally swiping your textbook off your desk.

Al Haitham chuckles softly, “Without reason? Silly thing, the Akademiya exams are very precise with their words. Elemental blossoms are more ‘susceptible’ to elemental reactions compared to natural blossoms. Not only do you have to have the word ‘susceptible’, you also have to add the comparison to natural blossoms. You would have known that if you read the highlighted box. It’s highlighted for a-”

You’re about to storm out of the lecture hall until you hear a very stern, “Hey.” Out of instinct, you turn back. Al Haitham’s eyes catch the sunlight and the sheen makes the shades that paint his pupils much more translucent. His lean body leans against your desk and one of his fingers beckons you in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We’re not finished here. Pick up your textbook and sit down before I make you. Obviously this method isn’t working.” He quickly writes down something on his notepad as you meekly pick it up, fearful of the scribe’s wrath.

“Now, instead of discipline, I’m going to try rewarding you. I might get a little up close and personal, but if you’re uncomfortable, you’re free to up and leave. Alright?” You sit down and scoff. His rewards must consist of lighter strikes across the palm or a limit of three adjectives to describe your incompetence per insult. Nevertheless, you’re enraptured by the scribe’s effortless charisma and find yourself agreeing.

“Why not tell me about the effect of fertiliser containing a higher nitrate concentration on elemental plant yield?”

“W-well first they increase exponentially, but they deteriorate faster because elemental blooms are not necessarily as long lived as natural blooms and are more sensitive to elemental weathering from the wind.” You wait for the strike, but instead you feel dread flip your stomach over as he approaches.

“Good girl. Just one little thing, instead of saying that they live longer, I would say longer ‘lifespan’, seeing as the marking scheme would penalise you for using any other terminology.” His breath is right next to your ears as he leans over your desk to correct you. With tenderness in his touch, he unravels your fingers from the quill in your hands to circle ‘longer lifespan’ in the textbook. “You also study mathematics, right? They’re not so needlessly obsessed with definition, so I can understand your confusion. But I see the flashcards you’ve made, all you have to do is memorise them and you’ll be set.” He then threads his fingers through your hair, hitting a spot on the back of your head that makes you lean into his touch subconsciously.

As you continue reading and muttering definitions to memorise them, Al Haitham praises you and smiles as you recite the pros and cons of using different types of fertilisers for various types of plants. The class, genus, and species rattle off your tongue with a newfound fluency aided by the sweet pecks to your cheeks and forehead. The Akademiya’s cream hued marble glistens under the moonlight by the time you yawn from exhaustion. You’re sitting on Al Haitham’s lap now. After you scored a high mark on a mock test he complied, he gently lifted you onto his lap and encouraged you by rubbing circles on your waist. You stretch after yawning and throw your head back into his chest by accident whilst you do so. He giggles softly and you feel his veiny and calloused hands rub your thighs, soothing the place he hit before.

“Come on, just a few more for me, darling. I might give the rest of your body attention too if you succeed…”

“Why so tense?” He runs his hands along your thighs and you jolt in his lap. “It’s not good for students like us to have bad physique. I’m sure I can find time to massage you.” Your hands tremble, nearly scattering flashcards all over the floor.

You’re cranky. Irritated. Absolutely ticked off. Al Haitham had promised to give your body attention and even brought you to his house. But currently, you’re on his lap, as he lies on the couch, playing with you.

“Al Haitham, I’m trying to concentrate.” You hiss at him, pissed. He’s set up this whole experiment, scolded you to your wits end, and now he’s trying to praise you?

“You’re so obsessed with my focus, so surely you won’t mind if I ignore you for a bit?” You smirk up at him, and his brow twitches. He should look quite irked, but instead a rather competitive glare shuts you up and makes you recite the contents of the flashcards out loud. Warmth radiates from his body. And your body, naturally cold, merges into his comfort. But you’re not sure if it’s the scent of silk flowers from the burning incense in the corner, or Al Haitham’s hypnotic light perfume.

“Oh, go ahead,” His hands grip your thighs and squeeze them together, “Ignore me.” The silk of his gloves slid across your skin, and his calloused hands stroke the skin just two inches below your pelvis. You try to peel his hands off your thighs, but even both of your hands cannot move his singular arm. Al Haitham pretends like you aren’t struggling in his grasp, and he starts kissing along your neck. “Darling, you’re not focusing.” He murmurs in between ticklish pecks that only make you squirm in his embrace even more. You only hope his hands grabbing your hips and thighs don’t accidentally brush across your crotch, where the effect he has on you is alarmingly stark. You can’t hold in the tiny moan that slips from your mouth when he kisses a certain spot on the expanse of your skin now glazed by the sheen of the moonlight.

“Cute…” He cooes and continues to kiss that spot until a red mark blooms on your skin, resembling a rose petal. “I’m obsessed with your focus, right? So, what are you doing, making all of these lewd noises instead of studying?”

“You’re distracting me,” You whine, slamming your fists on the desk in front of you with not enough force, because Al Haitham barely flinches.

A devious glint in his eye makes you jolt, however. “Then do you want me to be mean again? I’m trying to help you learn, and if it means I have to coax you, I will. In fact, not another word from you, I think I know the solution to this. Bend over my lap.”

“Sorry?” You gawk as he waits for you to arrange yourself on his lap, “You want me to what?”

Displeased with your indingance, he grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, but gently enough that you don’t feel any pain. “Bend over. We’re going to do some active recall. Since you’ve worked so hard, I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colours.” The previous warmth his voice possessed has left his voice and he regresses back to his deadpan drawl.

With that, you awkwardly drape yourself across his lap and he gives you a pillow cushion to rest your upper body on. When you sink your face in it, the material is both firm and soft. He takes off your pants, and you try to sit up so he doesn’t spot the wet spot on your panties. But Al Haitham uses one hand to force your head down into the pillow once more, muffling your protests. He soothes his hands across your bare ass, and you squeeze your thighs in anticipation.

“Now, how can withering zones be neutralised?” He asks, calloused hands running up and down your skin.

“The dendrograna secretes substrates that inhibit the enzymes of the withering zone.” You feel heat massage your entire body, chills making you jolt in the colder Sumeru nights.

“Good, now what type of inhibition is it? Competitive or non-competitive?” His voice is dusted with honeyed lust, causing him to draw out his vowels that bit more.

“Competitive?” Your head whizzes with lust the vivid shade of the red apples by the bedside table.

“Oh dear, it’s non-competitive.” He stops rubbing your ass and strikes it instead. You yelp and squeeze the pillow. You look up from behind him to protest and have him do something less… mean. With humiliation written all over your face you open your mouth, but the sensual authoritative gaze in Al Haitham’s eyes, all the shades of the sky, keep you in your position like gossamer bonds.

“Which plant may act as an aphrodisiac if burned in an incense?”

You know this answer, but somehow, whatever has been encoded into your long term memory has completely vanished. The tantalising voice and hands pinching your behind urging you to answer dominate your senses. “Is it… silk flower?” Your voice trickles with uncertainty, the cadence of your voice raising ever so slightly, much like the brow of your tutor.

“What type?” Al Haitham plays with the ribbon hem of your panties, a laugh playing on his lips. “Nice frills, by the way.” You bury your face further in the pillow to hide your embarrassment at your childish, frilly, panties. But you know it’s a ploy to distract you and get you to say the wrong answer.

“The non-mutant silk flowers, which is why they’re harvested in Liyue and ground up to make ointment paste.” Comes your reply, and a hand comes up to pet your head.

“What a good girl, I’ll give you an easier question. Who does this ass belong to?” His gentle voice coaxes you to an answer as he plays with your hair.

A cheeky streak compels you, as sudden as a lightning strike and just as impossible to dodge as the snaky answer leaves your lips, “Me.”

He doesn’t stop massaging your scalp, but you can hear the snarl and feel the atmosphere bind you. The air rises and expands in the heat, and although the clear skies of the city are cool, the pleasure keeps you resting in his lap in heat. “Incorrect.” He delivers three successive slaps to your ass. You yelp with each one, not painful, but unexpected and sharp. Vibrations oscillating from the flesh of your ass reverberates to your vagina, making you squirm. He holds you still by the hips and spanks you more. “Come on, correct your mistakes.”

“N-ngh, sorry- It’s yours! It’s yours!” You squeal, kicking your legs until his hand moves to carefully place them back down. The soft material of his pants carrying the heat of his body contrasts with the cool silk of his bedsheets.

“That’s right. I gave you a reward, and you foolishly try to rebel. I guess I have to be mean to you. I think that’s how you’ll learn your lesson.” He grins, lowering your underwear down your legs, and snickering when a string of dewy fluid stretches and snaps with the fabric as it loses contact with your flower, coated in sheen. “Already? I’ve barely started, and you’re already this wet. You’re way too needy. I guess this is what happens when you keep reading those filthy novels instead of educational textbooks.” You whimper in embarrassment, your voice is muffled by the pillow when you shyly enquire where he got that information.

“Well, you see, I did see you at the bookstore multiple times. Don’t be too downcast, I think that ‘The Emperor’s Flower’ was very well written. I don’t read textbooks exclusively, you know, I happen to have similar tastes.” Al Haitham props your ass up further to spread your folds and graze your clit with a single finger. “I especially liked some of the scenes where the poor, sweet, heroine was edged and teased until she begged and sobbed. Should I make the same mess out of you, my helpless angel?” You can only moan, offering more of you to him as he rubs your most sensitive spot.

“I think you like this. I think you enjoy it when I’m mean to you, right? I can see you clench over nothing when I tell you how pathetic you are.” He hums when you moan out an agreement, “That’s it, just let yourself go. I’m putting my fingers in, is that alright?”

You explicitly say yes, and he proceeds to plunge right in. Careful not to hurt you, he explores you so gently yet precisely, he finds your g-spot with only one or two pointers. He softly thanks you before striking up a brutal pace.

“Ah- AH Haitham! Sl-slow down please!”

“I’m just testing your limits, you know what to say if you want me to stop.” He keeps massaging the same spot, whilst his other hand occupies your clit. He goes faster as you writhe in overwhelming pleasure. “Stop squirming, I’m going to tie you up next time.” You burn in humiliation as he feels you clench momentarily.

“Oh? You like being tied up? I thought so. You’re in luck, Kaveh has an infatuation of silk ribbons from Fontaine. I think you would look good all tied in light blue ribbon.” Your climax is fast approaching as he coaxes you and degrades you and praises you with such filthy yet elegance, and as you’re about to fall apart, he halts.

“Wh-why?” You can only sob, but the clanking of his belt is music to your ears as he presses up against you. The aroma of his cologne mixes with your arousal, and you press back up against him.

“I’m only trying to help. I’ll be gentle, but only because this is our first lesson…”

#genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #al haitam x reader #al haitham #al haitham x you #al haitham smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin smut

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dark-and-kawaii · 10 months

Note

your pregnancy ficlets are super sweet! How about Halsin finding out tav is pregnant 🥰

Halsin would/does make the best dad. When he was worried about the kids not getting a bedtime story from him I wanted to cry. I go feral for big ol’ guys with a soft heart, and he’s like the poster man for that.

༺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥 ༻

♡ Halsin | Pregnancy - Fluff

In the midst of a small flower field, bathed in the golden rays of the sun, you sat in the forest. Halsin, in his bear form, approaches you silently, attempting to surprise you. But as always, you are keenly aware of his presence. Chuckling softly to yourself you continue plucking a pink flower, and with a playful tone you remark, "You'd have better luck sneaking up on me if you were a cat, you know."

Halsin nudges your back gently with his large furry head, emitting a low, affectionate grunt as he settles down beside you. Resting against his solid form, you're enveloped in a unique comfort only he can provide, afterall, it’s not everyday someone gets with a bear. Twirling the flower wreath you've been weaving, you muse, "I'm considering changing these to yellow blossoms, what do you think?" You glance at him, your look soft and affectionate as he cocks his head, ears perked, you know his bearish confusion was a silent compliment to your creation.

Your laughter is light as your fingers trace the fur between his eyes. "Yellow's quite the neutral choice," Halsin watches you, his gaze intent, absorbing every word you speak, “Hmm, or maybe I should do white instead, but that’s just- no. That’s a terrible idea.” He continues to listen, studying your expression intently, as if trying to decipher the message behind your words.

“If it's a boy," you continue, your eyes lingering on the wreath, "I don't think he'd appreciate all these shades of pink." Your gaze meets Halsin's, a playful glimmer in your eyes. "And if it's a girl, well, pink seems to be the only answer. But how am I supposed to know? I'm no seer." You raise an eyebrow, your eyes searching his face. Suddenly, his wide brown eyes illuminate, and in a burst of radiant energy, Halsin stands before you, transformed back into his glorious elven body. "Is it true? You spoke of the truth just now?" he asks, his voice filled with awe and excitement.

Joining him in standing, a smile spreads across your face, and you nod, uttering the words he longed to hear, "It's true, my love." Unable to contain his joy, Halsin bursts into laughter, engulfing you in his arms as he spins you around, expressing his elation in that moment of pure bliss.

Halsin's laughter fills the forest as he spins you around, his joy palpable in the warm embrace. "By the Great Oak Father!" he exclaims, his eyes shining with happiness. You both come to a stop, and Halsin cups your face in his hands, his expression overflowing with love. "Our love, our bond, will be forever sealed in this precious life."

The forest and flowers around you seemed to come alive with vibrant colors, the gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of the blooms. It feels as if though nature is celebrating alongside you.

As the initial rush of excitement settles, Halsin lowers himself to one knee, holding your hand close to him. "My heart, I promise to be there for you and our child every step of the way. I will protect and cherish both of you with all that I am."

Tears of joy well up in your eyes as you meet his gaze. "And I promise to stand by your side, Halsin, as I always have.”

Halsin's grin widens as he rises from his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. "I have no doubt that we will raise a child who embodies both the strength of the wild and the wisdom of the druids. They will be surrounded by love, nature, and the embrace of the elements."

With hearts filled with excitement and anticipation, you and Halsin spend the rest of the day in the forest, basking in the joy of your upcoming journey as parents. As the sun sets, casting a mesmerizing glow across the landscape, you can't help but feel an incredible sense of gratitude for the life growing within you and the love that binds you both together.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #Halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #bg3 halsin #tw.pregnancy

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tokkias · 6 months

Text

cuffing season ship: natsu dragneel x lucy heartfilia summary: Just as the blossoms bloom in the spring, so too does love, and Lucy finds herself falling as naturally as the golden leaves in the autumn. word count: 18,342 ao3

i. autumn

The warm summer months bring with them a surge of job postings tacked upon the board at the guild, which always have everyone eager to get in on the Jewel rush before settling down as the temperature begins to drop with the change of seasons. Combined with the way that the party seemingly never stops at the guild during the summer, it makes Lucy almost glad to see the leaves begin to turn into hues of brown and gold, signalling the change in the season.

It's not that she doesn’t appreciate the way the money flows in, keeping her in her apartment for at least another few months with a little Jewel spare on the side to keep her materialistic cravings at bay, or even the way that her new family can party well into the night in an alcohol-fuelled frenzy. There’s just something about the way the leaves began to fall that makes her fond of the season. It feels indicative of new beginnings and things to come.

The maple in her drink is sickly sweet on her tongue as she pushes through the guild hall doors. She lets in a breeze as she does so, but the scarf draped over her protects her skin from the chill, and she can’t help but smile at the indication of fall. There’s something different about it this year that she can’t quite put her finger on yet, but she feels it in the air and sees it in the stars.

The world has something big in store for her. She’s not sure what, but she knows it’s going to be something special. All she has to do is wait.

☆♡☆♡

A gentle gust of wind blows a smattering of leaves onto the path ahead of them, and Natsu makes it his mission to go out of his way to step on a few, letting them crunch beneath his shoe. The satisfying noise spurs him to do it again, and again, and again, leaving no leaf left uncrunched. A soft giggle leaves Lucy’s lips as he rushes ahead of her, and it’s only at that point does he realise he’s left her behind. He turns around to face her, his head cocked slightly to the side at her sudden reaction.

“What?”

"Nothing, it’s just…” She trails off, not knowing if she really wants to share her thoughts with him.

Her vague reaction only adds to Natsu’s curiosity.

“Just what?”

“I don’t know; I thought it was kind of cute,” she shrugs.

“I’m not cute,” he grumbles, burying his face in his scarf.

His bashful reaction makes her breathe out a soft laugh, as he only proves her point further.

Another breeze passes them by, though this time Lucy is the one to bear victim to it. Her skin raises with goosebumps as the cold air hits her. She rubs her hands up and down the exposed skin of her arms as her teeth chatter slightly, and suddenly, she begins to regret not bringing along a coat. Her ailment doesn’t go unnoticed by Natsu, who glances over at her, noting the pitiful way she tries to warm herself up.

“You wouldn’t always have this problem if you wore seasonally appropriate clothes for once,” he comments.

“I know that,” she spits back. “I just… didn’t think it would be this cold already.”

The heat that comes from the friction of rubbing her hands against her skin helps a little, but it’s the feeling of Natsu’s jacket being draped over her shoulder that warms her body and her heart.

“O-oh, thank you.”

Her face flushes slightly under his gaze as he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to put it on. She slips her arms through the sleeves, though with the garment being much too big for her, the ends dangle well past her hands, and she feels as though she looked a little ridiculous. That thought is confirmed when she hears Natsu cackle at the sight of her.

“Don’t laugh!” she pouts, bunching the sleeves up at her wrists.

“I gave you my jacket; I get to laugh all I want.”

Lucy merely huffs in response, not wanting to lose her jacket privileges. She supposes she can take ridiculous over cold.

☆♡☆♡

It’s been a while since Magnolia has seen a “normal” harvest festival. Between the battle of Fairy Tail, the seven years they were away on Tenrou, and the year of the disbandment, Lucy has yet to experience the festival in its purest form. Upon being reminded of this fact, Natsu has taken it upon himself to drag Lucy around the city to show her the highlights of the festival.

She’s honestly not too certain what the purpose of a harvest festival is, but what she does know is that the guild and city take it as an excuse to set up stalls and stands of every kind leading up to the big parade at the end of the day.

Lucy isn’t at all surprised when the first thing Natsu does is make a b-line for the food stalls. They line the streets with different autumnal meals and snacks, and her partner looks eager to try any and all of them. It’s been a few hours since breakfast, so she is more than happy to justify treating herself. A candy apple isn’t really a lunch food, but when Natsu holds one out for her, she is hard-pressed to say no. It’s so sweet that her teeth ache when she bites into it, but it tastes so good that she doesn’t even care.

Everything is happening everywhere, in every part of town. Décor lines the streets, and happy chatter fills her ears. It’s all a little overwhelming for Lucy, who simply follows Natsu as he drags her around. He seems familiar enough with it, but it’s been so long since he’s been that he is equally fascinated with all of the sights and sounds.

She shouldn’t be surprised when he drags her over to an apple-bobbing set-up—his fierce competitiveness fuelled by the promise of a tacky looking plastic trophy for those who succeed.

He puffs up his chest and declares that he’s going to win that damn trophy. He talks a big talk, but Lucy isn’t certain that apple bobbing is one of his many talents.

As soon as he gets the go-ahead, he violently dunks his head in the water, half of the water overflowing the bucket before all of it gushes out like a tidal wave when Natsu breaks it with his shoulder. Despite the interruption, he remains strong in his mission to win the trophy and goes for a bright red apple that has yet to roll away in the mess of it all. By the time he gets it, he’s absolutely sopping wet, bangs dripping down into his eyes, which he proceeds to shake out like a dog, keeping the apple firmly in his mouth as he sends droplets flying at everyone in the general vicinity. The sight of it is so ridiculous that Lucy bursts out into laughter immediately. Natsu remains undeterred by her reaction, grabbing onto his apple with one hand and holding it in place as he takes a bite. As he chews, he holds the rest of it up in victory while Lucy laughs and claps, and he absolutely revels in her praise.

“Alright! Where’s my prize?” He demands, bits of chewed-up apple flying everywhere as he speaks.

“There is no prize,” the stall host replies as he flinches away and out of the splash zone.

“What?” Natsu exclaims, his face immediately dropping from one of celebration to one of borderline anger. “I was promised a prize!”

“You broke the barrel!”

Lucy, sensing impending destruction if she doesn’t intervene soon, grabs Natsu by the wrist and drags him away. He doesn’t put up a fight, which is much more than she could have asked for, but he does grumble under his breath as they walk away.

She buys him a treat from one of the stalls on their way out as a consolation prize (not another candy apple; it’s too soon and she worries it might hit a sore spot), and Natsu happily takes her sympathies.

☆♡☆♡

Lucy isn’t exactly sure how she let Natsu rope her into this. Sure, she likes pumpkin pie and pumpkin spice, but carving pumpkins? That’s a little out of her comfort zone. But still, here she is, sitting in the guild hall, a plump, orange pumpkin and a set of carving tools set out before her. It’s part of a guild-wide competition but she has little confidence in her ability to take part because she really has no idea where to even begin.

“I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this,” she states bluntly.

“Here, lemme show you,” Natsu replies, grabbing his tools and pumpkin before getting to work.

She watches intently as Natsu uses one of the knives to cut a hole in the top of it before reaching in to remove the seeds on the inside. Lucy scrunches her nose as he guts the pumpkin, pulling out all the seeds and wet, stringy pieces. Immediately sensing her discomfort, Natsu takes full advantage to torment her with it, invading her personal space with a handful of pumpkin flesh. She tries to smack his hand away, but her reaction only goads him on more, and he shoves it in her face, letting the seeds fall onto her skirt. Lucy shrieks in horror, shoving his hands away from her, and based on his howling laughter, she figures that’s the exact reaction he was going for.

“You are such a pain!” She cries as she wipes the pumpkin off of her skirt, examining the spot that it has left on the white fabric.

"Aw, come on, it’s just pumpkin,” he grins, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“If you’re going to be annoying, I’ll just get someone else to help me,” she huffs, arms crossed as she turns her nose away from him.

It’s an empty threat; she has no intention of finishing carving out her pumpkin, let alone actively seeking help from someone else, but she knows that the threat of it will wind Natsu up. Based on the way he’s been doing it to her, she thinks it’s only fair.

"Hey, c’mon Lucyyyyy,” he whines. “Here, I’ll be good. It’s fun, I promise.”

Lucy caves quickly to his pleas and drops her act, letting her arms fall to her side before she looks back over at him. He’s got that familiar goofy smile plastered across his face, and even though she rolls her eyes at it, she can’t help that she’s smiling back at him.

He manages to demonstrate the proper techniques well enough that she feels confident going in herself, copying the actions he takes.

“Have you done this a lot?” She asks as she makes her first cut.

“Yeah, we used to do it all the time as kids,” Natsu replies. “Gramps put a stop to it when Erza and Mira tried to stab each other, though.”

She breathes an airy laugh at his comment. She’s heard all of the stories of what their beloved barmaid was like as a teen but she still can’t imagine the she-devil picking a fight with Erza, armed with a carving knife.

What she can imagine, however, is that she has not been the first victim of Natsu and his slimy pumpkin innards. She squirms a little as she guts it, but it’s not as bad as she originally thought, and she’s steadily making progress.

She’s cutting it close by the time she finishes. Most of the participants are already finished by the time she does, and when she finally places hers next to the rest, she’s a little embarrassed by its sloppy simplicity.

Natsu finishes not too long after she does, and he approaches from behind with his own entry. He’s been hiding his from her the whole time, claiming it to be a “surprise” for when he’s finished, and she’s been more eager to see his finished one than her own.

It’s not until he finally places it down on the judging table that she gets anything more than a brief glimpse of it for the first time. It’s got two little whiskers on each side, two ears, a little button nose, and two wide eyes. Immediately it clicks in her mind what it’s supposed to be.

“It’s Happy!” She cries out in delight.

Natsu gleams with pride as she’s immediately able to pinpoint where his creativity led him.

Looking at her own next to the rest, she decides that it’s not very good, but she’s happy she participated, even if she made it nowhere in the final rankings.

It comes as no surprise when Reedus takes home the grand prize, but that doesn’t stop Natsu from grumbling about it the whole walk home.

“I thought yours was great,” she offers, running a hand across his back in an attempt to comfort him, because she did. It was cute, and silly, and completely Natsu.

He seems to perk up at the compliment.

“I thought yours was great too,” he replies with a grin plastered across her face.

“Alright, you don’t need to lie to make me feel better,” Lucy snorts.

“I’m not lyin’! You did really good for a first try.”

She simply smiles back at him, her heart beginning to race just a little bit faster in her chest as their eyes lock.

“Thanks for teaching me.”

“Any time.”

☆♡☆♡

It’s quiet on the train, save for the soft rumble of the wheels against the track as the carriage sways side to side, which either means that Natsu has fallen asleep or that he has simply given up complaining about it. Lucy cares for Natsu a great deal, but she appreciates the peace that his uncharacteristic silence affords her. The book she has bought along for the journey has long since lost her interest, and now she is content to sit and watch the world pass by. Vast woodlands have felt the touch of autumn, their leaves a million shades of orange, gold, and yellow. They're obscured by the droplets of rain which are pelted against the glass. It isn’t the ideal weather for the job they're taking, but she is more than willing to enjoy it while safely tucked away in the carriage.

When she looks down at him, her suspicions are confirmed, as his eyes have fluttered closed and his chest rises and falls with his steady breathing. Her hand rests gently on his head, and her fingers begin to absentmindedly trail through his hair. He likes when she does that—or at least, she assumes he does. He’s never really in the state to tell her when she does it, but he never complains about it. Secretly, she likes it too. His hair is softer than one might expect, but that’s because he’s a little rascal who’s constantly stealing her shampoo. She doesn’t mind so much; she finds it endearing, if anything. He likes it because it smells like her—something he admits unabashedly and without shame, and hearing him say it makes her inside twist up in knots, but it’s the good kind, the kind that makes her feel like she could take on the world.

She never knew what to make of that feeling; couldn’t ever quite place her finger on what it meant.

She thinks she understands now; she’s just not quite sure what to do about it.

☆♡☆♡

The town that they’ve taken their most recent job in is a boisterous one, and once their obligations are out of the way, the trio takes full advantage of the local market before they’re back off to Magnolia. The market sprawls as far as the eye can see, and there’s a stall for anything and everything. Lucy and Happy split off earlier, leaving Natsu to meander between the stands, eyeing up all the trinkets and tchotchkes that he could take home as a souvenir.

He finds himself taken with a stall that displays various crystals and jewellery. Small signs that label each stone sprawl on about the spiritual powers that each of them holds, but Natsu doesn’t care about any of that. All he sees are cool, shiny rocks, and suddenly his dragon instincts kick in. His eyes graze over the jewellery section of the stall. He’s not much of a jewellery guy, but the shine of the various metals is enough to capture his attention.

Hung up on one of the display stands is a pair of gold earrings—a cluster of stars dangling down from the hooks with rhinestones encrusted in every other star, making them reflect the light when they catch the sun in just the right way. Immediately he is reminded of his partner, and he can’t help but think they really would suit her.

“Hey, how much for the earrings?” He asks the man attending the stall, gesturing to the pair that caught his eye.

“3000 Jewel.”

He pauses to think about it for a moment, but then he reaches in his bag for his wallet. It’s pricey, but with the full reward for their last job, he thinks he can swing it. He hands over the cash, and in exchange, the owner hands him the earrings, placed in a little drawstring bag so they don’t get snagged.

“Is this for your girlfriend?” the man asks.

“Something like that,” Natsu muses as he tucks the bag away in his pocket for later.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up with his partners, easily finding them within the crowd as though he has a built-in sensor just to find Lucy, though the presence of the blue exceed hovering around her probably helps just a bit.

“Did you find anything good?” Lucy asks as he approaches the two.

“Nah, not much,” he shrugs. “You?”

“There was a stall that was selling antique books!” She excitedly shares. “They were a bit out of my price range though,” she adds, her demeanour waning slightly at the thought of leaving back for Magnolia without anything.

“Next time?” Natsu suggests.

“Yeah, next time.”

☆♡☆♡

ii. winter

Winter peeks its head in at the tail end of autumn, making Lucy shiver when she sheds her jacket as she seats herself down at the guild bar. There’s a mug of hot cocoa already sat in front of her, courtesy of Mira, and Lucy gives her a smile and nods in thanks before taking a sip, letting the heat of the drink warm her from the inside.

“Winter sure has come early this year,” Mira singsongs as she collects the dirty glasses from those who have decided to find their morning warmth at the bottom of a glass of whiskey. “Do you have any plans for the season?” she asks as she busies herself with dirty dishes behind the bar.

Lucy looks down at her mug, watching the bubbles float around on the surface as she considers telling Mira what’s on her mind.

“Well… Sort of,” she murmurs.

“Sort of?” Mira repeats, her curiosity piqued by Lucy’s vague answer, “Do tell~”

“I just think that maybe this winter is the one where I can finally settle down with someone,” she admits to the barmaid.

Settling down has always been one of Lucy’s long-term goals, but since joining the guild, the idea of a romantic relationship has been pushed to the side. She loves what she does, but her occupation makes finding a relationship difficult and maintaining one even harder. Few of the wizards in the guild are in relationships, and of the ones that are, most of the successful ones are contained within the guild. Despite that, Lucy is determined to see the start of her fantasy whirlwind romance as cuffing season swiftly approaches.

"Oh, how sweet,” Mira replies, holding her face in her hands as she rests her elbows on the counter top.

Lucy’s one-on-one conversation with Mira is cut short upon the approach of her partner, who takes up residence on the bar stool beside her.

“What’s up?”

“Lucy wants to start dating~” Mirajane coos with hearts in her eyes at the prospect of a new romance.

“What? Why?” He sounds almost offended by the idea, his face scrunched up in disgust.

Romance is not a frequent topic of discussion between her and Natsu, and even though she knows him better than anyone, Lucy isn’t exactly sure how he might react to learning that she wanted to get into the dating scene. This, however, is certainly not what she was expecting. She doesn’t dignify him with an answer; instead, both curious and a little hurt at his reaction, she pries for answers.

“Why do you seem so against the idea of me dating someone?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest in defence.

“Because—” He pauses as though to find the right words. “Because guys are stupid, and none of them will treat you right.”

“Wh—that’s why you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset,” he grumbles, averting his gaze.

“Really? Because you look upset to me.”

"Well, I’m not,” he repeats, firmer this time.

At some point, Mira has slinked away, leaving just the two of them alone for their little squabble.

“I don’t need your permission anyway; I can date whoever I want.”

“Fine. I don’t care,” he grumbles, a pout evident on his face that gives his true feelings away.

“Why are you being so petulant?” She asks, frustration beginning to seep into her voice at his childish behaviour.

“I’m not being petulant,” he spits back, putting extra emphasis on the last word.

Lucy rolls her eyes, quickly picking up on the reason for his uncharacteristic articulation. “Do you even know what petulant means?”

“I don’t have to know what it means to know that I’m not being it,” he practically growls.

He’s been avoiding her gaze the whole time, but when he finally looks at her, his eyes are angry, and suddenly all the frustration in her turns to hurt, and her heart shatters inside her chest.

It’s a look she’s seen on his face many times but never directed at her, and she doesn’t understand why. It’s stupid and it's none of his business in the first place, so why is he acting like this?

She doesn’t want to dwell on it any longer. She doesn’t want to stay and talk, to try and get the answers out of him. She’s barely holding back tears when she wordlessly stands up and storms out of the guild hall.

He doesn’t call after her as she leaves, and something about that makes it hurt even more.

☆♡☆♡

About a week has passed since their spat, and Lucy has seen Natsu maybe three times since then and spoken to him even less. In that time, he had taken on a job without telling her, with Lucy only having found out from Mira, who shot her a sympathetic look as she broke the news.

If he wanted to take a job without her, fine—that was his prerogative—but to go without telling her? That was just petty.

It wasn’t her fault that Natsu was acting like a child because she wanted to start dating. She can’t even fathom why he’s so bothered by it anyway.

Everything about this situation is just so stupid. It’s not like he holds any romantic interest in her anyway, and that was precisely why she wanted to start dating in the first place. She wasn’t about let the complicated feelings that had begun to bubble beneath the surface get in the way of their beloved friendship, so instead she intended to divert them away from him. It’s a win-win situation: she gets to indulge in her romantic side, and they can continue to maintain their platonic relationship.

Apparently, he doesn’t share her enthusiasm.

His stupid, childish pettiness has gotten her down in the time since they’d last spoken. The hurt from his anger had quickly dissipated into hurt from his avoidance. She misses her friend, and right now, she’s more than willing to look past it if he’s willing to speak with her. Unfortunately, based on the way he seems to disappear every time she shows up, he’s not exactly keen.

A soft sigh escapes her lips, her gaze downturned in defeated frustration as she makes her way up the steps to the guild hall. She isn’t paying much attention when she gets to the top, letting her legs work on muscle memory alone, not expecting to bump into anyone at this time of day.

That is, until she does.

Physically.

She quite literally walks straight into someone as her gaze remains distracted. Her forehead thumps against their chest, strong, warm, and familiar, and she doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

“N-Natsu!” She sputters as she steps back in embarrassment, already feeling the heat rise to her face. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to walk into you.”

When she finally gains the courage to look up at him, he looks surprised, almost panicked to see her, but he doesn’t make an effort to sidestep her or run like he had been all week. Instead, he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and avoids her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For getting mad at you the other day.”

She’s taken aback slightly by his sudden apology. Natsu has a lot of pride, and it takes a lot for him to admit he’s wrong in petty moments of emotion, but he sounds genuinely remorseful, and it makes her feel bad for feeling so negatively towards him in the first few days after their spat.

“I don’t care about that anymore,” she assures, her expression softening as she speaks.

After that, Natsu finally meets her eyes again, and he looks so soft and vulnerable. It’s a strange sight to see.

“I’ve just been… thinking about it a lot, I guess,” he confesses, his eyes flicking away from hers once more as he begins to speak. “You’re right. You can date whoever you want.” There’s not a lot of conviction in his words; it sounds like something he’s rehearsed over and over in his head, but coming from him, she appreciates it nonetheless. “I’m sorry for being an ass about it.”

In all the time she’s known him, she doesn’t think she can ever recall a time where he’s apologised to her like this. Granted, she can’t really recall any time it’s been warranted. This had been their first real argument—one that didn’t involve food, or transport, or rent money. He’s hardly ever apologised for real, big things that deserve them, and she almost wonders if someone has set him up for this, but that I’m sorry sounds so genuine it almost hurts.

“I forgive you.”

Suddenly, he perks up completely, his hunched shoulders push back, and the glimmer in his eye returns as he finally looks her in the eye again.

“Does that mean we’re good?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “We’re good.”

☆♡☆♡

Even wrapped up in her comforter, as well as every blanket she thinks she’s ever owned, the bite of winter still breaks through into Lucy’s apartment, making her teeth chatter as she tries to fight off the cold. It’s nights like this where she finds herself glad for Natsu’s lack of boundaries as he lays in bed next to her like her own personal radiator, keeping her warm and keeping the heating bill down.

She’s warmed up slightly, but her poor circulation has kept her feet cold, almost painfully so. The feeling plants an idea in her mind, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she places her icy-cold feet on Natsu’s leg in an attempt to extract revenge for every cruel prank he’s ever played on her.

He looks at her, a little confused but generally amused by what she has tried (and failed) to achieve.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Lucy?” He asks, knowing full well the reaction she was trying to get out of him but wanting to see if he could get a rise out of her in exchange.

“Wh-does that seriously not bother you?”

“If you needed me to warm them up, all you had to do was ask,” he tells her, with that glint in his eye that always tells her he’s up to no good.

“That’s not what I-” She’s so distraught by the failure of her plan that she hardly gives any notice to the fact that he has his own trick up his sleeve, and it’s not until he’s already under the sheets that she realises her mistake. “NATSU!”

By that point, it’s much too late, and he’s already grabbed hold of her ankle with one hand while tickling the sole of her foot with the other.

She begs, pleads, for his mercy, but by the look on his face, she knows that she’s in for a long night.

☆♡☆♡

There’s a soft thud that rings out as something cold and wet hits Lucy’s back, sending her stumbling forward slightly. Reaching over her shoulder, her hands come into contact with a lump of snow that has stuck itself to her jacket. Pivoting on her foot to see where (or who) it came from, she knows she shouldn’t be surprised when she’s met with Natsu a fair way behind her, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face and another snowball already in hand, prepared should she choose to retaliate.

He looks at her expectantly, waiting to see what her next move is going to be but standing in a fixed position, making him an easy target if she decides she wants to fight back.

She leans down and gathers a handful of snow, packing it together into something that vaguely resembles a snowball and tossing it with as much force as she can muster at Natsu. It hits him square in the chest, which is less impressive knowing that he was basically a sitting target, but she’s happy with herself nonetheless. The single hit is all it takes for Natsu to go full throttle on her in return, pelting her with as many snowballs as he can make before she has time to retaliate.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as the snow hits her face and seeps underneath her jacket. Not even the numbing chill makes her mood falter as she holds one hand up to shield herself while the other gathers a lump of snow to throw back at him. It breaks in the air when she throws it, not even making it close to her target before it pathetically falls back to the ground, and the sight of it makes Natsu howl in laughter.

Lucy doesn’t have it in herself to be embarrassed by it. Instead, she takes his moment of distraction to make a sturdier snowball and send it soaring at him. This time it meets her target, hitting him right in the face, wiping the grin off of it and leaving him looking thoroughly shocked. It’s Lucy’s turn to laugh at him, and she whoops and hollers at her small victory while he stands there, still trying to process what has just happened.

She takes this time to begin to stockpile projectiles, but she’s not fast enough because in the time it’s taken her to make three, Natsu has recovered and has already begun to pelt her. He's clearly more experienced in this area than she is based on the speed at which he can make snowballs and throw them. Instead of fighting back, Lucy chooses to run, but his aim is too good to outrun, and she falls victim to snowball after snowball.

At some point she turns to face him (a decision she regrets immediately when she’s forced into running backwards as she tries to shield and dodge his attacks) to try and call a truce, but Natsu is not interested. Instead, he hits her with a particularly hard shot to her shoulder, and she loses balance immediately and falls to the ground.

Based on the way he begins to cheer, Lucy thinks that he’s considered it his victory, and she doesn’t have it in her to contest it. She doesn’t realise how tired she is until she’s sitting down and, disregarding the cold, flops back onto the ground. As she lays in the snow, legs spread and arms sprawled out on either side of her, an idea strikes her, and she begins to move her limbs back and forth in the snow to create what she hopes is a pretty imprint on the ground.

She hasn’t made a snow angel in what feels like an eternity, and this time, without the threat of her father scolding her for getting her winter jacket wet looming over her, she can fully give into her childish impulses.

“What are you doing, weirdo?” Natsu asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I’m making a snow angel,” she huffs, thinking she has made it quite obvious.

She tries to ignore the look Natsu’s giving her by shutting her eyes and concentrating on her self-assigned task, but she can still feel his gaze on her. Based on the way he laughs as she does so, she can only assume that she doesn’t look as elegant as she feels.

“Are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to join me?” She finally says, her eyes fluttering open to meet his.

He doesn’t reply, but it’s not long before he has plonked himself on the ground next to her, and he’s making his own attempt. He tries to mimic her actions, but the longer he lays there, the more the snow begins to melt around him, and Lucy laughs at the absurdity of it all.

When they inevitably stand up to admire their work, they come to find that what he’s made is merely an approximation of a snow angel. Actually, it looks more like someone has fallen face first into the snow and struggled greatly to get back up. It’s really little more than a melted puddle in the grass, the back of his coat completely soaked through, and Lucy only feels a little bad at how much she’s laughing. His brows furrow in disappointment as he looks down at his work; it’s not nearly as pretty as Lucy’s; in fact, it’s not really a snow angel at all, but the way she’s doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach, and wiping away tears makes him laugh along too.

☆♡☆♡

When Lucy wakes up the next morning, her body protests her every move, and she begins to deeply regret putting looking cute higher on her priority list than keeping herself warm in the snow. She doesn’t last long out of bed before everything in her is begging to get back under the covers.

As soon as her head hits the pillow, she’s out for the count. Several hours pass her by in her comatose state, and it’s not until she hears the thunk of her window opening followed by the chill of the winter air running through her apartment. When she opens her eyes, she’s met with Natsu looking down at her from her windowsill, and in her groggy state, she’s not entirely sure if he’s really there or if she’s having some sort of weird fever dream.

“Na-tsu?”

“Wow, you look like shit,” Natsu observes.

Yep, definitely the real Natsu, alright.

“Thanks,” she croaks out. “I feel it too.”

He pulls the window shut before pulling himself to sit on the bed next to her.

“What happened?” he asks, examining her roughed-up appearance.

Her cheeks are deeply flushed, and a thin layer of sweat makes her hair stick to her forehead and her entire body glisten.

“That stupid snowball fight…” she grumbles.

She knows that it’s her fault for not bundling up in the cold weather, but she feels so terrible right now that shifting the blame away from herself provides a tiny piece of solace.

“Guess we’re not goin’ on that job today,” he comments.

“What job?” she asks, completely perplexed by the sudden mention of a job. There’s no job, as far as she can remember.

“Oh.”

“Guess I’m stuck taking care of you,” Natsu shrugs as he slides off of the bed and sheds his jacket, happy to make himself comfortable.

“You’re not stuck taking care of me,” she grumbles into her blanket. “I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“You know I’m just jokin’ with ya Lucy,” he grins, ruffling up her hair a little. “I’m not gonna leave ya hangin’ while you’re all sick and gross.”

She wants to protest the gross part, but she knows she won’t get far because it’s an objective fact that right now. She is gross. Her hair is a mess, a slick layer of sweat coats her entire body, and she’s pretty sure there’s a trail of snot running from her nose.

The pack that was clearly meant to be for their job today gets tossed unceremoniously to the floor by the foot of her bed as Natsu makes himself comfortable in her home.

“So,” he begins. “What’s the first step in takin’ care of a sick person?”

“Well, what do you do when you get sick?” Lucy croaks.

“I don’t get sick,” Natsu shrugs.

“What?”

“I said I don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Everyone gets sick.”

“Not me,” he reaffirms. “Gets burnt off before it can affect me.”

She supposes it makes sense, but her brain isn’t really working well enough to question that logic regardless. All she can do is feel envious that he’s never had to go through the experience that she currently is.

“I don’t know,” she grumbles as she flops back down onto her pillow and pulls her comforter up to cover the lower half of her face. “Can you make me some soup?”

“Yeah, I can probably do that.”

If she weren’t currently wallowing in her own pity, she might immediately forbid Natsu from entering her kitchen with intent to cook, but her brain is too far gone to even consider it as a possibility.

As soon as he leaves the room, she begins to drift off again, lacking the energy to stay awake without the external stimulus.

Her faith in Natsu is rewarded when she’s coaxed awake slightly, and when her eyes flutter open, she finds him waiting with a bowl of hot soup and a side of bread she recognises as being from the bakery down the road. She knows it’s just the stuff heated from the can, but once she’s able to get a whiff through clogged sinuses, she’s reminded of how hungry she is, and it begins to look like the most delicious meal in the world.

She takes the bowl into her lap, revelling in its warmth, but before she can reach for the spoon, Natsu is already holding it out for her—a chunk of chicken and some peas and carrots floating in the broth on the utensil.

“I can feed myself,” she grumbles.

She’s sick, but she’s not a child.

Natsu rolls his eyes, a little dejected by her denial of his help, but lets her do what she wants regardless.

She takes the spoon to prove her point and brings it up to her lips to take a sip, only in her sickly haze, to tip it down her front. Her sleep shirt takes most of the hit, but it’s still hot against her skin, and it only serves to make a bad day worse.

Natsu’s once-teasing expression drops to immediate concern as she cries out in pain. He’s not exactly a fast thinker, but he has the foresight to take the bowl off of her lap to prevent another accident, and without having anything else on hand to help clean her up, he wipes the broth off of her skin with his scarf.

When the burning sensation finally wears off and she finally processes what happened, Lucy looks up at him and finds Natsu looking back at her with worry in his eyes.

“Your scarf…” she murmurs, suddenly feeling guilt prick at her heart. “It’s going to smell like soup now…”

“I don’t care about that,” he replies, his brows still firmly fixed into a frown. “Are you okay?”

Lucy comes to a pause for a moment as she looks up at him. She’s fine, really, she is, but she’s taken off guard. Not by the soup, but by the tenderness in his words and the worry woven into his expression. It’s nothing like his usual self—all brash and carefree. Sure, he always worries about his friends, but she doesn’t consider what happened enough to warrant the concern he exhibits.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she affirms, and his shoulders relax just a little. “Sorry.”

“You gotta be more careful, okay?” He says, and she almost wants to roll her eyes given who it’s coming from, but he speaks to her so tenderly and with such uncharacteristic concern that she can’t bring herself to.

Instead, she takes the moment for what it is and lets him take care of her for once.

☆♡☆♡

Christmas sneaks up on Lucy before she even has much time to even think about it. Ever since she and Natsu made up, the pair had been practically inseparable and she has barely spent any time away from him since. Not that she minds. Natsu is her best friend; she loves having him by her side, and really, all this time spent together is just making up for the lost time earlier in the year.

It's low-key this year: just her, Natsu, and Happy. She loves Erza—bless her soul—but she is simply too much for her to handle this time of year. Her apartment is decorated for the season, but she hasn’t bothered putting up a tree. They’ve agreed on no presents this time around, so there’s nothing to put under there anyway, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with lugging the thing up the stairs of her building again this year.

The day calls for food and board games, and the three of them are completely content with that.

“Another round?” Lucy asks, gathering up the cards on the table and shuffling them in the aftermath of demolishing the both of them in a devastating game of Uno.

“Actually,” Natsu hums. “I got you a present.”

Hearing that catches her off guard slightly, and she stops to place the cards down on the table. If she had known that Natsu was going to give her something, she would have gone out of her way to return the favour, but they had both agreed that they wouldn’t be exchanging gifts.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she frowns, but Natsu seems completely unphased by the fact.

Out of his overnight pack, he pulls out a small gift wrapped in bright red and white Christmas wrapping paper and places it in her hand with an excited glint in his eye.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures her. "C'mon, just open it already!”

It’s small enough that it fits in her hand, and as she inspects it, she really has no idea what it could be, but Natsu is staring at her with an eager grin and she can’t help but wonder what on earth he’s so excited about. The wrapping is a little messy, and she struggles to get through what she believes to be definitely way too much tape, but beneath it all she’s met with a small drawstring bag, containing a pair of gorgeous gold earrings adorned with glittering stars hanging down from the hooks.

“Cool, huh?”

She doesn’t know how to respond; this is the last thing she would have expected to receive from Natsu of all people.

“Where did you get these?”

“From some market back in that weird little town,” he shrugs.

Her brows furrow for a moment as she tries to recall what he’s talking about, until it clicks in her brain. That was months ago now, and he’d kept it this whole time, even through their no-gifts promise.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do,” she breathes. “I really love it. Thank you, Natsu.”

Placing the earrings down on the table, Lucy reaches her arms around him, and he quickly reciprocates, his grip around her tight as she buries her face in his chest.

☆♡☆♡

New Year’s Eve brings the guild together once more in celebration. Not that they need the excuse; Lucy is almost certain that a certain subset of her guildmates have already been blackout drunk since early evening.

Nonetheless, an event like this is the perfect excuse for her to get prettied up, and she’s taking it proudly.

Her eyes scan her vanity for the hair ribbons she could have sworn she had just a second ago, but instead her gaze falls on Natsu’s gift. She hasn’t had a chance to wear them yet, waiting to save them for a special occasion, but she supposes tonight is as good as any. Taking her pair out, she switches them for her new ones before pulling her hair back to admire them. They’re definitely a little more out there than anything she might have picked for herself—certainly not an everyday pair—but the way they shimmer and twinkle in the light makes her think that they might be her new favourite out of her collection. When she finally locates her ribbons, she opts to simply tie her hair back in pigtails, letting her new earrings act as her statement piece for tonight. Even though she’s just heading to the guild, Lucy remembers to bundle up this time, having learned from her past mistake and most certainly not wanting to repeat it.

Excitement lingers in the air as she walks through Magnolia. Families are out long after dark, waiting patiently for the annual fireworks show. It’s been a longstanding tradition that has always brought the city together, and this year would be no exception. The best view is always held on the second-floor balcony of the guild hall, a fact that Lucy is intimately familiar with. She rushes up the stairs as fast as her feet will take her, not willing to miss spending the send-off of the year with her friends.

“You made it!” Natsu cheers the moment his partner comes into view.

“Of course I would make it,” she tells him, her words puffing into clouds of steam in front of her face. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

She’s just on time, too.

As the fireworks begin to light up the sky, ringing in another year and a new beginning, Lucy looks out and the crowd of her friends—her family—and watches as couples lock lips to celebrate the coming of the new year. She’s happy for them, really, she is, but her heart begins to ache as she thinks about how another year has slipped her by and she’s no closer to a relationship of her own. It had been her goal to lock herself down through the winter season but she’s just as far away from it as she had been when she shared her wishes with Mira that day at the bar.

Maybe she hadn’t put herself out there enough; maybe she spent the year too occupied with her work, but she had really thought that this would be the year that romance would come her way.

Before she has time to dwell on it too much, she feels an arm slung around her shoulders.

“Happy New Year, Lucy!” Natsu yells, pulling her into his side in a crushing hug.

His smile is so bright, his joy so infectious, that she can’t help the way her heart begins to race in her chest.

“Yeah, Happy New Year, Natsu.”

Without thinking, she finds herself on the tips of her toes, her lips gently placing a kiss against his cheek. She’s not sure how she expects him to react, but when he looks down at her, his cheeks are dusted red slightly, from the kiss or the cold, she isn’t sure, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

☆♡☆♡

iii. spring

By the time spring comes around, Lucy is well and truly done with winter. It has been far too cold this year and she is simply looking forward to being able to comfortably exist without several layers and the fear of frostbite.

Something she knows she will miss is the seasonal excuse for her close proximity to Natsu. It’s easy to excuse sleepovers and snuggling with your best friend under the guise of sharing body heat, especially when said best friend is the human equivalent of a radiator.

Still, that doesn’t stop her from standing just a little closer to him than usual, letting their hands brush together as they walk. Each touch of his hand against her own sends sparks through her body that feel so foreign and yet so familiar at the same time. It’s a feeling she knows she’ll now only ever associate with him, and she feels as though she has quickly become addicted.

When he asks why she’s standing so close even as the weather warms up, she pretends it’s because she’s still cold, but even Natsu knows better. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it and lets it happen quietly.

She wonders if he ever feels it too.

☆♡☆♡

A gentle breeze tousles Lucy’s hair and the fringe of the blanket she’s spread out across the grass. Now that the weather outside is getting warmer, Lucy is ready to take any excuse to be out in the sun, and with today’s clear skies, she’s taking the chance to finish her book along with a packed lunch down at a park.

Where Lucy goes, Natsu follows—a mantra that has never been more true in their friendship than in recent months. Though she values her alone time, she can’t help the way that she still misses him whenever they’re apart, so when he invites himself along to the plans she makes, she doesn’t have it in herself to be upset about it.

Some days it feels like she’s taking a dog for a walk based on the boundless energy he always has, but today even he is subdued by the sun. He relishes in it—revels in the warmth it provides. Once lunch is finished, he is entirely content to bathe in the sunlight as Lucy reads.

She says he’s like a cat. He claims he’s more like a dragon.

She’s not sure how much she’s convinced of that, given that the place he has decided to lay is right in her lap.

His eyes flutter closed in search of a post-lunch nap, which gives Lucy ample opportunity to get through a chapter or two. She expects he’ll be the one to end their little afternoon out when he inevitably gets bored, but by the time she decides she’s done with her book for the day, he’s still snoozing in her lap. It’s rather cute, actually. Her loud, rambunctious Natsu, tamed by a little bit of warmth and sunlight. She doesn’t mind, so she lets him lay there for a while longer, happy to enjoy the sun with him.

At some point, her fingers come to tangle in his hair, gently grazing his scalp, and in that moment, he is so content that he lets out a noise that somewhat resembles a purr.

It seems that cats and dragons aren’t so dissimilar after all.

☆♡☆♡

Every year, when Easter comes around, Fairy Tail hosts a city-wide egg hunt to celebrate.

This year Lucy’s volunteered her time hiding the eggs, so she’s barred from participating, but she is content to just watch. Really, it’s supposed to be an event for the children, but that doesn’t stop the grown-ups from participating. It’s mostly parents playing along with their kids, but there’s a fair few of her guildmates searching around too, urged on by the competitive spirit that is ever present in all Fairy Tail members.

She’s found herself a spot on a secluded bench at the park, far enough out of the way that she won’t be intruding on any of the participants but close enough that she can still observe. A book lays open in her lap, her attention switching between that and the scene before her, checking to see if any of her eggs have been found.

A few familiar faces pass her by, but few take any notice of her, too deeply enraptured by the event to realise that she’s there. She exchanges polite smiles with those that do, but none elicit one quite as genuine as the one that crosses her lips when she hears her partner come along, accompanied by Happy and Asuka. Asuka is sitting atop his shoulders, gripping onto his hair as she searches the landscape from her vantage point for the brightly decorated eggs.

Lucy’s expression softens when she sees them from across the park, and Natsu flashes her a smile that gives her butterflies. Their attention is quickly taken away by the loud squeal that escapes Asuka’s lips as she uses her vantage point to spot a particularly cleverly hidden egg.

She tugs on his hair, and he runs in the direction she’s pointing in, which leads them to a tree where Lucy had wedged an egg in between the branches. She isn’t tall enough to have put it too high, so she knows that Natsu can easily reach for it on his own, but he bends down slightly to give Asuka the chance to grab it.

They both whoop and holler in excitement when she drops it in the basket Happy is carrying, and Lucy can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips. She’s too far away from them to hear, but even if she were closer, she’s certain she wouldn’t be heard over their celebratory cries.

They don’t stay for much longer; Asuka is too keen to continue their hunt in other places to stop by and say hi, but it doesn’t stop Natsu from waving as they dash by.

☆♡☆♡

Natsu is running late the day that he promised they’d take another job together. Lucy isn’t paying much mind to the time in the first place, allowing herself to get stuck into a new novel she had purchased the day prior while she waits. It’s not until nearly twenty minutes have gone by that she thinks to check the time and notices how late he is.

He’s never exactly prompt, but Natsu is a man of his word, and if he says he’s going to be somewhere, he will be there, which makes Lucy begin to worry. There are a couple of things that would keep Natsu from the guildhall when he says he’ll be there, but they’re few and far between, and it has Lucy wondering if something bad has happened to him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave her wondering for too long, before he stumbles over to her table. When he finally arrives, he looks downright miserable. His eyes are red and puffy, and his nose is scarlet to match. He sniffs and wipes away a drool of snot, and Lucy flinches slightly in disgust.

“Natsu, what are you doing here?” She asks, concerned by his current state, shuffling away from him slightly when he sits down next to her. “You look terrible.”

“I feel terrible,” he replies, letting his head thunk down on the table and instilling a sense of déjà vu in her.

“If you’re sick, why didn’t you go to Wendy?

“I’m not sick,” he insists. “I don’t get sick, remember?”

She vaguely recalls a conversation they’ve had about this before, and it’s not that she doesn’t believe him because in all the time she’s known him, he hasn’t ever been sick, but he certainly looks sick in the moment, and there is a first time for everything.

Coaxing him off of the table, Lucy presses her hand against his forehead to check his temperature, only to be reminded that Natsu runs about as hot as the sun, and that she’s not about to get anywhere like this.

“If you’re sick, you should have stayed home. Our job can wait.”

“But I wasn’t sick when I was at home,” he groans, letting his head fall into his hands as though that might stop the symptoms plaguing him.

Lucy pauses for a moment and mulls his words over in her head, and suddenly things begin to click.

“Natsu… Do you have hay fever?”

He pauses for a moment and peeks through his fingers, looking at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Allergies,” she rephrases.

“Allergic to what?” He asks, still not understanding what she’s trying to say.

She’s never seen someone look so wrecked by seasonal allergies, but with his heightened senses and this seemingly being the first time he’s been hit by them, it sort of makes sense in her mind.

“To pollen,” she explains. “Maybe you’re having a reaction to the high pollen count. That would be why you were fine when you were home but got sick when you came here.”

He looks at her, and she can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“Maybe? I’ve never had allergies before,” he grumbles, looking unhappy with her conclusion. “I don’t wanna feel like shit every time I hafta go outside.”

The concern she once had turns into a soft laugh when his head falls to the table now that she knows he’s not seriously ailing. It’s a little bit amusing, honestly. Big Bad Natsu Dragneel, taken down by a little bit of pollen.

Thankfully, it’s not something a trip to the pharmacy can’t cure for him.

He takes care of her, and now it’s her chance to repay the favour.

☆♡☆♡

As soon as Natsu’s feet hit the ground, he is on his knees, kissing the train platform like he has never seen solid ground before.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about it,” Lucy says, debating whether she should pretend she doesn’t know him or not.

When she finally coaxes him off the floor and to the exit of the station, they’re met with a vicious downpour that almost completely obscures the normal view they would get when they come into the city.

“It was raining when we came into Magnolia,” she tells him as she looks out into the rain. “Well, you know what they say: April showers bring May flowers.”

It’s a hopefully optimistic phrase, and it doesn’t match the almost pained expression on her face when she looks over at him.

It had been so nice when they left the day before; the sky was clear and cloudless, with no indication of the greyness that looms over them now. She hadn’t thought to bring a raincoat, and while she could maybe put that down to her inability to dress for the weather, the fact that Natsu hadn’t thought to either at least makes her feel a tinge better.

She furrows her brows slightly as he looks out into the town, though she can’t see much further than a few metres in front of her before the heavy rain obscures the view entirely. While she’s rather fond of rain, that’s in scenarios where she’s curled up inside with a good book. The idea of running through a downpour this heavy is unappealing to her, and she has an inkling that Natsu feels the same way.

“I don’t have an umbrella,” she murmurs. “And the weather doesn’t look like it’s going to let out any time soon.”

They could wait around until the downpour stops, but who knows how long that might take.

Natsu looks up at her to confer about her options, but by that point, she has already made up her mind.

“Well,” she says, tugging off her jacket and holding it above her head. “Are you ready?”

He regards her with a blank stare for a moment, but then he answers her with a wide grin. Before long, they step out into the rain, and they’re running through a torrential downpour together.

Almost immediately, she is drenched right to the bone. Any other time, it would be gross and uncomfortable, but there is so much adrenalin pumping through her veins that it barely registers in her brain. All she can feel is the rush, and the rain washing away all of her woes.

Her feet take her where she needs to go, trailing right behind Natsu in front of her. She’s given up on using her jacket to keep herself dry; the garment is already completely soaked through. Instead, she just lets the rain roll over her, causing her hair and clothing to stick to her skin.

The heavy rain obscures her vision, and she worries that she’s going to lose Natsu, but before she knows it, he reaches his hand out towards her, and she takes it in her own with no hesitation.

Their fingers lace together as they run.

Natsu spots a tree not far from where they are, and as they approach, he tugs on her arm to pull her under it, taking solace in the small bit of shelter it provides. He holds her close to his chest, and she takes in every bit of warmth his body provides. She’s completely drenched, and her teeth are chattering as the cold seeps into her skin. They stay there for a moment, relishing in the temporary shelter, though knowing it’s just that—temporary.

“You ready?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she breathes, looking out at the rain battering down onto the sidewalk.

Sucking in a breath, Lucy grabs his hand once more, and together they run back out into the rain. She holds one hand over her head in a futile attempt to shield herself, and the idea of it is so silly that Natsu doesn’t even try to hold back the laugh he lets out. He could really be laughing at anything right now, but she knows he’s laughing at her, so she huffs and disregards her futile efforts. Instead, she diverts it to running as fast as she can muster, speeding down the streets of Magnolia like her life depends on it. Even Natsu struggles to match her pace.

He shakes some of the water out of his hair like a dog when they make it inside, and droplets splash against her skin, which she makes sure he knows when she lets out a loud squeal. They both know he has more efficient ways of drying himself, but they also both know that he finds it much more fun this way.

Even as she fiddles with the lock on her front door, his hand never leaves his. She knows that if not for it, they would already be inside, but she just can’t find it in herself to pull away.

☆♡☆♡

Alzack and Bisca being away on a day job means that Natsu is on babysitting duty until they return and Natsu being on babysitting duty means that Lucy is on babysitting duty too.

The day is too nice for the three of them to be stuck inside, so they take Asuka for a walk down to a park that sits a few streets down from Lucy’s apartment. When they arrive, they find that spring is in full bloom, with daisies covering every inch of grass as far as the eye can see.

Asuka squeals in delight as it comes into view, tugging on Natsu’s hair to let him know that she wants to be let down, and as soon as her feet hit the ground, she runs off into the field, dropping to her knees to pick herself a bundle.

Lucy and Natsu follow not far behind, sitting beside her on the grassy surface, where Lucy begins to join her in plucking the daisies.

Her fingers effortlessly weave the stems together to create a chain of flowers, the stems braided together with the petals poking out between them. Once she finds herself satisfied with it, she places it gently atop Natsu’s head. His attention has been squarely on watching Asuka gather flowers before tearing all the petals off to add to the pile in her lap, but the feeling of something being placed on the crown of his head has him bringing a hand up to his hair to feel what it is. He looks over at Lucy, confused, only to be met with a soft expression on her face.

“I made you a flower crown,” she smiles, holding back a giggle at the baffled look on his face.

He looks kind of cute like that, she thinks, with the soft white flowers peeking out between his messy pink locks. The delicate flowers juxtapose his loud and boisterous personality, and it reminds her how special she is to get to see the softer side of him.

When he finally processes what has just happened, Natsu begins to gather up a collection of his own daisies to try and return the favour. His hands aren’t as dainty or dextrous as hers are, so he struggles to pierce the thin stems and thread them together, which results in his first attempt being a little sloppy and beginning to fall apart when he tries to hold it up.

“Do you want some help?” Lucy asks, holding a hand out to him, but he merely shakes his head in response.

“No, I can do it,” he replies, already plucking another set of flowers as a look of deep concentration sets in on his face.

His second attempt doesn’t prove to be much better, though, and in his frustration, he lets the flowers fall to the ground. When he looks back up at Lucy, he finds that she’s once again weaving together a string of them at Asuka’s request, and he’s struck with an alternative idea.

While she hands Asuka her chain, she’s caught off guard as Natsu brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and tucks one of his discarded daisies behind her ear. One daisy turns into two, and then three, four, five, until her hair is a sea of flowers and she’s a blushing, giggling mess.

It’s not long before Asuka decides she wants to join in on the fun. Soon Lucy is covered in so many flowers that they simply cannot fit any more on her, and the three of them begin transferring them to Asuka’s hair instead.

☆♡☆♡

In her time spent as a Fairy Tail mage, there’s little that Lucy wants to do that she hasn’t already done yet. She’s got an impressive resume as a guild wizard, she’s achieved a lot in her personal life, and she’s seen all Magnolia has to offer. There are few things that she so desires to experience in the little town she’s found her home in that she hasn’t yet done, but as spring has sprung and flowers come into bloom, there is one thing she still feels like she’s missed out on.

She makes sure to take care of herself early spring this year; she dresses for the weather; she doesn’t take jobs in places where it gets too cold; and she avoids Gray for a whole week when he comes down with a nasty cough. It’s a little much—as Natsu has pointed out to her on multiple occasions—but she is not taking any risks this year, and as the flowers come into view, she knows that it was all worth it.

The sight of the cherry blossoms in bloom in their native spot is nothing like Lucy could have imagined. Soft pink flowers decorate the branches of every tree as far as the eye can see, some of their petals fluttering to the ground as the gentle breeze sways them. She feels a genuine sense of childlike wonder, and it takes Happy tugging at her arm to draw her attention away.

When she turns around, she meets Natsu’s eyes, and gracing his lips is an amused smile that she rarely sees on him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“‘Cause you’re gettin’ real excited over some flowers,” he replies. “The real fun hasn’t even started yet.”

He’s right—the flowers are only the beginning of the festivities. The day ahead is filled with food, fun, and companionship (and maybe a little bit of booze), and as the sun begins to descend over the horizon and the pink diffuses into a rainbow of colours, Lucy begins to get teary-eyed. Something about the cherry blossoms just brings it out of her, because even though she’s surrounded by her friends in a boisterous environment like this almost every day, tonight she just can’t help but feel sentimental about it.

Maybe it’s the memory of that one night all those years ago and the memory of rainbow petals flittering in the river, or maybe it’s just the glass of wine running through her veins, but when she sees Natsu and Happy standing beneath the tree, tears start running down her cheeks. They’re quiet at first, but it quickly devolves into choked-out sobs that capture Natsu’s attention and cause him to panic. He’s by her side about as soon as he hears them, and she doesn’t realise just how much she wants him next to her until he’s there.

“They’re so pretty!” She sobs out.

“The flowers?” Natsu asks, bewilderment cast over his expression.

Lucy nods frantically as she wipes away her tears. They come so quickly that she isn’t really in the headspace to explain why she’s crying, but the tension in Natsu’s shoulders seems to loosen up when he realises that she’s not in any immediate harm or danger.

“I’m just so happy!” Lucy babbles.

“Yeah?” He affectionately replies. “Me too.”

He wipes away a tear from her cheek with his thumb, a slight mischievous smirk growing on his lips before he speaks up again.

“You’re weird.”

If it’s an effort to kill the tender moment, it fails because Lucy simply clutches onto his vest and begins to sob into his chest. His stupid little comments can’t hurt her when she knows he says them with love.

She’ll always be his weirdo.

☆♡☆♡

As the end of spring nears and the beginning of summer approaches, the days begin to get longer and warmer.

The town they’ve found themselves in prides itself on the gorgeous beaches that line the horizon, and with the way the warmth of the incoming season begins to creep up on them, they decide to take advantage of the cool water as the sun begins to dip over the horizon.

Lucy knows they’ve made the right decision when she wades ankle deep into the water, letting out a relieved sigh as it washes over her feet. She stretches her arms out, letting the breeze tousle her hair as she takes in a breath of the salty sea air. The way the sky is soaked in golden orange hues makes it look like a painting, and with the utter peace she feels in that moment, she feels like she’s in one too.

Her attention turns when she hears the sloshing of water, and she comes to find Natsu, his pants rolled up his legs as he moves to join her.

He’s been staring; she can tell, but he doesn’t hide it. When she casts him a quizzical look, he merely grins at her, and she can’t find it in herself to question him. Instead, she merely smiles back.

Her heart squeezes in her chest at the sight. He looks so handsome cast in the orange hues of the sunset, and the way he smiles at her makes her heart do flips. She’s no longer looking towards the sun, for she has another blazing flame next to her. It’s a soft moment—a good one—but it’s cut short when Natsu kicks his leg up and lets water splash over her.

In ruining one moment, he creates another, and the laugh he lets out almost makes getting her shirt wet worth it.

Now dead set on earning her revenge, Lucy leans down to slosh water on him, and before long the two are engaged in a water fight of epic proportions, laughing and howling like a pair of children, unaffected by the burdens and woes of life.

It’s just them.

Just the way it always should be.

Her feet are beginning to sink into the wet sand, and she’s starting to lose her balance, but she’s not going down without a fight. In a last-ditch effort to hold herself up, she instead grabs onto Natsu, pulling them both down into the water.

At this point, they’re both completely drenched, so falling into the ocean does little to faze them.

Once they break the surface of the water, Lucy spits out a mouthful of ocean water that she obtained in the fall, and Natsu shakes the water out of his hair like a dog. Droplets from his hair splash onto Lucy’s face, and she holds her hands up to shield herself from it despite the fact that she is already soaked.

He laughs again, and hearing it once more, she realises that she’s in deep.

Their gazes meet, and for a moment she wonders if he ever thinks the same of her, but before she can think to contemplate it any longer, she feels his hands on her waist and her lips on her own.

There’s not a moment of hesitation before her hands move up to his face, cradling his jaw as she kisses him back.

In that moment, it feels as though all time has stopped.

It’s just them against the backdrop of the sunset.

She begins to wonder if this is what falling in love feels like.

☆♡☆♡

It has been three, maybe four, weeks since her job out of town with Natsu. Or perhaps—more accurately—since the day Natsu kissed her. The job is foreign in her mind, muddled in with every other job she’s taken over the past few years, but the kiss is so clear in her mind that she would be hard-pressed to ever forget it. It plays over and over again in her mind; the image so clear, it was as though she was reliving the moment every time.

The memory is practically haunting.

It wouldn’t be such a problem if he actually wanted to address it.

They hadn’t spoken a word about it since then because every time she tried to broach the subject, he seemed to get skittish. He was making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it, so she dropped the subject entirely, but for as normal as she wants to act, there’s still a lingering tension between them.

She just hopes things will go back to normal soon.

☆♡☆♡

iv. summer

All the money Natsu saves her in the winter goes down the drain in the summer when it’s time to pay her electricity bill. The window is wide open, two fans are running at full speed, and the AC is down as cool as it can go, but it’s still not enough. It’s not helped by the fact that he has decided to sprawl himself across her bed. Lucy knows he can’t help that his body runs about a million degrees hotter than most, but he’s really not helping his case with how close he's chosen to lay next to her—all but on top of her.

She gently nudges him with her foot in an attempt to get him off her bed and out of her general proximity.

“Off,” she demands, nudging him again, though far less gently this time.

“Don’t wanna,” he drawls, not moving an inch from his chosen spot.

The worst part, in Lucy’s eyes, is the fact that he doesn’t even seem to be affected by the heat, so he’s just taking up residence on her bed and blocking her fan for no real reason.

“You’re too hot,” she groans, rolling over onto her front in an attempt to get as far away from him and the heat he radiates as possible.

She’s aware of the double entendre as soon as she says it, and she tries to shake the thought from her mind when she questions which way she means it.

Ever since the day he kissed her, she hasn’t been able to get him off of her mind. That in and of itself was not unusual; he’s her best friend, and they’re basically inseparable, but this time it’s different. This time, her mind is plagued with thoughts of him as something more. Every time she gets a glimpse of his lips, she recalls the way they felt against hers, and she wants to feel them again.

She really thought that that moment would be the turning point in their relationship—the moment they could take things further than what they have now. They’ve always had something more-than-friends going on in their relationship, she supposes, but he has always left her wanting more. She needs something, anything from him, to let her know how he feels—a label, a kiss, any sort of acknowledgement of these feelings that always seem to be just simmering below the surface—but instead she gets nothing.

She’s not given any more time to dwell on those thoughts when Natsu rolls over to get closer to her, tossing one leg over her own, and suddenly the only thing she can think about is how this is going to be a long, sweaty afternoon.

“You’re comfy,” is the only excuse he drawls.

Lucy doesn’t feel like debating it—she doesn’t have the energy to do so—so it’s left at that.

☆♡☆♡

Honestly, the crackle of the fire is the last thing they need right now given the warm summer nights they’ve been blessed with, but as the sun dips low over the horizon and they still find themselves in the depths of the forest, it’s necessary to cook their dinner and light their camp.

With the sun down, the night is much cooler than the day, making it bearable to linger by the fire for a while before they retire back to their tent for the night.

It’s a little cloudy tonight, but Lucy still indulges herself in the little stargazing she can get this time of night—or at least, she tries to before her attention is drawn away by Natsu, snapping small branches off of a nearby tree.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Getting sticks,” he answers, matter-of-factly.

Lucy holds pause for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate. She can see he’s getting sticks, but she’s still unsure why. When an answer doesn’t come, she speaks up again.

“Why?”

“Gonna make us s’mores.”

That causes her to perk up slightly.

“You brought stuff for s’mores?” She asks.

“Yeah, they’re in my pack,” he replies, gesturing to where it sits by the fire as he returns with an armful of sticks he has deemed sufficient for their marshmallow toasting endeavours.

Surely enough, when he rummages through his bag for a moment, he pulls out everything they need to make s’mores. He wastes no time piercing the marshmallows on his sticks and handing one to her. She’s never roasted marshmallows before, which is kind of absurd given how often they’ve got a campfire going, but she gets the idea pretty quickly.

Her first few are not as good as she would have hoped. When she accidentally burns them, charring them beyond recognition, Natsu eats them without complaint. He likes them better that way, he tells her. When he offers one up to her, she politely declines.

She discovers she likes a nice even toast, and the way to do that, as Natsu teaches her, is to keep it in continuous motion.

He only “accidentally” knocks her marshmallow into the fire once.

Their s’mores are sweet, and ooey, and gooey. They’re full of melt-in-your-mouth, chocolatey goodness, and when a little bit of chocolate makes it onto her face, Natsu wipes it off with his thumb and sticks it in his mouth. It’s a marked improvement on licking her face, but the tenderness of it makes her cheeks grow just a little hotter.

She begins to wonder if he might be just as sweet as the s’mores they’re eating.

☆♡☆♡

A bead of sweat drips down Lucy’s temple as the sun beats down on her.

They had planned to stay at the guild a little later than usual and wait out the midday sun, but even that is proving to be still much too hot for her. While Natsu fares fine in the heat, Lucy does not hold up so well and is in a rush to make it back to her air-conditioned apartment.

It’s not a long walk from the guild to her apartment, but in this heat it’s never felt longer, not made any better given Natsu does not seem to be in the same hurry she is. He trails a few feet behind her, and as much as she would like to just leave without waiting around for him, she can’t do that to him. Just as she’s at the end of her rope, she turns on her heel to snap at him to hurry up, the weather doing no good for her irritability, but in that moment she realises why it is that he doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush.

On the corner of one of the corners she passed without much thought, is a little ice cream stand, making the most of the summer season.

She comes to pause, unable to hold it against him when she suddenly wants the exact same thing. An ice cream seems like the exact thing she needs to get through this weather.

When she opens her purse, she remembers all the frivolous purchases she’s made this week, and there’s nothing more than a few stray jewels in there—not nearly enough to buy herself a little treat. In a last-ditch attempt to obtain her sweet treat, she turns to face her partner.

“Naaattsssuu~” She says, batting her eyelashes in an attempt to sway him.

She doesn’t have to ask because he already knows what she wants.

He’s never succumbed to her cute charms before, but it’s worth the attempt anyway. Natsu, as perhaps predicted, looks unaffected.

“Please?” She adds, sweetly.

She’s not entirely sure if it’s because of her persuading—if anything, she thinks it might be in spite of it—but Natsu rolls his eyes and caves anyway. Lucy lets out a celebratory squeal, clapping her hands in excitement, giving no care to the thought that she may look childish in that moment. The stand worker hands her a cone, a cherry blossom pink shade with strawberry ripples throughout.

The coolness that hits her tongue is exactly what she needs. Any irritability correlated with the weather melts away like the trail of cream that drips down her hand. She thanks Natsu for the treat, and she can’t be too upset with him when he takes a lick from her cone.

☆♡☆♡

“Up,” Lucy demands, throwing a pillow at Natsu’s face to rouse him from his slumber. “Up!”

Natsu groans, perhaps justifiably so, considering that it is the middle of the night and the sun hasn’t even begun to threaten peeking over the horizon. He’s clearly a little dazed and out of it, but given she’s waking him at no later than two in the morning, she can’t exactly blame him.

“Don’t wanna,” he drawls. “Wanna go back to sleep.”

"Well, you can’t,” she replies. “I’m going out, and who knows what kind of creeps are roaming around at this time, so I need you to come with me.”

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice still hoarse.

“We,” she corrects, gesturing between the two of them. “Are going stargazing.”

Natsu doesn’t reply immediately. After a few moments of silence, Lucy comes to realise he is probably not going to reply at all. Given the demand route didn’t work, she switches up her tactics and puts on a pout that she hopes he can see in the dark.

“Please?”

There’s another beat of silence that makes Lucy wonder whether this is a lost cause, but before she gives up entirely, he caves.

“Fine.”

They’re in a town far out from any cities, bordering a forest where light pollution is almost non-existent. The summer weather has brought them a warm, cloudless night, so perfect for stargazing that Lucy could almost cry.

Once they make it just outside the border of the town, she spreads out a blanket onto the grass before splaying herself out on top of it, at which point Natsu joins. It’s not the most comfortable laying on the grass, but the view is so pretty that Lucy can’t bring herself to care.

As if by instinct now, her eyes trace lines between the stars to draw pictures of constellations. It’s engrained in her brain now, in her soul, and in her very being. It brings her such comfort to be out among the stars, like she was meant to be there. She lays there for a moment or two before she realises that Natsu is not made quite the same way.

She reaches her hand out in front of them, her index finger pointing towards the skies, where she locates a cluster of stars not terribly familiar to her but she knows well enough will pique his interest.

“That there,” she begins. “Is Draco.”

His eyes seem to light up, attention captured by her words. She tells him the tales of the stars, and he listens until deep into the night.

She lets out a small yawn, the late night finally taking its toll on her body. She knows it’s time to go back to their rooms, but the view is so pretty and the moment is so perfect that she just doesn’t want to leave.

So they stay.

Before long, the night sky before them is swallowed away by droopy eyelids and the promise of a cool night’s sleep.

☆♡☆♡

If she had to pick, Lucy would probably choose summer as her favourite season. Though she loves the golden leaves of fall, the gentle blossoms of spring, and the soft snowflakes of winter, the warm rays of summer always seem to edge it out for her.

For the most part, anyway.

That was before a heatwave hit Magnolia, at which point she had to reconsider. She has lived here for years by now and though it certainly gets warm in the summer, she’s never experienced heat like this until now. Fortunately for her, that is where Erza comes in clutch with a trip to Akane Beach as a reward for all the hard work they’ve done this year.

“Can someone please put some sunscreen on my back?” Lucy drawls as she lays sprawled on her towel on the sand.

The heat itself is already unbearable—the last thing she wants right now is to be baked until her tender skin is peeling off of her back.

“I can,” Gray volunteers, reaching out for the bottle, but before she can pass it off to him, Natsu interrupts from practically half way across the beach.

“I got it!”

He makes a mad dash for it, snatching it out of her hands before Gray can get to it.

It’s a little bit of a strange move, but she simply puts it down to his competitiveness. Right now, all Lucy cares about is whether her skin is protected from the death ray that is this year’s summer sun, so she makes no comment as she lays face down on her towel.

The coolness of the lotion against her back brings her enough relief that not even Natsu’s warm hands bother her. It’s rather nice feeling him massage in the cream, working out the knots and cricks in her back as he goes. It’s enough to have her falling asleep in the sun, only to wake up hours later, stuck within a moat Natsu has decided to dig around her.

☆♡☆♡

The beaches are packed during the day, but despite still being warm out at night, they empty out when the sun goes down. It’s perfect for Lucy’s plans, given she didn’t get to go for a dip during the day. She had been too busy working on her tan, but she can still admit that the water looked tempting.

Armed with a beach towel, she wanders down the hallway with the intention of having the beach to herself but is promptly cut off when she rounds the corner and finds her partner about to enter his own room. Her presence is enough to capture his attention and the swimsuit peeking out from her shirt is enough to raise questions.

“Where ya goin’?” He asks, brows quirked in curiosity.

“For a swim,” she replies.

“At this time of night?”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence for a moment as he mulls over her words.

“Can I come?”

She thinks that might be the first time he’s asked permission in his life, so she’d be hard-pressed to say no to him.

The cool water against her skin is exactly what she’s been needing, and going out this late means that it’s just the two of them. She wades in waist deep, and Natsu follows not far behind. Looking up, she sees that the vast sky is cloudless, presenting them with a canvas of stars smattered across the galaxy. She leans back and lets herself float on the water, and Natsu follows suit.

The feeling it gives her in that moment is nothing short of absolute peace.

Natsu’s unusually quiet as they gaze at the skies, and Lucy glances over at him to make sure he’s okay. He notices her gaze immediately and shoots her back a grin.

In that moment, her heart squeezes in her chest.

“Ya wanna swim?” He asks before she can give it too much thought.

“I’d like that.”

It feels like they’ve entered a new dimension as they swim under the moonlight, one kept secret from the rest of the world. A sacred place where only they exist.

When Lucy breaks the surface of the water, she flips her hair back and takes in a deep breath to savour this moment and the salty sea breeze. Upon looking at Natsu, she finds his hair dripping over his eyes. He shakes his head to rid of the excess water, and she lets out a squeal as it splashes up onto her face. It’s a declaration of war, and she’s not going to back down so easily.

Ruthlessly, she sends an armful of water his way, and he makes the mistake of yelling out as she does so, getting a mouthful of salt water in the process. Lucy howls in laughter as he sputters and spits, and Natsu takes the distraction to give her a splash of epic proportions.

She’s already soaked, but she’s not about to give him the satisfaction of winning. As a lifeline to keep herself from submerging, she grabs onto Natsu, arms wrapping around his chest, her face pressed up against him.

In that moment, she is hit with a bout of déjà vu, and she’s brought back to that night on the beach in the spring.

He must feel it too, because in that moment he freezes, and she waits for him to kiss her just like before. He lifts her up into his arms, holding her bridal style just above the water. Instinctively, her arms come to rest on his shoulders, and she puckers up, ready to feel his lips on hers.

The kiss she’s waiting for never comes.

Instead, he tosses her into the water, where she lands with a hearty splash. It happens so quickly that she doesn’t even process what’s happened until she’s already submerged. She tries to gasp for air in shock, but instead takes in a mouthful of water and chokes. Her return to the surface is less than graceful, and she thinks Natsu is pulling her up, but she’s so disoriented that she doesn’t know what’s happening.

All she can really register is the look of guilt on his face as he helps her back to shore.

☆♡☆♡

For as enthused as Natsu had seemed to hang out with her at the start of the trip, it seems like all that enthusiasm has gone out the window as the days progress. He hasn’t spoken to her directly all morning and even as the group makes the excursion out into town, he keeps his distance.

She looks over at Natsu and finds him looking back, but the moment he realises she’s spotted him, he looks away. It’s not the first time that’s happened this week, and based on the way things are going, she fears it might not be the last either.

He’s been so weird these past few days—she’s barely even seen him since their moonlit beach trip. She thought it had been a coincidence at first, that he just happened to be occupying himself with something else whenever she saw him, but now she knows he’s been doing it on purpose. She’s just not sure why.

Does he feel guilty about nearly drowning her? He’s always been bad at apologies and accountability, but he’s done plenty worse to her before without remorse, and she really isn’t upset about it. If anything, she’s upset that he’s ignoring her—that he doesn’t feel like he can confide in her about whatever’s bothering him.

It throws off her mood for the next few days, and everyone else seems to notice.

Erza doesn’t even have to say anything; she simply holds up the bottle of sake, and Lucy knows that all her problems are going to be washed away with it for tonight.

☆♡☆♡

It doesn’t quite hit her how much she’s had to drink until she’s hobbling down the hallways back to her room, hand trailing the wall to keep her balance as the world threatens to spin around her. Despite that, she’s convinced she can make it to her room herself—that is, until she sees Natsu round the corner, and based on his expression, he doesn’t share her conviction.

It takes all of her willpower not to fling her entire body weight at him out of excitement the moment she sees him. Still, she refrains.

He’s mad at her, is the conclusion her drunken mind has come to. Why else would he be avoiding her the way he has been? He’s mad at her, and he doesn’t want to spend time with her, and he doesn’t want to kiss her.

He’s pulling away from her because the tension between them is palpable since their kiss, and it’s only made worse by the fact that she so desperately wants more between them, but he just wants to remain friends.

With furrowed brows, Natsu approaches her in an attempt to make sure her drunken self is okay. He reaches out to her, his hand resting on her arm to help her maintain her balance.

The feeling of his hand against her skin is enough to make her do something stupid.

��Why won’t you kiss me again?” She slurs.

She can’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth, and she regrets them the instant she sees Natsu’s expression morph into one of panic, but she’s too drunk to take them back.

“I, uh-”

He swallows thickly and averts his gaze, and her heart breaks all in the same moment.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room,” he says, avoiding the question entirely.

He reaches out to lift her up, and she tries to bat him away, to turn around and get back by herself, but his sober movements are too much for her drunk self, and before she can make any meaningful escape, he’s scooped her up in his arms. Instinctively, she reaches around his neck and nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck.

Anything else that happens after that is nothing but a blur in Lucy’s mind, mingled together with the scent and warmth of Natsu wrapped around her.

☆♡☆♡

It’s their last night at Akane Beach, and she feels as though she’s wasted it. The first few days were good, great even, but ever since Natsu began his dance of sidestepping her at every occasion, things have been downhill.

She can exist without Natsu, and he can exist without her. She has no problem with him having his own space, doing his own things, but things have been awkward between them, and it makes her worry about the state of their relationship. There’s been question marks around it all summer—a lingering tension between them ever since they kissed. Still, Natsu refuses to acknowledge it, leaving Lucy unsure how to address it.

Maybe, given some time, things would go back to normal. What they have is too strong to be broken by a measly kiss. They could just brush it off as some spur-of-the moment mistake, but as soon as that liquid courage entered her veins, she had to go and ruin it all by admitting that she doesn’t think it was a mistake—that she wants more.

Evidently, Natsu does not.

There’s a fireworks show on tonight, and everyone is practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of seeing them. The balcony in Erza’s room provides them with what proposes to be an incredible view of it, and while everyone has gathered there to see it, Lucy has gone off on her own.

While she loves her friends, what she needs right now isn’t to be crammed on a balcony with them—with Natsu. She wants to clear her mind, and a cool night's walk to pull herself together while the rest of them are occupied offers the perfect opportunity.

She walks through the town through sunset, letting her legs take her where they may until she finds herself walking the beach, sand beneath her feet under a moonlit sky.

With the display on tonight, much of the beach is full of both tourists and locals eager to watch the canvas of the sky be painted with more than just stars tonight. She avoids the crowds as she walks, nothing more than intuition leading her way, and is rewarded when she comes across a secluded spot on the beach, far away from everyone else. It feels wrong to be out here alone on the final day of her trip, but she can’t bring herself to face Natsu right now.

She’s just a stupid girl. A stupid, dumb, idiot, lovestruck girl who’s ruined everything good in her life over a crush and a bottle of sake.

She’s let herself get her hopes up, she’s deluded herself into thinking she has a chance, and she’s wasted her time on someone who doesn’t want her and ruined their friendship in the process. She doesn’t want to cry over something like this, but she can’t stop the few tears that manage their way down her cheeks. She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead on them to conceal the little sobs and whimpers she lets out.

Before long, the rising chatter of those excited for tonight’s display draws her gaze up, and she realises how pathetic she seems in this moment. She considers leaving, going somewhere more private to wallow in self-pity in peace, but the sound of footsteps in the sand behind her captures her attention instead. She turns around to find the source and sees Natsu approaching behind her.

She’s not sure what to say to him after embarrassing herself in front of him last night, but when he grins and plants himself on the sand beside her, she knows she doesn’t have to say anything. He wraps his arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder. In that moment, she feels all the tension between them melt away.

“Hey,” he says, voice little more than a murmur against her arm.

“Hi,” she manages to squeak back.

It’s quiet between them for a moment after that. Lucy doesn’t know what to say after all that’s happened—she's not really sure she knows how to be normal around Natsu after all of this. There are all these weird feelings swirling around in her chest that she isn’t entirely sure how to address now that he’s here, so she simply doesn’t say anything.

“Why’d you come all the way out here?” He asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Because I needed some time to myself,” she answers honestly.

She doesn’t say anything to elaborate on it, and they fall into silence once again. She’s embarrassed to say why—embarrassed to let him in on her feelings, especially when the tension she’s been worried about seems to have dissipated in an instant.

“Why did you come out here to find me?” She asks, filling the quiet air that has befallen them.

“Because I missed you.”

It feels strange to hear, given that he’s been avoiding her all week, but when he smiles at her the way he is; so truly, so genuinely, none of that seems to matter.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says.

She’s not too sure if it’s meant to be a question or not, but it comes out as a statement. A look of guilt crosses Natsu’s face, and he averts his gaze, confirming what she already knows.

“Yeah,” he affirms with a murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

The question topples out of her mouth before she can stop it. She’s not entirely sure she wants to know the answer, but by then, it’s already too late.

“I’m not good with… feelings,” he says, eyes still trained on the sand in front of them.

That is something she has long since become acquainted with. Natsu doesn’t do feelings. He’d much rather ignore any complicated feelings than have to acknowledge they’re there because feelings incite change and Natsu doesn’t like change.

Change is good; change is necessary, she thinks, but when it comes to their relationship, she thinks she understands where he’s coming from.

What they have is good, not something worth ruining over a few little complicated feelings. That’s why she’s wanted to move on, to find someone else to help stray her romantic thoughts from Natsu, but so much as she tries, she just can’t imagine herself with anyone but him. He’s so kind, so thoughtful; he protects her; he takes care of her. He makes her laugh and smile, even when things feel hopeless. He takes her on adventures, he teaches her new things.

He gets her.

There is no one else out there like her Natsu, and she knows that anyone who tries to vie for her heart will always be put in comparison to him. Still, what they have isn’t worth losing over whatever she feels towards him and so she should be content keeping things as they are.

She wants to tell him this, but the sound of fireworks painting the night sky pulls them out of the moment.

It’s a cloudless night, and the sky is littered with a million stars that might be the centrepiece were it not for bright colours lighting up the night. It’s pretty, and it’s perfect, and it eases any worries Lucy might have had—at least for now. She’s happy to have this moment with him, to let it linger untainted from any feelings she may have for him, even if just for a moment.

She’s happy to share this with him.

That untainted moment is cut short when she feels his hand, callouses and all, graze her cheek. She drags her gaze to meet his, and if she thinks she has any idea what he’s doing before now, all that goes out the window when he’s kissing her lips.

It’s more deliberate this time—less spontaneous, less salty. This time she’s given the chance to feel him against her, to taste his lips, and it’s so perfect she could almost cry.

It’s not their first kiss, but it’s their first kiss that means something, and if she has any doubts about that, they quickly dissipate when his thumb rubs gently across the soft skin of her cheek and she gives into him, truly and wholly. Her hands come to rest on his chest, and she lets herself melt into the taste of his lips. She doesn’t even realise she’s out of breath until she pulls away and has to gasp for air.

When her eyes flutter back open, she’s met with Natsu’s brows furrowed as though he’s been gripped in concentration. The sight of it catches her off guard, and she can’t do anything but laugh at the absurdity of it.

“What? Why are you laughing?” He asks, sounding almost offended. “Was it bad?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It wasn’t bad.”

It causes a flutter in her heart to know that he cares this much. Natsu goes through life not caring about what others think about the things he does, so to think he worries what she thinks about their kiss says a lot.

“Well, good, ‘cause you said that you wanted me to kiss you again.”

Her face comes up in a flush at his words as she’s forced to remember the events of the previous night. Just because things are looking like they’re smoothing over doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“And I dunno,” he murmurs. “I kinda wanted to kiss you again too.”

At his words, she feels her face is flushing for a different reason.

“I’m not good at talkin’ ‘bout my feelings,” he says, pulling her out of her thoughts. “But I don’t want things to be weird between us like this.”

“Yeah, me either,” she replies.

“You’re my best friend,” he starts. “I know you probably think I’m too stupid to have noticed that things have been different between us the past couple of months, but I have.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she tells him, her voice soft and airy, tender and gentle.

“Yeah well… I dunno. I think you’re cool, and I like being with you, and lately I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout us as—y’know.”

He cuts off there as if he’s waiting for her to fill in the blanks, but all she can do is regard him with expectant gaze.

“As boyfriend and girlfriend,” he says.

She’s taken aback by how up-front he is about it. They’ve been tiptoeing around it all summer long, trying to dodge the conversation at his skittish avoidance, but now he’s suddenly the one to bring it up.

“I never really cared about that sorta stuff before, but I know you do, and I thought I’d be okay when you finally decided you wanted to start dating, but the thought of you doing all that dumb romantic stuff with another guy didn’t make me feel good either,” he continues. “And I guess I realised it’s because I wanna do that stuff with you.”

Suddenly, his words put everything that’s happened over the past year into perspective. She’s always worried what she has read as romantic subtext is just her looking for something where it’s not and that this is just the natural progression of their relationship—that Natsu’s just like that. Natsu tends to wear his heart on his sleeve, but rarely does he share his innermost thoughts, even with her, so all she can really do is make assumptions and wait for a moment like this where he finally starts to truly open up.

“I thought maybe if I said that’s what I wanted then things would change, and I don’t like when things change, but I guess the more I thought about it, the more I realised things probably wouldn’t be all that different,” he tells her. “I think dating is kinda dumb, but I don’t think it’d be dumb if it was with you.”

She’s usually the words girl and he’s usually the actions boy but in this moment, he’s left her speechless. Her heart thumps hard in her chest, and she wonders if she heard him right. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s not at all prepared, so there’s only one thing she can do.

Her hands shoot up to his face, cradling his jaw, and she practically throws herself into his lap as she kisses him.

He’s taken off guard for a moment, but he quickly gives in, and his hands tangle in her hair, and they fall into the sand.

Her heart is so full after yearning for so long that she could almost cry, and perhaps if she weren’t otherwise preoccupied, she just might.

When she finally pulls away, she gets a glimpse of him beneath her in the moonlight, grin plastered across his face and sand stuck in his hair. This moment makes all the pain, the pining, the waiting worth it.

If she had known it would be this easy, she would have done it long ago, but she knows Natsu, and she knows that he needed his own time to figure himself out. She would have waited forever for him if that’s what it took. As she looks down at his smile and feels the tingle of his taste lingering against her lips, she’s glad she didn’t have to.

“Is that a yes?” He asks with a knowing grin plastered across his face, which tells her he already knows.

She doesn’t bother to dignify him with an answer—she just leans down and presses her lips to his, hoping that after so long, he’ll finally get the message.

#nalu #natsu x lucy #nalu fanfiction #mya writes things #ITS MY BIRTHDAAAAYYY!!!!#celebrate with me with this 18K WORD FANFICTION

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inyourgravehcs · 5 months

Text

♡ Sweet dreams ♡

❥ TAGS: gn!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff. I'm a little late, but happy birtday, Xiao, my beloved.

The clear sky, unencumbered by a single cloud, a blossoming tree spreading it’s wide branches in all directions, the gentle warmth of the sun's rays tickling his skin playfully. A beautiful scenery, previously unknown to Xiao. The blood stained soil, a devastated battlefield, chains of despair curling around his limbs and restraining them — this was what he was used to, not this gentle idyll.

But more important than anything else is the fact that you're here.

He always feared that if your image suddenly appeared in his dreams, he would plunge into the very depths of his ugly mind, disfigured by thousands of years of torment. That he would have to fight himself, protecting a fragile figure that had nothing to do with the vile spawn of the adeptus’ inner demons. What if he had failed to shelter you from this hidden danger? Was his title as your guard valid in that case? How weak would he be if he couldn't even keep you safe from his own subconscious? One thing he knew for sure: If that had happened, he could have been considered to have succumbed to darkness from that moment on.

But it didn't happen.

No, it’s exactly the opposite. With your appearance, it was as if you had healed the bleeding wounds of his mind, and with a gentle touch you had quelled the insatiable karma. With every step you took, flowers bloomed on the ground instead of the scars of the past, and the frozen earth came alive again, giving birth to something beautiful.

He no longer hears voices. He hears only the quiet rustling of the grass beneath your heels, coming closer with each step. It was truly astonishing, How the peaceful silence suddenly puts an end to the calm and gives rise to a newfound anxiety, the source of which is unknown. A new sound beats in Xiao's ears, different from anything he has heard before. Yaksha listens intently to the unknown with his eyes closed, trying to determine its direction - only to realize that it's his heart coming alive because of your growing proximity to him.

There you are, right here, less than a meter away from him. So many thoughts run through the Adeptus’ head at once, almost overwhelming in their intensity, but that ends when you reach out and gently take Xiao's face in your hands. So firmly, but at the same time so tenderly, that peace falls over your lover’s mind. His shallow breath falters from second to second, and he doesn't even notice himself snuggling into the oh so cherished by him palms, squinting his eyes contentedly. So warm and serene... When was the last time he felt like this in a dream? His love-stricken consciousness sighs for you so much that Yaksha can't realize tears coming to his eyes, threatening to roll down his cheeks in thin streams that will never end if so happens.

But that's why you're here. For him. The sight of your lover is pitiful, but also admirable — how strong does he have to be to hold back such untold amounts of pain and grief for centuries? Outlining the delicate skin of Xiao's cheek with a kind stroke, you admire his cathartic state that was yearning to come out for so many years. Your thumb reaches for the corner of your lover's eye as if of its own volition, picking up a heavy tear and brushing it away at the same moment.

He stares at you with a sudden realization, not taking his eyes off you for a moment. Golden irises glisten and shimmer, moistened by such a sudden but welcomed flood of tears. The glow of the wet glare of his eyes gives him a far more emotional appearance.

In that moment, it seemed as if your hearts united. That they beat as one - in unison.

Sighing lovingly, you press your lover's face against your chest, hugging the back of his head. At the same moment, Xiao's breath stops: like a frightened cat, with his eyes wide open, he presses himself against his beloved's heart, not daring to move a millimeter. At this moment, adeptus seems amusingly adorable because of the contrast with his already established image. But really? He was really nothing more than a lost soul, flitting from place to place, hoping to find his ultimate destination. A bewildered creature who had suffered much and put on a thick protective shell. You knew that — knew it better than anyone else, and you knew how to handle it.

A slight smile had been on your face all this time. That's how your lover really is, a lost little chick who's heart is so fragile. You could play an entire symphony on the strings of his soul, and he wouldn't even be able to resist you — but you won't. You're here to save and heal Xiao.

That's why you touch his hair, stroking it and playing with the short, curly strands. A gesture of comfort, full of genuine concern. He accepts it, and accepts it willingly; he clutches tightly to your chest and sighs with relief. The moment was impossibly tender in its sweetness - not even the most exquisite almond tofu could stand next to it. It seemed like it couldn't get any better, and trying to interrupt the perfect moment of union with each other would be a sin — but you had a talent for making everything better. Cautiously, you lifted his chin with your index finger, causing your eyes to meet again. Smiling casually, you lean closer and closer, shortening the distance between your faces…

“Xiao, what's next?! You've been beating around the bush for how long now, constantly stammering!”

...No. He couldn't just recount that moment of the dream to you like that.

“Don't look at me like that!” Xiao exclaimed with his eyes wide open, pressing his hands to his cheeks in an attempt to hide the acute embarrassment he felt. “It's... Personal.”

“How can it be more personal when we're already a couple?”

After taking a deep breath, you roll your eyes, sighing defiantly. No, he certainly looks really cute right now, but you need to know what was next!

“Hmm. Since you won't tell me about that part of the dream, why don't I reconstruct the course of events in reality and see how it ends?”

A sly smile lights up your face, while Xiao is at a loss for words and stammering incoherently, trying to squeeze out some sort of answer.

Of course, you couldn't waste any time at such a perfect moment. You'd shortened the distance between you two in just a few quick steps, and you were already holding Xiao’s face in your hands, recalling in your head his warm descriptions of his dream today. His anticipatory look of excitement couldn't help but awaken in you the very same tenderness he must have been looking for in you the most every time.

“So that's how you see me....”

The Yaksha's confused eyes softened, and his troubled breathing normalized. Swallowing tensely, he only nods eagerly a couple of times, forfeiting the need to be blunt and straightforward with his answer.

Closing your eyes, just as in his dream, you cradle his head against your chest — stroking, caressing the scalp and dark green hair. A perfectly reproduced moment that makes the hearts of both of you belt out an excited tune.

Not without its nuances, though, ‘cause the real you was far more multifaceted than your dream version.

“Xiao," you whispered his name playfully, "I'll be sure to recreate every moment like in your sweet dream... But I'll have to improvise on the part you were too shy to describe.”

♡ ── ✦ ──『♡』── ✦ ── ♡

Please note that english isn't my native language and can be awkward at times.

Please don't translate or repost my works without asking for my permission first!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact drabbles #genshin xiao #genshin impact #genshin drabbles

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veliana · 7 months

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𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓼

(𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

_♡_♡_♡_

A/n : This follows from that post and the comment by @athanasialove. I couldn't stop there. If it's well-received, I could make it into a series.If you have any story ideas for this series, you can share them with me. My inbox is open :) Tw : Mention of death, injustice, nothing more? Number of words : 1338 Reader :I wrote it for a female reader, but maybe it could work for a gender-neutral reader and a male reader?

The sunlight filtering through the golden silk curtains gently caressed your face as you slowly emerged from your slumber. The morning warmth enveloped the room, gently pulling you from your dreams. You blinked, adjusting to the already well-advanced daylight.

Once on your feet, you were greeted by a cohort of servants, their soft steps resonating gently in the sumptuously decorated room. They hurried around you, surrounding you with care and attention. One servant skillfully began styling your hair while another offered you garments befitting your position.

As your fingers brushed against the delicate fabrics, a question crept into your mind. "Where is Sukuna?" you asked, your voice filled with curiosity. The servant styling your hair looked up, her expression filled with respect and reverence.

"His Majesty is in the throne room, Your Grace," she replied with a soft but firm voice.

You nodded, silently thanking the servant for her answer.

As you prepared to make your way to the throne room, the urge to wander through the royal gardens overcame you. The delicate petals of the cherry blossoms danced in the light breeze, creating an atmosphere of tranquility. "Sakura," you murmured, captivated by the ephemeral beauty of these delicate flowers.

Guided by curiosity, you veered off the usual path, venturing further into the lush pathways of the garden. It was then that you noticed a slave, their gaze fixed on the delicate tasks of tending to the gardens. The distinctive symbol on their hand attested to their belonging to Sukuna.

"Slave, do you tend to these gardens?" you asked, a hint of interest in your voice. They humbly bowed, confirming their role in preserving the beauty of this place.

"Yes, Your Grace. I am honored to contribute to the splendor of the royal gardens," they replied respectfully, indicating the presence of others sharing the task.

Your gaze swept over the surroundings, discovering a team of slaves carrying out their duties. As you stood there, surrounded by the lush nature and by these men and women bound by fate to Sukuna, a silent reflection crossed your mind. Despite the marks and chains that bound them, there was a dignity and pride in their work.

With a smile, you continued on your way to the throne room, leaving behind the soothing murmur of the cherry blossoms.

Before the grand doors, guarded by soldiers imbued with the magic of curses, you were about to enter the throne room. However, with an elegant gesture, you halted them in their tracks, interrupting their movement to open the imposing doors.

"What is he doing?" you asked, your curiosity guiding you. One of the soldiers, respectful but attentive, replied: "His Majesty is in audience, Your Grace."

An amused glint sparkled in your eyes as you reacted with a hint of humor. "In audience? He seems to be in a very generous mood. I shall wait. It would be a shame to waste this unique audience. He will likely not grant another until next winter," you declared, injecting a touch of mischief into your words.

The soldiers, accustomed to the intricacies of Sukuna's court, bowed in respect. You stepped back slightly, choosing to wait in the antechamber, letting the mystery and intrigue surround this exceptional audience. The murmurs of the court faded, leaving you alone with your thoughts, mentally preparing for the forthcoming exchange with the powerful king of curses.

The piercing cry that echoed through the palace corridors sent shivers through the peaceful atmosphere of the antechamber where you patiently waited. The desperate pleas that accompanied it resonated in your mind, plunging you into a state of tension and apprehension.

"Mercy, Lord!" begged one voice, while another sobbed, "I repent, please forgive me!"

Your heart clenched at the sound of these heart-wrenching pleas, and you felt overwhelmed by a profound sense of worry. What was the meaning behind these desperate cries? What misfortune had befallen Sukuna's court?

Taking a deep breath to calm the feverish beats of your heart, you rushed towards the throne room, resolved to face the situation with dignity and determination.

Despite your desire to distance yourself from the tumultuous affairs of the court, your innate sense of compassion always urged you to intervene on behalf of the oppressed, even when their fate seemed sealed by Sukuna's whims.

Once the doors of the throne room were opened, you entered with confidence, feigning a false tranquility on your face. As you gracefully approached the throne, an ironic thought crossed your mind: "Oh, wait... this is also my place."

The murmurs of the court subsided as you approached, gazes turning towards you with respect and anticipation. You stopped before the throne, where Sukuna sat majestically, his imposing aura filling the room with his undeniable authority.

With Olympian calmness, you ascended the steps leading to the top of the throne, ignoring the intrigued glances that followed you. You stood before Sukuna, his imposing majesty not shaking your determination in the least.

"Hello, my love," you murmured with a radiant smile, deliberately ignoring the tense atmosphere that surrounded you. "Have you seen the cherry blossoms? They are in bloom," you added, your voice tinged with a slight teasing tone.

A heavy silence enveloped the throne room, broken only by the murmur of whispers and the exchanged glances among the courtiers. Then, you gave a meaningful look to the man on the ground, whose fate seemed to hang by a thread.

"I am sure this man has done nothing grave enough to deserve death," you declared boldly, your voice resonating in the silence. "But we all know that your sense of justice is quite strange."

Your audacity, though shocking to some, elicited little more than a resigned shrug among the courtiers. After all, coming from you, such boldness had become almost mundane, a testament to your self-confidence and independence of mind in the face of court conventions.

Sukuna's cheeky smile did not escape your sharp gaze, and you were gratified by a hint of satisfaction at his amusement with your bold retort.

"Oh really? Am I not the most just of all?" he retorted, his tone tinged with slight irony.

You couldn't help but smile slightly in response. "Perhaps you are," you conceded, "but only in your own terms of justice."

The atmosphere in the throne room seemed to relax slightly as the carefully chosen words you spoke slipped like razor blades through the air. Sukuna, well aware of the subtlety of your insinuation, burst into deep laughter, filling the room with its powerful echo.

Honestly, you realized that only someone like you could dare such boldness in the presence of the great king of curses. If it had been anyone else, uttering such words would have been an instant political suicide. But for you, it was just another day navigating the murky waters of Sukuna's court, where every word and gesture was carefully weighed and calculated to maintain a precarious balance between life and death.

"Well then, to prove my great generosity, I shall let this vermin go. But never set foot here again. As for the audience, I shall end it now," declared Sukuna imperiously, thus putting an end to the turmoil that had gripped the throne room.

As Sukuna rose from his throne, he took your hand with unexpected tenderness before lifting you up like a bride. You were surprised by this gesture but allowed yourself to be carried away by his momentum, letting yourself be guided by his imposing strength.

"Where are we going?" you asked, curious about his intentions.

"To see the cherry blossoms," he replied with an obviousness that made you smile. With such an answer, you could only acquiesce, knowing that the beauty of the cherry blossoms in bloom would be the perfect setting for this moment of shared complicity between you and the king of curses.

Hand in hand, you left the throne room and the tumultuous court behind you, heading towards the royal gardens where the cherry blossoms awaited.

#sukuna ryomen #sukuna jjk #ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #Jjk x reader #soft sukuna #Soft sukuna x reader

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vanillashusband · 2 years

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i keep imagining yin and jin with long hair and AUHFG ITS SOO CUTE AND THEY ARE SO HANDSOMMMME 💞💕💖💗💞

#bug dad txt #i am so lovey dovey rn help meeee hfhdhdgdgs #quick silver 【♡】#golden blossom 【♡】

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eunseoksimp · 1 month

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Siren ; Lee Anton

Pairings: Obsessive!Anton x Femme Fatale!Reader

Genre: Angst

Description: at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

Warnings: manipulation, obsessive behaviour, anton is low-key unhinged, death

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the heart of seoul, hidden away from the prying eyes of the common folk, lay seonghwa academy—a sanctuary for the elite. the school was a sprawling estate, its towering gates adorned with intricate gold designs, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that lay within. beyond the gates, the grounds stretched out in a lavish display of manicured gardens, where ancient cherry blossom trees stood sentinel, their delicate pink petals drifting like snowflakes in the gentle breeze.

the main building of the academy was a marvel of architecture, a blend of traditional korean aesthetics and modern grandeur. its walls were of pristine white stone, polished to a shine, with high windows that allowed sunlight to pour in, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble floors.

inside, the halls were wide and lined with portraits of illustrious alumni, men and women who had gone on to shape the world, all of them linked by the common thread of privilege and power. the ceiling soared above, adorned with chandeliers that glittered like a constellation of stars, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the room.

it was within these halls that you held court, like a queen surveying her kingdom. your presence was a force unto itself, commanding attention without a word, demanding devotion without a single gesture. you moved through the school like a wisp of smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore. wherever you went, a hush fell over those around you, as if the mere sight of you demanded reverence.

you were beautiful, but not in the way most people imagined when they thought of beauty. it wasn’t just your face, though that was a masterpiece in itself—high cheekbones, a delicate nose, lips that curled into a perfect bow. your skin was like porcelain, flawless and smooth, with a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from within, your hair, a cascade of black silk, framed a face so perfect it seemed almost unreal, like something crafted by the hands of a deity in a moment of unparalleled inspiration. your eyes, dark and mysterious, held a depth that could drown anyone who dared look too long into them, a dangerous promise hidden behind a veil of innocence.

but it was more than just your physical appearance. your beauty was a weapon, and you wielded it with precision. you were calculating, always two steps ahead, your mind a cold, sharp instrument honed to perfection. everything you did was for your own gain, every smile, every glance, every word spoken was a move in the intricate game you played. you took pleasure in your power, in the way others bent to your will without even realizing they were doing so.

and then there was your voice, soft and low, like velvet brushing against bare skin. when you spoke, people listened. they hung onto your every word, eager to please, desperate to be noticed by you.

boys fell over themselves trying to catch your attention, offering gifts, writing love letters, all in the vain hope that you might spare them a glance. you accepted their offerings with a smile that never reached your eyes, always taking, never giving. you played them like instruments, each one serving a purpose, whether it was to boost your social standing, to gain favors, or simply to amuse yourself. all blinded by the allure of being noticed by someone as unattainable as you were.

girls envied and admired you in equal measure, some even attempting to emulate your style, though none could quite capture the effortless elegance that came so naturally to you. they didn’t realize that what they saw was a facade, a carefully constructed image designed to elicit the desired response from those around you. you knew exactly how to dress, how to speak, how to act to keep them all under your thumb, to keep them guessing, to keep them wanting more.

among the crowd of admirers, anton was different.

anton was handsome, that much was undeniable. he had a certain ruggedness to him, a sharpness to his features that contrasted with the softness of yours. his hair, dark and thick, often fell across his forehead in a tousled mess that only seemed to enhance his brooding appeal. his eyes, a piercing shade of blue, stood out against his tanned skin, giving him an intensity that could be felt even from a distance. he was tall and lean, his athletic build a testament to the hours he spent training on the field, every muscle in his body honed to perfection.

but where you were a beacon of light, drawing everyone towards you, anton was a shadow, always lurking at the edges, observing from afar. he was quiet, almost painfully so, his presence more of a whisper than a shout. while others jostled for your attention, anton remained on the periphery, content—or so it seemed—to watch you from a distance. his eyes followed you wherever you went, though he rarely spoke more than a few words to anyone.

his silence made him a mystery, one that no one seemed able to solve. he was a puzzle, each piece carefully guarded, revealing nothing of the whole. few knew anything about him beyond the superficial; he was good at sports, he was handsome, and he kept to himself. only a handful of people could claim to be his friends, and even they struggled to understand the depths of his thoughts.

where others saw an angel, he saw something more—a force of nature, a tempest that he wanted to be caught in, even if it meant his own destruction. his heart beat faster when you were near, the blood in his veins turning to fire as your scent—jasmine and something darker, something that whispered of forbidden things—wafted through the air.

his shyness was a curse in your presence. while others boldly approached you, offering gifts and compliments, anton remained in the background, his love for you a silent, burning thing that threatened to consume him. he longed to speak to you, to make you see him, truly see him, but the fear of rejection, of shattering the perfect image he had of her in his mind, kept him silent.

but you noticed him, of course. how could you not? unlike the others who fell over themselves to win your favor, anton presented a challenge. he was a puzzle you wanted to solve, not out of any genuine interest, but because you hated the idea that someone in your domain could remain untouched by your influence. there was something in the way he looked at you—intense, almost possessive—that sparked a flicker of interest, but more than that, it was the challenge that intrigued you. here was someone who didn’t play by your rules, and that was unacceptable.

one crisp autumn afternoon, as the sun bathed the campus in a warm, golden light, you were making your way across the courtyard. the air was filled with the soft rustle of leaves as they fell from the trees, carpeting the ground in shades of red and gold. your footsteps were almost silent against the cobblestones, the sound barely audible over the murmurs of students passing by.

ahead, you noticed anton standing with a small group of his friends. they were near the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the stone balustrade that overlooked the garden below. though his friends were engaged in light conversation, anton seemed distant, his gaze unfocused as if lost in thought. it wasn’t until you were closer that his eyes snapped to you, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his features.

“here she comes,” one of anton’s friends, a tall boy with an easy smile, murmured under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape your notice. “the ice queen herself.”

“more like a goddess,” another boy replied, his tone tinged with admiration. “she doesn’t even have to try, does she? it’s like she was born to make us all look bad.”

there was a low chuckle from the group, but anton remained silent, his eyes still fixed on you. you allowed a small, knowing smile to curve your lips, a smile that only deepened the allure you held over them. you knew the effect you had, and you reveled in it. but this smile wasn’t just for them—it was a calculated move, a test to see how anton would react.

as you walked past, you let your gaze flicker towards anton for just a moment, long enough to meet his eyes and see the way they darkened, the intensity of his stare like a physical touch. it was a brief exchange, but it was enough to tell you what you needed to know. he wasn’t immune to you. far from it. he was just better at hiding it.

“careful, anton,” one of his friends teased, noticing the exchange. “she’s not the kind of girl you want to mess with.”

anton finally tore his gaze away from you, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as he replied, his voice low and measured, “i’m not messing with her.”

his friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “so what’s the plan, then? you just going to keep watching her from afar? because if you ask me, she’s out of everyone’s league here. untouchable.”

anton didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering back to where you had just disappeared around the corner. when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that his friends had to lean in to catch the words.

“some things are worth waiting for,” he said, his tone laced with a quiet conviction that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“yeah, well, just be careful you don’t get burned,” the tall boy replied, though there was no real concern in his voice, only the easy camaraderie of someone who didn’t quite understand the depths of his friend’s obsession.

anton offered no reply, his thoughts already drifting back to you. his friends resumed their conversation, but he remained silent, his mind occupied with the image of your smile, the way it had seemed to linger on your lips just a moment too long, as if it had been meant for him alone.

later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the school grounds, you found yourself in the library. it was a vast room, lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, filled with books that spanned every subject imaginable. the scent of aged paper hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and the crispness of the autumn air that drifted in through the open windows.

you chose this place deliberately—your sanctuary, your throne room, where you could reign undisturbed. the library was usually deserted at this hour, a perfect place to think, to plot your next move. you moved gracefully through the aisles, your fingers trailing lightly over the spines of the books as you walked, until you reached your usual spot, a secluded table tucked away in a corner, hidden from view but with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

you settled into your seat, your back straight, your posture impeccable, as you opened a book—a volume on ancient strategies of war, a fitting choice given the games you played with those around you. but as you began to read, your thoughts kept drifting back to anton, to the way he had looked at you in the courtyard. there was something about him that you couldn’t quite place, something that made him stand out from the others. he was different, and that intrigued you.

you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound barely perceptible, but you were attuned to the slightest disturbance in your surroundings. you didn’t look up, though you knew who it was even before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. you continued reading, allowing him to come to you, your expression calm and unreadable.

“strange seeing you here twice in one day,” anton’s voice broke the silence, soft yet edged with something dark, something that hinted at the depths beneath his calm exterior.

you slowly raised your eyes from the book, fixing him with a cool, appraising gaze. “is it?”

he stood at the edge of your table, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused, as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your calm demeanor. he didn’t sit down, didn’t make any move to bridge the gap between you, and you respected that. it showed that he wasn’t like the others who would have rushed to fill the silence, eager to be close to you, to bask in your presence.

“you usually avoid places like this,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, as though the library’s quiet demanded a softer tone.

you tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “and yet, here you are.”

anton didn’t respond immediately. his eyes flickered to the book in your hands, his expression thoughtful. “war strategies?” he observed, raising an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “fitting.”

“for what?” you asked, your voice smooth, almost teasing, though there was a hint of steel beneath your words.

“for someone like you,” he replied, his tone flat, betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. “someone who always seems to be a step ahead.”

you allowed a soft laugh to escape your lips, though it was devoid of any real warmth. “i find it useful to stay informed,” you said, closing the book with a decisive snap. “knowledge is power, after all.”

anton’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “and you enjoy having power, don’t you?”

you met his gaze, unflinching, your expression unreadable. “wouldn’t you?”

he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes was enough. he understood, perhaps more than anyone else. in that moment, you saw a reflection of yourself in him—a hunger, a need to control, to dominate. it was rare to find someone who could match you in this way, and it made you wonder just how far you could push him before he would break.

“why are you here, anton?” you asked, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness. “surely you didn’t come all this way just to exchange pleasantries?”

anton took a step closer, leaning slightly over the table, his eyes locked onto yours. “i came to see you.”

“did you?” you replied, feigning surprise, though you were anything but. “and what is it that you want from me?”

he took another step closer, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to penetrate your carefully constructed facade. “you already know the answer to that.”

you leaned back in your chair, creating more distance between you, as if to remind him who was in control. “perhaps,” you said slowly, your voice laced with an almost cruel amusement. “but i want to hear you say it.”

anton’s jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his frustration. he wasn’t used to being played with, and it was clear that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the power dynamic between you. but he held his ground, refusing to be the first to break.

“i want to understand you,” he said finally, the words heavy with meaning.

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued now. “understand me?” you echoed, your tone mocking. “how quaint. and why would you want that?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to see through your facade, to find the real person beneath the mask. “because you’re different from the others,” he said, his voice firm. “you don’t care about the things they care about. you’re not like them.”

you felt a flicker of satisfaction at his words, though you kept your expression neutral. “you think you’re different too, don’t you?” you asked, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “that’s why you’re drawn to me. you see something of yourself in me.”

anton didn’t deny it. instead, he straightened, putting more distance between you. “maybe,” he admitted, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, as if he didn’t want to admit just how much you fascinated him.

you leaned forward, your eyes glinting with something dark, something that spoke of the game you were playing. “but here’s the thing, anton,” you said, your voice low and almost seductive. “just because we’re alike doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.”

anton’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “are you trying to warn me?”

you smiled then, a smile that held no warmth, no kindness. “no,” you said simply. “i’m just letting you know that you should be careful. you might think you understand me, but you don’t. and trying to get close to me, trying to figure me out, might not end the way you hope.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. anton’s expression remained unreadable, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind, could almost hear the thoughts racing through his head as he tried to decide his next move.

finally, he nodded, as if coming to some kind of internal decision. “i’ll take my chances,” he said, his voice calm, but with a resolve that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

you studied him for a long moment, weighing his words, considering your next move. and then, you smiled again, this time a real smile, one that hinted at something more, something dangerous. “good,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “i was hoping you would say that.”

anton didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. he wasn’t afraid of you, and that made him even more interesting. this was going to be fun.

without another word, you stood up, the movement smooth and controlled. you gathered your things, the book you hadn’t read and the bag you carried with you everywhere. you leaned slightly over the table, bringing your face closer to his, your lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

"good luck, anton," you whispered, your voice low and intimate. "you’re going to need it."

and with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, the echo of your parting words lingering in the air. as you left the library, you didn’t look back. you knew he was watching you, just as you knew he would continue to chase the idea of you, to try and uncover the truth you kept hidden behind layers of ice.

but in the end, it didn’t matter. you were always in control. anton might think he was playing the same game as you, but the truth was, he was just another piece on your board. and you? you were always several moves ahead.

the sun had set by the time you stepped outside, the evening air cool against your skin. the sky was a deep, inky blue, dotted with the first stars of the night. as you walked back to your dorm, your thoughts were already shifting to the next day, the next opportunity, the next move. anton was a distraction, an interesting one, but a distraction nonetheless. you had bigger plans, bigger goals, and you wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.

as the door to your dormitory closed behind you, you allowed yourself one last, fleeting thought of anton, of the way his eyes had burned with that cold fire, the way he had tried to match your coldness with his own. it was a futile effort, but it had been amusing, if only for a moment.

and then, with the finality of a chess player making the winning move, you pushed the thought from your mind, focusing instead on the game that truly mattered—the one where you were always the queen, and everyone else was just another pawn.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days began to blur into one another, the once vibrant tapestry of autumn fading into the cold, muted tones of winter. seonghwa academy, with all its grandeur and decadence, seemed almost timeless in its beauty, untouched by the passage of the seasons. the cherry blossoms had long since fallen, leaving the trees bare, their skeletal branches scratching at the sky like bony fingers. the manicured gardens were now coated in a thin layer of frost, a glittering veil that shimmered in the pale morning light.

you moved through the academy like a specter, your presence felt more than seen. the halls were your domain, each corridor a labyrinth where you pulled the strings, where every whisper, every glance was carefully orchestrated. the students, your pawns, fell in line, their lives intertwined with yours in ways they could never fully understand. you held court in the shadows, your influence seeping into every corner, every conversation.

anton was no exception. from the moment he had sought you out in the library, you had known he would be different, a challenge unlike the others. and challenges, you had learned, were meant to be conquered.

he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, his obsession growing with each passing day. it was subtle at first—an extra glance in your direction, a lingering look that held just a bit too long. but soon, it became something more, something palpable. you could feel his eyes on you even when you weren’t looking, could sense his presence lurking at the edge of your awareness like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

you began to toy with him, your moves calculated and deliberate, each interaction becoming a carefully orchestrated dance. the academy, a place of prestige and ambition, provided the perfect backdrop for your machinations. its grand halls and meticulously maintained gardens were a testament to the wealth and power of its patrons, and you knew how to navigate this world with ease.

your interactions with anton began innocently enough. it started with small things—catching his eye in the hallway and holding his gaze just a moment longer than necessary, brushing past him in the crowded corridors, your touch fleeting but deliberate. you could see the effect it had on him, the way his breath hitched, the way his composure faltered ever so slightly. it was intoxicating, the power you held over him, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a look.

one evening, as the first snow of the season began to fall, you found yourself in the school’s music room, a place rarely visited by anyone outside of classes. the room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the sconces on the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the polished wood floors. the air was filled with the faint scent of old sheet music and the lingering notes of a piano that hadn’t been played in years.

you had come here to think, to plot your next move, but the silence was soon broken by the sound of the door creaking open. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. you could feel anton’s presence, the way the air seemed to thicken with his arrival.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice a soft whisper that barely disturbed the quiet.

“neither should you,” he replied, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of something darker, something that hinted at the storm brewing beneath his surface.

you turned slowly to face him, your eyes meeting his with a cool, detached gaze. “i go where i please,” you said simply, as if that explained everything.

anton stepped further into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. he was dressed in the school’s uniform, but it seemed somehow more disheveled, the tie loosened, the shirt untucked at the edges, as if he had grown careless with his appearance. his hair was tousled, the dark strands falling into his eyes, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

“why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of desperation, as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check.

you tilted your head slightly, feigning ignorance. “doing what?”

anton’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he took a step closer. “you know what,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “why are you playing with me?”

a smile ghosted across your lips, a smile devoid of any warmth, any humanity. “because i can,” you replied, your tone light, almost mocking. “because it amuses me.”

anton’s eyes darkened, the shadows in the room seeming to grow longer, deeper. “you think this is a game?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly with barely restrained anger.

“everything is a game,” you said, your voice as cold and unfeeling as the snow falling outside. “and you’re just another piece on the board.”

he stared at you, his expression a mixture of anger and something else, something you couldn’t quite place. there was a darkness in him, a darkness that mirrored your own, and for a moment, you almost felt something—a flicker of recognition, of understanding. but you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself of who you were, of what you were.

“i don’t want to be your pawn,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“then don’t be,” you replied, your tone dismissive. “no one’s forcing you to play.”

but you both knew that wasn’t true. he was trapped, ensnared in a web of his own making, and there was no escape. not now. not ever.

anton took another step closer, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. “what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hoarse, as if the words had been dragged from the depths of his soul.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment, you felt something stir within you, something you couldn’t quite identify. but then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating detachment that had always served you so well.

“i want to see how far you’ll go,” you said, your voice soft, almost seductive. “how much you’re willing to sacrifice for me.”

anton’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and anger flaring in equal measure. “and what if i’m not willing to give you what you want?” he asked, his voice challenging, daring you to push him further.

you smiled then, a smile that was all sharp edges and hidden dangers. “oh, anton,” you said, your tone dripping with condescension. “you will. you won’t be able to help yourself.”

there was a moment of silence, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. and then, without warning, anton reached out, his hand gripping your wrist with a force that sent a shock of pain up your arm. his touch was cold, his fingers like iron bands that held you in place, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“don’t underestimate me,” anton said, his voice low, dangerous. “i’m not like the others. i won’t break for you.”

you met his gaze, your eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, you saw the truth in his words. anton wasn’t like the others. he was stronger, more resilient, and that made him dangerous. but it also made the game more interesting, more challenging. and you had never been one to back down from a challenge.

“we’ll see,” you said, your voice steady, unyielding.

anton held your gaze for a moment longer, his grip on your wrist tightening before he finally let go. you watched him as he stepped back, his expression unreadable, the storm in his eyes raging just beneath the surface.

“this isn’t over,” he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“no,” you replied, your tone calm, composed. “it’s just beginning.”

with that, anton turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. you watched him go, a small smile playing on your lips, your mind already working, already planning your next move.

the game was far from over, and you had no intention of losing. anton was a challenge, a puzzle that you were determined to solve, no matter what it took. and if you had to break him in the process, then so be it.

after all, in the end, there could only be one winner.

as the days passed, you continued to play your game, each move calculated, each interaction designed to push anton further, to test the limits of his obsession. you gave him tasks, small at first—bring you a book from the library, fetch you a drink from the cafeteria—but each one was a test, a way to gauge just how far he was willing to go for you.

and he did them all, without question, without hesitation. it was almost too easy, the way he bent to your will, the way he followed your every command. but there was something about the way he did it, the way he looked at you with those dark, intense eyes, that told you he wasn’t doing it out of fear, or even out of a desire to please you. no, there was something else driving him, something deeper, something darker.

you began to push him harder, your requests growing more demanding, more invasive. you asked him to skip classes for you, to lie to his friends, to steal things from the other students. and still, he did it all, without a word of protest, without a single sign of reluctance.

it was thrilling, the power you held over him, the way you could make him do anything with nothing more than a smile, a glance, a whispered word. but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you were acutely aware of, but chose to ignore. because the truth was, you weren’t sure how far anton would go, and that uncertainty, that unpredictability, was what made the game so intoxicating.

one night, as the winter winds howled outside, you found yourself alone in your room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. you were seated at your desk, a glass of wine in hand, when there was a knock at the door. you knew who it was before you even opened it.

anton stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. his clothes were disheveled, his hair even more tousled than usual, and there was a wildness in his eyes that sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

“come in,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the emotions swirling within you.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

“what do you want?” you asked, your tone cool, detached.

anton didn’t answer immediately. instead, he took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours, his expression intense, almost desperate.

“i want you,” he said finally, his voice low, hoarse.

you felt your heart skip a beat, the admission catching you off guard. but you quickly recovered, your composure slipping back into place like a well-worn mask.

“you can’t have me,” you replied, your tone cold, unfeeling.

“i know,” anton said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but that doesn’t change anything.”

there was a moment of silence, the two of you standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to control his breathing.

“why?” you asked, your voice soft, almost curious.

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them raging just beneath the surface. “because you make me feel alive,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “because i can’t stop thinking about you, even when i know i should.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within you. you had always known that anton was different, that he would be a challenge, but you hadn’t anticipated this, hadn’t expected to be confronted with his raw, unfiltered need for you.

“you’re a fool,” you said finally, your voice sharp, cutting.

anton flinched at your words, but he didn’t back down. instead, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you until there was barely a breath of space between you.

“maybe,” he said, his voice steady, determined. “but i’m your fool.”

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the sheer intensity of his devotion both exhilarating and terrifying. you had played this game a thousand times before, had manipulated countless others, but this—this was different. anton was different.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, your voice low, warning.

anton’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “i know,” he said, his voice soft, resigned. “but i’m already too far gone to stop.”

and in that moment, you knew it was true. anton wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just another pawn on your board, another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored. he was something else, something more. and that realization sent a thrill of fear, and excitement, coursing through you.

he hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted finally, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re all i think about.”

you reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle but possessive. “and what do you think about, anton?”

his breath hitched at your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. “everything. your smile, your voice, the way you move. it’s driving me crazy.”

you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “is that so?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

he nodded, his eyes opening to meet yours. “yes. i can’t sleep, i can’t focus. all i want is to be near you, to make you happy.”

“then we’ll see how far you’re willing to go,” you said, your voice filled with a dangerous promise.

anton’s eyes locked onto yours, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that whatever happened next, there was no going back.

the game was no longer just a game. it was something more, something darker, something that could destroy you both. and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly alive.

as the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the fire in the hearth casting long shadows on the walls, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the faint whisper of the wind.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

in the weeks that followed, your manipulation of anton became a carefully orchestrated dance, a twisted ballet where you led with a graceful, calculated precision, and anton followed, oblivious to the strings you pulled. each interaction was a deliberate step in this dark routine, with you guiding him ever deeper into the labyrinth of your control.

your tasks soon grew more intricate, more demanding. you asked him to dig up obscure references for your essays, to track down rare books that could only be found in forgotten corners of the city, to bring you your favorite coffee from a shop miles away from campus. each request was a thread in the web you wove around him, tightening your hold with every act of service.

anton never hesitated. his devotion to you was absolute, a blind, consuming need that drove him to fulfill your every whim without question. it was as if your presence had become a drug, one he couldn’t live without, and the more he did for you, the deeper his addiction grew. you could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe, the very air he breathed.

as the days passed, you began to notice the subtle changes in him, changes that you observed with a detached amusement. anton’s once healthy frame grew gaunt, his cheeks hollowing out as he lost weight, the sharp angles of his bones more pronounced beneath his pale skin. dark circles formed under his eyes, a testament to the nights spent sleepless, his mind too consumed by thoughts of you to find rest.

his friends grew concerned, their worried glances and whispered questions following him wherever he went. “are you okay, anton?” they would ask, but he brushed them off with a forced smile, his thoughts always returning to you.

the sharp mind that had once been the pride of his teachers, the envy of his peers, now seemed solely focused on you, on the endless tasks and challenges you set before him. his world had shrunk, until it revolved around you alone.

one crisp afternoon, as the late sun cast a warm, golden hue over the campus, you decided it was time to push anton further. the chill in the air was sharp, a reminder of the winter, but inside the academy’s library, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of old books and the quiet hum of whispered conversations.

you found anton where you expected him, hunched over a thick volume of korean history, his eyes scanning the pages with a fervor that betrayed his exhaustion.

as you approached, he looked up, his gaze lighting up with that familiar, fervent intensity that had become so familiar to you. it was a look that both thrilled and repelled you, a reflection of the power you wielded over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice soft and sweet, a siren’s call that masked the sharpness of your intentions. “i need your help with something.”

he stood immediately, closing the book with a soft thud and giving you his full, undivided attention. “anything,” he said, his voice thick with longing, his eyes searching yours for any sign of approval.

you smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “there’s a fundraiser next week, and i need a partner for the opening dance. will you be my partner?”

his eyes widened in shock and elation, the emotions playing across his features like a silent movie. “of course,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “i’d be honored.”

“good,” you replied, your smile widening just a fraction, enough to make his heart race. “meet me in the ballroom tonight at eight. we need to practice.”

that evening, the academy’s ballroom was a cathedral of opulence and grandeur. chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like glittering constellations, their crystal drops refracting light into a thousand tiny rainbows that danced across the polished marble floor. the scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of waxed wood, a testament to the academy’s commitment to luxury and tradition.

you arrived at eight sharp, your entrance a vision of calculated perfection. anton was already there, of course, nervously adjusting his tie as he waited for you. his breath caught as you stepped into the room, the soft rustle of your gown the only sound in the vast, echoing space.

you had chosen a gown of deep crimson, a shade that matched the dark currents of the game you played, the color of blood and desire. it flowed around you like liquid silk, the fabric clinging to your form before cascading to the floor in a pool of rich, dark red. your hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, a few loose tendrils framing your face, and a simple diamond necklace adorned your neck, glittering against your porcelain skin like a single drop of ice.

“you’re early,” you said, your tone light and teasing, as if you hadn’t planned every detail of this encounter down to the second.

“i didn’t want to keep you waiting,” anton replied, his voice filled with a mix of awe and devotion that made your smile widen.

you crossed the room with a deliberate grace, each step measured, each movement designed to captivate. “shall we begin?” you asked, extending your hand to him, your fingers pale against the deep crimson of your gown.

he took your hand, his grip firm yet trembling slightly, the subtle tremor sending a shiver of satisfaction through you. you led him into the dance, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, a testament to the control you exerted over him. anton followed your lead with an intensity that bordered on reverence, his eyes never leaving yours, his focus entirely on you, as if the world beyond your shared steps had ceased to exist.

as the music swelled, you leaned in closer, your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “you’re doing well, anton,” you murmured, your voice a soft, seductive purr. “but you need to loosen up. let go of your fears.”

he nodded, his jaw clenching with determination, the tension in his body palpable beneath your touch. you could feel the rigid control he tried to maintain, the desperate need to please you, to be perfect for you. but you wanted more. you wanted to push him further, to see just how far he would go to prove his devotion.

“anton,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper, a breath of wind in the stillness of the ballroom. “do you trust me?”

his eyes widened, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a tiny crack in the facade of his devotion. but then he nodded, his expression resolute, his voice unwavering. “yes,” he said, the word carrying the weight of a promise, a vow.

“good,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile, a smile that was both a reward and a warning. “then close your eyes and follow my lead.”

he hesitated for the briefest of moments before obeying, his eyes fluttering shut, his trust in you absolute. with his eyes closed, anton’s other senses seemed to heighten, his body attuning to yours with an intensity that bordered on desperation. you could feel his breath quicken, the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, his heartbeat pounding in his chest like the rhythm of the music, a rhythm that echoed the pulse of your own power over him.

you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft caress, a velvet glove over a steel blade. “you’re mine, anton,” you whispered, the words wrapping around him like a chain. “you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

his breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke of both fear and longing, and he nodded, his voice a ragged whisper, his will crumbling under the weight of your command. “yes.”

“good,” you murmured, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through you, a dark current that matched the crimson of your gown. “because i have another task for you.”

he opened his eyes then, his gaze locking onto yours with a desperation that was almost tangible, a need that radiated from him like heat. “anything,” he said, his voice filled with a desperate longing, a need to prove himself worthy of your attention.

you smiled, a slow, predatory smile, the smile of a hunter who knows the prey is already ensnared. “i need you to find out everything you can about professor kim. i have reason to believe he’s hiding something, and i need to know what it is.”

anton’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them, a shadow of the man he was becoming under your influence. “i’ll find out,” he said, his voice firm, the resolve in his tone a reflection of the control you had over him.

you leaned back slightly, your smile widening, your satisfaction evident in the way your eyes glinted in the soft light of the chandeliers. “i knew i could count on you, anton,” you said, your voice a soft purr, a reward for his obedience.

as the music came to an end, you stepped back, breaking the connection between you, your movements fluid, graceful, a dancer stepping away from a completed performance. anton stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and devotion, his mind consumed with thoughts of you.

“same time tomorrow?” you asked, your tone casual, as if you hadn’t just tightened the chains of his obsession, as if this were just another dance, another game.

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “yes,” he replied, his voice steady, but you could hear the undercurrent of desperation, the need to please you, to be everything you wanted him to be.

you turned and walked away, your steps light and graceful, each movement a calculated display of control and power. behind you, anton remained standing in the middle of the ballroom, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, with the task you had given him.

the game was progressing perfectly, each move bringing you closer to your goal, and you reveled in the power you held over him, in the knowledge that anton was yours, body and soul, and that you had no intention of letting him go.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the power dynamics between you and anton had shifted to an almost surreal degree. what began as a subtle manipulation had evolved into a full-blown psychological entanglement, a dangerous dance where you were the undisputed maestro, and anton, the eager but unwitting puppet.

each interaction was a calculated move, each touch a deliberate action to tighten the threads of control around him. you reveled in the power you held, the way you could bend him to your will with nothing more than a smile or a whispered command.

the academy’s sprawling grounds, with its grandiose architecture and serene gardens, became the stage for your most intricate schemes. the cherry blossoms in the garden, once a symbol of delicate beauty, now seemed to echo the treacherous nature of your relationship with anton. their petals floated down like fragments of innocence lost, each one a testament to the corruption blossoming between you.

one afternoon, you sat on a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. its branches hung low, creating a curtain of green that shielded you from the prying eyes of others. anton approached with the usual mix of eagerness and trepidation, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on worshipful.

“anton,” you called softly, your voice a caress against the backdrop of the rustling leaves. “i need you to handle something for me.”

“of course,” he replied, his voice a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. he was so eager to please, so desperate for your approval, that it was almost painful to watch.

you leaned in slightly, letting the air between you become charged with unspoken expectations. “there’s a student, su-jin. she’s been trying to undermine me in class, and i need you to… persuade her to stop.”

anton’s face darkened at the mention of su-jin. you could see the conflict within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by his desire to comply with your wishes. “what should I do?”

you allowed a slow, satisfied smile to creep across your lips. “find out what she’s planning, and if necessary, convince her to leave me alone. use whatever means you deem necessary.”

his eyes widened with a mixture of shock and determination. “you can count on me.”

as anton walked away, you could see the way his shoulders stiffened with resolve. it was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill of exerting such power over him, of watching him bend to your will, was intoxicating. you knew that anton’s obsession with you would lead him down a darker path, but you were content to watch the descent with a detached fascination.

anton’s mental state began to deteriorate as his obsession grew. he became increasingly paranoid, his thoughts consumed by the idea that no one else deserved your attention. his once bright eyes took on a haunted look, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a nervous restlessness. he started to isolate himself from friends, pushing them away with brusque words and averted gazes. his world had narrowed to a singular focus— you.

one evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of indigo and the stars began to prick the velvet darkness, you were walking through the gardens again. anton followed a few paces behind, his gaze fixed on you like a shadow that never wavered. he had been quiet for days, his once vibrant conversations now reduced to terse, monosyllabic responses.

“anton,” you said, turning to face him as you paused near a fountain where the water gurgled softly, creating a soothing, rhythmic sound. “you’ve been so quiet lately. is everything alright?”

he looked up, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anxiety and something darker— a possessive intensity that you noted with a hint of amusement. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly. “i’ve just been… focused.”

you could feel the shift in his demeanor, a subtle but unmistakable tension in the air. “focused on what?”

he hesitated, his gaze drifting to the ground before meeting your eyes again. “on making sure that no one else gets in the way of what we have.”

you raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. “and what is it that we have, anton?”

he swallowed hard, his throat working as if the words were difficult to form. “i… i want to make sure you’re safe. that no one can harm you or distract you from… us.”

a shiver ran down your spine at the way he said “us,” the possessive undertone clear. you took a step closer, your eyes narrowing as you assessed his state of mind.

“anton, you know i appreciate your loyalty. but remember, you’re here to support me, not to control the people around me.”

he nodded, but the look in his eyes betrayed a different reality. the shadow of his darker side was beginning to surface more frequently. it was in the way he would flinch if he saw you talking to another student, the way his hands would clench into fists when you mentioned someone else’s name.

like when you conversed with a fellow student, your laughter ringing out in the courtyard, you caught anton’s gaze from across the lawn. his face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and stormy. the sight sent a thrill of dark satisfaction through you. you knew that you were pushing him to the brink, but the control you had over him was intoxicating.

afterward, as you walked through the campus, you found anton waiting for you by a secluded alcove. his expression was a volatile mix of anger and desperation.

“why were you talking to him?” he demanded, his voice low and harsh.

you stopped, turning to face him with a calm composure. “anton, it’s just a conversation. you have nothing to worry about.”

“nothing to worry about?” he spat, his eyes blazing. “i saw the way he looked at you. you were laughing with him, enjoying his attention. what about me?”

you took a deep breath, the thrill of his jealousy and anger washing over you like a wave. “anton, you need to calm down. you’re becoming irrational.”

“irrational?” he echoed, his voice trembling with a barely contained fury. “i’m trying to protect you! you don’t understand—”

“understand what?” you interrupted, stepping closer and placing a hand on his cheek. the touch was intended to soothe, but you could feel the tension beneath his skin. “anton, you’re losing control. you need to trust me.”

he flinched at your touch, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over him. his eyes were wild, and for a moment, you could see the extent of his obsession, the way it had twisted into something darker.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i can’t lose you.”

you drew back slightly, the thrill of his turmoil invigorating you. “anton, you’re not losing me. but you need to focus on what’s important.”

his eyes searched yours, desperation evident in every line of his face. “i’ll do anything,” he said, his voice cracking. “just tell me what to do.”

you smiled, a smile that was both reassuring and chilling. “just remember, anton, your loyalty is what matters most. don’t let your feelings get in the way.”

this only spurred anton’s behavior to become increasingly erratic. he would often have vivid fantasies about you, his mind concocting elaborate scenarios where you were entirely his and no one else could share in your attention. these fantasies grew darker and more obsessive, painting a picture of a world where you were trapped in his own twisted vision of devotion.

one night, as the moon cast a silver sheen across the academy grounds, anton sat alone in his dorm room, his thoughts racing. the walls seemed to close in around him, and the quiet of the night was punctuated only by the sound of his own uneven breathing. he had been unable to sleep, his mind a chaotic swirl of images and emotions.

he imagined you, alone and vulnerable, with him as your sole protector. in his fantasies, you were completely dependent on him, your every move dictated by his will. the images were vivid, almost tangible— you sitting by his side, your hand in his, your eyes locked with his as he whispered promises of eternal devotion.

but these fantasies quickly twisted into darker visions, where he had to fight off other suitors with a ferocity that bordered on violence. in these dreams, he was ruthless, striking out with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him.

when he awoke, drenched in sweat, he could still feel the echoes of his dark fantasies, the haunting intensity of his own thoughts. he stared at the ceiling, his mind struggling to separate fantasy from reality. his heart pounded, the line between his desire and his actions becoming increasingly blurred.

the next day, when you encountered anton, his demeanor was a mask of calmness, but the turmoil beneath was palpable. he tried to hide his paranoia, but the tension in his posture and the shadow in his eyes spoke volumes. he watched you with a possessive gaze, his actions more calculated, his interactions with others strained.

“anton,” you said one afternoon as you found him standing near the fountain, his gaze following you intently. “is everything alright?”

he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “everything’s fine,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “just… making sure everything is as it should be.”

you studied him, noting the way his eyes darted toward other students, the way his hands clenched into fists. you could feel the control you wielded over him, the way his obsession had morphed into something more dangerous. the thrill of manipulating him, of pushing him to the edge, was a dark pleasure you savored.

“anton,” you said, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “i need you to trust me. I don’t want to see you like this. It’s not healthy.”

his eyes met yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his facade. “i just… want to protect you,” he said, his voice a mixture of anguish and resolve.

you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “i know, and I appreciate it. but it’s creeping me out so i need you to stop, okay?”

he nodded, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed the internal struggle he faced. you knew that his descent into obsession was far from over, and as you watched him walk away, you could almost feel the weight of his darkness pressing down on him.

the games you played were dangerous and morally ambiguous, but they had become a twisted form of entertainment for you. you had pushed anton to the brink, watching with a mix of thrill and detachment as he spiraled into obsession. the power you held over him was intoxicating, and though you knew the consequences of your actions, the pleasure of manipulation was too alluring to resist.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days continued to grow colder, the winter tightening its grip on seonghwa academy, transforming the once-golden landscape into a monochrome world of gray skies and snow-blanketed grounds. the chill seeped into the very bones of the school, into the ancient stone walls and the hearts of those within them, as if the academy itself were a living, breathing entity, feeding off the darkness that now hung heavy in the air.

you had been watching anton closely, more closely than ever, though you would never let him know it. there was a darkness in him that intrigued you, a shadow that had grown deeper, more pronounced since that night in your room. it was as if something had awakened in him, something raw and primal, and you could feel its presence lurking just beneath the surface of his carefully composed facade.

it had been a twisted tapestry of obsession, each thread woven with a careful hand, yet fraying at the edges with the weight of something darker. anton’s once-gentle demeanor, that quiet reserve you had once found so easy to manipulate, had slowly unraveled, revealing a shadowy core of obsession and fixation. what began as harmless devotion had curdled into something far more dangerous, an all-consuming fervor that twisted his thoughts and actions until they no longer resembled the man you had first ensnared.

the signs had always been there, lurking beneath the surface like cracks in a fragile facade. at first, they were subtle—a lingering gaze that held too much intensity, an eagerness to please that bordered on desperation. his words, once soft and measured, began to carry an undercurrent of something sharper, a hint of possessiveness that set your instincts on edge. but these were easy to dismiss, easy to overlook in the grander scheme of your game.

yet, as the days turned into weeks, those cracks deepened, splitting wide to reveal the depths of his obsession. his once kind eyes now burned with a fervor that was both unsettling and relentless, like a predator stalking its prey. the change in him was gradual, a slow, insidious transformation that you hadn’t anticipated, until one day you realized that the man before you was no longer the same anton you had once so effortlessly controlled.

what had begun as a game of manipulation had now spiraled into something far more dangerous. you had been playing with fire, testing the limits of his devotion, pushing him further and further, and now, those flames were ready to consume everything in their path. the air around him seemed charged, like the tense silence before a storm, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. you could sense the shift in him, the way his presence felt heavier, more oppressive, as if the weight of his obsession had grown too large to contain.

but you didn’t question it. you didn’t need to. after all, whatever was driving anton, whatever darkness had taken root in his soul, it only served to deepen your control over him. and that was all that mattered.

it was a chilly evening, and the academy’s grand library, usually a sanctuary of quiet knowledge, felt different tonight. the air was thick with an unsettling tension. the shadows cast by the flickering lights danced ominously on the rows of ancient, leather-bound books. you had been here often, as much to avoid the prying eyes of others as to indulge in the hidden recesses of knowledge. tonight, however, your curiosity had led you down a path of discovery you hadn’t anticipated.

you were seated in a leather armchair near the back of the library, a book in hand, though your mind was far from the words on the page. instead, your thoughts were occupied by anton, by the strange, twisted game you had been playing with him, and by the gnawing curiosity that had begun to take hold of you.

it was then that you heard the door to the library creak open, the sound pulling you from your thoughts. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. you could feel his presence, as you always could, a dark cloud that seemed to hang over him, shadowing his every step.

anton moved through the library with the same quiet grace that had always characterized him, but there was something different about him now, something that set your nerves on edge. you watched from the corner of your eye as he made his way toward the back of the library, his gaze fixed on something you couldn’t see.

as he drew closer, you noticed that his clothes were disheveled, more so than usual, his hair unkempt, the dark strands falling into his eyes in a way that only added to the air of disarray that clung to him. there was something in his eyes, too, something wild and untamed, a flicker of madness that sent a chill down your spine.

he stopped a few feet away from you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that was almost suffocating. you met his stare, your expression carefully composed, though you could feel the unease building in the pit of your stomach.

“anton,” you said, your voice calm, measured. “what are you doing here?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself under control. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

“i did something for you,” he said, his words clipped, precise.

you raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite the unease that was now thrumming through your veins. “oh?” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “and what might that be?”

anton’s eyes darkened, the storm in them growing more intense, more dangerous. he took a step closer, his hand reaching into his coat pocket, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of fear, a fear that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

but then he pulled out a small, silver object, holding it out to you with a trembling hand. you looked at it, your heart skipping a beat as you realized what it was.

a locket. a delicate, ornate locket that you recognized immediately, because you had seen it around the neck of one of the students, a girl who had been the object of anton’s silent, simmering jealousy for weeks. she had been one of your pawns, someone you had used to stoke the fires of anton’s obsession, to push him further, to test the limits of his devotion to you.

and now, here it was, in his hand, the chain broken, the locket itself smeared with something dark, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“anton,” you said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a wild animal. “what did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked down at the locket, his expression unreadable, before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours.

“i did it for you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “she was in the way. she was trying to take you from me.”

your heart began to pound in your chest, a cold, creeping dread settling over you. “what did you do, anton?” you repeated, your voice sharper now, more insistent.

anton’s eyes flashed with something dark, something twisted, and he took another step closer, the locket still dangling from his fingers like a macabre trophy.

“i made sure she couldn’t take you from me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i made sure she would never come between us again.”

the realization hit you like a physical blow, the air leaving your lungs in a rush as the full extent of what anton had done sank in. the locket, the dark smears—blood, it was blood. he had killed her, that girl, that innocent pawn in your game, all because of his twisted, obsessive love for you.

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened. and yet, even as the horror of it all settled over you, you couldn’t help but feel a strange, twisted thrill of excitement, of power.

anton had killed for you. he had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, all in your name. and in that moment, you realized just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely he had fallen under your spell.

but there was also a danger in it, a danger that you couldn’t ignore. anton was no longer just a pawn in your game. he was something else, something more dangerous, more unpredictable. and you knew that you would have to tread carefully if you were to maintain your control over him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, soothing, as if you were trying to calm a wild animal. “you shouldn’t have done that.”

he blinked, his expression faltering for a moment, as if he were struggling to understand your words. “but i did it for you,” he repeated, his voice desperate, pleading. “i did it because i love you.”

you felt a cold, bitter laugh bubble up in your throat, but you forced it down, knowing that now was not the time for mockery. anton was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something dark and terrible, and you needed to pull him back, to regain control before it was too late.

“love?” you said, your voice soft, almost mocking. “you think this is love, anton? what you’ve done, what you’ve become—this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

his eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker, something more dangerous.

“no,” he said, his voice low, trembling with emotion. “no, you’re wrong. you don’t understand. everything i’ve done, i’ve done for you. because i can’t live without you. because i need you.”

you stared at him, your mind racing, trying to find the right words, the right approach to keep him from slipping further into the darkness. but even as you searched for a way to regain control, you could feel the situation spiraling out of your grasp, slipping through your fingers like sand.

“anton,” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the air. “listen to me. you’ve gone too far. you’ve crossed a line, and there’s no going back. what you’ve done… it’s unforgivable.”

for a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression blank, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. but then, slowly, something shifted in his eyes, something dark and twisted, something that made your blood run cold.

“unforgivable?” he echoed, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but i did it for you. i did it because i love you. how can that be unforgivable?”

you shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. “love isn’t supposed to be like this, anton. it’s not supposed to be… destructive.”

his expression twisted into something ugly, something full of pain and anger. “you’re wrong,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “you’re wrong. love is everything. it’s all that matters. and i would do anything—anything—to keep you. to make you mine.”

there was a desperation in his voice, a wildness that sent a shiver down your spine. you had pushed him too far, had played your game too well, and now you were faced with the consequences of your own actions.

but even as the fear gripped you, there was a part of you, a dark, twisted part, that couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement, a perverse satisfaction in knowing just how deeply you had ensnared him, how completely you had broken him.

“anton,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “this has to stop. you have to let me go.”

his eyes flashed with something dark, something dangerous, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your arm with a grip that was almost painful.

“no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. you belong to me.”

you felt a cold, creeping dread settle over you, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. anton wasn’t going to let you go. he was too far gone, too consumed by his obsession to see reason. and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to remain calm. “you need to let me go. this isn’t healthy. it’s not right.”

his grip on your arm tightened, his eyes blazing with a wild, desperate intensity. “i don’t care,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “i don’t care if it’s not right. i don’t care if it’s not healthy. i need you. and i won’t let you go. not ever.”

the words hung in the air like a dark, ominous cloud, the finality of them sending a shiver down your spine. you had always known that anton was different, that he was dangerous, but now, faced with the full extent of his madness, you realized just how precarious your situation had become.

you were trapped, ensnared in the very web you had so carefully woven, and there was no way out. anton’s obsession had consumed him, had driven him to the edge of sanity, and now, there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

“anton,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “please. let me go.”

but he only shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening, his eyes wild and desperate. “no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “i can’t. i won’t. you’re mine. and i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. whatever it takes.”

the words sent a chill down your spine, the cold, creeping dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. anton had crossed a line, had stepped into the darkness, and there was no going back. the game was over, and you had lost.

and in that moment, you realized just how dangerous obsession could be, just how easily it could consume and destroy. anton had been your pawn, your plaything, but now, he was something else, something darker, something that could destroy you both.

and there was no escape.

“anton,” you said, your voice trembling, your heart pounding in your chest. “this isn’t love. it’s madness.”

but he only smiled, a twisted, broken smile that sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your arm like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving.

“maybe,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “but it’s our madness.”

and in that moment, you knew that there was no going back, no escape from the darkness that had consumed you both. anton had become something else, something more dangerous, more terrifying, and there was no telling what he might do, what lengths he might go to, to keep you.

the snow continued to fall outside, the world outside the library quiet and still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. and in the silence, you could hear the faint whisper of the wind, the crackling of the fire, and the pounding of your own heart, as you stood there, trapped in the darkness, with no way out.

and as the night closed in around you, you knew that this was only the beginning, the first step into a world of darkness and madness from which there would be no return. anton’s obsession had consumed him, and now, it would consume you both, dragging you down into the depths of despair, with no hope of escape.

and as you looked into anton’s eyes, those wild, desperate eyes that had once been so full of life, so full of promise, you knew that you had lost, that you had played your game too well, and now, you were paying the price.

the darkness had won.

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