#bitter coffee bean blogging

[ctrlhope]

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire. 

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway. 

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit. 

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts x reader #bts smut #bts #taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x y/n #bts reactions #bts drabble #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #taehyung fic #kim taehyung #bangtan #bangtan x reader #bangtan smut #yandere taehyung #yandere bts

[selineram3421]

*brain asking for even MORE fluff* Fine.

Alastor X Reader Oneshot

Warnings? ⚠

⚠ hinted love language-acts of service and physical affection, coffee, food mention-coffee desserts, kisses, implied make out ⚠

Coffee ☕

The smell of coffee is one you're all too familiar with.

Alastor is a coffee addict lover, and drinks it every morning. Sometimes he'll have a cup or two after dinner.

You don't have any problems with it, having been surrounded by others in your living life with the same love for coffee.

So you'll buy coffee beans often just for him to enjoy. With the extra, you'll use it in your baking, making sure not to make his treats beyond his sweetness intake.

Tiramisu, crispy coffee cookies, mocha truffle cheesecake, and coffee 'n cream brownies. Alastor helps you with taste testing and thoroughly enjoys your coffee treats. Often kissing you between bites.

"The baker must taste test too~"

You don't mind having the taste off coffee on your lips. It may be a bit bitter but its something you've grown accustomed to with him.

One night you were craving for some coffee.

Alastor was sitting near the lit fireplace with a book in hand, coffee and coffee crisp cookies on the small table nearby.

You had just finished making more of his cookies to take to the hotel so he could enjoy during work when you felt in the mood for some caffeine. Looking over at the man in red, you saw he took a sip of his drink.

"Love.", you called out, walking over to stand before him. "Can I get some coffee?"

Looking up from his book, he gave a happy smile and set the hardcover down on the little table. "Why of course my darling! I'll get you a cup, have a seat-", he went to stand, pushing himself up with the armrests.

"No.", you placed a hand on his chest.

The deer demon was confused but let you push him back into his seat.

"I don't want a cup.", you said as you went to straddle his lap. "I want my coffee.", you cupped his chin and lifted his head up to meet your gaze.

Now Alastor was a man hard to fluster, but somehow you manage to make his cheeks redden.

"And where is your coffee?", he asked after taking a noticeable gulp.

You smiled and leaned in closer.

"Why, it's you hun.", you slid the hand on his chest up until you held his face with both of your hands. "Can I get some coffee?"

Moving his hands off the armrests, he held you close and nodded.

"Yes."

Starting off with a gentle kiss, you lean more onto him until you're chest to chest as you wrap your arms around his neck, getting a taste of the coffee not long after a few more kisses.

"Je serai ton café.", he said breathlessly against your lips. (I'll gladly be your coffee.)

Maybe you were a coffee addict now.

I had coffee. Also let me know if my translation is wrong.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @kiraisastay @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @scary-noodlesblog @naelys-the-aster @ducky-died-inside @biromanticboba @roo-bi @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

#like gomez and morticia but ace #alastor x reader #alastor #x reader #gn reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #fanfic #oneshot #coffee mention #food mention #for coffee addicts #i mean lovers #alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #sips coffee #😗☕ #👀 #implied make out #damn i want that coffee- #cough cough #i mean i had coffee with dinner today #haha..

[scarlettjohanssons-mistress]

Winter painting

Warnings: First meetings, alternate universe - canon divergence,

Word count: 1.9 K

Pairing: Carol Aird x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Y/N feels like she's not good, she feels sad and she's tired.

But seeing a woman on the street indirectly invites her to draw again, and not only does it make her feel better about drawing her, it also makes her feel better in other ways.

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Carol masterlist]

She was twenty-five years old and depressed.

Y/N was twenty-five years old and in a terrifying depression.

She knew her family had a history with the melancholy episodes that occurred every winter; but this was different.

College was killing her in one way or another.

Her family had hated the mere thought that their eldest daughter would have preferred to study, rather than marry the perfect prospect in their eyes, and not only had she decided to study, she had decided to start studying fine arts.

Pratt Institute offered an exceptional curriculum for those who wanted to study the fine arts.

Y/N knew she had a special gift with drawing. She never said it, but she knew it. Her grandmother always told her.

But, she was tired. The pressure of college, constant creator's block and bouts of melancholy were only making her paintings disastrous. At least that's how Y/N saw it.

Moving to New York had also hurt her melancholic attacks.

While she was almost always in constant conflict with her family, moving more than two thousand kilometers away from them, and from her only support, her grandmother, was difficult.

At least not everything in life was bad. New York in December was spectacular, almost magical, and her nice room in a building near downtown Brooklyn only helped this almost ephemeral romanticization of her college life.

————————————————————————

This vacation Y/N was not going to be able to travel back to her hometown because her parents had decided to travel to Travel to post-war England to visit one of her great-aunts, who was even more absurdly rich than her own parents. So, the woman decided that to kill some time and get some money of her own, she would work in a coffee shop near downtown, and in the evenings she would stay at home, anyway, it was a vacation and she wanted to rest.

And while she hated the bourgeoisie, to which, ironically, she belonged, she also had to admit that she hated her job.

She didn't know if it was the coffee beans, the smell of the flavoring syrups, the Italian coffee machine that always broke down in the mornings, her partner Francis who every morning flirted with her, with some hope of dating her, or maybe it was her boss, a bitter man who reminded her of her own father.

But, at the same time, hating her job made she appreciate her evenings all the more.

She would make herself a cup of chocolate and sit on the balcony of her apartment. She would sit in search of something to cheer her up, something to inspire her, but it never came.

Until she saw her.

Her eyes roamed over her from head to toe.

Black sneakers, slim ankles and calves that were only increasing in proportion. A brown fur coat that hid the clothes she wore; a coral-colored scarf, but that even so, despite that, left a little skin in sight, white, firm and elegant; a defined jaw, and a round chin, thin lips, well defined and outlined by a red lipstick, red perfection; an odd nose, not long, not curved, not upturned, but pretty; eyes as blue as the sky and protected by long, dense lashes, obviously made up with some mascara; perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrows; and blonde hair, short and combed, it looked and Y/N was almost sure she had taken at least a few hours to fix it.

Y/N had never seen a woman with that presence, with that elegance, and with that beauty.

The woman was staring at a sideboard in front of her building, so, quickly Y/N went back inside to pull out her drawing blog and began a quick sketch.

The long legs, the misty coat, the elegant hair, the hands covered by leather gloves.

The woman walked away from the sideboard and continued walking, until she was lost in the horizon.

Y/N closed her eyes and tried to vividly recall every color and texture of the woman.

She went back into her apartment and pulled out the crayons.

After finishing the perfected sketch, he began to fill the drawing with color. The cheeks, the hair, the scarf, the skin and the muscles of her neck.

What will it feel like to kiss her neck?

What will it feel like to run your fingers through your blond locks?

What will it smell like?

What will your perfume be?

Thoughts wouldn't let her continue with her drawing, so she simply left the blog on the table by the balcony and went inside for a third and final time.

————————————————————————

The next time Y/N saw the blonde, she was accompanied by another, equally beautiful, brown-haired woman. The blonde had the same coat, but the brunette had a much darker one. Both wore a pashmina instead of a scarf.

They both looked at the shop window that the blonde had seen the previous time.

Y/N took out her notebook again and began to perfect her drawing, as she watched the two women enter the store.

In the end they only stayed for a few minutes, leaving empty-handed, but leaving Y/N to finish her work.

As the blonde walked where she had come from, while the brunette looked around, until her chocolate eyes met Y/N's. The latter quickly put the blog away and tried to hide her face by putting the cup of green tea she was drinking in front of her.

And before the brunette's insistent gaze roamed over her disheveled figure, Y/N slipped back into her room and closed the door.

Back in the privacy of her home, Y/N admired the work she had done.

And for the first time in months, it didn't seem catastrophic.

Yes, I wasn't happy with the final result (she hated working with pencils and in her college notebook), she knew I could have done a better job with the textures, the colors, the shadows… the red of the lips seemed almost pale, almost one-dimensional; the hair lacked that semi-golden glow it possessed. But it wasn't absolutely horrible.

Y/N turned the page to look at her latest drawing. A memorial portrait of her younger sister. There were so many beginner's mistakes that Y/N almost wanted to pull the hair out of her head.

Finally, I was making progress.

————————————————————————

Days passed, and the mysterious blonde never physically appeared again. But in Y/N's mind she never left.

Another day, she had decided to take out her easel, canvas and acrylics, and thanks to the confidence she had gained from her last drawing, she decided to start a landscape painting. Snow-covered New York was something worth capturing.

She started with the sky, moved on to the trees, and when she least noticed, a brown coat and a blonde mane appeared in the frame.

Admiring the top of one of the trees.

By the time Y/N realized it, it was too late, she was almost done with the beautiful woman in the painting.

Even without her here, she couldn't stop painting it.

She put her things in and set the canvas down for the paint to dry. She left her cup of hot chocolate in the sink, grabbed her coat, put on her boots and left her apartment.

She needed to see Fred.

————————————————————————

Y/N met Fred one day on the city subway.

Fred was studying psychology at Columbia University in the City of New York, but they always went to the same café to study.

They became fast friends, Fred trying to psychoanalyze each and every painting in her surrealism class as well as its colors, while Y/N was always trying to bring out the blond man's artistic streak.

When the woman arrived at the man's apartment, she hadn't even finished taking her coat off her shoulders when she asked the question:

What does it mean when you can't get someone out of your head?

Fred got excited and ran up to his room. He returned with more than three giant books in his arms. He was going to psychoanalyze her.

Freud said that love was an idealization of the subject himself, because it came from the Id. A narcissistic aspect from which no human being was free.

Fred explained to Y/N that humans juxtapose attributes of their own ideal id on the other person to generate an emotional bond beyond the sexual.

Y/N returned home and admired the now completely dried painting.

She did not attribute anything to this mysterious woman, she had not even crossed words with her, how could she attribute anything to her?

————————————————————————

Christmas had passed without accidents.

Y/N had decided to go celebrate at the home of one of her friends.

After several drinks, she ended up falling asleep on her friend's couch.

They woke up, ate some reheated food and Y/N went home.

Just as she reached the front door of her building, Y/N rummaged through her purse to find that she didn't have her keys with her. She was literally left on the street.

She had to walk to the corner and find a pay phone. Her friend confirmed that her keys were in her house. She asked her to stay outside and wait for her friend's boyfriend.

Y/N sat down on the outside stairs and took out a small notebook that she always carried. She took out the pen that her friend had given her the night before and began to draw the phone she had been on minutes ago.

Y/N began to be guided by the sunlight, until out of the corner of her eye, she could notice a shadow, and before her head turned, a voice interrupted her.

"Excuse me, do you know what day the store across the street is going to open?"

And in front of Y/N's eyes, stood the blonde, her muse.

Sapphire eyes, defined red cheeks, with a few freckles scattered all over her face.

"I don't know. "

Y/N could tell that the corners of the red lips were pulled down a little.

"Ohh"

Y/N was metaphorically struck, so she hastened to remedy her mistake.

"But, I live in this building, and my balcony overlooks the premises".

"Oh, in that case, could I leave you my phone number so you can let me know? Really, it's urgent that I buy a gift. I should have bought it from the first day, but, I decided to wait," said the blonde, letting out a genuine and deep laugh.

"Sure, you can write it down."

Y/N turned the page and handed the woman the notebook and pen.

The woman quickly wrote down her number, but by accident, she saw the multiple drawings in the notebook.

"Thank you very much…"

"Y/N"

"Thank you very much Y/N"

"You're welcome."

The woman held out her notebook to her, causing their fingers to brush for a few seconds.

"Well, that's that, Merry Christmas." the blonde said goodbye.

"Merry Christmas."

The woman started to walk away, but suddenly turned around to find that Y/N's eyes had not moved away.

"I like your drawings," the woman winked and then disappeared for good.

Y/N felt a constant tickle in the back of her neck and lower stomach, her hands were sweating, and she felt a warmth running from her neck to her cheeks.

Y/N opened the notebook to see the woman's handwriting.

Carol Aird

[phone]

Note:

It's literally my favorite fanfic. I LOVED writing this.

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

taglist: @littlebitchsposts // @xxsekhmet

message me or send an ask to be added to my taglist!

#carol aird #carol aird x reader #carol x reader #carol movie #cate blanchett #cate blanchett x you #cate blanchett x reader #cate blanchett imagine

[talesfromdvalin]

WELT YANG AS YOUR THERAPIST

Please, be careful. Age difference, daddy issues. Translate or reblog is alright, but remember, that I may ask you to delete if I would not alright with your blog. Thank you. The place I will most of all.

How many clients does he have?

ㅤ Welt is popular in the private clinic as one of the best therapists that can be recommended. He has been in practice for over fifteen years, making him a one-stop pill for ailments, and all people who have come to see him at least once have stayed for several more appointments afterwards. The main problem was the price of the session. Not everyone could afford the expensive pleasure of brain therapy, but Welt , the damn empath, couldn't control the sincere sympathy inside him, and it turned out the same way every time: he made discounts or helped his clients outside of working hours, which greatly burdened the man and turned him into a walking dead man.

ㅤ He has a problem with sleep deprivation. It's a good thing that Welt learns to separate work and non-work time by drawing a clear and obvious line; it often takes him a long time to get into the "I'm not laboring" state.

ㅤ How quickly will you realize that this therapist is right for you?

ㅤ If your type is grown men who wear glasses and look extremely stern, empathic, and multi-faceted, then immediately. Perhaps simply because you won't have a particularly big choice - you'll find yourself in an emotionally tight space with a man who smells like vanilla and bitter coffee beans. Mr. Yang keeps eye contact at all times, sometimes oblivious to the fact that people might be uncomfortable with it, and there's a real understanding shining at the bottom of his glossy eyes. It's probably the reason people stay with him and sometimes even want to get an extracurricular contact, but Welt very rarely shares phone numbers. He wants to dedicate his life to people, but he can't leave himself out. Psychotherapists also have the right to get sick and prescribe medication for themselves, but it's not to say that Welt does it often - it's hard to figure out how to self-medicate. Plus, he's too tired, so he mostly takes sedatives or brain-activating substances when he's tired.

ㅤ Welt Yang is very good at hearing people's demands and distinguishing between urges. He prioritizes correctly, though he may pretend to follow a person's need to get rid of this or that sore first. In a sense, he enlightens illusions, making them believable by actually attending to more important things and prioritizing competently.

ㅤ Of course, like any therapist, your tolerance may not accrue to each other in tandem, and Mr. Yang may even come across as "stuffy" and "arrogant," in which case the most beneficial option for both of you is to simply walk away.

ㅤ Who will he become to you first - a friend or an object of affection?

At once a creature between the thin two edges. What is he to you? Unknown, but warm and close, surprising. Mr. Yang is the only man who shows care, and the emergence of tender feelings would not surprise him. This happens in practice quite often, and no matter how careful a man is, there are still unpleasant lapses in the course of which one has to balance his work and the health of a client or client in love.

ㅤ Welt is attentive and always beautiful. His delicate hands take notes, focusing on the voice of the person he's talking to - you - time after time. All the beautiful things he does while paying attention to you sink into your very heart. No one has ever treated you with such sensitivity and care, and it makes your heart flutter. Wrong feelings, the nastiest - you were well aware that they had no place, so you kept the fire of unfair attention craving burning in the walls of the office, in the chair you were sitting in. You tried to forget about them for a month, separating them from the next meeting, but it didn't work well. Though sometimes you could even forget that Mr. Yang was waiting for you.

ㅤ "You seem troubled," Welt's address was friendly as usual, "I can help.

ㅤ "You can," you reply wistfully, "but you can't.

ㅤ Yes, that's right. All it takes to quiet a frantically pounding heart is a hug from Mr. Yang, which is unacceptable given that it's a breach of etiquette and the discipline of keeping one's distance. Just one hug will heal your soul and put a nasty hope in your mouth that you'll get a hug again, and then again, and maybe you'll come to Mr. Yang to sleep in his arms, because that was the best medicine he had to offer.

ㅤ The words you spoke already faintly hinted to Welt that something already familiar and quite familiar was happening. Something that Welt wanted less than anything else in the world, and couldn't put it forward as a cure. So the man took a deep breath and admitted to himself: this was a curse that God himself had sent him.

ㅤ How will Welt really feel about you?

ㅤ There's no hiding that disdain and compassion. He'd like to work with happy people, but there's nothing better than watching people walk away from him with a sincere grateful smile. He doesn't count money, he doesn't think about keeping more people for a high income, never no. Seeing your crush means initially noticing the modesty, the avoidance of a direct look, the desire to hear more from himself than stories about himself. The mechanics of the process are perfectly familiar to Mr. Yang, and frankly, he doesn't understand at what point he's doing something wrong. Why do young girls feel almost physical excitement watching his hands, his gait? Maybe he should change his strict clothes for something more primitive and unattractive? But then it would look… tasteless.

ㅤ Welt feels a heaviness in his stomach every time he sees you, as if a heavy stone has been thrown to the bottom of his stomach, pressing him back against the chair. He tries to move less, but sighs more often, and a new feeling slides into his eyes that you haven't yet been able to recognize. Mr. Yang doesn't really feel reciprocated for you, and that would be foolish if it weren't true. Velt has met all sorts of different and unique people in his extensive career experience, and if he could "fall in love" with someone, he'd probably have had time to do so by now. You're still just a teenager in search of yourself, and apparently you have father figure issues since you're clinging to a working adult male.

ㅤ As Welt has said before, this is the bane of his position. He doesn't consider himself particularly handsome or old, though the years are slowly taking their toll, nor does he think about the distant future. He simply has nothing to talk to naive souls about. It's hard to say what qualities you must have to make Welt suddenly want to push the rules aside and be interested in you as an individual, not a patient. And yet if you allow this option, Welt is quite skillful at "extinguishing" the wrong feeling in you.

ㅤ What if it's… the right one? Who but a man to love a man? Mr. Yang will get lost in ideas and thoughts. He won't be able to trust the real him or the false reflection, and the only way out will be the most primitive continuation of the work. Throw the whole thing aside, put a lid on it and throw it down the garbage chute.

ㅤWhat's going on in his family relationships, if any?

ㅤ Welt doesn't have a woman he loves as much as he could, perhaps simply because he doesn't want to commit to a relationship so "recklessly". Things have to go slow and curious, turning interest into romance, and for Mr. Yang, that doesn't mean dating or showing attention at all. Romance is a much broader and more difficult concept; romance is steeped in facial expressions, in rich airs, in subtle touches, in withdrawal. All of this makes the possibility of a therapist-patient relationship closer to reality, because he doesn't need close and constricting contact as a catalyst for falling in love and touching. Welt prefers to touch consciousnesses.

ㅤ Canonical Welt has an adopted son. In the current circumstances, this may be a son he raised long ago and set free to sail, helping both financially and emotionally. Mr. Yang's treasures truly close people, and let's face it, he only has one such person - his son.

ㅤ He has lived a long life, but has never truly learned what it means to love person to person, touching the boundaries of romantic love. Welt loves life in all its manifestations, which is not hard to see.

ㅤ In the evenings, Welt comes home from work to spend time in intoxicating solitude. He doesn't want the opposite outcome. He's not interested in people. After socializing enough at work, sometimes even discussing more fun and curious topics with talkative optimists, his social battery starts to replenish from scratch. Welt sins of watching simple series or programs, choosing them for a long time on the TV. The most primitive timekillers, which he notices in the process of sudden advertisements on his phone, also help him relax. His brain has been working very hard during the day, and all Welt needs is a lack of attention from people.

ㅤHow would he react to your behavior?

ㅤ How would you want him to react? And how do you act yourself? If you openly confess your warm feelings, Welt will listen and nod. He doesn't know how to react. All a man has to do is use a technique he's personally developed - discussion. Why do these feelings arise? What can be done about them? Where to put your energy, how to distract yourself, how to get past the negative experience of rejection…. you will discuss unrequited love with the object of your affection. Veldt may not look worried, but that's only because it's not the first time he's worked under these conditions. My soul's a little twitchy. No, seriously, he's too focused on "right" and "wrong" to recognize spiritual change, so you'd better drop the idea of a long-term relationship.

ㅤ However, if you keep going to him for a year and those feelings persist, Welt will consider… cutting them off. The meetings, I mean. It's going too far, he's getting worse from your presence, from looking at this sad existence. My heart. is torn with sympathy. Shame and even guilt that he can't take these feelings and make you happy, as a therapist is required to do. Mr. Yang may be sick. But he can't take this torture any longer.

ㅤ What is the most poignant moment within your relationship and how will it develop further?

ㅤ The moment when Welt goes to get the prescriptions to sign them. He has yet to leave the office, just touching the doorknob, before you grab his sleeve and hug him from behind. It doesn't have to be like this. No. Your warm touch burns cold into his soul and rubs his ribs with ice; Mr. Yang freezes for a few seconds, afraid to even move. How long had it been since anyone had hugged him like this? How long had it been since he had touched anyone? All the usual emptiness of society suddenly presses in, making Welt think as if he's losing something special and unknown, and remains standing for a while longer, letting you warm your hands against his ironed black shirt.

ㅤ Maybe human touch isn't as indifferent to Welt as he thought.

No, when you pull away, everything will go back to normal. He'll continue to exist and return to the empty house adorned with the coziness of a deserted space to play silly time-killers and relax. This is really the only truly enjoyable version of Welt's life. He doesn't feel like discussing the hard days.

ㅤ Although. now you're standing flush against each other and not talking about anything, but Welt gets an unfamiliar feeling of companionship, the truest of conversations. No one could give him non-verbal contact but you, and it triggered adrenaline, fear, desire. Mr. Yang thought about how maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to give you a chance to bond, but not necessarily the one you wanted - just the one that interested you both. Time.

ㅤ Will Welt stop practicing with you when he finds out where this is going?

ㅤ How would you like him to react? And what do you do yourself? If you openly confess your warm feelings, Welt will listen and nod. He doesn't know how to react. All a man has to do is use a technique he's personally developed - discussion. Why do these feelings arise? What can be done about them? Where to put your energy, how to distract yourself, how to get past the negative experience of rejection…. you will discuss unrequited love with the object of your affection. Veldt may not look worried, but that's only because it's not the first time he's worked under these conditions. My soul's a little twitchy. No, seriously, he's too focused on "right" and "wrong" to recognize spiritual change, so you'd better drop the idea of a long-term relationship.

ㅤ However, if you keep going to him for a year and those feelings persist, Welt will consider… cutting them off. The meetings, I mean. It's going too far, he's getting worse from your presence, from looking at this sad existence. My heart. is torn with sympathy. Shame and even guilt that he can't take these feelings and make you happy, as a therapist is required to do. Mr. Yang may be sick. But he can't take this torture any longer.

ㅤ What is the most poignant moment within your relationship and how will it develop further?

ㅤ The moment when Welt goes to get the prescriptions to sign them. He has yet to leave the office, just touching the doorknob, before you grab his sleeve and hug him from behind. It doesn't have to be like this. No. Your warm touch burns cold into his soul and rubs his ribs with ice; Mr. Yang freezes for a few seconds, afraid to even move. How long had it been since anyone had hugged him like this? How long had it been since he had touched anyone? All the usual emptiness of society suddenly presses in, making Welt think as if he's losing something special and unknown, and remains standing for a while longer, letting you warm your hands against his ironed black shirt.

ㅤ Maybe human touch isn't as indifferent to Welt as he thought.

No, when you pull away, everything will go back to normal. He'll continue to exist and return to the empty house adorned with the coziness of a deserted space to play silly time-killers and relax. This is really the only truly enjoyable version of Welt's life. He doesn't feel like discussing the hard days.

ㅤ Although. now you're standing flush against each other and not talking about anything, but Welt gets an unfamiliar feeling of companionship, the truest of conversations. No one could give him non-verbal contact but you, and it triggered adrenaline, fear, desire. Mr. Yang thought about how maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to give you a chance to bond, but not necessarily the one you wanted - just the one that interested you both. Time.

ㅤ Will Welt stop practicing with you when he finds out where this is going?

ㅤ That's a tough question. He'll really want to, but he just can't. Welt is empathic, and at some point will think it's a little wrong to lose you from his life. Welt is interested in what you have going on, he likes it when you share your joys and experiences. And if this is all over, Welt will stop waiting for the second of every month. It's embarrassing, but it's true.

ㅤ How will he feel behind the walls of his office? Will Welt love you?

ㅤ Humanity. He will feel love for a human being. It won't become a romantic feeling, but it will go deep into the bowels of the mind, and if there is a brain to dig into, Welt will willingly do so and train you. The time you spend together is romantic, tender, but it is still a way of acknowledging each other's respect and importance. Silence means that Welt hears your soul.

ㅤ Learning to love the way Welt loves is very difficult. But his feelings are contagious; gradually you will realize and accept that the love you experience is not as comfortable, interesting, and significant as the love Welt offers. You become friends first and foremost. There is no vulgarity or lust between you, at least not for the first few years, because it requires him to recognize you as part of the family.

ㅤ He will be introducing you to his world and way of thinking. Oh, Yang can hear you and everything about you just fine - so you don't have to worry about being misunderstood.

#drabble #headcanon #au #welt #welt x reader #hsr x reader #welt x you #welt x y/n #honkai #honkai star rail #hsr

[tacticalhimbo]

— OC INTERVIEW

ANTONIA "NOMAD" PERRYMAN

the ghost recon brainrot is consuming my brain, so naturally have to fill this out for her

NICKNAME: nomad (callsign), toni by close friends/team kingslayer (re: holt, weaver, and midas)

GENDER: unlabeled transmasc; she/him pronouns

ORIENTATION: alloromantic questioning (only experiences attraction to men)

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: white american, born in boston (and yes, the accent does come out when she's riled up. yes midas and holt have playfully mocked her for it-)

HEIGHT: 5'9 / 175cm

STAR SIGN: gemini sun, sagittarius moon, leo rising (and suddenly her brazen stubbornness makes so much sense skdjdkdkdk)

FAVE FRUIT: grapes. particularly sweet jubilees

FAVE SEASON: late summer / early autumn

FAVE FLOWER: morning glories

FAVE SCENT: not sure of a specific scent, but categorically... she really likes vibrant, citrus-y scents.

COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee, 100%. she likes that shit dark and bitter. hell, she's definitely just straight up snacked on the beans before, if she didn't have the means to brew 'em on the field.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: anywhere from 2 to 8. tends to fall on the average range, but there have been plenty of times she's gone running on low fumes. it's especially apparent in breakpoint, where she's working entirely alone and in open territory (since walker uh. dispatched. team kingslayer. and wants her dead, too. skjdkdkdkdkd 🥲)

DOG PERSON OR CAT PERSON: definitely a dog person, but not in the "i hate cats they're so mean wah wah wah" way. she just prefers dogs because it's easier to take them places and such. if she weren't being pulled all over the place, i could see her having a malinois, honestly.

DREAM TRIP: route 66 round trip. starting in chicago and ending out in california, then heading back the same way. really taking time with the trip, too, and stopping at each major location (plus some of the smaller ones).

NUMBER OF BLANKETS THEY SLEEP WITH: ideally two; one comforter and one throw blanket. more often than not, though, it's whatever thin blanket she has on hand (or can get her hands on). and if she doesn't have them, she's tucked in a nice padded sleeping bag.

RANDOM FACT: despite being a military brat, she was not, in fact, a j-rotc kid. at least by technicality. her family had a bunch of connects as is, so they didn't feel the need to make her go through their program on top of her academics (plus, what more could they possibly have taught her that her mom and dad couldn't have?). that said, she's done her fair share of volunteering and misc. favors for the instructors on her high school campus. they were all buddy buddy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

got tagged by the incredible ✨️ @pinkyjulien to fill this meme out! tyvm again for the tag (and the comic recommendation 👀 i bookmarked it and will be checking it out asap)

i'll tag @perpetuagf , @vendettavalor (figured this one could be good for your rp blog), @alexxmason , aaand anybody else who feels like hopping on board!

i've seen so many of these on my dash it's hard to remember who has/hasn't done it ^^;

#txt #my ocs

[sciderman]

is flash in 9319? I think I remember the coffee bean gang existing but is he friends with peter at all? hows he doing right now

flash is in 9319! peter and him have - a begrudging friendship, at best.

peter has his number (eugene) (never calls him) (never calls anyone, actually)

i think peter's still bitter with flash. 9319 peter is still wrapped up in a lot of issues, and is more hung-up on his high-school experience than 616 peter is. in so, so very many ways 616 peter is a lot healthier than 9319 peter is, actually.

as for where 9319 flash stands presently - it's a difficult one for me to answer, because i've never really had ownership of 9319 flash! there is/was a 9319 flash thompson ask-blog: @ask-flash-thompson but i don't really know what the dealio is with that at the moment.

i don't know if flash will have a bigger presence in 9319 in the future - i don't get a lot of asks about him. i'd be so very happy to involve him more if people are sending asks about him, though!

#ask-spiderpool #9319

[more-than-a-princess]

Continued from here for @electricea due to new blog + beta editor!

She didn't doubt it, as she listened to Ryuji with a strained, sympathetic smile. Until she moved abroad for school, Sonia's idea of owning a shop had been nothing short of an idyllic romance. A pleasantly simple life of stocking shelves and helping customers who were always polite and thankful to do business there. The reality, she'd learned after beginning her time at Hope's Peak Academy, had been something rather different. And by the time she and Ryuji met that fateful night a few months ago, she hadn't even been surprised by the rude customer behind her, demanding she speed up her transaction. Her lack of expedience and perchance for manners, particularly as the clock neared midnight, had turned her into a blonde, foreign annoyance for the other customers behind her as she'd chatted amiably with Ryuji behind the counter.

It was far less aggravating, she supposed, for everyone that she spend time with him like this instead. Surrounded by various prepackaged offerings and waiting for him to bring a selection of sodas, she found she rather preferred it too. He didn't have the same tone he utilized behind the counter: it was the sort new members of staff used when working for the Royal Family, before they came to know the family they worked for, and they with them in turn. "When I was younger, I loved reading anything I could get my hands on, really!" She admitted, smiling fondly at the memory. "I think I mentioned that I was tutored at home until middle school and my parents chose my friends for me, so much of my way of learning about the world was through books or television. I still must read quite a bit for work, but it's usually news reports or various proposals. For fun, I like novels, particularly gothic romance and horror, and manga as well. They are very soothing for me."

If he was imagining something akin to a library in an animated enchanted castle, Sonia would have to admit that it wasn't far off. Except instead of being full of fairy tales and love stories, it was full of texts on history, language, philosophy, mathematics, science, and more. Though she'd taken care in finding all the fiction she could, including books that her parents would've been horrified to know she found, and read, as a young girl. They should've stored the naughty books somewhere a bit more discreet, she thought as he returned with the drinks. Or at least somewhere a young child wouldn't be compelled to climb up a ladder to reach.

"When you aren't here, where do you like to go to have fun?" she asked, now torn between her inquiry and the vibrant, colorful sodas and their labels he set before them. "I'm afraid I'm not terribly familiar with energy drinks! Do they simply contain a lot of caffeine?"

Her version had always been tea or, if absolutely necessary, coffee with enough sweetened syrup to take away the bitterness of roasted beans. Hopefully energy drinks weren't as sour or bitter as plain coffee or espresso was: she wouldn't enjoy it if that were the case. Unlike the strawberry soda he now held out to her, eliciting a bright smile and a nod from the princess.

"Oh yes, I agree, everyone loves strawberry. That is an excellent choice, thank you," She agreed, accepting the bottle. It wasn't the most unique flavor, but it was reliably enjoyed. Ryuji would know, Sonia thought as she uncapped the bottle: he was the one selling them.

Still, her eyes widened at his description of the seasonal noodles. Not only seasonal, but autumn and Halloween appropriate. Precisely the sort of thing that sparked her interest, causing her to set her soda aside for the moment. "Oh, pumpkin noodles!" She exclaimed, "I should like to try those. But you are right: I like to try new flavors, as long as they aren't terribly sour, bitter, or plum. I often am introduced to new foods when I travel for work, so I take those opportunities as they come. They aren't quite like this though, convenience shop food and such. I'd imagine you like to try everything the shop gets in stock!"

#electricea #Non-Despair AU: The Princess of Novoselic #(Sonia vc: Well now I want Halloween noodles) #(Ryuji's going doki doki over here and she's just 'oh he's being so nice!') #(She'll get it eventually I promise)

[lovingbrewcoffee]

Hard Bean Coffee Regions of the World

Erna Knutsen Coined the term Specialty Coffee in 1974 in an edition of the Tea & Coffee Trade Journal. She discussed micro-climates that have commonalities that produce the finest coffee. These micro-climate regions are referred to as the Bean Belt.

Bean Belt - The Bean Belt is a reference to latitudes on the globe where the weather is conducive to growing flavorful Coffee, but it takes more than just the right temperature.

It also requires the right elevation. The magic happens above 4000 feet (1219 meters). Coffee beans grown above 4000 feet are often classified as Hard Bean. A further classification is Strictly Hard Bean which indicates beans grown above 4500 feet (1371 meters).

The different terms and acronyms associated to beans grown at high elevation are unique to the different regions. SHB (Strictly Hard Bean), SHG (Strictly High Grown) and others, but they generally refer to growing at a high elevation. 

Beans grown at a higher elevation are preferred for their rich, even, non bitter flavor.

Temperature and elevation are equally as important as proper soil for the growth of fine, specialty coffee. Coffee beans prefer a clay loam to grow. The beans grow slower and are more dense, and they are packed with flavor.

About Us: Loving Brew Coffee is a coffee company based in Portland Oregon. We sell coffee to help raise money for hard to place animals that are not welcomed in No-Kill shelters.

Our web site is https://lovingbrewcoffee.com. We need to find affiliates that can help us get the word out. Our affiliate link is https://lovingbrewcoffee.goaffpro.com.

Thank you for reading my blog! Much Love ❤️

Thomas and Louie

#cats #coffee #lovingbrewcoffee #dogs #animal programs #animal shelters #coffeechoices #cats of tumblr #catslover #coffee beans

[jungk0oksthighs]

No because this series made me try blonde blend coffee beans because I’d never heard of them and I prefer them! 🤣 LIVING MY YN MOMENT OKAY 🤣

omg this is so funny and cute hahahahahahaha i am also partial to blonde blend coffee because it’s not as bitter hehe, thank you for reading! on this blog we drink blonde coffee x

#replied on phone #ask #thank you so much #this really made my day

[koffeetips]

Cold Brew At Home: My #1 Quest For An Extreme Easy Kitchen Counter Concoction

Cold Brew At Home Made Easy My Make Shift Cold Brew At Home The allure of cold brew coffee had been brewing in my mind for a while. The promise of smooth, refreshing coffee, perfect for hot summer days or any other day, was too tempting to ignore. However, the fancy or expensive equipment and precise ratios I found online seemed daunting. Determined to avoid buying any fancy or expensive equipment online or at any store, and fueled by a thirst for cold brew, I embarked on a journey of experimentation with the tools I had readily available: a trusty stainless steel mug and a handheld sieve.Here is the record of my cold brew at home journey:

My Mug Is Almost Identical To This One My brewing vessel, a 3-cup stainless steel mug, might not have been the most conventional or beautiful choice, but it held the promise of a single-serving batch, perfect for a solo cold brew adventure. With 2.5 cups of water filling the mug to just below the rim, I embarked on the quest for the perfect coffee grounds. After some deliberation, I opted for 5 tablespoons of Liberica coffee, a bold bean known for its low acidity. Grinding the beans wasn't an option, so I relied on pre-ground coffee, hoping for the best.

My Sieve Was Originally a Oil Filter Eighteen hours later, the moment of truth arrived. Armed with my trusty handheld stainless steel fine mash sieve, I approached the mug with a touch of trepidation. Would my unorthodox approach yield a drinkable result? The first hurdle was successfully navigating the grounds through the sieve. The fine mesh did a surprisingly good job, capturing the spent coffee while allowing the precious cold brew to flow through.The result of my cold brew at home:The resulting brew was a revelation. The first sip brought a wave of smooth, refreshing coffee. The absence of bitterness or sourness was a testament to the cold brewing process and the low acidity of the Liberica beans. While the aroma wasn't as intense as a freshly brewed hot cup, the taste more than compensated. It was a subtle symphony of coffee notes, perfectly complimented by the natural sweetness of the cold brew. I did mix it with a splash of fresh heavy cream though, that added another layer of smoothness to the taste.Heaven!!! Daily Routine Now: Cold Brew At Home This kitchen counter cold brew became my daily companion. Each morning, the simple act of combining water and grounds in the mug, followed by the overnight wait, culminated in a delightful pick-me-up. It was a testament to the fact that delicious cold brew doesn't require fancy equipment or precise measurements. Sometimes, all you need is a little ingenuity and a thirst for experimentation. Who knows, maybe your next culinary adventure awaits within the confines of your kitchen, waiting to be brewed with a little creativity. The only drawback to my perfect cup of cold brew at home? It's simply too delicious. Unlike some store-bought cold brews, this one is dangerously drinkable, easy, and simple to make. I can easily polish off 4 or more cups in a day, which, let's be honest, is probably a recipe for caffeine overload. Unfortunately, I was caught up in the daily grind and didn't manage to capture the process with photos. However, I'm planning to document my next cold brew session visually so you can see this mug-brewing method in action! Email Twitter Pinterest Facebook LinkedIn Reddit Keep In Touch If You Like My Articles. As much as I like to share my knowledge and skills with you, I love to hear from you. If you have any suggestions or comments, please click here. Also don't forget to subscribe to our quarterly newsletters if you like my blogs and like to keep in touch. Of course, read more blog posts I post now and then, such as  "Cold Brew Kits". Read the full article

#Coffee #coffeedreamland #coldbrew #koffeetips

[rwsweethearts]

History of confectionery.

Humans can trace the origins of confectionery back to around 2000BC when the ancient Egyptians satisfied their cravings for something sweet by combining fruits and nuts with the use of honey. Liquorice juice, extracted from the root of the leguminous (Sweet Root), is known to have been used for medicinal purposes at the same time. The forerunner of today’s Turkish delight was an uncompromising confection of boiled grape juice and starch cut into squares. Over 3000 years ago the Aztecs in Mexico used the cocoa bean to make a bitter drink. However, it took 1500 years before that drink would be sweetened with sugar.

The eighteenth century was the birth of some prominent confectionery manufactures, and the nineteenth century with the advancement in mechanisation saw the brands rapidly expand. For example John Cadbury opened a shop in 1824, in Birmingham, selling tea, coffee and cocoa. His cocoa business started a few years later. During the 1840’s both Fry’s and Cadbury’s were producing chocolate made specifically for eating, although the vast majority of production was geared towards the manufacture of cocoa.

Harvard referencing:

Considered (2021) Sweets through time: A brief history of sweeties, Swizzels. Available at: https://swizzels.com/blog/sweets-through-time-a-brief-history-of-sweeties/ (Accessed: 18 February 2024).

History of sweets: Find out more: Sweet and nostalgic (no date) Sweet and Nostalgic Ltd. Available at: https://www.sweetandnostalgic.co.uk/history-of-sweets-4-w.asp# (Accessed: 18 February 2024).

The sweet history of sweets (no date) Sweet History - Who Invented Sweets. Available at: http://www.candyhistory.net/candy-origin/sweet-history/ (Accessed: 18 February 2024).

[beanscoffee]

The Art Of Buying Coffee Beans: A Guide To Finding The Perfect Brew

Introduction

Coffee lovers around the world understand that the key to a perfect cup of joe lies in the quality of the coffee beans. Whether you're an avid coffee connoisseur or just someone who enjoys a morning pick-me-up, choosing the right coffee beans is crucial. In this blog, we'll delve into the art of buying coffee beans and explore the factors to consider to ensure you brew the perfect cup every time.

Understanding Coffee Bean Varieties

When it comes to buying coffee beans, the first step is understanding the different varieties available. There are two main types: Arabica and Robusta. Arabica beans are known for their mild, aromatic flavors and are often considered higher in quality. Robusta beans, on the other hand, have a stronger, more bitter taste and are often used in espresso blends. Your preference for flavor will determine which variety is right for you.

Origin Matters

The origin of the coffee beans plays a significant role in their flavor profile. Different regions around the world produce coffee with unique characteristics. For instance, beans from Colombia are often described as having a balanced, mild flavor, while those from Ethiopia are known for their fruity and floral notes. Research and experiment with beans from various origins to find your favorite.

Roast Level

Coffee beans come in various roast levels, including light, medium, and dark. Each roast level imparts distinct flavors to the coffee. Light roasts tend to have a brighter, more acidic taste, while dark roasts offer a richer, fuller-bodied flavor. Your preference for roast level will depend on your taste buds, so be sure to try different roasts to find your perfect match.

Freshness Matters Most

The fresher the coffee beans, the better the flavor. Coffee is at its peak flavor within days to weeks after roasting. When buying coffee beans, look for the roast date on the packaging. Aim for beans that have been roasted recently, and try to use them within a month of the roast date. Buying whole beans and grinding them just before brewing can also help preserve freshness.

Consider the Grind

The grind size of your coffee beans is essential for brewing the perfect cup. The grind size should match your brewing method. For instance, French press coffee requires a coarse grind, while espresso calls for a fine grind. Using the wrong grind size can result in over-extraction or under-extraction, affecting the taste of your coffee.

Ethical and Sustainable Sourcing

In recent years, there has been a growing emphasis on ethical and sustainable coffee sourcing. Look for coffee beans that are certified as Fair Trade, Organic, or Rainforest Alliance to ensure that your coffee was produced under ethical and environmentally responsible conditions. Supporting such practices can make your daily cup of coffee more socially conscious.

Experiment and Enjoy

The world of coffee beans is vast and diverse. Don't be afraid to experiment with different varieties, origins, and roasts until you find the beans that perfectly suit your taste buds. Consider keeping a coffee journal to document your preferences and discoveries along the way.

Conclusion

Buying coffee beans is not just a routine task; it's an art that involves exploring flavors, understanding origins, and experimenting with various elements to craft the perfect cup of coffee. By considering factors like bean variety, origin, roast level, freshness, grind size, and ethical sourcing, you can elevate your coffee experience and savor the rich, aromatic flavors that high-quality beans offer. So, go ahead, embark on your coffee bean journey, and relish every sip of your carefully brewed masterpiece.

#buy coffee beans

[socialbrewcoffee]

A Taste of Paradise: 100 Kona Coffee Beans and the Hawaiian Islands

Imagine waking up to the scent of plumeria mingling with the rich, intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee. You take a sip, and a burst of flavor explodes on your tongue – notes of chocolate, honey, and tropical fruit swirl together, creating a symphony of pure bliss. This, my friends, is the magic of 100 Kona coffee beans, a taste of paradise grown in the volcanic soil of Hawaii's Big Island.

Kona Coffee: More Than Just a Cup

Kona coffee beans aren't just another caffeinated beverage; they're a cultural icon, a symbol of Hawaiian hospitality, and a testament to the island's unique terroir. Nestled on the slopes of Hualalai and Mauna Kea volcanoes, Kona coffee farms bask in the warm sun, cooled by gentle breezes and kissed by the Pacific Ocean's mist. This ideal microclimate, coupled with volcanic soil rich in minerals, nurtures beans that are unlike any other.

What Makes Kona Coffee So Special?

Flavor: Nuanced and delicate, with notes of chocolate, caramel, and island fruits like guava and papaya. Unlike some coffees, Kona is known for its gentle sweetness and lack of bitterness.

Aroma: Immerse yourself in the lush fragrance of a Hawaiian garden, with plumeria, jasmine, and freshly baked bread filling the air. This intoxicating aroma is a signature of Kona coffee.

Rarity and Value: Due to its limited production and meticulous cultivation, 100 Kona beans are a prized commodity. Look for the prestigious Kona Coffee Seal to ensure you're getting the real deal.

Immerse Yourself in the Aloha Spirit

Visit a Kona Coffee Farm: Step onto volcanic slopes and witness the magic firsthand. Learn about traditional growing methods, from planting to processing, and savor a fresh cup of Kona at the source. Many farms offer tours and tastings, connecting you with the land and the people behind this liquid gold.

Brew Your Own Paradise: Bring the Kona experience home with your own brewing setup. Experiment with different methods like pour-over, French press, or Chemex to unlock the full potential of these exquisite beans. Remember, freshly ground beans and filtered water are key!

Beyond the Bean – Supporting Kona's Farmers

Your organic Kona coffee purchase goes beyond a delicious treat; it's an investment in the future of Hawaiian coffee farming. Look for brands committed to ethical sourcing and sustainable practices that ensure fair prices for farmers and protect the environment.

Ready to embark on your Kona coffee adventure?

Social Brew is your trusted guide to unlocking its liquid paradise. We're a passionate bunch, dedicated to bringing you the purest, ethically sourced 100 Kona coffee beans, grown with aloha on the volcanic slopes of the Big Island.

Why Choose Social Brew for Your Kona Journey?

Commitment to Quality: We hand-select only the finest and pure Kona coffee beans, ensuring each cup explodes with vibrant flavors and the essence of Hawaiian sunshine.

Transparency and Ethics: We source directly from independent Kona farmers, guaranteeing fair prices and sustainable practices that nourish the land and the community.

Beyond the Bean: We're passionate about sharing the Kona story. Explore our blog for brewing tips, farm tours, and insights into the rich cultural heritage behind each cup.

Social Impact: With every purchase, we donate 50% of our profits to fight human trafficking, making your coffee break a force for good.

Mahalo for reading! Ready to unlock your own taste of paradise? Shop Social Brew's hand-selected 100% pure and best Kona coffee beans today and let the journey begin!

#pure kona coffee #100 kona coffee #kona coffee beans #social brew #hawaiian coffee company #hawaiian coffee beans #organic kona coffee #best kona coffee beans

[reverencecoffee]

Wholesale Coffee Samples: Try Before You Buy for Your Business

Are you a business owner looking to provide customers with the best coffee experience? Partnering with Coffee Wholesalers Melbourne can be an excellent solution for your business. But before you make any bulk purchases, trying out different coffee samples is essential. 

In this blog post, we will explore the importance of wholesale coffee samples and how they can benefit your business. So, grab a cup of coffee, and let's dive in! 

I. Understanding the Importance of Coffee Wholesalers

Coffee wholesalers are crucial in the coffee industry, connecting producers with businesses like yours. By partnering with a coffee wholesaler, you can enjoy several benefits. First and foremost, cost savings are a significant advantage. Wholesalers often offer lower prices for their products compared to retail stores, allowing you to maximise your budget. 

Additionally, wholesalers provide access to various coffee products, including different blends, origins, and flavours. This vast selection enables you to cater to the diverse tastes of your customers. Lastly, working with a coffee wholesaler is convenient. You can order in bulk, ensuring a steady supply of coffee for your business without the hassle of frequent restocking.

II. The Value of Trying Coffee Samples

Now that you understand the importance of coffee wholesalers let's talk about the significance of trying coffee samples. Sampling different types of coffee before committing to larger orders allows you to evaluate various factors. Flavour profiles, for example, can vary significantly between other coffee beans and blends. You can identify which flavours resonate best with your target market by trying out samples. 

Quality is another crucial aspect to consider. Sampling coffee allows you to assess the product's freshness, richness, and overall quality. Lastly, compatibility with your customers' preferences is vital. Trying out samples can help you determine whether a particular coffee will be well-received by your clientele. So, don't shy away from exploring different coffee samples and discovering new flavours.

III. How Wholesale Coffee Samples Work

Now that you understand the value of trying coffee samples let's talk about how you can obtain these samples from wholesalers. There are several ways to do this. One common method is to contact wholesalers directly and ask for samples. Many wholesalers are more than happy to provide samples to potential buyers. Another option is to attend trade shows and industry events where coffee wholesalers Melbourne showcase their products. These events often offer the opportunity to sample a wide range of coffees in one place. When requesting samples, be precise about the quantities and varieties you are interested in. This will ensure that you receive samples that align with your specific needs. 

IV. Evaluating Coffee Samples Effectively

Once you receive your coffee samples, evaluating them effectively is essential. Here are some practical tips to help you make the most out of your tasting experience. Start by focusing on the aroma of the coffee. A pleasant aroma is often an indicator of a good-quality coffee. Next, pay attention to the taste. Does the coffee have the right balance of flavours? Is it too bitter or too acidic? Consider the consistency of the coffee as well. Is it smooth and well-rounded? Finally, think about the overall experience. How does the coffee make you feel? Is it enjoyable to drink? Don't hesitate to involve your team members or customers in the tasting process. This will provide diverse perspectives and help you make more informed decisions.

 V. Making Informed Decisions

Sampling different coffees can provide valuable insights that will inform your purchasing decisions. It's essential to keep detailed notes during your tastings. Record your impressions, preferences, and any other relevant information. You can identify patterns and make more informed choices by comparing the results across different samples. Remember, making informed decisions contributes to customer satisfaction and ultimately, the success of your business.

VI. Building Relationships with Coffee Wholesalers

In addition to trying coffee samples, building strong relationships with coffee wholesalers is crucial for the long-term success of your business. Establishing open communication channels with your wholesaler is essential. Share your feedback, ask questions, and express any concerns. This will help your wholesaler better understand your needs and provide the best possible service. Consider your wholesaler as a partner in your business's growth and success. By fostering a mutually beneficial relationship, you can ensure a steady supply of high-quality coffee for your customers.

Conclusion

In conclusion, trying coffee samples from wholesalers is essential in ensuring that you provide your customers with the best coffee experience. Sampling allows you to evaluate flavour profiles, quality, and compatibility with your target market. By making informed decisions based on your tasting experiences, you can select the coffee products that will satisfy your customers' preferences. Building strong relationships with coffee wholesalers Melbourne also ensures a steady supply of high-quality coffee for your business. So why wait? Start exploring wholesale coffee samples today and take your business to new heights of success. Cheers to great coffee!

Source : Wholesale Coffee Samples: Try Before You Buy for Your Business

#coffee wholesalers Melbourne

[hyakqatar]

Savoring Tradition: The Art and Essence of Turkish Coffee

In a rapidly moving world, there's something timeless about the ritual of brewing and enjoying a cup of Turkish coffee. This centuries-old tradition, deeply ingrained in the rich tapestry of Turkish culture, offers more than just a caffeine fix; it's an experience that transcends time and space.

The Essence of Turkish Coffee: A Journey through History:

Origin and Rituals:

Originating in the Ottoman Empire, Turkish coffee has withstood the test of time, evolving into an iconic symbol of hospitality and socializing. The preparation of Turkish coffee is an art form in itself, with meticulous attention paid to the grind, water, and heat. Finely ground coffee beans, cold water, and sugar (optional) are combined in a unique pot called a cezve and then slowly brewed to perfection.

Symbolism and Tradition:

Beyond its exquisite taste, Turkish coffee holds cultural significance. The preparation and consumption of this beverage are steeped in tradition, often accompanied by storytelling, music, or simply shared moments with loved ones. The process of sipping Turkish coffee is a leisurely affair, encouraging conversation and fostering connections.

The Unique Flavor Profile: A Culinary Journey

Distinctive Preparation:

What sets Turkish coffee apart is the unique preparation method. The coffee is finely ground to a powder-like consistency, ensuring a rich and robust flavour. The slow brewing process allows the flavours to meld, resulting in a velvety cup with a thick layer of foam, known as kahve köpüğü.

Rich and Robust:

Turkish coffee is characterized by its strong, intense flavour. Served unfiltered, the grounds settle at the bottom of the cup, creating a unique texture. The taste is a harmonious balance of bitterness and sweetness, offering a sensory experience that goes beyond the typical coffee encounter.

Where to Indulge: Unveiling the Best Places for Turkish Coffee

A journey to the right establishments is essential for those eager to savour authentic Turkish coffee. If you find yourself in Qatar, a prime destination for this cultural experience, consider exploring the vibrant coffee scene.

Hyak Qatar: Your Guide to the Best Turkish Coffee Experience

Enter Hyak Qatar, a blogging site dedicated to uncovering the hidden gems of Qatari culture, including the finest places to enjoy Turkish coffee. This platform serves as your virtual guide to the most authentic and delightful coffee experiences in the heart of Qatar. Hyak Qatar goes beyond the surface, delving into the cultural nuances that make each coffee venue a unique and memorable destination.

Conclusion: Brew, Sip, and Connect

In a world inundated with fast-paced living, Turkish coffee stands as a reminder to slow down, savour the moment, and connect with the rich tapestry of tradition. Whether you're a coffee connoisseur or a curious traveller, experiencing Turkish coffee is an exploration of culture, history, and the simple joys of life.

As you journey to discover the best places for Turkish coffee, let Hyak Qatar be your compass. With insights, recommendations, and a passion for preserving cultural heritage, this blogging site will guide you to the hidden gems where the aroma of freshly brewed Turkish coffee and the warmth of tradition await. So, brew, sip, and connect – Turkish coffee is more than a beverage; it's an invitation to experience life in its most flavorful form.

#Turkish coffee

[more-than-a-princess]

Does Sonia have any favorite flavors when it comes to sweets and treats?

Unprompted headcanon asks - Accepting!

I hope I don't sound like a broken record (especially if you've followed this blog for awhile), but I'll start here and give further explanations: Sonia's favorite sweet is chocolate. Chocolate is an ingredient, a snack, a dessert, and a way of life in Novoselic. Wine and chocolate are some of the country's biggest exports, and in Dangan.ronpa canon, they are said to have the best chocolate in the world (Sonia often carries a square or two in her purse. For emergencies. It's excellent therapy!). A life without chocolate, for most Novosonians, is not a life worth living. They do not believe in cutting it out of a diet (unless you're allergic or something).

That said, Sonia was raised to eat both traditionally and seasonally. Novoselic is bordered by France, Italy, (the right half of) Switzerland, and Germany, so much of the country's national cuisine comes from there. Things like berries in the spring and summer, apples in the fall and winter (apple strudel is a favorite), cream and cheese-based desserts, nut flavors like almonds and hazelnuts (she loves her mont blancs!) and of course, the likes of cakes, cookies, and ice cream/gelato are all very popular. Chocolate fondue is another popular dessert, often served at home, in restaurants, and in fondue cafes throughout the country.

With Japanese immigrants moving into Novoselic right around the end of World War II, they brought traditional flavors with them, so it's not uncommon to see the likes of green tea, red bean, black sesame, cherry blossom, etc. fused with more European style fare.

What there's considerably less of, or at least less of that they don't make it as Sonia's favorite flavors, would be the likes of citrus and tropical fruit flavors: lemon is less of a sweet dessert and more for cooking, and she didn't grow up with a lot of more warm-weather types of sweets/desserts (ice cream aside).

The better question to ask are the sweets and flavors Sonia doesn't like: most coffee things that don't have enough sweetness to balance out the bitterness, sour desserts (lemons and limes, any sort of sour candy like Sour Patch Kids, Airheads, etc), plum-flavored anything (she hates plums. Hates. Them.), and whatever Americans keep passing off as chocolate.

aka. Chocolate that tastes more like straight sugar than actual chocolate. In Novoselic, no matter who you are, you tend to buy the best chocolate you can afford and you savor the experience enjoying it. So the likes of cheap chocolate where it's more sugar than anything else? Absolutely disgusting to Sonia. American hot chocolate is equally gross, but she's very unimpressed by the likes of Hershey's, M&Ms/Mars, Nestle, Swiss Miss, etc. She'll politely accept such things but she will not enjoy eating them.

However, she will make an exception for one specific American sweet: anything with peanut butter, especially peanut butter cups. She's sure the Americans are onto something absolutely delicious with that. It goes wonderfully with chocolate-hazelnut spread!

#more-than-a-princess answered #more-than-a-princess headcanons #orderbourne #(Thank you for the ask!) #(My girl just really likes sweets and desserts okay) #(Just stay away from anything too sour or bitter. Or plums. Or most cheap American candy) #(Unless you want to cause chaos and disappointment for her)