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calebapproves · 3 days ago

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emperor!sylus x apothecary!reader. inspired by the apothecary diaries. sylus is addressed as che here. 1.8k words. unedited. prev. drabble (encouraged to read first!)

The Emperor was once addressed as Master Che.

Rumors say he was once aspiring to be a military officer, an inevitable turn of events that conjured only because he began training with said officers the moment he entered his teenage years. He was neglected as a prince; the empress of the time passed during childbirth, the Emperor consistent in his ignorance unless his life was threatened.

Master Qin Che inherited the throne when he was twenty. The former in line—his father, always uncaring of anything unless his life was threatened—had died from a mysterious incident of his dinner being poisoned.

Poison.

That was all the palace servants knew.

That was the story told through whispers and gossip and the cycle of replaced servants who worked til their tenures expired.

And while the young master was always regarded as someone who didn’t speak much, initially a shy child, the face of cold indifference seemed to be set in place once he officially assumed his role. A completely different person than the servants expected him to grow up to be—a thoughtful prince who seemed to have traded his soul for something to make everyone cower before him on their knees.

It’s not that Emperor Qin was hard on the eyes—far from it. He’s one of the most regal men to have graced the nation, his beauty unlike anybody else. Had he not been an emperor, he’d be praised just for that flawless visage alone.

But there’s the part of you that understands the complications of all sides, for his strange predicaments and how he leads those who are tenured under his name. At least for the consorts, in particular.

The comfort that most seek intimately, considering it’s their purpose for being and why they’re sought in the first place. Some had likely wanted to be mothers—and this was the only feasible option that could allow for that.

At the same time, Qin Che was the kind of man who didn’t need to reproduce. He had the choice and took the route that was unexpected for a powerful ruler. He definitively made it clear to his court attendants that should he choose to have a child, they were to not be referred to as an heir.

He made his final word over the matter during a meeting over the Summer.

You’d been out harvesting in the nearby forest during the afternoon it happened. All you recall is coming back to the palace seeming bleaker, a dark cloud looming over it. The servants cowered more. The court attendants were quiet.

A notable occurrence before Emperor Qin started confiding in you.

Before truly noticing your presence.

Before the touch-starved consorts started brewing jealousy targeted towards you.

A pretty face who wasn’t meant to be taken to bed and undressed yet it was you who succeeded in this unprecedented seduction of the Emperor. You won his attention without doing anything profound. You, a commoner; a simple apothecary who was given not just your own clinic but a room.

You thought nothing of it, really.

Until the evening where a consort with a notably difficult personality had struck you.

You could have been more sparing, considerate with the options the Emperor had given to you. The question of a most suitable punishment resting in your hands, one he emphasized alone with, Is that what you truly desire?

—By the very next morning, she was executed. You couldn’t help but to feel like she would have died regardless of your answer.

That thought alone led you to one conclusion: by disrespecting you, it’s disrespecting the Emperor.

“Where do you want these, miss?”

“By the cabinet is fine.”

You’d been familiar enough with the palace soldiers who deliver your goods by now. So much that you don’t warrant yourself the necessity to glance up from your paper as you continue writing. Various combinations of different plants that have worked as emergency medicinal concoctions, in the event that nothing else was available.

Rarely had you been able to get a moment to yourself as of late, caught up in assisting the other servants in preparation of a party. It was the national tradition of Philos to hold festivities to bid farewells and welcomes to the seasons when they shift.

For someone contrarian, perhaps Che only insisted upholding this tradition just for an excuse to let the palace relieve their inhibitions.

You shake your head. There was no need to worry about someone who could handle himself just fine.

A knock at the door thankfully pulls you away. But the soldiers typically worked fast, what was the hold up?

You sigh, “I said to just leave everything by the cabinet.”

The brush is set aside by the paper as you stand, resigned with slouched shoulders. You grumble, prepared to turn around and berate whoever was demanding your attention.

“Do you truly detest me so much to equate me to crate shipments?”

His voice, tantalizing in every form as it is, wasn’t as startling in its notable timbre in the afternoon. It didn’t have to be, for knowing his presence was in close proximity was its own form of intimidation. You’ve heard tales too many of how this exact predicament had been the last memory of many before they met their end.

At least what you have in common with them is this diminished confidence. You thought you’d have your head for longer.

You don’t dare move, still situated behind your desk. Hesitant to turn around.

Che closes the distance himself.

His hands find your shoulders first, slow in their descent down your arms. Then his breath dances along your nape, pressing his chest to your back.

“Apothecary.”

“...Your Majesty.”

“What was our agreement?”

“...Master Che.”

He scoffs; a soft, indignant acceptance in the sound.

His lips press to your neck. It makes you shiver, your slight reaction enough to be his sustenance, if he could have it. For now he pulls away, satisfied, leaving you to your own space again. Yet his opportunity to have a taste of you left a mark that lingers like a ghost.

You could picture the smirk on his face without seeing it, his tone side as he speaks, “You’ve so much restraint, yet so much to learn.”

Idly, your palms flatten along the front of your robes. You huff, brushing away invisible dust particles as if it was more bothersome than the Emperor standing in the clinic. Being at the palace for a year did nothing to make interactions with him easier—for you weren’t trained as a noble.

It wasn’t ideal and most certainly not a requirement for someone of your status to meet with him as frequently as you did.

Now that his antics were up, you were no longer shy. You could breathe.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes,” he declares. He settles into a chair across from you, crossing one leg over the other, “I wish you wouldn’t behave around me like I’m holding a knife to your throat.”

“Do you honestly think it’s unreasonable for me to be behaving like that in particular?”

A shrug. Then, “...Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“You’re impossible, Che.”

You pay him no mind as you stride towards the crates, lifting the cover of the topmost box to check the inventory. Each bundle of herbs was tightly bunched by strings, laid out in a neat assortment side by side. Despite the hefty stock, everything managed to remain without falling apart.

Chamomile, echinacea, ginger, rosemary, lemongrass, ginseng…

Relief settles in knowing the shipment arrived just in time; you’re hit with the reminder of a few palace officers who had fallen ill due to food poisoning. Non-lethal, of course—but it was a mildly inconvenient occurrence that took place due to a sleep-deprived chef accidentally using expired ingredients they had meant to clear out from the pantry.

Had it not been for your interference and incredibly beneficial knowledge, someone would have lost their head last evening.

If you head down to the kitchen now, you could get some water boiling. Rice porridge and a honey lemon tea brew. Maybe a sauna could be set up with steaming lemongrass aroma. Lots of hydration, too.

“My court demands an heir from me,” Che suddenly speaks, resting his chin on his hand as he observes you.

“After months, they’ve brought it to my attention once more.”

A scoff.

You pause in your inventory check, closing the crate and turning to face him.

“I thought you had made it clear you weren’t to be inquired about the matter anymore.”

He shrugs, taking one of his loose, long silver strands in between his fingers. His crimson gaze turns unusually pensive, giving way of a man who’s hinting that he’s been backed into a corner.

Folding your hands before you, your own brows furrow in contemplation as you start to piece some solutions together.

“You could just lay with a few of your consorts—”

“No.”

You flinch, not surprised but still taken aback by his tone: “Why? What is the point of having a vast amount of women appointed in that role if you’re not going to touch any of them?”

“Because I am not easily swayed by simple temptations.”

Che stands in his declaration, as if to make a point. His voice had taken on something more stern, lowered to a baritone edging a heavy anchor. Defensive, but stable. Pronounced in the violence he evidently possesses, manifesting beyond the simplicity of bloodshed on a battlefield.

Your head tilts back to follow as he rises to his full height, swallowing nervously.

“Perhaps I have been too lenient with you.”

The rare underline of defeat in his voice makes your stomach churn.

He continues, beginning a slow pursuit towards you, “Let me share something with you, Apothecary. Information equal to the weighty price one would pay to spend a night with the most captivating concubine in the nation.

“I will not, and refuse to, entertain the thought of bedding any of the women who were appointed in my name to bear a child. I perceive it to be something unjust. It’s beneath me.”

With his movement, the Emperor hovers over you now with your back pressed against the crates. His arms rest on both sides of your body, palms planted over the wood. For your sake, and the wish to keep your head, you don’t dare to break eye contact. You take everything in stride—for seeing him like this was punishment enough.

His wrath in not its entirety, but a warning risen; curated personally for you.

Che seethes, his voice near a whisper, “It is insulting that you think of me so lowly. I almost regret letting you get away with the shenanigans that you do.”

You watch how the Emperor’s hands ball into fists. Tight enough that his nails are digging into his palms. His jaw tightens—but he relents into the territory of choosing to remain calm.

Without another word, he pulls away. You remain as you are, speechless yourself.

Your brashness has caught up to you, it seems.

Che walks out of the clinic.

Funny, you don’t remember pomegranates smelling so bitter.

#to read on lunch break

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calebapproves · 5 days ago

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𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄

Lad's men asking you out on a date (part one here. part three here. series masterlist here)

ft Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

wc: 3181 (approx 700 for each)

warnings: allusions to Mthys (nothing specific), inaccurate depiction of jobs, Caleb's one is a bit obsessive, but that is his whole character lmao

notes: Part two! Im already invisioning part three so let me know if that's wanted, even though I'll probs do it anyway lmao.

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier was one to watch, to wait until he was certain of his choice. He was good at that, knowing when to act and when to stay, and yet now he couldn't decide what to do. You were plaguing him, you and your smile tormented his mind, invaded his sleep, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He felt like he was standing on a ledge, a ledge that Jeremiah was laughing at. Xaier shot a glare at his friend as he was pushed further and further into the shop, where he knew you were; he could hear you humming again.

"My favourite assistant!" Jeremiah called out.

"I'm your only assistant!" You laughed as you rounded the corner, flashing a grin that made Xavier's heart stutter in its rhythm.

"Tomato, tomatoe," The brunette man laughed, "My friend needs help picking out some flowers, but I've got a client to call, so could you help him?"

It took everything in Xavier's willpower not to summon his Lightblade and run his friend through. Picking out some flowers?! What was the idiot thinking? He didn't know the first thing about them!

"Sure," You chirped, you turned to Xavier, those stunning eyes of yours glittering, "You're in safe hands, mister..."

"Xavier," He murmured, subtly pulling the strands of silver hair from his eyes.

You nodded and told him your name in return, and he memorised it. He'd spent many sleepless nights trying to figure it out. Jeremiah had only snickered when he'd asked, so he'd been left to his imagination. Now, all of his ideas seemed foolish compared to your answer.

"So..." You spoke softly, "What's the occasion? Celebration? Birthday? Romance? Friendship?"

Xavier opened his mouth, shut it again and considered. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremiah with a phone in his hand, grinning at him as he winked encouragingly.

Xavier swallowed, "The third..."

You nodded, "Got it! For an anniversary, I would recommend Red Tulips because they signify true and long-lasting love. Sunflowers are good for portraying the joy they bring you, though!"

"What about for dates?" Xavier inquired softly, "As in, asking someone out on one."

He didn't know why he was saying, well, he did, he just didn't know why he was saying it now. This was only his second time meeting you. He'd only just learned your name. Why was his control over his tongue suddenly slipping?

You hummed thoughtfully, "There isn't a specific flower for asking someone out, but if you know their favourite flower, that would be the best course of action. If not, you can never go wrong with a rose bouquet; they're the flower of love for a reason! Though, personally I'm partial to just one."

He watched as your fingers glided over a rose, its petals unfurling softly.

"Just one?" Breathed Xavier, he had to decide now. Back away from the ledge and into security, or jump off it and see what comes next?

"Yeah. I just find it more intimate, if that makes sense." You laughed gently, "There's something special about knowing someone looked through loads of flowers to find the perfect one just for you."

Xavier swallowed again. He'd spent so long waiting for nothing to ever happen. Why couldn't he be impatient now? Why couldn't he let himself go and pursue something new, something that he wanted?

If he didn't act now, he never would.

"Then," He murmured, reaching for the single rose you'd touched earlier, "I'd like this."

You blinked, brows furrowing as he pressed it towards you, "Um, you're meant to keep the rose until you give it to the person you're trying to ask out."

Xavier felt his lips twitch upwards, "I know."

"Then..." You began.

He leaned forward, ignoring the pulse in his heart, and tucked a few stray strands behind your ear, "A flower for a flower."

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, he could help on his knuckles as he slowly pulled away, waiting for your reaction. He was trying to memorise your features in case this was the last time he saw you.

You smiled, "Where are you going to take me, sunshine?"

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Sylus had a mission tonight, one he would do anything to complete. Mephisto cawed overhead, guiding him forward to the desire that haunted him. He could hear Luke and Kerian even now, their confused voices as they inquired about his distracted state of mind. He'd been thinking of you ever since you drove away from him, one of the few brave enough to turn their back on him.

He wanted to know you, to caress the cracks in your coyness and find what lurked beneath that chaotic gleam in your eyes. He wanted to peel the layers of your existence off one by one until he found the core of who you were.

And to do that, he needed to find you again. It'd been weeks, but now, with Mephisto's view, he'd finally found you. This wasn't an opportunity he was going to let pass him by. No, he wanted what he wanted, and he wanted it now - you.

His motorbike came to a rumbling halt before another bike, settled against the road, a familiar cat-eared helmet sat snugly on its rider, you. You turned your head and pulled off said helmet, a playful, unreadable expression on your face, "Long time no see."

Sylus leaned forward, flipping his visor up, "To Elysium."

"Trying to buy my information?" You laughed, "I'm scandalised, Sylus."

He blinked. You already knew his name. Something in his stomach twisted, only it wasn't a feeling of fear, but one of fire. It coursed through his body as he hummed, "I don't need to buy your information, sweetie. I'll find that all out soon enough, and don't worry, your name is at the top of my list."

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you studied him, "Then why 'to Elysium'?"

"The winner gets to make one request of the loser." Sylus answered.

Something in your expression shifted, a slyness taking over your features, "A request?"

"Within reason, of course," Sylus chuckled, leaning close, voice dropping to a whisper, "Scared?"

You clicked your tongue and lifted your helmet, "To Elysium."

And you were gone. Both of you bolting through the streets under the eternal night of the N109 Zone, eagerly racing one another for a price Sylus was determined to win. Slyus had a mission tonight, and this was it: he would win, no matter what. It wasn't in his nature to lose.

He could barely see you, the two of you jerking wildly through cars, losing sight of each other as you raced through the roads. The wind burst against Sylus' chest as he pressed down on the accelerator. He saw the blurry form of Mephstio dart into an alley and smirked, cheating was perfectly fine in his books.

He followed his faithful companion and, within minutes, found himself in front of Elysium with a smug grin on his face. When you finally arrived, you took off your helmet, gaze flickering to the mechanical bird that cawed loudly and laughed, "Sneaky."

"I prefer resourceful," Sylus shrugged.

You hummed, tilting your head curiously, "So, what is that you want?"

"Dinner," He grinned.

"Dinner." You said flatly.

"You, me. Dinner," Slyus explained, studying you with great curiosity, wondering what you looked like beneath your biker jacket, "What do you say?"

You pulled out your phone, "I say, add your number. We've got a dinner date to plan."

Slyus' fingers brushed against yours as he grasped your device. He couldn't wait to learn everything he could about you.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel's new art collection had taken the world by storm. Thomas had told him that again and again and again. Auction after auction, commission attempt after commission attempt, invitation after invitation. He was being driven to the brink of madness by the humans around him, who grasped and groped for the opportunity to see inside his mind and find out just what made him the best.

He wouldn't tell them. He never would. And it was easy not to; they believed every little lie and fell for every tiny trick. They weren't interesting at all. Not like you. He'd gone back to the same spot on the beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, only to find a ghost of you instead.

You haunted him so viciously that every single painting in his new collection was inspired by you. The paintings of stormy seas, of sweet seas, of seductary seas, were all made in honour of you. And yet they weren't enough, the hints of you in each of them, the shading of the colour of your hair, the highlights, the colour of your eyes, the underpainting the colour of your skin, none of them were enough.

He thought you'd haunt him forever.

And yet, there you stood, staring at one of the paintings still up for auction. The one centred around the seagull reaching for the ocean like his hand wanted to reach for yours.

He left the conversation he was in without a word.

"Miss Marine Biologist," He spoke in greeting. He wondered if he could get your name today. He wanted it.

"Mr Painter," You smiled in surprise, "Or should I say super famous painter Rafayel?"

"Now that's hardly fair!" Rafayel hummed, leaning down slightly, "You know my name, but I don't have a clue about yours, beautiful."

To everyone else, it would've looked like he was leaning down to hear you better, but he wasn't. Lemurian hearing was far superior to humans'; he just liked seeing you flush from his proximity. The hue on your cheeks was the perfect shade, and he itched to match his paints to it, and if he couldn't, he'd make new ones.

You laughed softly, avoiding his eyes as you murmured your name to him. He was already to find ways to encode it into his artwork, maybe he'd use an anagram of your name to title his pieces, maybe he'd match each letter of your name to one of his paints and use that as his palette, maybe he'd secretly spell your name on his painting.

"What do you think?" He asked, slyly sneaking a hand on your back as he guided you closer to his paintings. He delighted in the warmth that bled into his fingertips and palm.

"I think they're...Beyond words," You murmured, eyes dancing across the artistry before your eyes. Rafayel's burning heart flushed, softening with the gentle wave of your earnest response.

"And here I was trying to flatter you, precious," Rafayel chuckled, "You're secretly a charmer, huh."

"No..." You shook your head, trying to turn away, only to find Rafayel's head close to yours, caging you, refusing to let you refusing to meet his gaze. Every inch of him seared with an intensity that demanded your attention.

"No...?" He tilted his head, slipping his tongue over his lower lip briefly.

"No..." Your eyes flickered to the side. "People are looking."

"Then let's leave," Rafayel responded.

You blinked in bewilderment, "What?"

"Let me show you my studio," Rafayel breathed, pulling you closer when he saw you hesitate, "Come on, precious. Don't you want to see how similar my work is to the sea?"

You considered it, "I think your work is as complex as the sea. Just like its maker."

A grin split over Rafayel's lips, "You think I'm as...what was it you said....beautiful and brutal as the sea?"

"Yes," You answered firmly.

He smirked and slipped his hand to your wrist, thumb caressing the pulse point that lay there, "Only one way to find out."

And then, the two of you escaped, ignoring the calls of Thomas the whole way.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

"This Colonel Xia, status report," Caleb hummed in his private office on his ship. He'd spent the last hour doing checks with all the ships in his fleet to ensure everything was in order - they were only a few hours away from returning to Skyhaven, after all.

He was dudicious, concise and ruthless, that's what made him the best colonel in the entire Farspace Fleet. He would not have his crew doubt him now, no matter how tiresome it was to check on all of his pilots. He leaned backwards in his chair and waited patiently for his crews response.

"All systems are fine, Colonel, we're ready to go," A familiar voice called over comms.

Something in Caleb sparked to life at the words. He knew that voice, it replayed over and over again in his head since he'd heard it. He clutched the armrests on his chair tightly. Just how many times had he passed you in HQ's halls, managing only a few words here and there? He'd tried every method to form some relationship with you that went beyond Colonel and Crew Member.

And now, away from prying eyes, he finally had the chance.

"How are you doing, rookie?" He hummed, readjusting his cuff links.

"Great," Came your soft response, "I never thought Deepspace could be more beautiful."

Caleb blinked, "You think it's beautiful?"

"Don't you?" You inquired over the comms, and he wondered what you looked like. Were you fiddling with your uniform like him? Did you have your hat off? Were you completely relaxed?

Caleb considered his answer before landing on, "It's dangerous."

"All beautiful things are," You rebutted, and he heard your gentle laugh, "Poisonous flowers, the sea, the snow, the sun, they're all beautiful and all of them could kill you. The Deepspace Tunnel is no different, Colonel."

"Caleb."

"...Huh?"

"If we're going to have a deep discussion I feel like we should leave titles behind," Caleb answered, loosing his tie to escape the heat creeping up his neck. Wasn't space meant to be cold?

"Alright, Caleb. You've already got my name," You responded slowly, as if savouring the taste of his name on your tongue. Caleb shivered.

"Indeed I do," He'd obsessed over your name, it became his favourite alcohol to get drunk off, "What is it that you find so beautiful about Deepspace?"

You hummed, considering, "It's new. I don't want to spend the rest of my life comforted by the known, I want confront the unknown and space is just that. Stars millions of light years away, planets hidden by shadows, the secret of the Deepspace Tunnel, I want to see them all. I'm happy to spend my life trying to."

Something in your words hit Caleb harder than it meant to. He was a a boy again, holding his plane toy as he stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Josephine had stuck to his ceiling. Maybe he could look at Deepspace like that again. Maybe he could ignore all the problems waiting for him at Skyhaven just a little longer. Maybe he could indulge in your presence more.

"I understand that," Caleb murmured, barely above a whisper, "More than you know."

There was a moment of silence, weighted with confession.

He could almost see you smile, "Being out here for so long makes me hungry for actual food, though."

Caleb almost laughed, "I understand that, too."

"I don't know what I'm craving, though. In the academy, my diet consisted of cup noodles and whatever sweets I could find!" You giggled and it echoed in his mind.

"I could take you to some of my favourite spots?" Caleb inquired carefully. Cautious. He wasn't about to cross a line you didn't want him to. He could stop himself from becoming to wrapped up in you, or so he hoped.

"It's a date!" You beamed.

And maybe you simply said it because it was an expression, but that didn't matter, not to Caleb. Because he was going to use every possible advantage he had to make sure he was the only one your were going on dates with.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

He was on a bench again. It was the one he always went to at Asko, it was as famialr to him as his home was. He leaned back against the cold wood, staring out into the night. He was done for the day and yet he couldn't not find it in himself to move. The thought of driving only made the ahce in his body worse. Every inch of him begged for sleep and yet his mind marched on, restless.

Twenty hours.

That's how long he had until his next shift. Twenty hours to get home, shower, eat, sleep, wake up, eat, shower, dress, clean and get to work. His mind went rampant, trying to figure out how quickly to do things, and he knew sitting on the bench wouldn't help him, yet he could not move.

He felt like ripping his hair out. Ice crawled up his neck, and he was thankful for his scarf.

"Zayne..." That voice. How many times had he heard it over the phone over the last couple of weeks?

He looked to the side and found you standing there, only a few short feet from him, a soft, concerned look on your face. He hadn't seen you since he'd left your hospital after the boy he'd done the heart surgery on was discharged. But he'd spoken to you, for professional reasons, he told himself again and again every time his thumb hovered over your contact.

He sucked in a harsh breath and steadied himself, "...What are you doing here?"

You toyed with your lip between your teeth, "Remember that job opportunity I told you about?"

Realisation coursed through Zayne as he sat straighter, "It's at Asko."

"Mhm," You smiled, "They just told me I got it, so you'll be seeing a lot more of me!"

The ice on Zayne's neck thawed slightly, the thorns of frost receding as he stared at you. Seeing you more often, he found he didn't recoil at the thought as he so often did when it came to the closeness of others.

He swallowed, speaking softly, "Congratulations. We've gained a wonderful Doctor."

He watched as you flushed like a flower blooming and sighed deeply. You furrowed your brows, and as you leaned close, he could smell your perfume. "Are you okay?"

Zayne looked at you and found himself softening, his words spilling from his tongue before he could free them, "I'm trying to feel real again."

You nodded, deep understanding stretched across your face, "Do you need anything?"

He hummed thoughtfully, "D...Do you have any...sweets?"

Your face crumpled, "No. I ran out earlier, and I don't know where the good ones are in Linkon. I don't know where the best dessert places are either! It's the worst part of moving to a new place."

A dry chuckle left Zayne's lips before he could stop it. "Not knowing where you can sate your sweet tooth is worse than knowing nothing and no one in Linkon?"

"Yes, it is!" You huffed, puffing out your cheeks, and Zayne found he wanted to squish them. "Besides, I know you!"

A feeling crawled up Zayne's neck again, but instead of frost, it was flush. He resisted the urge to loosen his tie and run his hand through his hair; he couldn't remove his professional facade just yet. He didn't know you well enough, he didn't understand you fully, he couldn't feel your intentions in their entirety.

But how would he ever know those things if he never took a step towards the sun?

"You do know me," Zayne hesitated, licking his lips absent-mindedly, "And I could show you where I know the best desserts are?"

You grinned widely, and grasped his hand, pulling him upwards, "Well, come on, then!"

Why had he spent all that time trying to make a plan so he could have as much time as possible, again? He certainly wasn't going to use it.

#these are so sweet 🥹#lads #love and deepspace

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