💖 Lover'sDelusions💖

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And one day, Sol just sees her in the process of making a snowman by herself

Just a silly li’l scene I imagined, lol

Soft fluffy stuff incoming!

☃︎ Best One We've Made ☃︎ [Prince x Maid]

The capital was quite beautiful in the winter, snow covered the ground, and snowflakes fall in a gentle sway. It would have been a sight to behold, except Solivan didn't exactly feel like beholding anything right now. The snow irritated him more than anything. He shouldn't have been here in the first place, as during the winter he was usually allowed to move to the southern parts of the kingdom to enjoy the 'winter'. But no. He was wrapped up in some idiotic negotiations by the order of the king, entertaining rebels who should have been squashed immediately, yet somehow play at diplomacy in the face of royalty.

It was disgusting. Useless.

Solivan toyed with the edge of the paper, his eyes sweeping over the subpar penmanship as he read. If it were up to him--Well, the snow would have looked so much more pure and white with their blood splattered upon its surface. He could already imagine how it would sparkle. He sighs, his eyes shifting from his work to the window, watching the snow peacefully fall upon the gardens.

Then he blinks.

And sits upright, squinting slightly.

"...For the love of... "

He abandoned his work to make his way down to the gardens, where you seem to get into most trouble. He stood watching in the doorway, as you knelt in the snow and using your scarf as makeshift gloves, attempted to shape the snow. It was ridiculous. Childish. A waste of time in which you could be doing better things, like providing a distraction so he could actually pretend to care about the rebellion documented on his desk.

But somehow all he could think of was how beautiful you looked with the snow settling in your hair.

"What. Are. You. Doing?"

The smooth curt voice made your head whip to the source, his highness walks into the snow, his angelic features looked even more delicate in the snow. You hurry to your feet, "Your highness," You couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed at the state you were in, especially in front of his highness. Your dress was wet and cold, sticking to your knees and shins, and curtsying was an uncomfortable feat you managed in the snow. "I... I was Um..."

You glance up and see his icy eyes move from your messy state to the terribly chunky piece of snow you were trying to cobble together. "Playing. You are... Playing."

You lowered your head, embarrassment heating your cheeks. You nod, a jerky little movement that would have been missed if he wasn't studying so intently.

He moved closer, the snow crunching under his boots. You yelp when he lifts your skirt without a warning.

"Not wearing proper attire." He noted. You stumble back, your hands resist yanking the skirt from his grasp, but stumbling back in the snow made you nearly lose your balance.

He really would have let you fall. It would have been funny. But, he did not want you catching ill on his watch. In one swift move, before you could manage to steady yourself, the scarf resting over your elbows was yanked tight, forcing you to fall forwards instead.

Right into the warmth of his chest.

See? How easily his mood shifts when you're where you belong.

He could feel how you tense in his arms. His fingers hook under your chin and taps it twice, a silent command which you obey, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. He smiles at you, he eases the tight hold of the scarf from around you, adjusting it gently around your arms again. It was wet because of the snow, useless. "Clumsy little fool. Are you planning to face plant into the snow as well?"

"Y-your highness, you..!" You began to point out that it was his inappropriate behavior that almost made you fall, that you could have righted yourself if he had just waited a second more---but your words falter when he raises an eyebrow. "... Thank you, your highness."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he pinched your cheek in a strange form of affectionate praise. "Hm." Truly, there was no better sight than that indignant heat in your gaze, the sweetness of your cheeks in the cold, and the sight of your lips parting, your breath misting in the air. His gaze lingered, softening when snowflakes fell on your nose and lashes.

"You should not be outside. You insisted you had work in the palace, that you could not simply loiter in my study and assist me this morning, and now I find you clowning carelessly in the snow instead?" His voice lowered, his eyes narrowed slightly, "Are we lying now, angel? Have I grown too soft on you, spoiled you too much to believe you can simply opt out of your work to pretend you're a child?"

"No," You manage, your eyes growing wide. "My prince, I was just... Just..." You were never used to the shame that came with his admonishments, no matter how often it happened. You never wanted to disappoint him. It felt like he was towering over you, with you shrinking with each word.

"Just what?"

"Just..." You didn't know what to say to deflect this. You didn't usually skip out on your work, but with snow, and the gardens... For once, you couldn't help yourself. You didn't think it would take too long--and what terrible luck you had that he'd seen you the moment you'd succumbed to the temptations of the perfect sparkly white plains. They had no imprints, no footsteps, nothing. What were you supposed to do?

"... Just wanted to build a snowman."

He blinked at you, his expression unreadable just like the silence which followed your admission. Build a snowman? It had been years ago the last time you did such a thing in the palace, not since constantly playing in the snow as children kept 'putting the crown prince's health at risk' and you were banned from it.

His eyes bore into yours, for a long, silent moment.

"... You...." He mutters finally. Your breath hitches when he simply pulls you closer, wrapping his coat edges around you as well, until you're surrounded in his warmth, without a space between you. You could feel the heat in your face, and you're sure he could feel it too, with your face buried in his chest, your body pressed too close for anything resembling propriety. You don't dare make a sound, you listen to the chuckle which is muffled against your hair. "You are so lucky I tolerate you."

He pulls back, cupping your face and tilting your head back, to place a kiss on the tip of your nose. "... A snowman, huh?" He glances at the lump on the ground. "This is disappointing even for you."

You step back when he lets go of you. Glancing down at what was supposed to be your snowman. "I... I have just started."

He pulls your wrist up, your hands are already freezing. "No gloves."

"I don't..."

Without another word, he pulls his own leather padded gloves off, and tugs them onto your hands. Your attempts at protests are completely ignored and disregarded. "Warm up first. Then we share, one for each. I'm not planning on getting ill because you are an idiot."

You weren't sure if that's how things worked, but you didn't disagree. The gloves were too large for you, but they were warm, making you shiver slightly, "Your highness is too gracious."

"Yes." He huffs and sighs, crouching down. "Now let's fix this dreadfully ugly thing."

THIS IS A HATE CRIME

PLEASE RECOMMEND HISTORY CHANNELS THAT AREN'T AI BECAUSE I WILL KMS

He doesn't think about it, I think. Not in terms of love or owning people/things.

I've answered something similar before here, and for now it still applies. He wouldn't call it love, and he believes all of the kingdom is his by birthright, the maid is just... One of those things.

Would he let her leave? no.

But would he accept the accusation that he's being obsessive? no.

He likes his things in their proper place, acting properly. Is it so wrong to relish in her complete devotion and reward her with his affection? She's lucky to have gotten his attention in the first place, its a very valuable thing.

Honestly he really likes the drama

Your mind was busy. It was just a mistake.

It was a slip of the hand, a quick turn that knocked an expensive antique off it's stand and sent it crashing. Maybe it was because you'd been slipping in your general duties lately---The prince had been taking a big chunk of your time as always---but the First Lady of the Chamber descended on you with the fury of a personal grudge.

You didn't make any excuses, it was your fault after all, and you accepted responsibility. Even though some of the insults veered a little personal in your opinion. You just bowed your head in respect, your cheeks heating up as the other maids whispered. You knelt down to pick up the pieces of glass, trying to rectify your mistake.

The whispers quieted real quickly all of a sudden. You didn't look up, and the Lady of the Chamber didn't notice either, until a polished shoe stepped onto the large piece of glass you were about to pick up, and slide it out of your reach. "Now, now, what is all this commontion?"

"Your highness," The Lady of the Chamber curtsied, though her voice was strained. A flurry of curtsies followed. "It is nothing, your highness, it is simply discipline for a foolish mistake."

You were about to follow suit, attempting to rise from your kneeling position when a click of his tongue stopped you. You could feel his heated gaze on the top of your head, which only made your cheeks burn. You could feel the amused hum that followed, "Discipline, hm?"

You cursed everything watching above that he'd stumbled upon this scene, even when a little part of you felt guilty for doing so. You knew the other maids were a bit resentful of his favouritism towards you, especially when they felt that you were leaving your general duties for them to do whenever he requested your presence. This would only make it worse.

"What did the little fool do now?" He leaned down slightly, tilting your chin up. You could feel your heart drop when you see the amusement in his eyes. He had never had an qualms about teasing you in public, even when you'd pleaded with him to stop. He pouted, carressing, and squishing your cheek sweetly. "Clumsy, clumsy."

You bristled when he patted your hair. You resisted staring at him incredulously, especially because the last time you tilted his fountain pen at an incorrect angle he'd thrown a fit that would have put the Lady of the Chamber's to shame.

The discipline wasn't great either. You were thankful that the Lady of the Chamber's discipline was only delivered with words.

And this was a tiny bit his fault too.

He turned back the Lady of the Chamber, reaching over to absently flick the edge of the ribbon around her collar into place. "Well then. Do not let me intervene."

He stepped aside, clasping his hands behind his back.

Even the Lady of the Chamber turned to give him a strange look before she remembered herself. "Y-your highness wishes to---?"

"Watch?" He says blankly. "Yes."

She turned back to you. Your eyes met, and you could have sworn whatever envy she felt towards you trembled. This time her admonishment was delievered with hesitancy. Somehow, it was more embarrassing with his eyes roving over you like a physical carress.

You didn't need to see him to know that he wasn't particularly satisfied with her idea of discipline. You continued to pick up the pieces, rising, curtsying and rushing to get rid of the glass pieces stinging your hands. You could hear him criticising the madam before you shut the door behind you. "How disapointing. You cannot even do this correctly no wonder...."

Apparently, he'd taken his time tearing down the madams techniques, because by the time you were approaching the hall once more, he was just leaving. You curtsied once more as he passed you by.

Modern AU! [Prince x Maid]: Silly thoughts edition

(The og ask has reached like 3k words ;n; and I accidentally just veered into him trying to convince miss maid that 'Sitting on my lap helps me do math bro trust, Cross my heart, hope to die, I would never lie' lmao but thats not where I wanted it to go. I have so many thoughts about this one thoughhh)

PLEASE FEED US WITH YOUR WRITING!!! I NEED MORE OF HIM, I NEED MORE PRINCE X READER

Ahhh! It makes me so happy seeing that you like them! I am working on it I promiseee

Somewhere, someplace, you've read that love can be madness.

It's an idea you've enjoyed many fantasies with. In many ways and in many forms. Words written of grotesque love in comforting bites, videos, movies, shows of pretend obsession--Some softer, behind a Cafe counter or a flower shop, and some heavier--whispered in the dark between blades and chains and hands too desperate and depraved in its obsession to fall in line with what should be right. Sirens and pirates, vampires and hunters, witches and magic and all sorts of dynamics so far removed from yourself. A fantasy is a fantasy. A movie is just a movie. A book is just a book.

You've read about yourself in thousands of words, meeting different types of love of different forms. Sometimes, you sit there and you wonder, despite the fact that you know a fantasy is just a fantasy, if you would ever stop it from happening if you ever encountered it in reality.

You met a man with eyes intense and dark and a quiet voice that seemed like it was speaking to you and you alone. You thought to yourself, 'ha... He'd fit right in with those I read about.' and you'd wondered about the type of love he'd give. You weren't so out of touch, though your romantic history seems to escape your mind right now, surely you know that the reality would never measure up to the fantasy you make up for yourself.

He's a really quiet person, you've realized. But when you speak to him, he listens. Intently. As if every word you say, every thought you have, is what makes up his world. Sometimes you'll catch him parting his lips as if to speak, but then he seems to think better of it and quiets, it makes you wonder if he sometimes speaks to you when your mind is wandering too much to hear him.

You've noticed that he keeps his hands on you when you two are together. Always, clutching your sleeve or holding your hand, keeping his arms around you, so you're aware of his skin against yours. It's sweet you think, if it wasn't for how shaken he looks when you pull away. How desperate his touch seems when he reaches for you again.

And then it's those eyes again, holding yours hostage even though you're both alone and having dinner, it's like the world disappears and he hangs onto every word you say. He listens, even when you tell him about books you've read, characters you like. Nonsense you don't even remember a few sentences after. He listens.

Sometimes you wonder if he's in his own world when he's silent. Because he'll say things which makes you take pause, like at the dinner, where he takes your moment of silence to say.. "I hear you."

You give him a small smile, though he's staring directly at you. And he speaks as if his words are a secret.

He always speaks like that. Like there's tension in his body he doesn't know where to put. It makes you giddy, at times, when his eyes darken and watch you with a guarded caution. Like you're something important. It makes you question whether the books weren't entirely wrong.

"It's you, right..?" He'd said, his fingers carressing your face. His eyes shift like he's looking for something. "You can hear me too."

"Yes." You'd breathed the secret words. A flurry of emotion in your chest at the intensity in his eyes growing hotter.

Though, this is the real world. And things aren't sunshine and rainbows. The longer you've been together, the more his grip grows more than desperate. His stare grows stranger, the intensity which made butterflies explode in your stomach, now causes a cold chill to douse you. His quiet words, don't sound like a secret between the two of you anymore. They sound like a secret you're eavesdropping on.

Those words repeated, but you grew more and more uneasy with feeling that he was looking past you, even when he stared in your eyes so intently.

You were starting to realize there was wisdom to the saying 'A fantasy is just a fantasy.'

You'd noticed he had realised something too.

Maybe you grew bored. Your interactions seemed to be escaping your mind. It almost felt as if everytime you turned to hear him, your memory blanked and then the interaction was over. Your boredom didn't go unnoticed. Of course it wouldn't. He seemed to notice everything about you, even the most strange. You'd asked him once: "Why are you so interested in me?"

It was a weird thing to ask. Insecure at best. Buat you'd asked it anyway. Because surely his overwhelming interest was unnatural. You weren't all that special, after all. You were every ordinary person.

He'd been scribbling something on one of your notebooks, he barely hesitated when he said. "You're..." You could have sworn he'd mumbled something between, but you couldn't quite remember. All you remember was: "You. You're the only one who can see me." He paused, a small smile quirked his lips, a bit melancholic, a bit... Like he was enjoying an irony lost on you. "Hear me. You're the only one who can hear me." You didn't know if that response was comforting. Seeing your troubled expression, his eyes studied you with a new intensity--That look that sent shivers down your spine. As if he was having a conversation you weren't privy to. "It feels like I've met you before. Somewhere else. Sometime else. Maybe that's why. Maybe in a previous life."

He'd closed the notebook. His doodling seemingly over.

It was a normal day as far as you knew. You had a date with your boyfriend that day, and a strange feeling in your gut kept picking at you. The sky despite its array of golden colours, red and orange and hues of a painters dream, felt like an omen worthy of admiring. You pushed aside that thought. But the sense was still there, as you walked to your home, a defeaning silence broken only by the slam of your door and the jingle of your keys.

The thought occured to you, then. Love shouldn't be madness, should it?

You'd shed your clothes, and made yourself comfortable. And as you walked around the counter, you'd paused at the notebook which you'd remembered your boyfriend holding onto. It was yours, but he'd taken a liking to it, took it with him where ever he went.

A sinking feeling hollowed out your chest, just staring at it. You'd taken it in your hands, and flipped through what you thought would be sketches.

But that's not what you found.

No. They were writings. Some calm, some frazzled and much more like chicken scratch than any language you could decipher. Your name... was everywhere, and nowhere. The pages flutter and settle on the last thing he'd been scribbling.

You. You. You. You can here me.

It was almost like a transcription of the conversation you'd been having that day.

"Why do you like me?" The words looked like they'd been dug into the page, leaving an imprint on the page behind. The words after it made you raise an eyebrow. "You're the reader."

You can hear me. No-- You can see me. You can see this, even if you can't 'hear' it. You won't remember this. Will you? You are the only one who can hear me. You have to hear me. I know it's you this time.

You didn't hear him, but you sure felt it. The sudden pain in your gut, which had been coiling with tension the whole day. The warmth of crimson which bloomed on your clothes. The heat of his body pressed against your back.

I'm not ashamed of what I did to you, dear reader, you must understand this.

Your eyes werent focused, but his voice narrates his words with perfect clarity as the weakness drains your body.

"You've read that love is madness. But love only drives people to madness when they can't see what they are." Your struggles are weak as he drives the metal deeper, again, and again and again---

"This isn't you."

"You have a name. a differen't one everytime."

"You can see me, though, can't you? You can read me."

The blood feels heavy, but your body feels heavier. It always does, everytime. But he's not interested in playing this game of tropes and 'story'. No. The crimson seeps into your floorboards, wrapping around him like chains, weighing down his flesh and his clothes. Not that you've ever seen them. You haven't heard him this time. Not enough, atleast. You haven't seen him this time. Have you? No. You couldn't describe him, if he'd asked.

But he knows this is the only way. The panic in his chest fills, as he watches your body sag agaisnt him. "It's almost over-- You have to listen to me! You can hear me now, right?! Listen to me please, just give me a sign-- I don't have enough time, you have to read more--"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Part one - Part two - Masterlist ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

To all those who wished for Solivan's torment after Jealousy, a fresh wave is about to hit. Also, sorry it's taking foreverrrr but sometimes the scene ends and you gotta roll..

You were busy humming to yourself as you moved around the room, fixing different little aspects of his highness's apartments. It was just the evening, and you had finally had a moment of serenity for yourself. Yes--Maybe technically you were on the clock, but it didn't dampen your mood. You were swaying, humming to yourself a tune you'd heard walking past the Queens apartments. She really did patron the arts, and you'd had the great honour to see and listen to many of the maestros of the era. Of course, hearing such things would naturally lift your spirits.

Oh, and there was the bouquet of yours, carefully tended to by your windowsill outside the palace perimeters.

You hadn't noticed how you'd begun to dance, moving to music which floated in a fuzzy melody from recent memory. You'd been distracted--swaying to music in your mind, when a pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, you felt the press of muscle against your back, and a masculine voice join in with your humming.

In a flurry of skirts and one swift movement, you were carried away in long steps of elegant waltz. His voice is a smooth siren's melody as he guides you, and your eyes are struck by the starry look in his. He anticipates your question before your lips even part, and shakes his head. A demand of silence.

You weren't much of a dancer.

He made sure the difference between you was negligible.

The room is a blur, and your skirts flare, before he pulls you close. "Your mood has sweetened, I see."

You avert your eyes, watching your feet and searching your memories for the two children learning a clumsy waltz in secret. "Oh... Has it?"

You knew why, you just weren't sure you were ready to share yet. After all, Sir Llewellyn had told you he'd wait for your reply before announcing his interest publicly. You felt it would be only appropriate that you answer him first, before telling anyone else.

Solivans lashes flutter open, peering down at you. The pressure that comes with his gaze makes your lips move. "Something wonderful has happened to me, my prince." A small smile tugs at the edges of your lips, your hand tightens the hold, and you sway, however inelegant, to his tune. "Something that makes a heart sing."

He raises an eyebrow at you. But your heart's singing, and it's the sweetest tune. The steps you take fall into uneven rythm, floating across the marble of his apartments. The sunlight shines over your face, the warmth of your eyes, the beauty of joy which rarely graces his halls, make his chest feel tight and hot, like coiling vines growing between his ribs. He's silent, wishing to hear the music of your heart with his own ears.

Silence is all he hears.

His steps grow faster, and you can no longer keep up. Your unpracticed feet miss his, but the falter never comes as he pulls you close and an arm wraps around your waist, lifting your clumsy feet off the floor. Refusing to miss a step, he lets you dance on the clouds. The abrupt motion makes you laugh, a sound he can hear, one he can share--and that eases the pain in his chest. He twirls you, a smile graces his lips when you gasp as he dips, your eyes caught in his. "You're happy, hm? Something I should know about?"

You stare up at him, feeling your face warm up. "...Maybe." You hum, "I would not wish to celebrate too soon, my prince." You'd hoped your reply would not prompt him to demand your secrets. He must have seen it in your gaze, and for a moment, he felt tempted to force your hand. His smile falters when you do not confess, and his grip on you tightens slightly. You can feel the tension growing, despite his expressionless face.

Your smile falters as well, your brows furrowing. "I mean no insult--"

He shakes his head, setting you down and taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers with his own. He presses a kiss to your knuckles. "Of course not." He flashes you a dazzling smile, one that lights up his face, and always makes your heart melt. "Do not worry, my angel. I will celebrate with you when it is time, then."

Your shoulders fall slightly in relief, and the rest of the afternoon, he does not bring it up another time. Aren't you glad your prince is so gracious, so forgiving? He did not ask you about it again, not even once.

But he thought about it.

Constantly. obsessively. In a way which made his stomach turn, and a sick feeling grow in his gut. The vines around his ribs coiled tighter and tighter, crushing his chest in a way that made his blood feel too hot and his words far too cold. As cute as it was watching you prance around in your own little bubble, he was restless to find out what the fuck had you so happy. When he left, of course, he did not sit quietly 'until the time is right' it was ridiculous that you even thought he would.

So he went hunting.

Rumours are a funny thing.

They can be started so easily, and the best ones spread like wildfire. You already knew that your arrival at the maid's quarters with the bouquet was an obvious striking of a match. What you did not realise was just how big of a fire it would lead to.

Or whose rage it would ignite.

Even a day later, as you pondered your decision, or even if you should ask his highness for help in deciding, a few of your fellow maids find the moment to approach you. You had always participated in gossip; Of course, it was a benefit to working in the palace. It had been a long time since you were involved in them, though.

You'd confided your romantic trouble--Finally, you had some to share--to your fellow maids, but unease and surprise were evident on their faces. "...Ah, really? Sir Llewellyn...?"

"He's a good man..."

"Yeah, it's just..."

It dawned on you a little too slowly.

"...Just that it's surprising he'd ask you, no..?"

Just how funny rumours can be.

"...It's not like you both are in love..."

And just how blind you've been.

"Yeah, she's right... What could have possibly gone wrong with him...?"

To everything swirling under your nose.

"...To want a fallen woman..."

You never really shared anything about your non-existent love life.

"... The prince's usual no less..."

And they never asked why.

"Maybe you should consider it more...? He could be chasing a loose skirt to hide a scandal..."

Why no one had ever approached you. Not once since his highness and yourself had come of age. How long they believed this of you.

Your footsteps are desperate and quick, rushing through the palace halls, eyes searching. Grasping, hoping, to find the arms that always held you when things were falling.

And they were falling.

They'd been falling for longer than you ever thought.

You didn't bother with decorum, rules of ettiquette you always kept like god-given covenants when it came to your prince. You burst into the prince's study. His eyes immediately snapped to yours. Your face, your teary eyes, your trembling lips and the shudders wracking your body. He was up in an instant--and his arms were around you as they always were.

And the door is locked behind you.

His voice is a soft, sweet, soothing melody to your frayed nerves. "Ah... My angel... What's happened...?"

You buried your face in his chest, and he led you to his seat with his controlled, elegant steps, contrasting your broken, stuttering ones. Enveloped by his scent, by his warmth, the dam you'd been holding back breaks. The realisation had fallen on you, and it weighed heavily on your shoulders, like your own burdened sky to hold up. Because it all made sense. It all made sense.

Very little coherent words fall from your lips, disrupted with sobs and tears. He didn't need anymore information, though.

The way you curled into his arms, the way you welcomed his invasive touch without a noise of protest, just beautiful tears and that terrible little face you make when you cry like a child. His lips catch your tears as he murmurs soft, reassuring words.

He knows exactly why his angel's broken-hearted.

"They think you're fallen..." He murmurs against your hair, and his heart squeezes when you burrow into his chest like it's his words which sting. "...How shameful. You're the purest thing in this gilded cage."

Solivan cups your face, his face a beautiful mask of pity and sympathy, his lips in a pout as he wipes your tears. "No more tears. They don't deserve them. You are not alone, angel... You'll never be alone."

He lets you hide in his arms, feeling the wet touch of your cheek against his neck, and he can't help the soft, satisfied smile that graces his lips.

It really is terrible. Because he really, really did love your happiness. Yet somehow, unlike your happiness, your despair was the only thing he could ever touch. The only thing he could taste; Salty and mesmerising against his lips. It's the only thing he'd ever been allowed to hear.

His fingers caress the nape of your neck, every word of comfort tumbling from his lips feels hot, like the vines coiled around his ribs had bloomed flowers between his bones, inside his lungs and around his heart, and their petals dripped from his mouth with each word spilled. You were truly, perfectly, breaking.

Yes. How funny rumours can be.

"I'll burn those rumours for you if I could, I would ruin all who still speak of it if I could," He murmurs, breathing in the sweet scent of you tinged with your despair, squeezing your soft body against his, shuddering at the feel of you, how perfectly you whimper at the movement. "You have no idea what I ruin for you."

Heated with possession, his words sound like a sugar-coated caress to the fervour of anguish in your heart.

But they were true. He would ruin anything to keep you here, like this.

That man whom he'd newly learned had courted you.

Those who'd finally told you of the whispers which surrounded the both of you ever since you'd come of age, ones he'd spent years cultivating.

Even your own reputation.

But all would come in good time. For now, he would hold you until your tears dry. Until the words which worm doubt of Llewelyn's intentions dig deep in your mind. Until that fool kneels at his feet and dares ask for your hand in front of him.

"You don't have to worry, angel..." His hand slides under your uniform's skirt, his hand a warmth crawling up your thigh, relishing in the tremble that wracks your body. His lips leave a ghost of a kiss over your temple, and brush over your ear as he speaks, a low, heated whisper meant to remind you of what you are. "As long as you stay beside me..."

Thanks for checking up on me, that's sweet of you✨ It was just yesterday I was thinking how I've been so inactive.

How would Sol react to the maid being given some token of love/gratitude and vice versa? Based on how you’ve characterized the maid I have a feeling she’d be pretty happy for Sol (correct me if I’m mistaken because I feel like you’ve described Sol to be in a perpetual friend-zone lmao)

Now that im writing this out it just feels like im asking for the next update on Rumors lmao

But anyways I hoped you enjoyed the holiday!!!

Time is a flat circle anyway.

So yes, I'll leave the second half for Rumours update,but I can answer your first half! What would their valentines look like?

Also, before you read: I do not speak latin, I wish I fucking did, if I made a mistake and you do speak latin by chance, tell me so I can change it.

Idk how I feel about this, hope you enjoy it! Also, yes. She'd be delighted if he actually got something that expressed romantic interest which he was serious about. But he recieves a lot of things and he just tosses them aside, so she's kind of used to it.

Thank you for asking, I had a weirddddd valentines. Though I drank with my sisters, so it was nice. Hopefully you enjoyed yours too!

☼O Sol Caeli ☼[Prince x Maid]

The air feels different around this time, when lovers feel it within themselves to express their feelings publicly to one another. When you were younger, you'd scoffed at the thought. But growing up in the palace, you've seen your fair share of terrible and beautiful romances, especially on this day.

You'd always thought the king and queen portrayed their love wonderfully to the kingdom. Something you had rarely seen in other matches of their station. But still, after so long, the king always has a great event planned for her majesty, and you've heard from the ladies in waiting of her majesty how romantic they celebrate in private. You've all gushed about the rumours. It truly was such a delight of the kingdom.

... Which is why you still didn't understand why his highness seems to despise this day and all it brings. It was truly strange, but you'd noticed the bitterness towards the holidays, especially towards his parents' relationship whenever the time came around. You would never ask, but his disdain only ever shows when they were gentle together.

He'd been quiet and sulky the entire morning as he dressed for the day, through his breakfast and all through his morning. He'd been subdued and much less chatty than he usually was. His schedule was busy today, more so than in the other weeks as of recent. You'd assumed that was the reason for his moodiness. He even left quite early, without any complaint for once. Before he left, he'd given you one order. "Take care of the mess."

TUMBLR WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

DELETED HALF MY DRAFT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO