A Blacksmith and Her Prince // Technoblade x Reader

Coffee

[Hi it's me, it's been a while. I just wanted to say I haven't forgotten about this story at all, I think of this book every single day, including the readers that still comment and watch over :)

If I'm being completely honest, it's been difficult to write. Real life has become extremely messy at the moment and I'm having a hard time writing Techno because of guilt. But I swear, I will finish this book, I have not given up on it yet.

For the mean time this is what I got so far, it's an unfinished part, but it's all I got at the moment, I hope it makes up for a months worth of silence.

I'm very sorry for being so unorganised and not keeping you guys updated properly. I'll release parts whenever I can, I promise.

I'll edit this part sometime in the future, but for now, Enjoy.] -Emily 🤍

Well this isn't exactly what you were hoping for.

Metal and iron scraped together in a symbolic fashion, squeaking like an old door that hasn't been oiled in a while. It was obnoxious, but the cause of the problem didn't seem to mind the hellish squeals, they actually didn't show any sort of emotion at all, not that you could have seen it anyway.

While you were hoping to find some distraction from the pain inducing thoughts, a person in glossy armour stood in your way Instructively, not letting you go one step without them on your tail. You tried to find some excuse every now and then, like asking for the bathroom or other womanly needs...

But, they didn't care, nor did they respond.

So this is where you are now, forced to navigate the halls with a distorted you. It was kinda alarming every time you tried to look at them, you could only see yourself upon the reflective surface, except it looked like you were made out of clay.

You pretended they were here to keep you company for the early morning, when really they were probably assigned to you by the King for extra security measures. It was an action that just couldn't be opposed, last night was the first time ever there has been an assasination attempt in this great kingdom. It's completely taboo to hear of any security mistakes in this castle, or any mistakes for that matter. The last time anything remotely worthwhile happened, was the time a guard was mistaken for an intruder on the premise, when really he was just having a coffee break. That didn't leave the news headlines for weeks.

So you sucked up whatever irritation of privacy you had left and went onwards to the kitchen quarters.

It was alarming walking into one of the biggest kitchens in the country and it being exposed to nothing but a coffee addict and a walking tea kettle. The gallery was practically scarce, with only a wet mop to showcase the minimal souls there oath to be. It felt entirely off, as if people suddenly disappeared and only their last duties remained. You didn't want to ponder on it for too long, it would only cause more cogs to turn, spiking your headache with another hard punch. Every word, every sentence, sending multitudes of jabs to your head in a light speed instant. You couldn't help but be forced to relish the fact that people weren't here because the day only just started.

No... they weren't here out of the fear of being the next victim.

Maybe all the workers were sent home to their families, that's what you would prefer to think and not the highly likely possibility that every maid, butler or caretaker is shitting themselves, only safe behind a locked bedroom door. It's what you should be doing after all, staying locked away in your bed chambers, waiting for Prince Charming to save you. Yet here you are, ripping open cupboards to find the world's organic life support.

Coffee.

Honestly, it's not surprising to find that's your number one priority right now and not y'know, the literal possibility of being stabbed in the back, but whatever.

The shielded figure never once questioned your erratic behaviour, instead only creepily gawking at you from behind, not even offering to help you find your sweet nectar beans.

"Hey creep." Your voice cooed from inside the cupboard, leaving your knees to ache upon the polished floor. "Instead of staring at my ass, maybe do something useful and boil some water for me?" You tap your booted foot against the floor expectantly, waiting for the unwanted presence to leave. The only response given was high pitch squeaks and a startled grunt.

You didn't care if they did or did not heat up water for you, having the towering aura gone was pleasant enough. There wasn't going to be a need for any hot water anyway if you couldn't find where the beans were hidden, hopefully these workers aren't expert obscurantists. Because so far, it's like finding a star in a sea of constellations.

You open every door, nook and cranny in hopes of finding any traces of a singular coffee bean. So far, it's ten points for the kitchen and zero to you, this is a nightmare. You weren't one to be cursed with early morning crankiness, but now with this sudden fume of aggravation, it might be time to change that title. To be fair though, it would usually be covered up with liquid energy and a doting father. The best you got right now is a pervert and room temperature milk.

Fantastic.

Welp, buttered toast it is then.

In defeat, you annoyingly pull your legs towards the modernised ice box, wishing for there to at least be a teaspoon of churned cream. Ripping it open with no spare for a second thought, headache too much to handle, what you found shocked you to your core.

It wasn't a butter stick wrapped in pretty silver aluminium that you were expecting to find, but something that made your head pound with spikes of sudden lust and desire. The feeling spread through the veins of your arms, inching down into the deep crevice of your finger tips, tingling with the need to just pounce and itch with every will of your body. There was no stopping the rapid river dancing in your mouth, it swished and swashed back and forth, only to eventually sink down into the depths of your throat, eliciting a very prominent gulp of need.

There she was.

In all her absolute glory.

Coffee.

Oh to be alive, never have you felt such a wave of relief.

That was until the thought hit you.

"Who the fuck puts coffee in a fridge?"

It was a rhetorical question answered by a loud metallic slam from behind, whipping around, coffee in hand, you glare at the reflective pervert. They only stood seemingly awkwardly, showcasing their hard work with a polished squeak.

"What?" You say sternly.

The figure creaks an arm out lazily, letting it flop back to their side with a drum like thud.

"Oh," atop of the steel table was a royal brace teapot, the lid was left open to release the steam of boiled liquid. "Thanks!" A smile caught your lips as you slapped the individual on the shoulder, the force stung your hand, but you didn't care to give it attention.

Instead, with craftsman hands, you crushed, stirred, poured and created (what you believed) the world's best coffee. The aroma of said masterpiece, filled the kitchen with the smell of perfect morning brew, alluding to what you hoped to be a good day to come.