Hassian had only just finished in the shower, his damp dreadlocks clinging to his shoulders, his robe tied low on his hips.He hadn’t expected anything unusual—just the quiet comfort of home after a long day at the forge with his mother.

Dinner had been good, easy, full of companionable silence and shared glances across the table. He’d gone to rinse off while Lyra finished tidying up.
But when he walked into the Nest and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, everything in him halted.

She was wearing the pink nightie he liked best—the one that clung to her curves like moonlight and memory. His breath caught. Her hair was loose, her shoulders bare, her legs tucked to one side in soft invitation.

“Take off your robe and come here,” Lyra said, voice low, already warm with want.

He didn’t hesitate. The robe fell silently to the floor.

He stepped toward her, quiet as a shadow. She rose slightly on her knees, one hand lifting to cup his cheek. Her touch was reverent. Her gaze, even more so.

“Such a handsome man,” she whispered, as if the words were a secret she’d been holding all day. “Those beautiful eyes that always seem to see through me—like you already know what I need, even before I do.”

Her fingers traced the shape of his mouth. “I love this pouty mouth,” she said, smiling faintly, “that gives the sweetest kisses. And sometimes the grumpiest sighs.”

Both hands slid to his shoulders and moved down his arms, slow and sure, her touch like silk and fire. “Arms so strong. So protective.” She leaned in closer, her voice softening. “But they never forget how to be gentle.”

She trailed her palms down the firm planes of his chest, over his ribs and the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. “A body so perfect,” she murmured, as if she didn’t quite believe it was real. “Like you were carved out of stone and then brought to life… just for me."

Her hands skimmed lower, brushing places that made his breath hitch, his body tensed under her touch. Lyra’s smile turned wicked-soft, her voice velvet heat. "Every inch of you mine to touch, mine to love."

Hassian’s hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab hold, but he stayed still. I’m hers—completely hers, he thought, heart thundering. She was in control, and he was letting her.

Her mouth followed where her hands had been—pressing slow kisses along his chest, down his ribs, teasing lower, making him gasp, making him tremble. He whispered her name like a prayer, low and rough, but she hushed him with her lips against his skin.

Finally, she eased him down onto the bed, guiding him back into the pillows. She straddled him with the confidence of someone who knew she was exactly where she belonged. Her hair fell like a curtain around them, and when her lips found his again, it was no longer reverent—it was claiming.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” she said.
And she did.

She touched him everywhere, kissed him until his control frayed, moved with a rhythm that was hers and hers alone. He gave himself over to her fully, his hands gripping her hips, his voice breaking into groans and whispers of her name as she rode him, teased him, soothed him, and set him on fire all at once. Stars, she’s mine, he thought, helpless and eager all at once.

The reverence was still there—but wrapped now in heat, urgency, and the undeniable pull of two people who couldn’t get enough of each other.

She was unraveling him, piece by piece, until he couldn’t remember anything but her.

They moved like a promise.

And when they finally stilled, tangled in sweat and starlight, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist—only them, breathless and burning, a vow written in skin and whispered in the dark.

Are You Asking?

The lantern on the far side of the room flickered low, its amber glow tracing soft edges across tangled sheets and warm skin. The night air was heavy with garden scent, the hush of the conservatory a lullaby in glass and stars.

Lyra lay stretched over him, her body draped along the length of his,her cheek resting against his bare chest. One leg curved possessively over his hip, fingers lazily tracing the scar on his shoulder, drawing little spirals of affection in the quiet.

Hassian’s hand rested in her hair, thumb brushing the crown of her head in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. He could feel her beginning to drift—lulled by the steadiness of his heart beneath her ear and the safety they never had to name.

Usually, this was when he said it.
You’re here.
And she would murmur back, I’m not going anywhere.
But tonight, he didn’t say it. Not right away.

Instead, he looked down at the woman who had rewritten the rhythm of his days and rebuilt the architecture of his heart without ever asking for more than what he could give. And somehow, he’d given everything.

“Lyra.”

She hummed softly against him, her voice barely audible. “Hmm?”

His voice was quiet, deeper than usual. “When are you going to marry me?”

Her eyes fluttered open. She shifted just enough to see him, lifting her head slightly, brow furrowed in gentle surprise.

He wasn’t looking at the ceiling. He was looking at her.
Not smiling. Not teasing. Just—waiting. Like the question had lived inside him for a long time and only now found its voice.

She blinked, breath catching as the weight of it settled over her. “Is that… are you asking?”

Hassian gave the barest nod, thumb still moving in her hair. “I think I’ve been asking for a while. Just… not with the right words.”

A silence bloomed between them—full, but never heavy.

She reached up and touched his jaw, brushing her thumb along the strong line of his cheek,
“I… I so want to marry you,” she whispered, heart thudding, voice soft but certain, like a vow in itself.

Hassian exhaled slowly, that rare, slow smile blooming—quiet, true, a little stunned. He pulled her back down against him, tucking her close, letting the warmth of her body anchor him like nothing else could.

She nuzzled in, one hand splayed over his heart.
“Say it,” she murmured, like a promise, her voice husky in the quiet of the conservatory.

Hassian kissed her temple, low and steady. “You’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A hush fell over them, soft and full, stretching across the bed and into the glassy stillness outside. Then, after a pause that felt like the world holding its breath, she whispered into his chest:
“Say it again. But the other one.”

He did.
“Marry me.”

Her breath caught softly, a smile blooming against his chest. She held him tighter, fingers stilled over his heart like she was claiming it. And maybe she was. Maybe she always had.

Not Going Anywhere

Hassian lay still, one hand curved around her back, the other drifting to her hair. He stared up at the glass ceiling above them where the stars winked through a veil of night mist, scattered and distant. Once, he might have felt alone looking up at them. Untethered. Weightless. Now, he felt grounded.
Not by roots in soil, or duty hammered on an anvil, but by the woman breathing softly against his skin.

He’d never thought love would feel like this. Not burning. Not storming. Just quiet. Certain. Like the earth turning under him—steady, inevitable.

For all his careful control, for all the distance he used to wear like armor, Lyra had seen through him from the start. She’d touched the parts of him no one else had dared to reach. And now—he didn’t want to go a day without her voice, her touch, her fierce, unshakable belief in him.

He never used to wonder about the future.
Now, he caught himself hoping for it. Building it, day by day, with her.

Maybe this was what it meant to be blessed.

His thumb brushed her shoulder as she drifted toward sleep. The silence didn’t ask anything of him. He didn’t need to speak for her to know. Still—he said it anyway, just once more, like a vow he didn’t know he’d been making from the very beginning.
“I’m yours.”

And finally, with her warmth anchored over him and the stars above standing witness, Hassian let himself sleep.

Written in Ink

Hassian had spent the afternoon in Bahari City, delivering a set of finely crafted tools, an errand for Sifuu. While he was there, he’d taken care of something personal, too: a quick visit to a trusted artist who could finally ink a piece he’d been planning for months. The streets were alive with chatter and the mingling smells of spiced bread, roasting meat, and sea salt. By the time he returned home, the sky was flushed with the last light of day. Dust clung to his shoulders, the faint scent of ink still lingering on his skin, and his thoughts had never left Lyra.

He stepped into the quiet kitchen, anticipation coiling like a current beneath his ribs. The scent of roasted garlic and herbs still hung in the air, but it was Lyra who drew his attention completely. Her head lifted at the soft sound of his boots.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, his voice low and steady, though his pulse betrayed the eagerness in his chest. He had something to show her—something permanent, something close to his heart—and he was ready to let her see it.

Lyra looked up from the counter, “hello handsome” she said smiling—until her eyes landed on the bandage wrapped snugly around his forearm, right beneath the familiar lines of his tattoo.

She frowned, concern creeping in. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Hassian said simply, like it wasn’t worth worrying over.

She crossed the room, wiping her hands on a towel. “That doesn’t look like nothing. How did you hurt your arm?”

“I didn’t.” He met her eyes, calm as ever. “Just have to keep it clean for a few days.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t understand. You what?”

Hassian’s gaze softened, a hint of warmth playing at the corner of his mouth. “Let me show you.”

He unwrapped the bandage slowly, careful fingers peeling it back to reveal tender skin. The area was still a little red, the lines fresh—but unmistakable. Her name, inked in elegant script. And just beside it, delicate and sure, the blossom of a heartdrop lily.

Lyra stared.
She couldn’t speak.

“I figured,” he said quietly, “I’ve been wearing you in my heart for a long time. Might as well wear you on my skin too.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “Hassian…”

“I wanted something that couldn’t be undone.” He reached for her hand, his touch steady. “Something that says—I’m not going anywhere.”

“I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered.

“For you,” Hassian said simply. “For us.”

Her throat tightened. Eyes turned glassy, “I can’t wait to marry you.”