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asxgard · 2 months ago

Note

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better — Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

“But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

#the pitt #jack abbott #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x you #the pitt x reader #asxgard writes

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byjove · 2 years ago

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My mom’s neighbor used to have this horse who passed away recently. The horse was like 30 years old. Rail thin. Couldn’t be ridden. He had belonged to the neighbor’s girlfriend and apparently she had abandoned him with her ex when she left. My mom’s neighbor was a big rugged mountain man with a lot of tattoos, very gruff, didn’t get along with people. The horse loved him so very dearly. The horse’s favorite thing to do was go up to him and try to lean on him. It was normal big burly man standing in his yard smoking a cigarette, fixing something, working on his motorcycle with this elderly hospice horse resting its chin on his shoulder. It was a heartwarming sight. The decrepit old horse finally died but I still think about it. He wasn’t that horse’s first owner but he was that horse’s last owner. He was the one who stepped up and loved him in his final years even when the horse had nothing to offer him but companionship and vet bills.

#animal death /

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astrologydray · 2 months ago

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Ruler of the 4th through the houses

So when you follow the ruler of the 4th house through the chart, you’re unlocking how and where you seek to feel at home in this life — emotionally, spiritually, and even physically.

4th House Ruler in the 1st House

Home is where you are.

Your identity is deeply tied to your family, culture, or early environment. You carry “home” with you — emotionally expressive, protective, sometimes even parental toward others. You’re your own anchor. Strong sense of self rooted in emotional truth. Core need = To feel seen and safe in your own skin. “I am my own foundation.”

4th House Ruler in the 2nd House

Security = stability.

Your emotional well-being depends on feeling financially and physically secure. You may have grown up around themes of scarcity or materialism, or learned to build your own safety net. Loyal, grounded, caretaker energy. Core need: Tangible safety — a cozy space, resources, routine. “I build a home I can count on.”

4th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Home is in the mind.

Your early environment shaped your voice, thoughts, and communication style. Siblings or relatives may play a big role in your home life. Talking, writing, or learning = comfort zone. Able to articulate emotional depth and family stories. Core need: Mental stimulation, open communication “I feel at home when I can express myself freely.”

4th House Ruler in the 4th House

Ancestral echo.

This is a pure, potent placement — you’re deeply connected to your roots, your family line, or even past lives. Home and emotional life are central to your existence. You may return to childhood places or inherit family responsibilities. Psychic memory, deep emotional wisdom, nurturer soul. Core need: Emotional grounding and belonging. “I carry the heart of my lineage.”

4th House Ruler in the 5th House

Home is creative.

You find emotional security through play, self-expression, and joy. You may want to create your own family (biological or chosen) that feels full of love and passion. Your inner child is loud and wants to be seen. Playful parent energy, expressive nurturer. Core need: Fun, romance, a home filled with love and light. “I create a home that celebrates life.”

4th House Ruler in the 6th House

Home is functional.

You need structure and purpose to feel emotionally secure. You may have had to take on responsibility early in life. Work and wellness are connected to your emotional state. Healing comes through routine. Feeling emotionally drained by caregiving or “fixing”? Healing others through nurturing structure. Core need: Order, health, and acts of service. “I make my home a place of healing and order.”

4th House Ruler in the 7th House

Home is relational.

You seek emotional safety through connection and companionship. Your family life may have involved witnessing intense or imbalanced dynamics between caregivers. You recreate balance through partnerships. Prone to projecting family dynamics onto partners. Deeply relational, romantic, peace-seeking. Core need: Emotional intimacy, harmony, and shared life. “Home is found in love and mutual understanding.”

4th House Ruler in the 8th House

Home is transformative.

You may have experienced emotional or family upheaval — intensity, secrecy, or loss may be themes. You need deep emotional bonding and sacred space to feel truly safe. Could inherit land, trauma, or psychic gifts. Can have a fear of emotional vulnerability, control patterns. Soul healer, sacred space holder, generational breaker. Core need: Deep emotional honesty and transformation. “I transform pain into sanctuary.”

4th House Ruler in the 9th House

Home is the horizon.

You may feel most at home abroad, in other cultures, or in spiritual exploration. Your early home may have been restrictive, making you seek emotional freedom through growth, learning, and travel. Escaping emotional depth through philosophy or travel. Visionary nurturer, wise soul, curious seeker. Core need: Meaning, belief, and wide-open spaces. “I build a home in every country and every idea.”

4th House Ruler in the 10th House

Home is legacy.

You may have grown up with a focus on success, image, or duty. You feel safe when you’re achieving or building something lasting. There’s often a karmic connection between family and career. Neglecting personal needs for public image or work. Powerful provider, ancestral leader. Core need: Recognition, structure, and emotional purpose. “I build a home others can look up to.”

4th House Ruler in the 11th House

Home is community.

You feel emotionally safe in friendships, groups, or collective movements. You may create your own chosen family. Your childhood may have felt “different,” and now you build inclusive, visionary homes. Emotionally detached or idealizing community over self. Utopian nurturer, the one who makes others feel seen. Core need: Belonging within a larger whole. “I build homes that include everyone.”

4th House Ruler in the 12th House

Home is the soul.

Your emotional roots are deep, spiritual, and often hidden. There may be ancestral karma, isolation, or mystery around your early home. You need solitude, imagination, and inner peace to feel safe. Emotional avoidance, hidden grief, or self-isolation. Dream weaver, inner sanctuary, spiritual nurturer. Core need: Emotional retreat, spiritual connection. “I carry home within the quiet corners of my soul.”

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #astrologyposts #astrology content #astrology insights #4th house

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quasi-normalcy · 1 month ago

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I think that the problem with men is a lack of love.

Let me clarify; I don't mean sex. I don't even mean romantic love, or self-love, or even a lack of love from other people.

I mean: there is a certain, increasingly dominant strain of masculinity that is constructed in such a way as to foreclose the very possibility of genuine love, felt by the man for another person. Love is cringe, according to this formulation. If it's for a man, than it's gay; if it's for a woman, then it weakens you, or it's so hopelessly snagged-up in complexes about sex and power and status and "protecting your woman" that one can't allow oneself to genuinely feel it. This condition denies its sufferer a fundamental human need, namely, companionship; the ability to feel understood; the ability to feel like you belong. It leaves you angry, and empty, and spiritually unsatisfied in a way that you feel incapable of articulating (and indeed, by collapsing all love down to sex and all spirituality down to religion or woo, this form of masculinity specifically denies its participants the vocabulary to even discuss what ails them). You try to plug up the hole inside you through consumerism, and when that inevitably doesn't work, you just get angrier. And of course it's not an accident that this both feeds into, and is promoted by, authoritarians.

Anyways, if you lot are going to "retvrn" to something, may I recommend early-19th century Romanticism. You can even get pretty paintings out of it.

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mstase · 1 year ago

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☾ you find happiness when you are..

moon in the houses

MOON IN THE 1ST HOUSE: you find the most joy in being able to freely convey your emotions, forming connections with others, nurturing those around you, recharging in solitude, making independent choices, and trusting your instincts.

MOON IN THE 2ND HOUSE: you experience happiness when you achieve financial stability, can provide for yourself and loved ones, feel secure and worthy, possess numerous assets and possessions, maintain control, and are surrounded by comfort and familiar things.

MOON IN THE 3RD HOUSE: you experience the most joy when expressing your feelings through writing or speech, having someone to talk to, engaging in conversations with siblings and friends, participating in meaningful discussions, reading, learning new knowledge, and feeling stimulated.

MOON IN THE 4TH HOUSE: you find happiness in emotional security, having a safe haven, feeling protected, receiving comfort and nurturing, earning praise from your family, fostering positive relations within your family, and feeling a sense of belonging and acceptance.

MOON IN THE 5TH HOUSE: you experience the greatest joy when expressing your childlike nature, being surrounded by fun people, engaging in creative hobbies, enjoying freedom from responsibilities, expressing yourself dramatically, and feeling recognized and accepted.

MOON IN THE 6TH HOUSE: you find the most joy when you’re productive, sticking to a stable daily routine, offering help to others, accomplishing tasks, receiving recognition for your efforts, maintaining a healthy body, solving problems, and keeping your home well-organized and tidy.

MOON IN THE 7TH HOUSE: you find happiness in companionship, cultivating deep emotional connections, maintaining balanced and fair relationships, mutual understanding, empathizing with others, feeling nurtured, feeling accepted, and having a reliable person to lean on.

MOON IN THE 8TH HOUSE: you find the most joy when you can trust and feel trusted, express intimate emotions, be vulnerable, feel a sense of safety, have secure financial matters, discover secrets, know what motivates people, and establish deep connections with others.

MOON IN THE 9TH HOUSE: you find happiness in mental stimulation, embracing change and variety, experiencing freedom of thought, exploring different places, expanding your knowledge, seeking wisdom, trying new things, embarking on adventures, daydreaming, and learning about diverse cultures and foreign subjects.

MOON IN THE 10TH HOUSE: you find joy in receiving recognition for your career, maintaining a positive reputation, gaining approval from the public, witnessing progress, pursuing a career that resonates with your emotional needs, feeling validated, earning trust, and emotionally connecting with others.

MOON IN THE 11TH HOUSE: you find happiness in forming friendships, establishing connections with like-minded individuals, embracing individuality, feeling involved in a group or community, sharing innovative ideas, helping others, bringing people together, and nurturing harmony within your social circles.

MOON IN THE 12TH HOUSE: you find the most joy in solitude, connecting with your inner self, valuing privacy, residing in a peaceful environment, engaging in artistic pursuits, escaping into imaginative realms, daydreaming, and exploring the hidden things in life.

#astrology #astro community #astro #astro notes #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology notes #astro observations #astro placements #moon in the houses #astrology moon #moon in the 12th house #moon in the 5th house #moon in the 8th house #moon in the 1st house #moon in the 10th house #moon #astrology houses

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the-tiny-mia · 3 months ago

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Table 11 (H.S One Shot)

General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader

Summary: based on this request. An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.

A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. And as always thanks to @eileenrry for hyping me up always. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it.

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?”

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?”

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision.

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?”

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you”

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

Taglist: @hermionelove

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specialgradefckr · 3 months ago

Text

a thought.

satoru gojo doesn't belong to you. he doesn't even belong to himself.

he's a weapon, a tool, a teacher and guardian - he doesn't have time to be yours, even if he wanted to.

but this one could.

he looks good, for having been grown in a test tube for twenty months.

a clone. your very own personal satoru gojo. just for you and no one else.

he's born in the lab, a fully grown adult, and you teach him everything he needs to know about life.

when he's hungry, you feed him.

when he's cold, you hold him.

when he's bored, you entertain him.

when he's sad, you delight him.

for this satoru gojo, the world begins and ends with you.

he's never known life outside the private lab beneath your home. after weeks of good behavior, you let him sleep with you in your room.

he never says no. doesn't know what it is. you've never told him no (granted, his requests are always vague, and you fulfill them however you please), so it doesn't exist in his mind.

so when you teach him how to make you feel good - guide him to his knees, between your legs, holding his face against your cunt - this satoru gojo learns eagerly, with all the unrestrained passion and dedicated of a virgin with his longtime crutch.

the first words you taught him to say were "i love you", after all.

at first, he was sort of like a parrot - repeating after you, confused, hesitant forming words.

but quickly enough, his true nature shone through. even with a limited vocabulary, he would tease - "those are called glasses." "glasses?" "yes - satoru! give them back!" - and his appetite for mischief and self-satisfaction were ever-present.

but even with his nature, there was always nurture to gently adjust him.

you'd leave him alone for hours without explanation, even when he could grasp language enough to understand one. always returning with a treat, with a smile and a kiss.

there was food for him when you were gone, and water. but it's bland, unappetizing stuff. he is satoru, after all. still craving sweets.

you were the only person he's ever interacted with. the only person he ever will.

your presence meant food, companionship, entertainment. your absence meant loneliness, boredom, hunger.

you are everything good in his life. you gave him this life. it's only right that he spends it with you.

it's not that satoru minds, after all. he seems to love eating you out, training session after training session leading him to slide to his knees beside you more often than not. bright blue eyes twinkling up at you while he paws at your waistband.

and you're not a selfish lover, not by any means. once you've conditioned him to only cum when you're present, you're very generous with his orgasms.

it took a while. a specialized device - unremovable cockring - and some porn left around for him to peruse curiously.

but soon enough, you'd caught him, red-faced and stressed, unable to find his release. diligently, over many weeks, you'd taught his body that the only real pleasure was you. your touch, your voice, your love.

this is your satoru gojo. he shouldn't want anything but you. he shouldn't get off to anything but you.

you are his sun and stars, his planet, his gravity holding him to earth, the air he breathes, the life that sustains him, his whole universe.

it's all worth it, to come back to him after an outing. bright-faced and smiling and trembling just a little bit in relief.

when he holds you at night extra tightly, like he's terrified you'll slip out of his arms while he sleeps.

it's intoxicating. euphoric.

you try not to leave too often. but absence makes the heart grow fonder. can't have him taking you for granted.

in fact, that's the only punishment that ever seems to work on him, when he's acting out, and a stern correction doesn't do it.

it's not often, but sometimes he'd whine incessantly about getting his way, as if what he wanted mattered. as if you didn't love him more than anything already. as if you didn't go out of your way to give him everything, including his own life.

maybe he wanted to have sex that day, instead of just masturbating for you. maybe he was getting bored of eating you out for hours. maybe he just wanted to hurry up and cum.

all of these were normal, expected ways for satoru gojo to behave at first. but you'd trained them out of him.

if he was so bored, if he didn't like what you wanted, then he could stay here by himself.

you'd leave discreetly, distracting him with an instruction or an excuse about getting something. and then you'd turn off the breaker so the lights in the basement were out.

and then you'd go. spend hours away from home.

every time you spent a different amount of time away. letting him stew in it. letting him wait for you. wait, and wonder if you were really coming back this time.

it was painful. you didn't create him just to neglect him like this.

but it needs to be done. he had to understand that being without you is utter, abject misery.

this had the side effect of turning him into a clingy menace. which was terribly endearing - he always wanted to have a hand on you, or to sit next to you, or to be touching you somehow.

those beautiful eyes nervously glancing at you every now and then - it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen.

with him clinging to you, of course, you have to adjust his punishments. if a training session isn't going well, you slip something into his next meal.

when he awakens, he's tied up. all alone in a well-lit, padded room.

by the time you open the door, he's teary-eyed, nose red from sniffling, throat sore from screaming. he leans into your fingers in his hair, closing his eyes, shuddering and sighing in utter bliss.

satoru always behaves better after that. you tell him, calmly, what you hope he'll improve on, and he always does. your clever boy.

your perfect boy. your satoru gojo, homemade, hand-raised, yours and yours alone. happy to be yours.

he's improved so much. he really is nearly perfect.

affectionate - almost overbearingly so, but that suits you. he's attentive, so well in tune with your moods. satoru really is so very observant when he wants to be.

he can make you cum in under thirty seconds - there's your quick learner! you feel like a proud teacher, sometimes.

and he loves you. of course he loves you. you make him feel good, you kiss him goodnight, you always make sure he knows exactly how happy he makes you.

he's not unlike a pet who loves you unconditionally and wants to be with you constantly. a particularly clever pet, even, who sometimes gets... ideas.

what you're working on now is a complicated case. satoru's a healthy young man, and he spends all his time with you, who he's attracted to - so he gets erections fairly often.

your conditioning has led him to expect sexual activity... well, relatively frequently. after all, he can't cum on his own. it doesn't help that he always wants to be touching you, next to you, holding you.

the task now is for him to become aroused only when you are aroused. it'll take time - and patience - and lots and lots of punishments. but smaller ones, easier ones.

you're content with this. perfection is a state of mind, after all. there will always be something to improve on.

if you don't have anything to punish him for, satoru might start to think he's perfect. he might realize that you won't stop loving him, for any reason. he might get sloppy.

what if he thinks he can leave?

it's something that keeps you up at night, sometimes. you try not to let it, really. satoru never falls asleep first. you've never seen him sleep at all outside your arms, actually.

you're particularly tired, this night, though.

satoru's been so good lately, so you'd rewarded him with a new, special experience; making food together.

it had been utterly delightful, so domestic and causal, full of laughter and taste-tests and troubled recipe lookups. Is that what being a couple was supposed to be like?

you think you could get used to that.

you try to say something, but your mouth is especially dry. satoru, the darling creature that he is, has water at the ready for you.

the thanks, too, can't come out of your mouth. your vision is darkening...

"sorry," his lovely voice hums distantly, "not sure about the dosage. i know i'm larger than you, so it should be a bit less..."

the words stand out to you. dosage. a bit less.

but very soon, your world goes dark, and all you hear before that is -

"you're never leaving me again."

This work is a part of a series! Read the next part here!

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lotuswish · 4 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ what loving you feels like to them (pt. 7 - diasomnia) 𓆩𓆪 .ᐟ

synopsis: have you ever wondered what falling in love feels like for each twisted wonderland boy? this series explores love from their perspective— how their personalities, experiences, and desires shape what loving you means to them.

featured character(s): malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, sebek zigvolt, silver.

content warning(s): none.

a/n: woo, the final part of this series! after two months of writing, rewriting, proofreading, and endlessly nitpicking, it’s finally complete and posted—feels good to wrap this up! what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words, but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it's still their own!

link(s): (masterlist) (pt. 1 - scarabia) (pt. 2 - savanaclaw) (pt. 3 - heartslabyul) (pt. 4 - ignihyde) (pt. 5 - pomefiore) (pt. 6 - octavinelle) (pt. 7 - you are here)

malleus draconia

loving you feels like a paradox to malleus draconia—both a yearning ache and a soothing balm, a forbidden fruit and the sweetest blessing he never dared to imagine for himself. it’s a sensation so foreign yet so natural, like finding a home in a place he never knew existed. for someone who has lived years surrounded by grandeur yet plagued by solitude, loving you is both the most terrifying and the most precious experience of his life.

he has lived a life of solitude, surrounded by awe but never companionship, respect but never intimacy. his world is vast, his power nearly limitless, but it has always felt empty, a hollow kingdom with no one to share it with. loving you feels like standing in a darkened hall and suddenly seeing it bathed in light. it is warmth where there was only cold, music where there was silence. you bring him into a world of emotions he never thought he’d have, filling his existence with vibrancy and depth.

malleus has always been feared, revered, and set apart—kept at arm’s length by the weight of his power and status as the heir to briar valley’s throne. loving you feels like unlocking a door that had always been closed, revealing a world he never thought he could enter. you treat him not as a king, a fae, or a being of immense power, but as simply malleus. the way you meet his gaze without fear, laugh in his presence, and speak to him as an equal fills the void within him he never even fully understood. your love is a bridge between his world and a life of connection he thought was forever out of reach.

but loving you is also a quiet fear, one that coils in the depths of his heart. you are fragile, mortal, fleeting. he knows that time, the same force that has shaped him and his long life, will inevitably seek to take you away. this knowledge makes every moment with you feel both infinitely precious and heartbreakingly finite. it makes his love intense, protective, and almost reverent. he finds himself holding you closer, memorizing every detail, every breath, as though he can somehow defy the inevitable with sheer will.

loving you feels like the answer to a question he’s been asking for centuries, a fulfillment of a longing he could never put into words. it’s bittersweet and overwhelming, but it’s a gift he cherishes beyond anything else. you are his greatest treasure, not because you belong to him, but because you choose him. and he, in turn, chooses you—fully, completely, and forever.

lilia vanrouge

loving you feels like eternity to lilia vanrouge—a thread woven into the centuries of his long life, yet distinct and irreplaceable in its brilliance. it’s a reminder of the beauty in fleeting moments, something he’s come to cherish after watching so much of the world change, break, and fade with time. for someone who has lived longer than most can fathom, loving you feels like a rarity, a spark that rekindles the part of him that thought he had seen it all.

to lilia, love has always been a complex, bittersweet thing. he’s seen how fragile it can be, how it can grow and flourish yet wither all the same. but loving you doesn’t feel like a burden or a fleeting indulgence—it feels like a choice he makes every day, one he makes joyfully. it’s the way you challenge him, intrigue him, and bring a warmth to his heart that he hasn’t felt in ages. loving you feels like finding something entirely new, even in a world he’s walked for centuries.

loving you awakens his playful side even more. he teases you, relishing every laugh, every flustered reaction, and every small moment you share. but beneath his jokes and mischief, there’s a depth to his affection—a steadfastness that reflects the wisdom and loyalty he’s cultivated through the ages. for lilia, love isn’t just passion or fleeting excitement; it’s a quiet certainty, an unshakable bond that weaves itself into his life with a permanence he never thought possible. loving you reminds him that while his life is long, it’s the connections he makes that give it meaning.

there’s also a protectiveness to his love, though it’s never overbearing. lilia understands the fragility of life better than most, and it makes him treasure you even more. he knows that time is fleeting for some, but he refuses to let that deter him. instead, he chooses to savor every moment with you, to live in the present and create memories that will endure in his heart, no matter what.

loving you feels like a song—a melody that lingers long after it’s played, something he hums to himself even when you’re not around. it’s sweet and playful, with notes of melancholy, but above all, it’s unforgettable. loving you is his way of defying the inevitability of time, of saying that no matter how many centuries pass, there are things worth holding onto, and you are one of them.

sebek zigvolt

loving you feels like duty and devotion entwined for sebek zigvolt.

sebek has always lived his life with purpose, driven by an unwavering loyalty to malleus draconia and the ideals of the briar valley. to love someone romantically is an unexpected experience for him—one that initially conflicts with the sense of duty that has defined his existence. yet, loving you doesn’t feel like a betrayal of that duty; instead, it becomes an extension of it. loving you is another cause he throws himself into with all the ferocity of his spirit. it is both a challenge and a privilege, one he approaches with the same intensity and focus that he dedicates to all things important in his life.

to sebek, love is both a challenge and a revelation. it’s not easy for him to reconcile his affection for you with the unyielding focus he’s maintained toward his goals. at first, loving you feels inconvenient, like an unwelcome distraction from his responsibilities. he struggles to understand it, to put it into words, because he has always prioritized duty over personal desires, leaving little room to reflect on his own wants. but the longer he spends with you, the more he realizes that loving you isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength. it pushes him to be better, not just as a knight or a protector, but as a person.

loving you also brings out a side of him he rarely shows—one that is quieter, and deeply earnest. it’s in the way he fumbles over words when he tries to tell you how much you mean to him, the way he blushes fiercely when you catch him staring, and the way he trains even harder because he wants to be someone you can rely on. his love for you is almost overwhelming in its intensity, but it’s also pure and steadfast, a reflection of the unshakable loyalty that defines him.

but loving you is not without conflict. sebek struggles to reconcile his pride and his affection, often fumbling to express his feelings in a way that doesn’t betray his dignity. his words may come out louder or harsher than intended, his actions more grandiose than necessary, because he does not yet know how to soften for you. still, his love is earnest, as unwavering as his loyalty to the draconias. you teach him that love is not about perfection, that it’s okay to be flawed, to grow, and to lean on someone else.

loving you feels like finding balance. it doesn’t take away from his loyalty to malleus or his pride as a knight, but it reminds him that even the strongest warrior needs moments of rest, that even the most disciplined heart deserves happiness. for sebek, loving you is a fire that burns steady and bright, not dimming his resolve but giving it new purpose. you are his anchor and his inspiration, and he loves you with all the intensity of his being.

silver

loving you feels like peace to silver, a quiet but profound warmth that wraps around his heart and stays with him, even in the stillest moments. it is not something he sought out or expected, but something that came naturally, like the first light of day creeping over the horizon. for silver, love is not loud or dramatic; it is calm and unwavering, a feeling that settles deep in his soul and grounds him in a way nothing else ever has. it feels like solace, a rare and precious thing in a life that has always been shaped by duty.

loving you feels like clarity. silver has always lived with a sense of purpose, devoted to his training and his role in protecting malleus draconia. his focus has always been outward, on those he serves, but loving you shifts something inside him. for the first time, he feels like he’s allowed to focus on himself—not in a selfish way, but in a way that makes him realize he is more than his duty. with you, he feels seen for who he is, not just as a knight or a protector, but as a person. and in that, he finds a quiet kind of joy.

but loving you is also vulnerable for him. silver is not used to putting his feelings into words; he is a man of action, not flowery speeches. he shows his love in the way he listens, in the way he instinctively stands closer to you when he senses danger, in the way he remembers the little things that make you happy. for silver, love is something he expresses through quiet gestures rather than grand declarations, but it is no less profound. in fact, it feels deeper because of its simplicity, like an unspoken understanding between you.

loving you feels like balance. silver has always walked the line between the human and fae worlds, a child of both but also of neither. with you, he doesn’t feel like he has to choose. you accept every part of him—the human side that longs for companionship and the disciplined knight who feels an unshakable sense of duty. your love doesn’t ask him to change or to prove himself; it simply asks him to be. and in that, he finds a sense of belonging he didn’t realize he was missing.

for silver, loving you feels like rest. it feels like finding a place where he doesn’t have to stand guard, where he can let his guard down without fear. it’s steady, like the rhythm of his heartbeat when you’re near, and gentle, like the warmth of the sun on his face. it is a quiet love, but it is deep and unshakable, and he treasures it as one would a dream they never want to wake from. with you, silver has found something worth protecting—not out of duty, but out of love.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

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