The Damsel @jinfizz - Tumblr Blog

KTH x Reader| The Art of Tenderness

Title: The Art of Tenderness

Rating: Explicit 🔞 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Pairing: apprentice!KTH x master’s daughter!reader

Historical AU (handmade mochi / chapssaltteok store)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

WC: 9.3k

Warnings: patriarchy, gender discrmination, badly researched cooking techniques and historical inaccuracies. PLEASE, suspend your disbelief.

Smut warnings: unprotected sex, sweet and urgent and you know me, there is a baby somewhere…

Note: chapssaltteok is the Korean version of mochi, a soft rice dough wrapped around some kind of sweet / savory filling.

Inspired by: The Princess Bride by Wiliam Goldman– the three famous words “As you wish” make a feature appearance here.

Summary: KTH lands at your doorstep as an apprentice, ready to learn from your father the art of making chapssaltteok–rice flour confectionery wrapped around sweet and savoury filling. Yet, he learns a whole lot more, as do you—about the art of tenderness.

Made possible only by: Julie @thatlongspringnight, Em @miscelunaaa and Ana @xjoonchildx - THANK YOU Jules for giving me the encouragement, Em for looking through with a fine-tooth comb, and Ana for the reassurance that I didn't go too wrong with this. Also special mention to @hamsterclaw who has heard me bitch ad nauseam about my fickle writer's indecision - finally settled on the 4th AU. LOVE YOU ALL SO SO MUCH.

For the very lovely @sugalaritae - I hope you like it!

Happy Possumversary!

—----------------------------

It’s been a long eight months, and he’s learning as much as he can, as fast as he can.

“Pounding the warm rice dough adds–?” your father asks Taehyung, testing him. To help with the large palace order of chapssaltteok as part of the queen’s birthday celebrations coming up next month, Taehyung must prove to your father he has mastered all the fundamentals of pounding chapssaltteok dough.

“Elasticity,” Taehyung answers the first quickly. “Texture. And…” What was that last one? Taehyung’s mind races frantically.

“Tenderness,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Your father shoots you a look. Be respectful. You nod quickly, though you're still unable to hide the disgust on your face.

“Tenderness is everything,” your father continues, eyes stern on Taehyung. “Chapssaltteok without tenderness is like a bird without wings. No one likes overly chewy dough, do you hear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you remember how to hold the wooden mallet?” your father continues.

“Two hands, overhead, mallet in the middle of the back of the spine. Arc it over the head, bring it down like the curve of the new moon, hit it in the center of the dough, Master.”

“Good man. Now remember, every upswing is a pause for Y/N to reach into the trough to turn the dough. It also gives the dough a second to rest and build elasticity before being pounded again. Do it just like this.” Grasping his favorite wooden mallet, your father proceeds to show Taehyung again how to heave the mallet up just before the downswing.

Quickly, your hands dart into the warm dough, turning it.

Within a split second, your father’s mallet comes swishing through the air, pounding on the dough where your fingers had just been.

“And, that’s how it’s done,” your father says with proud satisfaction. “Of course, a strong man like you can do it on your own, albeit, it’s more arduous, more painstaking. That’s why in our family, we have a saying, ‘Chapssaltteok made by one person tastes bitter, chapssaltteok made by two tastes better’.”

“Yes, Master,” Kim Taehyung says, head bowed.

“Now, your turn with the wooden mallet,” your father offers Taehyung his prized mallet, passed through five generations of your family’s storied legacy as chapssaltteok makers for the royal family.

Kim Taehyung is nervous as hell.

You glare at him, daring him to make a mistake and hurt your precious fingers.

He’d have to time everything right or else, he’ll be out on the streets once more.

“Ready?” he asks you, tentatively.

“Yes. Just hurry up already!”

“As you wish.”

And so he takes the first stroke, a smooth upward arc which looks promising. You hurry to turn the dough in the trough. But Kim Taehyung takes too long on the downswing, he’s too soft, too gentle.

“Harder,” you tell him. “Go harder!”

He tries again. But again, he’s too afraid to hurt you and decelerates every time he brings the mallet down.

“Remember, you have to make the dough submit to you,” your father says, taking over the wooden mallet. “Like this, Kim Taehyung.”

Your father shows him again how to pound the dough into pliant submission. Immediately, you slip into a rhythm both familiar and comforting, a father-daughter dance you’ve mastered since you were a wee little girl. Pound. Turn. Pound. Turn.

Now and then, your hands dip into the water bowl to wet the dough so that it remains soft even in the dry air. You’re just about to turn the dough once more when a sharp cry from your father rings out.

“Appa!”

With a loud crash, the heavy wooden mallet slips from your father’s grasp as he tumbles backward onto the ground.

“Don’t just stand there!” you order Taehyung who was looking dumbfounded, “help me get him up!”

Snapped out of shock, Taehyung rushes to your father’s left side while you take father’s right. “Master! Can you feel your legs?”

“My back!” Your father’s breath comes out in short, painful gasps. “I think I might have sprained it!”

Your mind races at what this could mean. Appa always had a weak back, but nothing that has made his whole face pale and ashen like this before. Oh no. What about the large order for the queen’s birthday?

Another groan from your father draws you back to the task at hand. Together, you and Taehyung lift your father and carry him gently into his bed, stopping now and then to adjust him to make him as comfortable as possible.

“My daughter,” your father says with strained effort, “the palace order for the queen’s birthday…”

“Shh… Appa. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll help her,” Taehyung adds quickly.

“I’ll take care of it,” you say sharply.

“ENOUGH!” your father barks, bringing on a fit of coughs. “This is an order that we cannot fail. You have to work together! Is that clear?”

“Yes, master,” Taehyung answers quickly, the two words familiar on his tongue by now.

“But Appa–” A stern glare from your father forces you to agree. “Yes, Appa,” you reply obediently.

“Now get back to work!” your father rasps urgently. “The rice dough must have dried out by now! Better throw it out to the pigs. Soak a new batch of rice and start over!”

He dismisses you and Taehyung with a wave of his hand before closing his eyes.

“But he doesn’t know anything–” you whisper, hoping to get a word in to your father as Taehyung leaves the room.

“Then teach him,” he breathes out, breath ragged and shallow, before turning his head away.

Sighing, you head back out into the courtyard only to see Taehyung heading to the east gate.

“Hey! Where are you going!” you call out.

“I’m going to get something!”

“Come back here! Appa said we have to start on a new batch!”

“You can do it on your own!” he answers hurriedly, voice disappearing as the gate slams behind him.

Angrily, you go measure out a new batch of rice. What kind of apprentice is he? Gone at the first sign of his master’s injury? He’s probably going to the village for soju or for gambling or maybe even for-–women. You don't know why, but your face heats up as you think of that last thing: Kim Taehyung. With women.

After measuring out the rice, you quickly put it in the earthen pot to soak in the water from the mountain spring. Bringing the sticky, doughy mess to the pigs, you wonder if Kim Taehyung will even come back. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You can, you will handle this entire order on your own!

It’s almost dusk before he returns, hands carrying a cloth bundle. Without a word, he goes into the kitchen, starts a cooking fire and grabs a claypot.

“What are you doing? How dare you just come in like that without a word!” you scold.

Ignoring you, he continues to fill the claypot with water before inserting a smaller pot within. You watch him, incredulous at his audacity to completely disregard you.

“Need thin linen cloths,” he finally says. “It’s a poultice for your father’s back. Hurry before the swelling worsens!”

Unwrapping the cloth bundle in his hands, he reveals a bunch of wild ginseng, medicinal pine needles and a mossy green tree bark you’ve not seen before. It must have taken him all day to gather these hard-to-find herbs on the mountain slopes.

“Where did you–”

“I watched a medicine woman prepare it for my mother before,” he answers, eyes completely focused on washing and soaking the herbs in the inner pot. “Get the linen cloth. I need to wrap it around the boiled herbs and place it on the master’s back.”

A little awed by his voice of authority, you move quickly, getting the strips of linen cloths from the wooden medicinal chest. Dumbly, you hand the cloths over and watch as Taehyung deftly wraps the boiled herbs into neat rectangles.

You follow Taehyung into your father’s chambers, anxious to do whatever he says is necessary to ease your father’s pain. “Loosen the master’s robes. We have to get the poultice on his bare skin,” he orders quietly.

Sound asleep from the exertions of the day, your father hardly stirs as you uncover his back. Thankfully, he likes to sleep on his side which makes it so much easier to undress his torso.

Making sure it’s not too hot, Taehyung begins to press the warm poultices along your father’s spine.

“The swelling has already started, but this should still help speed up the master’s recovery.”

The quiet confidence with which he says this brings you comfort. Your father has always been as strong as an ox. But lately, you do realize he tires easily–you can tell by his weakened grip on the wooden mallet that he's getting on in his years. It’s scary to see your father like this—so vulnerable.

“Thank you, Kim Taehyung,” you whisper gratefully.

“I’m sorry I left you to do all the work,” he says, dark eyes imploring you to believe his sincerity. “Had to make sure I reached the summit of Saraksan to gather the herbs before dusk.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad you can help Appa. But tomorrow–” your words trail off. You’ve never asked for help. You can’t. You won’t.

“Yes. Tomorrow, I will help you,” he pauses. “Let me.”

His gaze on you makes your skin flush with heat and you feel the pores in your skin gasping for breath.

“Fine,” you say, your words coated in reluctance. “See you first thing, tomorrow.”

“As you wish,” Taehyung seizes the opportunity to take his leave and bows to you.

You’re confused as hell. You want to hate him, but you can’t.

It’s not fair that he’s always so calm and collected. Not fair that his very presence riles you.

Not fair how his eyes look so serious and solemn and his mouth like it’s always ready to stretch into that devastating smile every time he says as you wish.

It’s not fair at all.

—----------------------------------

The next few days pass by like a blur for Taehyung.

Heaven knows he has tried to act honorably in his master’s absence. Tried. How many times has he honorably torn his gaze from you in the day only to be plagued by your image at night?

Damn you. You infuriate him. You always had to demonstrate how to do everything just right.

Yesterday, you couldn’t just tell him to correct his handling of the rice dough. No, you went ahead and wrapped your hands around his to push against the dough.

“Feel that?” you’d asked. “The pressure? You can’t be too gentle. You gotta do it like–” Exasperated, you went ahead to position yourself in front of him, putting yourself between him and the table.

Without thinking, you grabbed his wrists, wrapped his arms around you, then laced your fingers with his before bringing his hands on the warm rice dough, showing him how to pull a single portion of dough with just the right pressure, and then flattening the dough into a perfect circle on your palm.

Ask him again about the pressure he should use to flatten chapssaltteok dough on the palm of his hand and Kim Taehyung would be forced to admit he’s forgotten everything you taught him.

All he remembers is your breath–warm and sweet–-feathering against his neck when you tilted up your lips to ask him Feel that?

Yes, he feels that, all right. He feels your fingers curled between his own, as if they’ve always belonged there. Feels the hardening of his loins every time you look at him with those fiery eyes of yours.

Every day is torture as he rises again for another day of apprenticeship with you.

How is he supposed to bear the brush of your body against his when you reach over to adjust the amount of filling he puts in the dough. Or the way your hands are so soft in his as you insist him to feel the dough, the texture, the elasticity.

Closing his eyes to force himself to sleep, he tries to breathe evenly, wishing the hardness in his cock will just go away. You consume his every brain cell—he dreams of your curves. The softness. The silkiness.

Feel. You always tell him. Feel. Feel. Feel.

It’s not fair.

—————————————————

“Remember to keep a firm grip on the upswing!” you shout out as you watch Taehyung lift the heavy wooden mallet and take a few practice down-swings.

As he heaves the mallet up into the air, he lets out a low sound that’s a cross between a growl and a grunt. A strange thrill thrums down your spine and you shiver inwardly–it sounds so…so… primal.

Willing yourself to concentrate, you watch him until you’re satisfied that he won’t smash your fingers when you turn the dough in between the poundings of the mallet.

“Ready?” he asks, this time, with more confidence than the first.

“Yeah, hurry up! Remember, don’t go soft. Go hard. Go fast. The chapssaltteok needs it.”

“As you wish.”

You signal for Taehyung to start. He swings the mallet down perfectly with a loud thwack. He heaves it up again, and just at the right moment, your hand flies into the trough to turn the dough.

Thwack.

Turn.

Thwack,

Turn.

Surprisingly, he has gotten it. The strength, the momentum, the cadence. Soon enough, you and Taehyung find an easy rhythm and you feel the familiar elasticity forming on the dough.

While the pounding takes a longer time than when you are doing it with your father, you’re impressed that Taehyung is never off beat, maintaining a smooth, easy arc on the upswing and downswing. You think he would tire by now, but he keeps going, demonstrating an impressive stamina.

Finally satisfied with the dough, you stop him. “Feel this?” you ask as you proffer the dough to him. “See how it’s still slightly warm? Feel the bounce?” Taehyung puts down the mallet and tentatively reaches for the dough. Impatiently, you wrap your fingers around his, pushing them deep into the soft, warm dough. “It needs to yield to your touch, like that.”

He makes a noise in his throat, unable to trust himself to speak.

You mistake it for a sign that he doesn’t understand. So you pull his hand closer to yours, pressing it more deeply into the dough, your fingers intertwined with his.

“It’s ready when the slightest touch can make an indentation on the dough’s surface,” you lecture. “Press deeper and you feel some resistance. That’s actually good because we want the dough to be able to contain the filling–whether it’s red bean or sesame or lotus paste–nothing should ever ever leak out.”

Well. He wishes his cock can contain itself. Wordlessly, he nods to you. Better to be silent than to speak words he should not utter.

“Come on. We have just two more days to go before the palace delivery,” you sigh, worried that your father will not heal in time. “Back to work.”

“As you wish,” he says, in that tender, quiet way of his that makes your insides go all queasy.

Damn this man and his infuriating as-you-wish-es.

—---------------------------------

Your father’s back is healing nicely, but he fears that the journey to the palace on horseback will trigger another sprain.

“I’m sorry, child, but it looks like Kim Taehyung has to go with you.”

“But, Appa, I can make the journey on my own! I went with you last time!”

“It is not safe for a woman to travel alone. What if something happens to the chapssaltteok along the way? What if something happens to you?”

You know he’s right. It’s just that wanting to prove yourself has been your battlecry for so long that it’s almost instinctive to protest anytime he tells you to do something with Kim Taehyung.

And so it’s settled. Together, you will head to the palace with the prepared chapssaltteok tomorrow.

Taehyung busies himself by packing the supplies for the fresh chapssaltteok that will be made onsite for the royal family. By order of the palace, preparation of every morsel that will pass through the lips of the royal family must be supervised by royal courtiers in case of an assassination attempt by poisoning.

The entire journey will take a full three days. You worry how your father will cope without you as you fill stacks of polished wooden boxes with neat rows of chapssaltteok. These ready-made chapssaltteok will be for the guests and palace attendees, not the royal family. Still, they need to look presentable, and so you wrap each box with beautiful colored silk.

“Did you embroider this?” Kim Taehyung’s voice startles you. Turning to him, you watch as he fingers the singular cherry blossom sewn on each of the silk cloths.

“The queen’s favorite color is rumored to be pink. So I thought I should add a pink cherry blossom on each piece of silk,” you answer, cheeks warming. “I spent all my summer nights on these.”

“It’s beautiful.” Taehyung looks wistful as he outlines the delicate thread of the cherry blossoms. “My mother embroiders—waves, peaches, flowers. Her eyes are no good now. But still she tries. She does it by feel. I don’t have the heart to tell her that sometimes her peaches look like the Biseondae rocks, all jagged and sharp. Or that her flowers look like chickens!”

You burst out in laughter. It’s a full, rich laugh that bubbles out of you without warning.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you laugh,” he says, a glint of delight in his eyes. “And you look so pretty when you laugh.”

Kim Taehyung winces inwardly, wondering why the hell he said that.

The shock of the compliment stuns you into complete silence for a moment. There were some suitors here and there but you’ve never really cared for them, and so paid no mind to their words. No one you’ve met has been so… so forward as Kim Taehyung.

“Your presence here hasn’t been exactly an occasion for me to laugh about,” you confess, “it feels like…”

“Like what?” he asks, curious.

You swallow hard, because the truth sounds so childish.

“Like you’re trying to take my place,” you say, a little too vulnerable for your liking. Damn. Why do you feel compelled to be so honest with him?

Clearing your throat, you snap yourself back to reality. “And. For your information, I’m actually pretty all the time,” you say evenly. “Too bad, you haven’t noticed.”

Kim Taehyung turns a shade of red at your chastisement. Oh he’s noticed, all right. Noticed too well. Too often. Too much.

“Go to sleep, Kim Taehyung. We set off early tomorrow,” you wave him off, hoping you looked bored and uninterested.

And again, Taehyung says those three little words that always seem to mean something else—exactly what, you don’t really know.

“As you wish.”

—-----------------------------

The journey to the palace is long, but thankfully, uneventful, helped by the expert care Taehyung gives to the horses.

After reaching the palace grounds, you and Taehyung are ushered to the common courtyard, lining up with other artisans and craftsmen bearing gifts for the queen’s birthday celebrations.

“Y/L/N chapssaltteok makers! Please follow me!” shouts out one of the courtiers who struts the courtyard like a peacock—one which has his head stuck firmly up his ass. Together, you follow him to the servants’ wing. “Here’s your room! Kitchens are just round the corner! You’re scheduled to make the chapssaltteok at noon tomorrow! Don’t be late!”

“My apologies,” you say, eyes demurely lowered. “May I enquire if there’s an extra room? You see, my father unfortu—”

“Woman! I have no time for this! All servant quarters are full! You hear? Full!” With a dismissive sneer, he marches out, hurrying out to deal with accommodation for the next in line.

The room is bare and unfurnished with a pile of straw sleeping mats in the corner. Worriedly, you look at Taehyung, unsure of what to say.

He clears his throat. “I um, I can sleep with the horses. In the stables.”

You snort.

“Have you even seen that place? You need your rest Taehyung. I can’t let you sleep in the stables! You would hardly be in any condition to do the pounding tomorrow!”

“But wouldn’t people talk? I worry about your reputation–”

“Let them think whatever they want,” you say airily. “For all you know, they think you’re my father. Or husband.”

Taehyung’s eyes meet yours briefly. Husband. Why on earth does that word sound so loaded with meaning?

“As long as you don’t get such ideas, I think we will be just fine,” you say firmly.

Taehyung nods dumbly, wondering what has come over you. How could you even bear to sleep in the same room as him? Didn’t you hate him?

“The chapssaltteok must come first,” you say authoritatively. “We are only here because of the chapssaltteok.”

Your family name is at stake. You will not fail now. You shall not.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Dusk falls by the time all the food and supplies have been unloaded and deposited safely in the kitchens.

Small outdoor fires dot the courtyard are tended by servants who take turns to watch over pots and cauldrons of simmering broth and stews that require overnight cooking.

You meet noodle makers from the north. Fruit merchants from the south. The atmosphere is celebratory but an undercurrent of unease hums within you. You won’t be able to fully relax until the chapssaltteok for the royal family are finished.

After a meager meal for the guest servants provided by the palace, you and Taehyung proceed to soak the rice grains for tomorrow’s chapssaltteok. Later, he heads off to check on the horses, while you hurry to prepare for bed.

When you return to your room, you find that Taehyung has already laid out the sleeping mats. He gives you the corner furthest away from the door, where the winter draft is least likely to get to you, stacking three mats on each other, while leaving only one for himself.

“Kim Taehyung, are you sure? We can go two mats each.”

“I'll be fine,” he says quietly. “Have a good night.” Pulling the thick bedding over himself, he turns his back away from you respectfully and faces the door.

You’re grateful that for once, Kim Taehyung didn’t follow your suggestions and say the usual as-you-wish. The winter winds are brutal. Three straw mattresses may not seem like much but it’s better than nothing.

Snuggling under the thick blankets you’ve brought from home, you fall into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of making the best chapssaltteok tomorrow; chapssaltteok fit for a queen.

—---------------------------------

Kim Taehyung has a hard time sleeping. It’s profoundly cold and the winter draft snakes between the layers of blankets and soaks into his bones. Shivering, he tries to distract himself. Turning so that his back towards the draft, his sensitive nose picks out a familiar scent.

It’s how your hair smells, like the pine trees near the sea, which Taehyung has only seen once.

Groaning quietly, he distracts himself from the cold with images of your warm body close to his. He sees you pressed up against him at the work table in the kitchen, your fingers brushing against his as you show him the way to close the seam of each chapssaltteok.

He shudders when he remembers how you’d leaned over to correct the placement of the sesame filling in the rice dough, your chest brushing sweetly against his arm under layers of cotton and silk.

He wonders how soft and warm you’d feel under him, welcoming him into your slick heat, how you’d take him in so well, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, ankles crossed around his back urging him deeper. You’ll cry out his name, over and over, moaning for more, begging him to go harder.

Kim Taehyung is sure if his master knew his dreams of you, he would be out on the streets in no time. But by the fires of hell, he’s not in the position to dictate his dreams. He’s so hard now, that it fucking hurts to just lie there.

Opening his eyes, he lets his eyes get accustomed to the dark room illuminated faintly by moonlight. He can just about make out your sleeping form, rising and falling under the layers of blankets.

But he also hears a quiet chattering. Realizing that your teeth are chattering from the cold, he gets up and gives you his thickest comforter his mother had sewn for him when she could still see.

The gold silk cover is embroidered with a beautiful peach tree laden with ripe fruit. He lays it gently over your sleeping form and then goes back to his own sparse bedding, willing for sleep to come.

He hopes you’ll be warm.

—----------------------------------

Dawn creeps quietly into your consciousness. You stir, thinking how strangely cozy you feel. As you sit up, you discover an extra thick comforter piled on top of your blankets.

Fingering the embroidery, you realize that this must be Taehyung’s. You glance at the door, expecting to see him still sleeping, but he’s no longer there.

Today is the day to make the chapssaltteok for the royal family! Last year, some of the young princes and princesses came to watch your father and you pound the rice flour, cheering you on.

This year, you’ve remembered to pack a clean set of clothes. It’s so cold but you know you’d feel better with fresh underclothes. Disrobing quickly, you are just about to shrug on your base layer when the door bursts open.

“Ahhh!” You scream trying to cover yourself.

“Ahhhh!” Taehyung averts his eyes.

“Why didn’t you lock the door?”

“Why didn’t you knock?”

You accuse each other at the same time.

“Leave! You m-mule!” you sputter.

“I can’t. The royal courtier is right outside the door! He wants us to start! I’ve come to tell you we’re up now!”

“J-just turn around then!” This was not expected. Last year, everything was planned meticulously to the minute but this year seems to be a lot more chaotic.

Taehyung turns obediently around.

“D-don’t look!” you warn.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He turns around, closes his eyes even. But he sees you, sees every curve of your hips and breasts and thigh, sees the slant of your shoulder, sees the dip between your cleavage, the valley between your legs.

He tries to think about the kindness of his master. Tries to think about honoring his parents. About anything, really, except how he wants to touch you. Right now.

Swallowing hard, he pleads, “We have to hurry. He says the banquet master wants a sample.”

“I’m hurrying!”

After securing your robes, tie the belt around your jacket, you take a deep breath at the door next to Taehyung. Nervously, you smooth your hair.

Taehyung turns to look at you. “You look nice,” he says reassuringly. “I heard some of the royal family will come to watch us.”

“Well. Let’s give them a good show then,” you say, determinedly.

He grins, his smile wide and genuine.

“As you wish.”

—----------------------------------------------------

It turns out the royal courtiers are incredibly short-staffed today. After they sort through your ingredients and equipment, and search your sleeves and pockets for possible vials of poison, they leave you and Kim Taehyung alone.

Not so, the royal family. You’re aware that every eye is on you as you pour the steaming rice dough into the trough. The young royal children are here along with the crown prince with a few of his companions, a tight crowd of rowdy men, laughing among themselves. You can’t really hear what they’re laughing about, but you feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Are you all right?” Taehyung asks, concern written on his face.

“Yes, I’m fine.” You brush off the unease of having the prince and his companions leering at you.

“Ready?” he asks, heavy mallet high in his arms.

“Ready,” you say.

And so it starts. Taehyung gets into the rhythm immediately, and you match him at each upswing of his mallet. Somehow, he seems stronger than before, faster, each stroke precise and sure. The children clap and cheer as they watch this lovely display of skill. Inwardly you grin, proud of your heritage, feeling the dough turn pliant under your fingertips at every handling.

You indicate to Taehyung that the dough is almost ready. “Last one!” you call. With a last, loud satisfying thwack, Taehyung delivers the last blow on the dough.

You’re about to take the dough on to the makeshift table to demonstrate how to wrap each chapssaltteok with the filling when a comment from the royal men drifts over to your ears.

“Who would want a chapssaltteok when you can have her instead?”

“Ahh… I guess we should take bets–does she have a salty or sweet filling?”

“Well, we will only find out if we each get a taste!”

“Who goes first?“

“I don’t mind going second, as long as I get seconds!”

“As the prince, I abstain from all forms of sloppy seconds—”

Your face burns with embarrassment. Fists rigid with anger, you can hardly control yourself. Oh how you want to hit them! Fuming, you saunter up to them and look squarely at them in the eye.

“My apologies, Crown Prince and honored companions. I regret to disappoint your honorable selves, your servant is neither salty nor sweet. My father has always said I was born…spicy. Would you care to try?” The language is reverential, yet your tone is insouciant.

It’s a long moment before the prince and his coterie recover from shock at your words. He lifts a hand to strike your cheek, “You bitch! The audacity! Guards! Why you–”

“---Please forgive my sister! She knows not what she speaks!” Taehyung moves swiftly between you and the crown prince, bowing deeply, almost on his knees. “Father says she’s only good for making chapssaltteok since she was dropped on her head as a baby.” Turning to you, he says smoothly, “Little one, please hurry on the chapssaltteok. Only the best for the Queen and her family.”

“Yes, brother,” you say, grateful for Taehyung’s intervention. You’re trembling partly out of anger but also out of fear. You could have gotten into very very serious trouble.

“Well, you better teach her not to speak then! A woman should work quietly! Not speak!” the crown prince spits out. “Train her properly!”

“Certainly, your highness,” Taehyung continues, bowing multiple times to the crown prince and to each of his companions until they are satisfied and saunter away.

Your fingers are shaking as you pull the rice dough for wrapping. How dare they?! How dare they!

You struggle to encase the sweet red bean filling with the rice dough. Usually, you can do this with your eyes closed but today each of your fingers are mutinous. There’s no way you can do this well.

“Kim Taehyung? T-take over. I can’t right now. This order is too important to mess up. For now, your chapssaltteok is better than mine.”

A range of emotions flit across his face—Fear. Confusion. Panic. “Are you… are you not well? Because I need you—I can’t do this on my own.”

“I think I need a walk. Away from here. Just for a while. You’ll be fine. I won’t be long.”

Taehyung puts his palm over yours. “What if you meet the prince again? I won’t be there to protec—”

“Kim Taehyung, why do you even care? I’ll be fine,” you insist. “J-just start first, please.” Your voice is shaky, but you won’t cry in front of this man.

He’s worried for you, but he knows it’s best to let you decide what’s best for yourself.

“My chapssaltteok will never be as good as yours. Ever.” He looks around and sees no one watching, so he reaches out and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “But… as you wish.”

---------------------------------

You walk in the servants’ courtyard.

Each step you take, you imagine yourself walking further and further away from the prince’s leering gaze, further and further away from those despicable words. You imagine yourself putting whole mountain ranges, oceans wider than the earth between you and those terrible moments in the prince’s presence.

You think of your father and how proud he is of you. How your ancestors, a long line of them before you nodding sagely, deeming you worthy to bear the family name and the family legacy.

You breathe in and out, letting go of the fear, the anger, the dirty feeling of being leered at and toyed with.

And you don’t know why, but then the picture of Kim Taehyung comes to you. You see his gentle eyes, hear his soothing voice, hear the words he likes to say—as you wish.

It dawns on you. It dawns on you that there’s no one else you’d rather make chapssaltteok with.

Chapssaltteok made by one person tastes bitter, chapssaltteok made by two tastes better.

Gaining strength, you hurry back to your corner. It’s time. You won’t let your family down. Not your father. And not Kim Taehyung.

And you definitely won’t let yourself down.

———--------------------------------

“Kim Taehyung! Kim Taehyung! The queen loves your chapssaltteok!” you shout your happy news as you fling open the wooden door. You heard from the dishwasher who heard from the royal table’s servant girl who heard from the banquet master that the entire royal family wa smitten with the chapssaltteok.

Hastening to tell Taehyung the news, you stumble over the step into the room, causing you to fly across the room. You would’ve hit the floor face first if not for how Kim Taehyung catches you in his arms.

Deliriously overjoyed and not caring about the awkward position you find yourself in—his arms right around your waist, your hands clasping his neck—you beam at him. “She loves them! They love them!” The words tumble out with pleasure from your lips.

“Who? What?” he asks, smiling to see you so exuberant.

“The queen! Everyone! They loved your chapssaltteok! You did it!”

“We did it, Y/N,” he says, humbled and grateful that it has turned out all right.

“We did it. We did it!” In your exuberance, you squeal with delight, arms still looped around him. You accidentally pull on him, causing him to lose his balance and tumble on top of you, your back thankfully landing on the pile of mats and comforters.

Noses bumping, you’re suddenly so very very close.

It’s too much for him. To have you pressed against him so intimately, so softly and warmly. Quickly he averts his eyes and tries to push himself up. Any second longer and he will drown in the deep pull of your gaze.

Heart racing wildly, you reach up to the side of his face, you ask him quietly, “Why can’t you look at me, Kim Taehyung?”

“Because I can’t,” he says, staring resolutely ahead.

“Why not?”

He would not speak. The words would be an abomination if his master were here.

“Tell me,” you whisper, breath held tight. “Tell me because I need to know I’m not the only one dreaming that there’s something between us.”

“I can’t look at you.” He lets out a long, low exhale. “Can’t look because then I would want to touch you. And taste you. And then—” he falters, “—then I’d want to feel you.”

“Kim Taehyung, look at me,” you whisper, urgent and needy, “I want you, too. Want you to do all that to me.”

Time stands still as the enormity of your words sinks in. “Really?” he asks, not daring to hope. It can’t be.

You refuse to wait any longer. “Feel me.”

It’s a declaration. It’s a command. It’s a promise.

“As you wish.”

--------------------------

Kim Taehyung doesn’t know which is better. How you feel. How you sound. Or how you taste.

“Taehyung. Please.”

You’re pleading for his fingers to stroke you again under your robes—loosened and

dragging on the floor.

Skin against skin, his hands roam over you, between, below, everywhere, feeling you tremble and quake under his touch.

“You’re so soft, soft for me in all the best places,” he murmurs as he plants a kiss on your hip. “Soft for me, here,” he whispers against the curve of your breasts. “And here,” he envelopes a nipple in his mouth, his tongue toys with you, swirling the tight bud in his mouth, lapping at the hardening pleasure, teeth gently scraping across the soft skin of your breast.

It hurts just enough to induce a moan. You clutch at strands of his hair, arching into him, “T-taehyung. Hnnnnnng.” You pull his head to your other breast, desperate for the hot brand of his touch and tongue there, too.

“Can’t get enough, huh?” he smirks against your skin. Who knew the master’s daughter is so needy under the fiery personality, so deliciously ripe under her layers of cotton and silk.

“N-no. Not enough,” you warble, as you feel his hand travels downward, parting your robes, fingers sliding under your underclothes, gently exploring the expanse of the silky smooth skin there. Then, lower, and lower he goes, his clever, clever hands rendering you dumb and stupid with every caress.

Reflexively, you cant your hips into his touch. “F-feel me,” you beg.

“I’ve got you,” he says, mouth close by your ear now, drawling out each word like warm rice wine poured long and slow. He positions his lips behind your earlobe and drags his teeth across your skin slowly, back and forth, back and forth, in the same slow rhythm as how his fingers now dance right at where you need him most at the apex of your thighs.

“Gods, Taehyung,” You're moaning at how good it feels, nipples peaking with anticipation, clitoris humming with the pleasure he’s working slowly into you, the dizzying dance of his fingers building a crescendo of pleasure. “Don’t stop,” you sob, heat building in your center.

“Not gonna stop. Not when you’re so warm for me,” he shifts down your body to position his head between your legs. Locking eyes with you, he parts your robes completely, and kisses the inside of your thighs.

“Not when you’re so wet,” he groans, as he tongues his way into your most intimate place. The first lick has his cock straining ever harder against his own robes.

“Not when you’re so messy,” he says, mouth sucking on the soft skin here, teeth gently nipping at the flesh there, smearing his lips wet and glossy with your arousal.

“I need you, there. Right there,” you whimper.

Heavens. The way you sound. Goes straight to his groin. “Here?” he asks, sliding a tentative finger up and down the slit where you’re so wet for him.

“Y-yes.”

“You’re fucking tight,” he breathes against your your mound as he now intrudes a finger, then another, into your wet walls.

“Oh Taehyung,” you whine with pleasure as you feel him rub against the spot inside you.

He works and works on you, learning the speed and tempo and pressure you like just by looking at the way your face twists tight with need: You feel everything – his fingers inside you, his thumb on your clit—rubbing, fondling, pleasuring you in all the right ways in all the right places, his tongue darting out, curling into you, flicking across and inside you.

“I-I’m cumming,” your voice quivers at the force of the quake you can feel rolling into you.

“I know,” Taehyung is breathing hard now, his cock harder than ever as he sees you so responsive under his ministrations. “I feel you. You’re soaking wet. Come. Come.”

With limbs suddenly locked in pleasure, toes curled tight, your orgasm grips you, and you come—short, sharp gasps for air punctuating a litany of expletives that spills from your mouth.

“Hell’s demons, you’re so wild for me,” he says as he drifts a longer finger down to slide up and down where your arousal has gathered in a sticky sticky mess. “So wild–” he says, bringing his finger glossy with your arousal to his lips for another taste, “so sweet. Like a wildflower.”

You shiver at his words, it’s thrilling. Wildflower.

“What do you need?” he drawls, as he brings it that same finger right by your lips. You can smell yourself, how desperate your body is for more of him. “I’ll give you anything,” he kisses your eyelids, your cheek, the side of your nose. “Anything.”

“Need you… need your cock,” you say, reaching out to palm his thick girth under his thinnest robe. He lets out a low hiss as you reach for him through his robes, feeling the rigid shaft, relishing its curve, its heat.

“Feel this? Feel how hard I am for you?” he grits out as your fingers trail fire in their wake. “I need you too.”

“Don’t wait anymore, then,” you say, reaching under his robes to cup his balls, stroking his solid length with your palm. Your finger traces the long vein, thumb smearing the drops of pre-cum around the head of his cock, over and across the slit at the tip, back and forth, every swipe drawing a choked moan from him. “Kim Taehyung,” you say as you slide down to your knees, “I want your cock inside me.”

“H-holy hell!” he gasps, as you ease your lips over him, tongue swirling over the liquid pearling at the top, tasting him, then sliding and spiraling down the shaft, slippery now with arousal and saliva; the glide easy because you are so hungry for him; hard because he’s thick and girthy as the weight of his cock sits heavy in your mouth.

He makes that low, primal sound again—the one that does something to your insides. Encouraged, you take him deeper down your throat. He glances at you, mouth choked full of him, hand caressing your jaw tenderly, “S-stop, wildflower. I can’t go gentle if you keep that up.”

You feel yourself getting even wetter at his words. In one last grasp of heady euphoria, you pull off agonizingly slowly, relishing every groan of pleasure from him, your lips tightening into a vacuum as you near the tip, reluctant to let go of your position of power while his fingers curl tighter and tighter into your hair as he tries so hard to stop himself from cumming.

“No more. No more. Please, take off all your clothes. Want you. Want you bare for me.”

“Want you bare, too,” you give an airy desperate whine.

Quickly disrobing, he looks at you spread beneath him, naked on the layers of mats and blankets. He pauses a little, thinking how he’s imagined this over and over, but nothing prepares him for the real thing. In a tight exhale, he calls you, “Beautiful. Wildflower.”

“Beautiful and cold,” you say, the chilly air causing you to crave his body on you something awful. “Come inside me. Fuck me, please.”

It’s an invitation he cannot resist. Quickly, he positions himself over you, one hand quickly flicking a blanket over both your bare bodies. “Feel better?” he asks.

“Better,” you sigh, as you welcome the delicious heat of his body on top of you. “But not best. Not yet.”

“So impatient,” he chides gently as he slots himself between your legs. “Just get used to me first, all right?” He rubs his cock between at your center, feeling the lingering slick there, rocking his hips slowly into you, drowning in how good it feels because there’s nothing between you.

“I’m ready. I know I am. Please come inside me,” you cry desperately.

He kisses your jaw , then the column of your neck, then the slant of your shoulder, murmuring each word slowly while he sinks his cock tenderly into you:

as

you

wish.

You whine at the stretch, wince as you try to receive his thick girth, a shadow of pain flitting across your face as cunt swallows his length slowly inch by inch. “So big, Taehyung,” breath catching in your throat.

Finally, fully lodged inside you, his balls are flushed against your ass. “I’m inside you, wildflower–” he pants, awestruck, holding back as much as he can to not start thrusting into you and coming right this moment. “–all of me.”

“Feel it,” you pant back, “all of you.”

“You feel too good. Too tight. Too everything.” Gods. He’s going crazy with lust.

“Taehyung, move, I can take it. Want it. Want you.”

He starts thrusting, hitting deep inside you, pelvis rocking against your clitoris, drawing cries of pleasure from you.

“Want my wildflower,” he says, eyes shut with effort, “you’re so perfect.”

You meet his every stroke, hips rocking against every roll and every thrust of his, crying out at every surge of his cock in and out of you. It starts to get hot under the covers, your skin sliding and slipping against the sweat of his skin until it becomes a little hard to grip on to each other.

“Too hot. Let me get on top,” you murmur. “Let me ride you.”

He nods, eager to slip back into your warmth again, however you want him, he’ll make it work.

Throwing off the covers, you climb on top of him, skin flushed and heated, shiny and glowing with a sheen of sweat. With your full breasts swaying tantalisingly before him, you slide slowly on his cock, glad that he’s holding the base for you to take him bit by bit.

“This angle–gods, you make me so full.”

“Yeah?” he asks, mesmerized by the way you’re so beautiful sitting on him like that. With one hand on his chest, you start to move your hips against his, finding your own rhythm and position to suck his cock inside your cunt and slide it out, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. He feels you clenching even harder around him.

It all feels too insanely good. The pitchy cries you make as you rock on him over and over drive him wild; your tight, slick cunt swallowing his cock. He feels his balls tighten, the end of the chase excruciatingly close.

“N-need to cum,” he groans. “Cum with me.”

“Go hard. Go fast. I won’t break,” you cry urgently as he starts thrusting in earnest. “Harder.”

With a low growl, Taehyung thrusts further, deeper into your sweet heat, hands reaching for your breasts, cupping their full weight, thumbing the peaked nipples, lightly pinching them as he feels your walls tightening him.

When his lips tremble and his breath starts getting ragged, you know he’s close, you feel the cock inside you twitch, filling you impossibly full until his fingers fly to your hips and grip you to anchor you to him. “Take me,” he growls. “Take me.” He thrusts hard and deep into you, shuddering as he cums, pulling you tight into him.

You cry out his name when you feel the hot spurt of his seed fill you in ropes of cum, clit swollen and tender from how hard you ride him.“Tae. Tae. Tae. Tae.”

Limp, with exhaustion, you fall onto him, your head resting in the crook of his neck as he holds you, both of you breathing hard, sweaty and sticky with lovemaking.

Tomorrow, you will think about the consequences when you return to your father.

Tonight, you will just enjoy sleeping in his arms—wrapped in him, wrapped under him, inside him, and he inside you.

—------------------------------------

The wedding celebrations last for three days.

It comes right after the unveiling of the new wooden sign above the storefront. On the left panel by the door, is Kim Taehyung’s name as the new sole proprietor of the chapssaltteok store your father has sold to him. On the right panel is a beautifully etched carving of a wildflower, the eolleji—rare, beautiful and treasured.

While Joseon custom dictates that a woman cannot own a business, Taehyung’s decision of having the wildflower take equal pride of place on the storefront is enough. He has pledged his life, his heart, his everything for you.

You finger the elegant lines of the flower along the wood grain, thinking of how they seem to curve in and out and hold the promise of new life, just like the curves of your body.

Your fingers fly to the gentle bump in your belly at the sudden flutter—a sweet secret you and Taehyung made weeks ago at the palace. The little one seems to crave another wedding chapssaltteok.

“As you wish,” you murmur quietly, because you now know it also means I love you.

Taehyung hears the words and looks at you, his eyes filled with tenderness. The family saying has been right all along:

Chapssaltteok made by one person tastes bitter, chapssaltteok made by two tastes better.

~ THE END ~

Please do not translate, post or upload this content onto any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.

My other KTH fic (Chococlate boutique AU) is here

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