#We had to RUN to get to the gate before it closed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheapshrimpysheep · 8 months ago

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Yuutsum 2

SUMMARY: What if you also have a Tsum? Then your Tsum and the Tsum of the person you like keep giving signs that they like each other? Ortho's part is platonic as always.

CHARACTERS: Twisted Tsumderland 2 Tsumsitters (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader

WARNING: Spoilers for the Twisted Tsumderland 2 Event and the Tsumsitter cards Vignettes.

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: This was originally a request from @taruruchi for my 1k celebration. Which you can read here. And since so many readers liked it, I decided to do what I normally do when this happens: Do this for ALL the characters! Grouped by event in this case.

Azul's part is different from the one I wrote for the request. At the time the event had not yet reached the English server, if I'm not mistaken.

I hope you enjoy 😉

Yuutsum 1 (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

Yuutsum 3 (Ace; Trey; Ruggie; Jamil; Vil; Idia; Malleus; Silver)

CONTEXT: Like the original Twisted Tsumderland 2 event, this takes place after the events of the first Twisted Tsumderland. And, surprise, your Tsum is back! But it's the only one, all the other Tsums that came with it are completely new visitors.

You were with your Tsum in the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm, and it wouldn't leave the window as if it was waiting for something. You ask if it wants to go somewhere, but it shakes its head and continues looking out the window.

A short time later you heard a loud bang at the front door as if something had been thrown at it, and your Tsum finally leaves the window and hops towards the door. Even before you open the door, you can hear Ace laughing and Deuce complaining.

When you open it, you find Deuce struggling to contain his Tsum who is trying to break free from his arms.

“Sorry (Y/N).” Deuce apologizes “I can't contain this guy. It started running... or hopping, like crazy when it realized we were going to pass by here.”

Your Tsum makes that cute tsum noise to get the attention of Deuce and his tsum. The two look down and their eyes light up as they see your Tsum. Deuce’s tsum breaks free from Deuce's arms and lands right next to your Tsum. And the two tsums begin to rub their little faces and noses against each other. Deuce blushes automatically.

Ace, who watched the whole scene, stopped laughing and was now looking at the tsums with a sulky face. “Oi? What's up now with this guy?” he questions.

“I-I-I don't know.” It's the only thing Deuce can say in response.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Ace continues. “Your Tsum came back? Why? Our housewarden's didn't. Neither did Cater's.”

You say you don't know.

“Maybe your tsum is dragged into everyone's messes too.” Deuce says, smiling. “Not even it has a break with us, hum?”

Your Tsum headbutts Deuce's Tsum to get its attention, taps one of its little hands on the ground 5 times and Deuce's Tsum realizes the urgency of something. The two tsums start hopping towards the gate.

“OI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW?” Deuce shouted.

The three of you run after the Tsums, but they reach the Hall of Mirrors first and go through the mirror to Heartslabyul.

“Well, on the one hand they saved us work.” Ace says.

“Yes, but they are on the loose!” Deuce replies.

You go through the mirror, run a little further and stop abruptly when you come across Riddle and Trey. Your tsums were close to their feet and were still very close to each other.

“See? They arrived on time.” Trey says. “They must have just had a little mishap with the tsums. Right?”

Ace and Deuce confirm. Riddle welcomes you and invites you to the Unbirthday Party that will be happening soon. He also tells Ace and Deuce to go do their party preparation duties. After he and Trey leave, Deuce realizes what happened.

“I get it now. Your tsum was telling mine the time, and warning it that we were going to be late.”

“Damn, even your Tsum needs two Tsumsitters.” Ace laughs. And Deuce-tsum hits him.

When it was preparing to hit him a second time, your Tsum got in the way and started rubbing its face against Deuce-tsum’s, calming it down.

“See my point?” Ace adds, and this time it's your Tsum that hits him.

You were walking through the school hallways, with your Tsum in your arms, when you crossed paths with Floyd. He automatically smiled when he saw your Tsum.

You ask each other what the other is doing there and Floyd tells you that he was playing a board game with Azul and his Tsum. He says that he left them playing with each other in the classroom. You feel your Tsum move excitedly in your arms.

After saying goodbye to each other you go to the classroom where Floyd said they were. You knock on the door and pop your head inside. You see both Azul and his Tsum immersed in the game, but not enough to not notice your presence.

“Oh, good afternoon (Y/N).” Azul greets you with a smile. His Tsum quickly looks towards the door when it hears him say your name. “Please come in.” You do so. “Is there anything you need or-” He sees your Tsum and widens his eyes with a sparkle in them.

Azul-tsum makes that happy tsum sound, jumps to the floor, stops for a second, jumps back onto the table to make its move on the board game, and then gets off the table again to hop happily towards you. Your tsum jumps out of your arms and lands on the ground. And when Azul-tsum finally reaches yours the two begin to cuddle with each other.

Azul was focused on the game and only after making his play “Okay tsum, your tu-” did he look at the two tsums, and blushes slightly. He clears his throat loudly causing his tsum to look at him.

Azul’s tsum turns to yours and makes another cute sound, then the two of them hop back to the table. Azul's tsum returns to its place on the other side of the board, but yours jumps into Azul's arms to his surprise. He managed to catch it, then it looked at him and smiled with its eyes, making Azul stare at it in wonder.

“I'll concede that you are indeed charmingly cute.” He then whispers to himself: “As much as the person you resemble.”

You approach to sit with them and Azul suggests that you sit next to his tsum. The two Azuls exchange a suspicious look with each other.

They keep playing. When it's not Azul's turn, your tsum makes little sounds or something that makes him look at it. And when it's not Azul-tsum's turn, it seems to be undecided between paying attention to the board or looking at you so you can pet it. In the end, the two were practically tied, but Azul-tsum makes a play that makes it win the game. Both his tsum and your tsum celebrate, coming back to cuddle with each other.

“Ah, so that was your real move.” Azul said with a smirk. “You used (Y/N)'s tsum to distract me. Actually no, worse than that, you two are partners in crime.”

The two tsums looked smugly at Azul. But he didn't seem upset despite having lost. In fact, he seemed to be looking thoughtfully at the tsums. You ask what's wrong or if he's okay.

“Oh, don't worry, it's nothing. I was just thinking...” He looks back at the tsums who look back at him with an encouraging look. Both of them. “From what I've been able to observe, tsums have a lot in common with the person they resemble, especially their personality. After seeing how these two work together I was just wondering...” He looks at you and smiles confidently. “Wouldn't you happen to have the same interest as your tsum in being my partner too? Hum... partner in crime, I mean.”

You were walking through the Main street with your Tsum in your arms, when you see a little thing hopping towards you. It stops right in front of you, at your feet, and smiles at you with its eyes, making that cute tsum sound, as if it were greeting you politely. From the side where the dark grey strand is facing and from the calm demeanor, you can tell it's Jade's tsum.

Your tsum makes the cute tsum sound back to Jade-tsum and you let your tsum jump to the ground for the two to rub their faces against each other.

After that, you hear footsteps approaching you. Looking ahead you see Jade. His tsum looks at him and then jumps into your arms smiling at you with its cute little eyes. When Jade gets close to you he laughs.

“He he. You are quite cunning indeed, tsum. Or should I just say coward at this point?” He was still smiling, but with that look that was worryingly difficult to decode. Then he looks at you. “Forgive me for not greeting you first, (Y/N). I got... worried about the tsum when I lost sight of it. I'm genuinely relieved that you were the one to find it safe and sound.” He looks down at your tsum. “Aw, what a lovely sight, your sweet tsum is back.”

You feel Jade-tsum tense up in your arms, but it barely moves. Jade bends down and holds out his cupped hands for your tsum to jump into them. You feel Jade-tsum once again tense slightly, but without moving. Jade raises your tsum in front of his face. It smiles at him innocently.

“Undoubtedly adorable.” Jade says. “But you shouldn't just jump into anyone's hands like that.” He lowers his hands to chest height, holds the tsum with one hand while, with the other, he makes a claw-like movement as if he were going to imprison it. “It could be dangerous.” He looks at his own tsum in your arms, who still doesn't move.

“But it didn't just jump into anyone's hands.” You say. He looks at you meeting your eyes. “However you're right, it can be very dangerous. But you should have told that to YOUR tsum.”

Both Jade and his Tsum are surprised by what you said. And suddenly you tighten your hug around Jade-tsum as if you were Floyd squeezing someone. But in this case, you are squeezing the tsum with love and affection. It waves its little arms and legs as if it were asking for help, but not trying very hard to escape.

Jade laughs delightedly, and frees your tsum from his clutches, taking it to his chest just to pet it affectionately. He looks at that little angel face face that knew he wouldn't hurt you or your tsum and smiles.

“In fact, you are a danger on the loose.” He jokes. “Tell me, would the both of you like to accompany me and my little lookalike to Mostro Lounge? We came here for a stroll around campus because I thought it would be a nice bonding exercise. But I’m sure that something like sharing a smoothie, for example, could also be great for bonding.”

You look happy with the idea of going with them to Mostro Lounge. But in the meantime you realize that tsums don't have mouths. How could they share a drink?

“Oh, well, perhaps I wasn't referring to the tsums.” He smiles at you with that bold confidence.

Kalim, his tsum and Jamil took a magic carpet tour of campus. Kalim-tsum’s eyes were sparkling the whole time during it, but something must have piqued its interest because after that it disappeared.

Meanwhile, you were with your tsum in the Ramshackle Dorm lounge when you heard someone knocking on the door. You open it to find... no one. Until you hear that happy tsum sound near your feet. You look down and see a Kalim-tsum smiling at you with its eyes.

As soon as you say hello, it wastes no time in jumping on your shoulder and brushing its face against your cheek. You hear another tsum sound behind you. You turn around and Kalim-tsum sees your tsum. Kalim-tsum makes another happy sound and jumps off your shoulder to hug your tsum. Or at least that's what it looked like despite its short arms.

If that tsum was there without Kalim, most likely he was looking for it. And consequently Jamil too. Therefore, you decide to take the two tsums in your arms and go find Kalim.

Just as you predicted, you found Kalim and Jamil together on Main Street. When Kalim sees you from afar, he happily waves his arms in the air to call you to join them.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Kalim greets you. “I'm so glad I found you! I really wanted you to meet-” He looks at the two little creatures you carry in your arms when you get close to him. “AH! You found it! You're amazing!”

Jamil sighs with relief. And then they both realize what, or rather, who, the other little creature is. Kalim's eyes shine and a huge smile spreads across his face.

“It can't be! There's one like you too! It's so cute! Aw, I want to hug it so much! Can I? Can I? Pretty pleeease~?”

If you’re more outgoing, your tsum will smile with its eyes at him. If you are more shy, your tsum will be too flattered and hide its face in your arms. Which will make Kalim find it even cuter.

“I know they may look like plushies,” Jamil says “but I don’t think you should treat them like one.”

“Don't worry, I won't hurt it.” Kalim says both to Jamil and to you.

“I'm also worried about the other way around. If that is even possible.”

“What? No way!” Kalim stretches out his arms welcomingly for your tsum to jump into them. And it does. He turns to Jamil. “You don't really think this adorable little thing would hurt anyone, do you?”

Jamil looks at your tsum, who smiles at him with its eyes and he blushes slightly to the point of having to look away. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“And I am a great judge of character.” Kalim completed confidently. He brings your tsum close to his face to see it better. “Oh, if you were bigger I could hug you for real.”

This gives your tsum an idea and suddenly it starts to grow, which takes everyone by surprise, until it stops at the size of a pillow. Kalim has no other way to hold it other than hugging it and that's what he does. He hugs it tight like it's the most adorable thing on earth and he never wants to let it go.

And apparently, Kalim's tsum wants the same treatment, but from you, so it also grows to the size of a pillow for you to hug it.

Jamil looks at you all slightly uncomfortably and can only say: “If you ever do that to each other, at least get a room first.”

It was already late in the afternoon. You were walking across campus with your tsum in your arms when you heard a "CUT!". You have heard that a few other times before, it was Vil's voice and he must have been filming something for the film club.

Your tsum moves in your arms as if it was also curious to see what he was doing. You follow the sound and walk until you reach the Main Street.

“Rehearsal is over.” You hear Vil say and you stop. “Now we must capture this scene before the sun sets. Focus!”

That sounded like your cue not to interrupt him. You weren't at a place where you could appear in the frame, so you just wait there, watching, just like your tsum. However, someone else was watching the scene as well, hidden in the bushes.

“Now the real fun begins.” Rook says, both to his tsum and to Epel, that he dragged it with him. “Let us watch Vil and the rest of the club shine!”

Rook's tsum hops eagerly and the two observe Vil, until something else catches the tsum's attention and it looks to the side. Rook notices this.

“You changed the target of your attention, monsieur tsum. What could have possible divert your gaze from Vil?” He follows the tsum's gaze and finds you, standing there watching Vil. “Bien sûr, there could only be one reason.” He sees your Tsum in your arms. “Oh, marvelous! Tricster's tsum is back! Even more beauty to behold.”

Everything goes smoothly until the end of the recordings. And it is only when Vil sees you and greets you that you approach him. His attention (and everyone's actually) goes to your tsum.

“I see you've also been assigned as a tsumsitter.” Vil says. “I heard it had shown up the first time this happened, but I ended up not having the pleasure of meeting it. I'm glad I got this chance.” He smiles at your tsum who looks at him in wonder. “One also appeared in Pomefiore. A Rook lookalike.”

You feel your tsum spasm in your arms, and then you hear something jumping towards you. You turn around and a wild Rook-tsum appears and greets you with that happy tsum sound.

Your tsum jumps to the ground and lets Rook-tsum approach it first. It jumps to get closer to your tsum but, to everyone's surprise, your tsum dodges and runs away.

You panic a little, your tsum had never done that until now, and Rook-tsum goes jumping after your tsum, even though it has already lost sight of it. You are about to start running to look for them when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You are startled by Rook's sudden appearance.

“Worry not, trickster. I have been following monsieur tsum and it has been an enriching experience. You could accompany me and we can observe them together. There is no place they can go that I won't find them.” he winks.

You go with Rook following your tsums. You notice that every now and then your tsum stops as if provoking Rook-tsum and when it is about to catch your tsum, it dodges again and continues running away.

“How fascinating.” Rook laughs “Tell me, doesn't it look like they're playing with each other?”

You continue following the tsums to the botanical garden, already in the early evening. Where they finally stop. Or rather, where your tsum finally lets itself be caught, in the subtropical zone. You see Rook-tsum clinging to your tsum and making a movement with its head as if were kissing your tsum passionately.

“I wonder...” Rook says “If this is all some kind of mating ritual for the tsums.” he laughs seeing your reaction. “What's wrong, trickster? That look is not from someone who dislikes the idea~ Is there anything your heart would like to share? Because any question you have about mine can be answered by looking at monsieur tsum.”

You were walking through campus with your Tsum in your arms when you heard something above you.

“PREFECT!” You hear Ortho's voice shout from somewhere. “LOOK OUT!”

You see an unidentified flying object coming towards you at high speed. Your instinct is to cower and duck. But the object stopped before it hit you and landed on the ground in front of you. You look and see an Ortho-tsum. Ortho approaches you.

“He he he. Did we scare you? Sorry. Are you OK?” He asks. You answer that you are. “I’m glad. We just wanted to surprise you. Have you already heard of these little creatures called tsums, (Y/N)?”

You stand up, revealing your tsum that had been hidden in your arms when you ducked. Both Ortho and his tsum are happy to see your tsum.

“OH! One like you also appeared! So cool!”

Ortho-tsum uses its new device to fly towards your tsum, who got surprised by it. Your tsum jumps from your arms to the ground and gestures for Ortho-tsum to come closer to it.

Ortho-tsum lands near your tsum again and it starts walking around ortho-tsum as if it is examining the new device suspiciously. The tsum make sounds as if they were chatting.

“I don't know what they're saying...” Ortho laughs. “But from the tone and what they're doing, it seems like your tsum is worried about my tsum's new antigravity device. The audio of the noises I'm capturing sounds similar to a scene from a movie I have stored in my memory, where an older sister is saying things like 'Where did you get that?', ‘Are you sure it's safe?’, ‘You could get hurt.’ Ha ha ha.”

After this conversation between the tsums, Ortho's tsum flies for a second, lands again and makes an inviting sound for your tsum. It jumps on Ortho-tsum's back and the two slowly and carefully take flight.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum. Will you play with us too (Y/N)? Pretty Please?”

If you feel safe with Ortho, he will take you flying on his back. If you're scared he'll say: “It's okay, I understand. We can play close to the ground. We don't need to go up to the clouds to have fun together."

After walking around campus you decided to stop to rest on one of the benches in the Courtyard. You sit down and your tsum stays on your lap. A few seconds later, when you thought you could rest a little, something falls into your lap and on top of your tsum, startling you both.

After enjoying your reactions, the new tsum jumps next to you on the bench and turns to face you. It's a Lilia's tsum.

“Yay! Your tsum is back!” A voice behind you startles you and your tsum again, making it jump from your lap to Lilia-tsum's side.

Your tsum starts making sounds like it's complaining, but Lilia-tsum starts rubbing its face against your tsum to calm it down.

“Khee hee hee. Sorry.” Lilia says upside down, floating next to you. “You were trying to rest, weren't you?” He gestured for the tsums to move away so he could sit next to you.

They jump into your lap, where they get so close that it looks more like they're snuggling in a nest.

“I know it may not seem like it, but my tsum was getting tired too. But neither it nor I could resist surprising you and your tsum. Isn't it as charming and cute as me?”

You look at the tsums in your lap who seemed to be cuddled up sleeping. You joke that Tsum can be cuter.

“Ow, you're just saying that because of the plush shape it has. But looking at you and your tsum, I understand what you mean. Your tsum is also cuter than you.” He sees you pout slightly, and smiles mischievously. “Khee hee hee. Looks like someone didn't like being hit with their own spell.”

Lilia-tsum wakes up from its short nap and jumps to the ground, waking up your tsum as well. Lilia-tsum makes an inviting happy sound to your tsum, who also jumps off your lap to join it.

“I think it wants to play with your tsum now.”

You and Lilia follow your tsums to see what they will do. They prank a student. He was distracted reading a magazine when Lilia-tsum makes a sound that catches his attention. He looks, sees Lilia's tsum, rubs his eyes, looks again, and sees Lilia's and yours tsums. He rubs his eyes again, looks again and only sees your tsum. He gets up startled, looks the other way, looks back to where the tsum were and there is nothing there anymore. You hear him walking away wondering if he's going crazy or hallucinating.

You and Lilia laugh. And then Lilia has another idea for a prank.

The four of you go to the library and find two students chatting at a table. One of them is telling the other that he had seen Lilia transform into a small, round creature in front of him. The other wondered if it was some shapeshifting spell or some prank of Lilia's. Lilia-tsum hopped over to them.

“SEE?! HERE! This was the creature I saw Lilia transform into!”

You appear and greet the students. Lilia-tsum jumps into your arms in front of them and Lilia casts a light spell that temporarily blinds them, long enough for your tsum to take your place. When the students look again, they find two tsums.

“AHH! It's not a spell, it's some curse!” the other student says. “If any of them touch us, we become one of them too!”

Your two tsums walk slowly but menacingly towards them, and the students run away. Lilia bursts out laughing.

“This must have been the best one yet. Don't you also think it's funny when two big boys run away in fear from a cute little thing?”

The two tsums return to you. Lilia-tsum looks tired.

“We don't have that much stamina at this age, do we?” Lilia says smiling. He holds out his arms for his tsum to jump into them, but it doesn't. “Um? You don't want me to carry you?”

Lilia-tsum walks up to your tsum and cuddles with it.

“Oho, I see. In that case...” Lilia takes his blazer off his shoulders and ties the ends together as if making a hammock. “Okay you little lovebirds, here's a nest for you.” The two tsums jump in and snuggle together. “In fact, there is one thing cuter than our separate tsums: them together.” He looks at you, but the cute smile turns into a mischievous one when he sees your face. “What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't think they would make a pretty couple. That would break my heart.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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thedensworld · 26 days ago

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Queen From Wonhwa | J.Ww

Pairing: Commander Wonwoo x Princess Reader

Genre: Historical, Romance, Thriller

Word Count: 18k

Summary: The conflict between the royal family had dragged you to join an alliance with a fallen royal, who held personal vendetta to the Silla royal family.

Hwarang was established in the mid-6th century, comprising elite young men from noble families, the yangban class. Among them was Jeon Wonwoo, one of the finest combat trainers in the Silla Kingdom. As the appointed combat instructor, Wonwoo stood as the pillar of strength and discipline, entrusted with training the kingdom’s future warriors. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, followed the Crown Prince Seungcheol as he readied his sword for a swift strike in their ongoing training session.

"Good job, Seja," Wonwoo complimented, his voice steady as Seungcheol’s sword clashed against his, signaling the end of their practice.

The other royals, including Seungkwan, the young prince, and the Daegun—other princes like Dokyeom and Chan—were also in the midst of their training.

A sudden clatter interrupted the session. Chan dropped his wooden sword, eyes wide as he spotted someone at the entrance of the practice area. His excitement was palpable, and Dokyeom, equally enthusiastic, followed suit. The two rushed toward the figure standing at the gate.

"Sister!" Chan exclaimed, his voice full of wonder as he rushed into the woman’s arms, followed closely by Dokyeom, who was beaming with joy.

The woman—Princess Y/n, the fiancée of Jeon Wonwoo—had returned. Seungcheol watched the scene unfold with furrowed brows, his voice cutting through the air as he gave an order to the two princes.

“Daegun! Back to practice, we still have time left,” Seungcheol commanded firmly, though his eyes lingered on his sister.

He shook his head, his lips curling into a slight, bemused smile. "She's back."

Wonwoo, ever the soldier, remained still, eyes fixed on his trainees as Seungcheol spoke further.

"Wonhwa has dismissed. She has no reason to be away,” Seungcheol added, his tone casual but laden with underlying meaning. “Her supplies must have been all used up by now."

Wonwoo remained silent, his gaze never straying from the royal siblings. But his attention was divided now. The moment he spoke, his words were succinct and unwavering: "She's my fiancée."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Are the two of you actually going to get married?"

"As long as the bride doesn't run away again, maybe we will," Wonwoo replied, his voice deadpan, though there was an edge of humor in his eyes.

Seungcheol chuckled, clearly entertained. With a quick motion, Wonwoo redirected everyone's focus.

"Enough chatter," he called out, his voice strong and commanding. "Back to training. Let's keep the discipline."

With that, the royal family of Silla returned to their practice, the clashing swords and the disciplined rhythm of training filling the air once again, the tension of their personal lives hanging just beneath the surface.

As the training session came to an end, Chan immediately ran toward you, who had been watching from the sidelines. His enthusiasm was evident as he approached you with a wide smile.

"Are you going to live with us now that you're not training again, sister?" he asked eagerly, his eyes full of curiosity.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his straightforwardness. "How do you know?" you responded, your voice soft but with a hint of playful challenge.

Chan grinned, clearly pleased with his own knowledge. "I overheard the guards talking. They said Wonhwa was dismissed, and Hwarang is now only for men."

Wonhwa, the training program for women, had been designed to provide education in culture, politics, social etiquette, and combat skills. You had spent three years immersed in the rigorous program before it was dissolved due to internal conflicts. Hwarang, a military force for young men, had been formally established by your father, the King, after the dissolution of Wonhwa.

Before you could respond, Seungcheol, the Crown Prince, approached you. His eyes met yours, and the unspoken tension between you two seemed to charge the air. You gave a slight bow, acknowledging his presence, but the moment felt heavy, like a storm cloud hanging overhead.

"How are you, Ongju?" Seungcheol asked, his voice polite but carrying an edge of formality.

Your response was measured, your gaze steady. The tension between the two of you was palpable. It was no secret to those watching that Prince Seungcheol and Princess Y/n shared a cold, distant relationship.

There had long been rumors that King Seongdeok favored his daughter over the Crown Prince, despite you not being part of the direct succession line. This favoritism had fueled whispers of a strained relationship between Seungcheol and you, something that lingered in the corridors of the palace, even though neither of you ever spoke of it openly.

As the onlookers exchanged glances, the silence between the royal siblings felt like the calm before a storm. The past was never far behind you, and the weight of royal duty made every glance, every word, carry the burden of history.

"I see you're here for training as well, Seja." You spoke, your tone light but with an underlying sharpness, knowing well that Seungcheol had long passed the age for Hwarang training.

You glanced at Wonwoo, who had approached, his presence unmistakable. The way he carried himself, the badge on his shoulder—it was clear he was now the official trainer for Hwarang. His position made him more than just an observer in the training ground; he was the one who guided them.

"I heard you're skilled with the sword. Can we see you spar with Seja?" Seungkwan piped up, his voice filled with innocent excitement. As the younger brother, he seemed oblivious to the tension between you and his older sibling. You smiled in response, amused by his enthusiasm.

Taking the sword from Dokyeom, you turned your head towards Seungcheol, your expression one of quiet determination.

Wonwoo watched closely, noting the way you held the sword. The ease with which you gripped it, the focused calmness in your stance—your confidence spoke volumes. The rumors of your swordsmanship were true, but seeing it firsthand made them all the more impressive. You were a master in combat, and it wasn’t just the sword that made you formidable.

"I didn’t know they taught swordsmanship in Wonhwa," Seungcheol said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought they only taught you how to pour tea." His words, meant to sting, seemed to land right where he intended.

You felt the subtle jab, but your response came with a practiced smile, hiding the flicker of pain beneath it. "I understand, Seja," you replied, your voice tinged with calm authority. "Since you never received any training, I can hardly blame you for not knowing."

The tension hung thick between you two, but you did not let it show. With a swift movement, you raised your sword, eyes locked on Seungcheol, ready for whatever came next.

Wonwoo, standing to the side, couldn’t help but be entertained by the exchange. The subtle, yet clear animosity between you and Seungcheol was something he hadn’t missed. He found himself amused, watching the interaction unfold. Perhaps he should stay for the entertainment—if only to ensure neither of them ended up with a sword in the other’s chest.

"Princess Y/n, Commander Jeon is here," your lady-in-waiting announced, her voice barely above a whisper as the doors swung open. You swiftly adjusted your gown, ensuring it was draped elegantly around you, just before Wonwoo, the man you were set to marry in a matter of months, entered your chamber. The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words, and you could feel the weight of four years pressing down on your heart.

It had been four long years since you last saw him, back when you were preparing to join the Wonhwa training—a decision that had sparked a wave of change not just in your life, but across Silla. At 18, when most young women were expected to embrace marriage, you chose a different path. Your refusal to wed became more than a personal choice; it was a declaration that would resonate through the kingdom and challenge centuries of tradition.

As the only princess and the king's sole daughter, your rejection of marriage at the prescribed age marked a profound turning point for the women of Silla. Your words had ignited a shift in thought that could no longer be ignored: "Women have the right to serve their country just as men do, even after the age of marriage. For too long, marriage has hindered our service to the kingdom. If marriage requires the same devotion as military service, then let men bear the burden we have carried for so long."

Your declaration had not only shocked the court but also forced a reassessment of laws that had been in place for generations, forcing many to reconsider the boundaries of gender roles in Silla.

"How has the military been treating you, Princess?" Wonwoo asked, his voice steady and respectful, yet carrying an undertone of genuine curiosity.

You raised a brow, surprised by his question. "And you, Commander? How have you been?" you replied, your tone remaining neutral. You gestured for your attendants to leave, signaling that this conversation would be more private.

Once the room was clear, Wonwoo met your gaze and spoke again. "If I may ask, how are you, Princess?" His voice was measured now, careful, as if testing the waters.

You exhaled softly, taking a moment to consider his question. "The military is... challenging," you said, the words coming out slowly, as you weighed their significance. "Wonhwa was an education for militant women. Now, I find myself... reduced to a figurehead in a world of men." Your tone remained calm, but the weight of the words was heavy.

"Yet, you are the only woman in history to have changed the laws," Wonwoo remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice. "The marriage age, the limits on women's education and careers—all of these restrictions were lifted because of you."

You gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. "Perhaps," you replied. "But it was only because my father is the king." The acknowledgment of your role in the changes didn’t sit easily with you.

Wonwoo smiled faintly, almost as if understanding that the title of "Princess" did not define you. "And yet, Princess, you stand as a symbol of defiance and progress."

You felt a slight warmth at his words, but quickly masked it with a more guarded expression. "What brings you here, Commander?" you asked, your tone shifting to something more formal, as the conversation inevitably turned toward your future.

He studied you for a moment before replying. "May I not visit my soon-to-be wife?" His words were careful, though the undertone of them hung in the air, too charged for comfort.

Your expression faltered for a brief second before you regained composure. "Enough, Commander. You know this marriage will not happen." You dismissed his words with a wave of your hand, but inside, a part of you was unsettled.

He held your gaze, quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "You said that four years ago, Princess, and yet here we are, only months away from the wedding."

You let out a quiet sigh, the weight of the truth pressing in. "I am not the same person you knew," you murmured, your voice softer than before, laced with something more vulnerable.

Wonwoo paused, his expression softening as he took in your words. "Perhaps, Princess. But I never truly knew you." The words hung in the air, a quiet confession that carried more meaning than either of you realized.

It was the truth, you thought. No one had ever truly known you—not your father, not your mother, and certainly not him. You were merely a title, a pawn in a game too complex to fully understand. And perhaps, in this moment, that was the one thing you shared—an unspoken acknowledgment of the distance between who you were and who the world expected you to be.

You first got to know Wonwoo during your first solo trip to Hanju Province at the age of 18. It had been an act of defiance, a way to escape the suffocating expectations placed upon you. Your father, the king, had sent him to find you after your previous lady-in-waiting reported your disappearance. At that time, you believed no one would bother looking for you; after all, you were merely the daughter of the king's concubine, not his legitimate wife. But your assumptions were proven wrong when you came face to face with a familiar figure—a military soldier who had taught all your brothers sword-fighting, archery, and martial arts. He stood before you, unwavering, claiming that the kingdom had been searching for you.

"You know that being my husband will be difficult, right?" you asked, your voice laced with jest, though you already knew the marriage would never happen. You had your own plans—plans that involved running away long before the wedding day arrived.

Wonwoo nodded, his expression unreadable. "I realized that. But being married to someone else, someone other than you, would be even harder." His words caught you off guard, a blush creeping up your neck as you turned your face away in feigned indifference.

You shook your head, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "If position is what you're seeking, Commander Jeon, then you should reconsider. I'm just the daughter of a concubine, not a princess worthy of a powerful alliance."

Wonwoo’s smile remained, softening as he gazed at you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper—something unspoken. He knew better than to believe the narrative you spun. "A concubine's child who plans to run away at midnight on your wedding night, with a horse waiting to carry you to Myeongju, and then cross into Japan? You know you're more than that, Princess."

Your eyes widened in shock, your carefully laid escape plan revealed before you could even act on it. Wonwoo chuckled lightly at your taken aback expression, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "You forget, Ongju, I developed the military strategy of Silla—the same strategy you’ve mastered in your training. You thought I wouldn't notice? I might have misunderstood your heart, but I know how your mind works."

Misunderstood your heart, huh?

You crossed your arms defensively, challenging him with a raised brow. "Then tell me, what's the real reason, Commander Jeon? Maybe I’ll reconsider my little escapade, after all."

There it was again, the challenge in your tone. The same defiance that had always marked you, the same sharp wit that never let anyone underestimate you. And though his gaze softened, there was a glint of determination in his eyes—he wouldn’t back down so easily.

Days later, Wonwoo was resting at his residence, savoring a rare moment of peace, when a commotion outside his chambers shattered the stillness. Moments later, his servant entered, bowing deeply as they announced your unexpected visit at an unseemly late hour. Wonwoo's brow furrowed in confusion.

"At this hour?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His tone carried a note of alarm. "Is she alone, or has someone accompanied her?"

"She is alone, Commander," the servant replied hesitantly. "There were no guards with her."

Wonwoo's unease deepened. His residence was far from the palace—a treacherous journey, especially for someone unguarded at night. A flicker of dread crossed his face as he signaled for you to be let in. As you entered the room, Wonwoo's sharp eyes immediately noticed your red-rimmed eyes and the faint trembling of your frame.

Without a word, he dismissed everyone, his voice steady but firm. As the doors closed, you stood before him, your composure cracking beneath the weight of your grief. Wonwoo crossed the room swiftly, his hand instinctively resting on your arm, his voice low and gentle.

"What’s happened?" he asked, though his words faltered when he heard the sound of your muffled sobs. Without hesitation, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms a safe haven against the storm you carried.

You pulled away after a moment, wiping your face, your voice barely above a whisper. "My mother..." you began, struggling to maintain your composure. "The queen poisoned her... and the king is blind to it."

Wonwoo froze, your words slicing through the silence like a blade. His expression darkened as the gravity of your revelation sank in.

"The queen?" he mumbled in disbelief, his voice taut with restrained anger.

You nodded, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "She accused my mother of black magic... as an excuse to kill her. It's nothing but a fabricated crime to justify her hatred."

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

"What about Chan?" Wonwoo asked after a moment, his concern shifting to your younger brother, whom he knew you cherished deeply.

"I left him under Prince Jisoo’s care," you replied, naming your stepbrother, Dokyeom’s elder brother. "I trust him to ensure Chan’s safety."

The two of you arrived at the concubine's residence, where your mother had lived. Wonwoo stood still, his gaze fixed on the grim scene before him. Guards carried your mother’s lifeless body out of the residence while palace staff meticulously inspected her chambers. The air was thick with whispers and accusations, all revolving around one word: black magic. It was the alleged cause of your mother's death, a stain on her name that spread like wildfire.

“It’s the queen! I know it must be her, Commander Jeon!” you had cried earlier in his residence, your voice cracking with grief and rage. You had witnessed your mother’s final moments—her collapse following a refreshment you suspected had been sent by the queen.

Wonwoo’s voice was steady but low as he asked, “What reason would the queen have?”

You bit your trembling lip before replying, “She feels threatened by me.”

Wonwoo glanced back at the scene, his jaw tightening as inspectors began removing items from your mother’s chambers. Among them were forbidden objects—items associated with the practice of black magic. These, they claimed, were evidence of her guilt. The murmurs around you grew louder, but Wonwoo’s resolve was firm. He believed you. He had met your mother on several occasions; she was a woman of grace and dignity, not one who would consort with dark practices.

“Exile,” you said, your voice hollow yet resolute. “She wants me exiled. This was her plan all along.”

The weight of your words settled heavily on him. To him, it felt like a game of politics played with the highest stakes—your life. And now, with your mother’s death, it seemed as though the queen's schemes were nearing completion.

The rumors spread swiftly, infiltrating every corner of the palace. Servants whispered about the daughter of a supposed black magic practitioner, speculating that you might share her guilt. The court’s whispers had turned into accusations.

Wonwoo found himself standing behind the ministers during an emergency meeting in the throne room. The tension in the air was palpable as the king presided over the gathering. Everyone of importance was present—prime ministers, the chief of palace staff, and even Buddhist elders summoned to weigh in on the grave situation.

“She has been a rebellious royal from the start,” one minister began, his voice laced with disdain.

“She defied the royal decree by refusing marriage at the age of coming and choosing instead to join the military program for women,” another added.

“She has shown clear disdain for her fiancé, Commander Jeon,” someone else chimed in, their tone accusatory.

“Your Highness,” one of the Buddhist elders spoke gravely, “we believe that the princess’s behavior is a direct result of black magic’s influence.”

The king’s grip on his armrest tightened, his knuckles whitening as his patience wore thin. The audacity of these men to speak ill of his only daughter, here in his court, was more than he could tolerate.

“Are you implying,” the king thundered, rising from his seat, “that my daughter’s bravery, her accomplishments, and her vision for this kingdom are nothing but the result of sorcery?” His voice echoed through the hall, silencing the murmurs. “How dare you! How dare you call my daughter a witch!”

The room fell deathly silent, save for the sound of the king slamming his fist against his chair. His fury was a tempest, swirling around the court as everyone lowered their heads in fear.

“No one is permitted to utter another word about this case until the truth is uncovered,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “If I hear even a whisper of this outside these walls, whoever is responsible will face the full weight of my wrath. Do I make myself clear?”

The ministers and officials nodded hastily, their faces pale.

“Dismissed!” the king barked, waving his hand sharply. The room quickly emptied, but the tension lingered like an unshakable shadow.

Unexpectedly, Wonwoo was summoned to the king's residence. The air was thick with an unspoken urgency as he entered the grand room. The king, seated at the center, waved his hand, silently commanding the attendants to leave. Within moments, the two of them were alone, the heavy silence punctuated only by the crackle of the brazier.

“Commander Jeon,” the king began, his voice steady but laden with sorrow. “I want you to lead an investigation, alongside the Hwarang.”

Wonwoo stiffened, his military training keeping his emotions in check as he absorbed the weight of the order.

“I want this case resolved, and the truth revealed. I cannot accept what has happened, nor can I let the lies about black magic tarnish her memory,” the king continued, setting his cup of tea down with a trembling hand. His face, though stoic, betrayed the grief he felt.

Wonwoo watched as the king’s gaze grew distant, as if the memories of the past had taken hold of him. He knew this wasn’t just about palace politics—this was personal.

“When she was born,” the king said softly, almost to himself, “I threw a grand feast. I was ecstatic to have a daughter—a daughter born of the woman I loved more than anything in this world.” His voice faltered, and he drew a shaky breath. “Y/n has always reminded me of her. And now…” He trailed off, the weight of your mother’s death hanging heavily in the room.

The king looked directly at Wonwoo, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I cannot let harm come to Y/n. She is the only piece of her I have left. She is just like her mother—courageous, kind, and unyielding.”

Wonwoo felt his throat tighten. The king’s words revealed a vulnerability he had never witnessed before—a father mourning not only the loss of a woman he cherished but also fearing for the safety of the daughter she left behind.

“I will find the truth, Your Majesty,” Wonwoo said, his voice firm with determination. “I will not let any harm come to the princess.”

The king nodded, his expression hardening into resolve. “Good. I trust you, Commander Jeon. Ensure that this investigation uncovers the truth, no matter how deeply it is buried. And keep Y/n safe. If anything were to happen to her…” His voice broke, and he did not finish the thought, but the weight of his unspoken words was clear.

Wonwoo bowed deeply. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”

As he straightened, he caught the king’s gaze once more—a silent plea in the eyes of a father clinging to the last thread of his love.

"I know your deep desire, Princess Y/n." Wonwoo's words during his last visit echoed relentlessly in your mind. What did he mean by "deep desire"? His words seemed layered, carrying a depth you couldn’t immediately decipher. How did your desires intertwine with his plans? And why did they serve as the foundation for the marriage the two of you were destined to have?

"Join an alliance with me, and I’ll help you," he had said.

You were still pondering his intentions when your lady-in-waiting entered your room hurriedly. "The king wishes to see you, Ongju," she announced.

Without delay, you made your way to the king’s residence. As your presence was announced, you stepped into his private quarters. The room smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood. Your father sat at his desk, penning a poem while one of his attendants poured tea for both of you.

You bowed deeply, standing before him.

“Sit, my daughter,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

The air felt heavy with unspoken emotions as you took your place.

“I am as shaken as you are by what has happened, Ongju,” the king began, his tone somber but steady. “But as the ruler of this kingdom, I must be fair and just.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“I have ordered an investigation into your mother’s alleged association with black magic,” he continued, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You clenched your fists under the table and took a deep breath. “I swear on my life, Your Highness, my mother was not involved in such practices.”

The king set down his brush, his face lined with fatigue. “I can only speak after the investigation yields its results. In the meantime, I need you to stay low and avoid any actions that may draw unnecessary attention. This case involves you as well, and I want no further harm to come to you.”

His words were well-meaning, but they did little to quell the storm within you.

“And,” he added, “your marriage is approaching. I expect you to prepare yourself for it.”

You felt a pang of disbelief. Your mother had just died, and yet your father still clung to the idea of your marriage as if it were the only thing tethering your future to safety.

“I refuse this marriage,” you said softly but firmly, your voice carrying a note of defiance.

The king’s movements froze, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You can’t refuse, Ongju. If you do, the court will turn its judgmental gaze upon you, and rumors will spread. You must consider your reputation.”

“What reputation, Your Highness?” you countered, your voice trembling with frustration. “I am merely the daughter of a concubine. My presence holds no real weight in this palace.”

The king’s expression softened, though his resolve remained. “Is it Commander Jeon you do not like? I can find another suitor if that’s the issue.”

You shook your head, bowing respectfully. “It is not about Commander Jeon or anyone else. I simply do not believe marriage will bring me happiness.”

For the first time, your father’s expression shifted into something you hadn’t seen before—an almost pleading vulnerability. “You are my only daughter, Ongju,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what would make you happy?”

The room fell into silence, the question lingering in the air. You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because, deep down, happiness wasn’t something you were focused on. Your mind was preoccupied with fear—fear of the queen, fear for your brother Chan, fear of the same fate that had befallen your mother.

After a long pause, you blurted out, “A sword.”

The king blinked, surprised. “A sword?”

You nodded, regaining some composure. “A strong, sharp, and powerful sword. That’s all I need.”

A faint smile touched the king’s lips. “I’ve heard of your mastery with the sword during your time in the Wonhwa. If the group hadn’t been disbanded due to internal strife, you might have been a leader among them.”

Your heart stilled at his words. Did he truly believe that? Had your father ever said something similar about Seungcheol, the crown prince?

The question clawed at you, especially since Jisoo had recently confided something that echoed in your mind. “Seungcheol can’t fight with a sword,” Jisoo had said. “He’s not the one you need to worry about. He doesn’t have the strength. But the queen…”

Jisoo had gripped your shoulder that day, his voice lowering to a grave tone. “The queen will do anything to secure his throne. Anything—including what happened to your mother.”

Jisoo’s words haunted you now as your father spoke. “You have great potential, Ongju. Many believe you could one day lead, even without being in the line of succession.”

The weight of those words pressed down on you, but they did nothing to ease your fear. The queen—her ambition, her cunning—was the true danger. She would stop at nothing, and you knew it.

“Stay vigilant, my daughter,” the king said, his tone gentle but firm.

But vigilance wasn’t enough. Your heart thudded in your chest as one thought consumed you: Was the deep desire Wonwoo was implying truly this feeling? This burning, unspoken ambition that lingered in the shadows of your heart—the desire to rule the kingdom?

You sat by the window of your chambers, the pale moonlight casting long shadows across the room. Wonwoo’s words lingered, ambiguous yet purposeful.

"Join an alliance with me, and I’ll help you."

What alliance? Help you with what? Did he mean to protect you from the queen or guide you toward something greater?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock at the door.

“Ongju,” your lady-in-waiting whispered, “Commander Jeon has sent a message. He requests your presence in the gardens.”

You hesitated, your heart beating faster. It wasn’t unusual for Wonwoo to seek you out, but tonight felt different. There was a weight to his recent words, a significance that you couldn’t shake.

Rising from your seat, you made your way to the gardens. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and damp earth. Wonwoo stood under a lantern’s glow, his figure tall and commanding.

“Commander,” you greeted, your voice steady despite the questions swirling in your mind.

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “Princess Y/n,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of formality and something more personal.

There was a moment of silence, charged with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Your breath caught. “Understand what?”

“The deep desire I spoke of,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not just ambition, Ongju. It’s purpose. A purpose only you can fulfill.”

You stared at him, his words striking a chord deep within you. Purpose. The word felt heavier than ambition, more profound. Purpose wasn’t just about power or ruling; it was about responsibility, about rising to meet the challenges that others could not.

“Why do you believe in me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

Wonwoo’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of. And because I know that without you, this kingdom has no future.”

His words were both a compliment and a burden, wrapping around you like a cloak you weren’t sure you were ready to wear.

“Do you think this is what I want?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his tone was steady. “It’s not about what you want, Princess. It’s about what the kingdom needs.”

And with that, he bowed slightly and stepped back into the shadows, leaving you alone under the moonlit sky with the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest.

The queen’s private chamber was dimly lit, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Crown Prince Seungcheol sat across from the queen, his hands clasped tightly together, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain. The queen watched him intently, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she delicately sipped her tea.

“You seem restless, my son,” the queen began, her voice smooth yet probing. “A ruler cannot afford to show unease, especially in these turbulent times.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “I am aware, Mother. I simply... I find myself questioning—” He stopped short, unsure whether to reveal the vulnerability gnawing at him.

“Questioning what?” The queen set her cup down, leaning forward with a calculated softness. “Speak plainly.”

He hesitated, then exhaled deeply. “Am I truly ready to rule, Mother? I have been trained for this my entire life, but I cannot shake the feeling that I lack the strength or the decisiveness required. Father’s shadow looms large over me... and the court whispers about my shortcomings.”

The queen’s expression hardened slightly, though her voice remained calm. “Who dares to whisper such things? You are the crown prince, the future king. Your authority is not to be questioned.”

“But they do,” Seungcheol countered, his tone edged with frustration. “They compare me to Y/n, of all people. They say she possesses the qualities of a ruler—courage, intelligence, and the ability to command respect. Even Father...” His voice faltered, and he looked away, ashamed to meet her eyes.

The queen’s gaze sharpened at the mention of you, her expression unreadable. She stood and moved to stand behind Seungcheol, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Your father is a sentimental man. He lets emotions cloud his judgment, especially when it comes to that girl and her late mother.”

Seungcheol’s fists clenched. “But what if they are right? What if I am not enough to uphold Silla’s legacy? I have no skill with the sword, no military prowess like Y/n or Commander Jeon. How can I inspire loyalty in the people when I doubt myself?”

The queen’s grip on his shoulder tightened, her voice dropping to a firm whisper. “Listen to me, Seungcheol. Leadership is not about swinging a sword or marching into battle. It is about strategy, control, and ensuring that power remains where it belongs—within our family. Do not let the court’s foolish admiration for Y/n distract you. She is a threat, not an ally. And as for your father, he is blind to what must be done.”

Seungcheol glanced up at her, his insecurity mingling with confusion. “What must be done?”

The queen leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper. “You must solidify your position as the rightful heir. That means eliminating anything—or anyone—that stands in your way. Trust me, my son, I will guide you. Together, we will secure your future.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Seungcheol absorbed her words. His mother’s unwavering confidence in him was both reassuring and suffocating. Deep down, the doubts still lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But for now, he nodded, letting the queen’s words anchor him.

“Thank you, Mother. I will do what is necessary,” he said, though the conviction in his voice wavered ever so slightly.

The queen smiled, a triumphant gleam in her eyes as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Good. Remember, Seungcheol, weakness has no place on the throne. You were born to rule, and I will ensure that you do.”

As the crown prince left the chamber, his heart felt heavy. The weight of the crown seemed more daunting than ever, and in the deepest corners of his mind, the question still lingered: Am I truly enough?

"Seja..." Seungcheol slightly inclined his head toward Wonwoo, who stepped aside to make way for the crown prince. The pathway was dimly lit, the faint flicker of torches casting long shadows on the park. Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on the commander, curiosity simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“It’s rather late to visit the palace at this hour, Commander Jeon,” Seungcheol remarked, his tone measured but laced with subtle inquiry. His words hung in the air as his eyes shifted to the figure standing quietly behind Wonwoo.

You.

The two of you locked eyes, a brief but charged moment that didn’t escape Seungcheol’s notice. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something—resentment, perhaps, or something deeper and more convoluted.

“Ongju...” Seungcheol acknowledged your presence with a slight nod, the formality of his gesture betraying none of his inner turmoil.

You bowed respectfully. “Seja.”

“I offer my condolences for your mother’s passing,” he said, his voice softer now, though it carried the weight of protocol more than sincerity.

“Thank you, Seja,” you replied, your voice steady but laced with the exhaustion of grief.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted between you and Wonwoo, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the unspoken tension between the two of you. There was something in the way you stood—close, but not too close—that unsettled him. Something he couldn’t quite place but disliked nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, he straightened. “Ongju, I wish for you to maintain a low profile during the investigation,” he said, his tone edged with authority. “This is for your sake, as your brother.”

A beat passed before he added, “And also for the sake of your late mother.”

Your lips parted, but no response came. The weight of his words, or perhaps the weight of the circumstances, seemed to anchor you in place.

Seungcheol watched you for a moment longer, his chest tightening as he took in your expression—guarded, resilient, and yet fragile in a way that made him want to look away.

Jealousy stirred within him, raw and bitter. He hated himself for feeling it, but there it was. You, the daughter of a concubine, the half-sibling he’d never quite known how to regard, commanded attention in a way he never could. You bore the strength of a warrior, the sharpness of a strategist, and the charisma of a leader. And though he was the crown prince—the one destined to rule—he couldn’t ignore the whispers that dared to compare him to you.

“Ongju, remember,” he said, his voice tight as he forced his emotions down, “your actions reflect on the royal family. Do not give them more reasons to talk.”

With that, he nodded once more and turned to leave, his steps brisk as if eager to escape the suffocating air of his own insecurities.

Behind him, you and Wonwoo stood in silence. If Seungcheol had glanced back, he might have seen the fleeting look of determination in your eyes or the way Wonwoo’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he glanced at you.

But Seungcheol didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear to. The jealousy and doubt simmering within him were enough to carry him through the long, lonely walk back to his residence.

"First, we need to ensure Chan’s safety. He shouldn’t be anywhere near the Queen’s reach. I’ll have one of my most trusted Hwarang escort him to a safe location—somewhere even her spies wouldn’t think to look."

The day Chan was sent away was one of the hardest you’d ever faced. Watching your little brother climb into the carriage with a Hwarang soldier by his side, you struggled to hold back tears. His wide, innocent eyes looked up at you, confused yet trusting. He didn’t understand why he had to leave, why he couldn’t stay with you. You knelt in front of him, smoothing his hair and forcing a smile onto your face.

"Be good, Chan," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. "This isn’t forever. I’ll come for you soon, I promise."

"Why can’t you come with me, Nuna?" he asked softly, his small hands clutching at your sleeves.

Your heart shattered, but you managed to keep your composure. "Because I have to stay here and make sure everything is safe for you. But don’t worry. You’re with someone I trust, and they’ll take care of you."

Chan nodded slowly, his innocence only making the pain worse. As the carriage pulled away, you stood there, your hands clenched tightly at your sides. Wonwoo, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped closer.

"You did the right thing," he said quietly.

"It doesn’t feel like it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo didn’t respond, but his presence alone was grounding. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions control you—not when there was so much at stake.

Returning to the palace, you threw yourself into work, hoping it would distract you from the ache in your chest. Your father had tasked you with assisting him in managing a pressing political issue with the government. It was a rare opportunity, one that you were determined to make the most of.

However, to your dismay, the King insisted that Seungcheol work alongside you.

The tension between the two of you was palpable the moment you entered the meeting room. Seungcheol leaned against the table, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. As you took your seat, he let out a low sigh.

"I didn’t know the King was sending a scholar to handle matters of state," he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You shot him a sharp glare. "And I didn’t know the Crown Prince would approach this meeting with the grace of a petulant child. Perhaps I overestimated you, Seja."

The staff in the room shifted uncomfortably, their gazes darting between the two of you.

Seungcheol straightened, his tone hardening. "Be careful, Ongju. You may have studied politics, but theory is far different from reality. I’ve been working in the field while you’ve been... buried in books."

You felt your temper flare, and before you could stop yourself, the words were out. "Oh, yes, I forgot. While I was being trained academically, you were busy getting married and... indulging yourself. Forgive me for thinking I might actually have something to contribute."

The room fell deathly silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. The staff froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Seungcheol looked taken aback, though his expression quickly darkened.

Before the situation could escalate further, Jisoo stepped into the room. "Enough," he said firmly, his tone commanding.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Ongju, a word."

You clenched your jaw but followed him out of the room. Once you were alone, Jisoo turned to face you, his usual warmth replaced by sternness.

"That was reckless," he said bluntly. "Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"

"He was belittling me!" you protested, your voice rising.

"And you played right into his hands," Jisoo countered. "Seungcheol has the Queen behind him. You may be the King’s daughter, but you’re not untouchable. If you keep provoking him, you’ll make yourself a target."

You looked away, frustration and shame mingling in your chest. "I can’t just stand by while he questions my abilities. I’ve worked too hard for that."

"I know," Jisoo said, his voice softening slightly. "But you need to be smarter about this. Use your knowledge, your training. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you."

You nodded reluctantly, his words sinking in.

"You're going to get married so, this isn’t just about you," Jisoo added, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "If you’re going through with this, you need to make sure Commander Jeon is safe. The Queen will see him as a threat—if she hasn’t already. And you know what she’s capable of."

The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"You need to protect him, Y/n," Jisoo continued, his eyes locking onto yours. "If you truly care for him, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe."

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. You nodded slowly, your mind racing with thoughts of Wonwoo, the Queen, and the danger that loomed over all of you.

"I understand," you said quietly.

Jisoo leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. "Good. Just... be careful. You’ve always been strong, but strength alone won’t be enough this time."

Today was the wedding day. You sat still as the servants carefully applied colorful powder to your face, their gentle touches a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions brewing within you. Draped in the heavy, ornate wedding gown, you stared at your own reflection in the mirror, whispering to yourself, "You are ready for this."

Whispers had rippled through the palace when you declared your decision to marry Commander Jeon—especially when you insisted the wedding be arranged without delay. It was a decision made with an urgency few understood. Yet here you were, an hour before the ceremony, your heart steady but your mind racing.

The last time you saw your groom was a week ago. He had invited you to his residence for tea, a quiet meeting where you discussed your future. Would you remain within the palace walls, or would you stepawayy with him beyond the capital?

"Why must I leave the palace to live with you?" you had asked, a touch of defiance in your tone as you sipped your tea. "Shouldn't you be the one to follow me, Commander Jeon?"

Wonwoo’s calm gaze met yours, and for a moment, the soft rustle of the wind outside seemed louder than the silence between you.

"Because you would be safer away from here," he said quietly.

Your hand paused, the delicate porcelain cup just shy of your lips. The words lingered, heavy with unspoken fears. You set the cup down, studying his expression.

"You noticed," you murmured.

He nodded, his composed demeanor unwavering. "I am aware of the dangers, but that is not the only reason I suggested leaving."

The stillness stretched, a quiet understanding forming between you. Wonwoo didn’t press further, instead reaching for the teapot, refilling your cup with a slow, steady hand.

"I will ensure you are safe," he promised, his voice calm but resolute. "Think about what you want—where you wish to be. Leave the rest to me."

In that moment, surrounded by the warm scent of tea and the gentle light filtering through the wooden screens, you felt something rare and precious—security.

Now, staring at your reflection, you recalled that feeling. Amid the palace’s whispered schemes and the lurking shadows of betrayal, you were about to marry a man who saw through the veils of deception that others wore.

You lowered your arms slowly as the ceremony unfolded around you, the murmurs of the crowd blending with the soft music that filled the grand hall. For the first time, your gaze met his, and everything else seemed to fade away.

The grand wedding was a spectacle—an event fit for the King’s only daughter. Nobles, officials, and foreign dignitaries filled the palace, their excitement palpable. The King’s affection for you was evident in the lavish celebration, a grand feast prepared for his people beyond the palace walls. Laughter and music echoed, a shared joy that seemed to ripple through everyone present.

But amidst the grandeur, you stood beneath the ornate canopy, your eyes locked with his. Your heart raced—not with fear, like the frantic pulse you’d felt when evading a palace guard on a late-night adventure, nor with the wild rush of adrenaline that came from facing danger in the forest. No, this was different.

Your heart’s rhythm was a steady, reassuring beat. A quiet promise whispered beneath the surface: Everything will be alright. You are safe.

And somehow, the resentment you once harbored for him—those unspoken grudges and unhealed wounds—seemed to melt away, leaving you with a sense of calm you hadn’t expected. Standing there, with him watching you just as intently, you felt something shift within you, something that kept you grounded, not out of resistance, but out of trust.

The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of candlelight, their flickering flames casting gentle, wavering shadows on the silk-draped walls. The faint scent of jasmine hung in the air, a calming fragrance that only seemed to heighten your awareness of the moment.

You stood near the window, fingers lightly tracing the intricate embroidery of your wedding gown. The weight of the heavy fabric was a constant reminder of the day’s grand celebration, the laughter, the cheers, and the vows exchanged. Yet now, in the quiet solitude of your chamber, the world outside seemed a distant memory.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and you turned, catching sight of Wonwoo stepping inside. He had changed out of his formal attire, now clad in a simple, dark robe that contrasted with the light of the candles. His gaze met yours, steady yet unreadable, a quiet intensity in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Silence stretched between you, thick and charged. Your heartbeat quickened, but it wasn’t the same fear or anxiety that had gripped you in the past. This was different—a fluttering warmth, a delicate anticipation that made your palms slightly damp.

“You must be tired,” he finally spoke, his voice a soft murmur, breaking the quiet yet somehow deepening the intimacy.

“A little,” you admitted, your voice steady but your heart racing. “But not enough to want this night to end.”

A faint smile touched the corners of Wonwoo’s lips, and he stepped closer, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. When he was only a breath away, he reached out, his hand brushing against the loose strands of your hair. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant.

“Did you… did you mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “When you said you’d keep me safe?”

“I did.” His answer was immediate, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, a sense of security that you had long forgotten. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the closeness.

Then his fingers moved, gently tilting your chin up, and you opened your eyes to find his face mere inches from yours. His gaze flickered, searching your expression, as if seeking permission.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against his—a tentative, delicate touch that seemed to ignite something within both of you.

Wonwoo’s hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened, the softness giving way to a quiet passion. His other hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

Time seemed to blur, the world beyond the room fading away. All that existed was the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and the quiet, whispered promises shared between breaths.

When you finally parted, your foreheads resting against one another, a gentle smile graced his lips. “We have a long journey ahead, but… tonight, it’s just us.”

You smiled back, your own worries and fears melting away in his warmth.

Just us.

And with that, the night unfolded—soft touches, quiet laughter, and whispered confessions beneath the soft glow of candlelight. In his arms, you found a solace you hadn’t dared to dream of, a tenderness that promised a future beyond fear and doubt.

"It will be hard for a pregnant woman to lead the upcoming project." The minister’s assistant’s voice cut through the meeting chamber like a blade, his audacity stirring a ripple of tension across the room. You raised a brow, your gaze snapping to the man who dared to make such a bold, presumptive statement barely a week after your wedding. Pregnant? You weren’t even with child, but the mere suggestion of it was enough for him to undermine you.

Your gaze slid to Seungcheol, who sat at the head of the chamber, his composed expression barely shifting, save for a slow, almost imperceptible nod. He agreed.

"Isn't that why the Princess Consort has yet to resume her duties for the Moonlight Event?" you countered, your voice calm but edged with a subtle challenge. The words weren’t just a retort; they were a pointed reminder. Seungcheol’s wife, the Princess Consort, had recently given birth to a daughter—a fact you knew all too well.

The assistant stiffened, his expression faltering. Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his gaze meeting yours. The tension in the room thickened, an unspoken clash of authority.

"She has just given birth... to a daughter," you added, your gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s. The implication was clear: if his wife could be granted leniency due to motherhood, then there was no reason for anyone to cast doubt on your capacity to lead.

The minister cleared his throat, desperate to steer the meeting away from the growing unease. "Given the considerations presented," he announced, his voice slightly strained, "Ongju Y/n will continue to lead the project related to external affairs."

A polite smile graced your lips as the meeting concluded, but beneath it, a fierce determination simmered. You were not just a princess, not just a wife—you were a leader. And no one, not even Seungcheol or his silent approval of the assistant’s slight, would diminish that.

"That was bold," Jisoo remarked, falling into step beside you as you walked back to the office. His voice was calm, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

You cast a brief glance at your older brother before your gaze shifted to the training grounds, where Commander Jeon—your husband—stood tall, addressing the new Hwarang recruits with his usual unwavering demeanor.

"I have no reason to fear him," you stated plainly, your tone edged with defiance. "His mother is the true snake."

Jisoo’s expression shifted, his amusement replaced by alarm. "We shouldn’t speak of the Queen in such a manner," he whispered urgently, his voice barely above a breath.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to meet his gaze with unwavering determination. "Yes, we can. And we will. We will speak of the Queen however we see fit—especially when I become Queen."

Jisoo’s eyes widened slightly, your words rendering him momentarily speechless. His usual composure faltered as he studied your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. But there was none.

Not waiting for a response, you resumed your stride, your steps swift and purposeful. From the training grounds, Wonwoo’s sharp eyes caught sight of you—your figure moving with fierce resolve. He watched you, a faint sense of awe mingling with his curiosity. In that moment, you looked like someone prepared to set the entire kingdom ablaze if necessary.

He had known you possessed a spark, but now it was as though a fire had been ignited within you.

And as he observed you, a quiet thought settled in his mind—had he, perhaps, been the one to light that flame? Or had he merely uncovered a side of you that had always been waiting to burn just like his plan?

Wonwoo rode out of the capital under the cloak of night, the rhythmic thud of his horse’s hooves a steady companion on the quiet, moonlit path. After ensuring you were safely asleep in your chamber, he slipped away, the chill of the night air biting at his skin as he traveled for two hours beyond the bustling city.

His destination was a secluded village nestled among misty hills—a place few knew he frequented. Here, he wasn’t Commander Jeon, the King’s esteemed military leader. He was simply Wonwoo, a son of the fallen Jeon Kingdom. His colleagues here were not Hwarang warriors or palace officials but the remnants of his bloodline—the left Jeons.

These were the people who had survived the brutal Silla invasion, who had fled with nothing but their lives and the shattered pride of their fallen kingdom. His uncle, a former commander of the Jeon Kingdom, had raised him among these survivors, forging him into a man who bore the weight of two identities. Wonwoo was taught not just to survive but to excel. He mastered politics, combat, and military strategy under his uncle’s strict guidance.

The fall of the Jeon Kingdom was a story written in blood and ash—a once-proud realm crushed beneath Silla’s might. Yet in the shadows of this village, the Jeons lived on, rebuilding a life far from the eyes of the conquerors. Wonwoo was their hope, their quiet vengeance, a man who had clawed his way into the very heart of Silla’s military—becoming a Commander of the Hwarang, the elite force of the kingdom that had destroyed his home.

Tonight, as he dismounted his horse and walked among his kin, the whispers of old stories and the weight of his lineage pressed heavily upon him. Here, he was not just a commander—he was a prince without a throne, a leader of a scattered people who saw him as a symbol of resilience and a future they had not given up on.

"Looking good after a marriage, Wonwoo..." Jungkook, his cousin, teased with a grin as Wonwoo dismounted his horse, the familiar warmth of the hidden village greeting him. The moonlight bathed the settlement, its humble houses a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace.

Wonwoo's lips curled into a faint smile as he approached Jungkook, handing over the reins. But before he could reply, a familiar voice rang out, full of excitement.

"Commander Jeon!" Chan’s voice cut through the crisp night air, and moments later, the boy came running, his small frame colliding against Wonwoo in an eager hug.

Wonwoo’s expression softened. "How are you, Prince?" he asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

"I miss my sister. Did you bring her today?" Chan looked up, eyes wide with hope.

Wonwoo shook his head, the gentleness in his gaze unwavering. "She’s been busy these days, but I promise to let her know you miss her."

The sound of steady footsteps approached, and Wonwoo turned to see his uncle, Donghyuk, stepping out of the main chamber, his weathered face breaking into a subtle smile at the sight of his nephew.

"How’s the wedding? Are you staying tonight?" Donghyuk asked, his voice a mix of concern and pride.

Wonwoo gave a slight bow before falling into step beside his uncle, leading them toward the quiet of the residence. "I can’t stay long. I’ll leave before dawn. But I wanted to report on our progress. I’m working hard on our plan, Uncle."

Donghyuk nodded, his expression one of cautious approval. "Good job, son. Your parents would be proud. We’re getting there."

Behind them, Chan laughed brightly, already engrossed in some playful banter with Jungkook. Yet as Wonwoo stepped into the residence, the warmth faded, replaced by the weight of his hidden duty. The shadow of their shared legacy loomed ever closer, and he knew that each step he took brought them one step nearer to their long-awaited retribution.

Wonwoo settled into the dimly lit chamber, the heavy scent of burning incense mingling with the damp, earthy aroma of the secluded residence. His uncle, Donghyuk, leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on his nephew. Jungkook stood by the window, his playful demeanor replaced with a serious expression.

"You've done well," Donghyuk began, his voice a low rumble. "Marrying the Ongju—King’s only daughter. Our bloodline finally has a foothold in their palace."

Wonwoo’s expression remained unreadable, his jaw tense. "Efforts had paid. She trusts me more than she realizes now. And soon, she will trust me enough to do anything I say."

Donghyuk’s lips curled into a thin smile. "Good. You must keep her close. Make her see you as the only ally she can rely on. If we are to bring down the Queen and the King, we need someone on the inside—someone who can move freely, make decisions without suspicion."

Jungkook’s voice cut in, sharp and direct. "But what about the King? He is no fool. Even if the Queen falls, he may stand in our way."

"That’s why we need Seungcheol," Wonwoo stated, his voice cold. "He despises the King’s power over the court, and he resents me. But his jealousy toward his sister can be useful. I will manipulate their strained relationship, turn it into a wedge between them."

"And then?" Donghyuk asked, his gaze sharpening.

Wonwoo leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a darkness that matched the room’s shadows. "Then we use her. With her as a pawn, we can dismantle the King’s power and take the throne."

A silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. Finally, Donghyuk chuckled. "A Jeon as Queen of Silla. Poetic justice, wouldn't you say?"

Wonwoo didn’t respond, his expression cold and calculated. The warmth he showed you—the gentle touches, the soft smiles—were all part of a carefully woven lie.

"We will avenge our people," he declared, his voice low but laced with resolve. "And Silla will fall by its own greed and betrayal."

"Where were you this morning?"

Wonwoo's focus shifted to you as you stepped into his office, a commanding presence in the kingdom's staff uniform. The external affairs badge sat proudly on your shoulder, and a stack of books rested in your arms. You looked every bit the charismatic diplomat, a stark contrast to the serene, angelic figure he watched sleeping just last night.

"You're staring," you noted, crossing your arms and tilting your head, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Wonwoo sighed, feeling a faint tension in his chest as he shook off his thoughts. "Your father summoned me regarding your mother's case. We found proof."

Your eyes widened, the books slipping slightly in your grasp. "Really? My mother... she wasn't at fault, right?"

Wonwoo nodded, reaching for a scroll on his desk. He unfurled it with a practiced ease, revealing the findings of months of investigation. "We uncovered a potential motive involving the Queen, but we still need a witness. I believe the Queen has ensured that everyone involved in your mother's death is either silenced or loyal to her."

A sharp breath escaped your lips. "Is the Queen going to be sentenced?"

Wonwoo's dark eyes lingered on you, his expression careful. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "She might."

Your knees buckled, and you sank onto the cold stone floor. Relief and shock washed over you in equal measure. You had always suspected the truth, yet seeing it confirmed felt like a blade twisting in your chest. Your mother was murdered—accused of black magic by the Queen, all to tear you away from any claim to the throne.

"You look... startled," Wonwoo remarked, his voice softer now, tinged with something unreadable.

You shook your head, wiping a faint trace of moisture from your eyes. "Was it because of me?"

Wonwoo's brow arched slightly. "What do you mean?"

"The Queen killed my mother. Was it because of me?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice.

A brief silence hung between you before Wonwoo spoke, each word measured. "There's no specific motive yet. But it seems she wanted to secure our Seja's place... and to do that, removing your mother's influence was necessary."

"And that influence... was from me."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, but his voice remained steady. "It was not your fault."

But in the quiet that followed, you weren’t so sure.

That night, the moon hung low, casting silver light over the palace gardens. Wonwoo waited by the secluded pavilion just outside the palace walls, his figure blending with the shadows. His eyes scanned the path until he saw you approaching, wrapped in a dark cloak to avoid attention.

"You came," he said, a hint of relief escaping in his voice despite himself.

"Of course," you replied, pulling the hood away from your face. The moonlight touched your features, the cool breeze tousling your hair. "I need to know more... how can I secure justice for my mother?"

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, his expression serious. "The only way to ensure justice is for you to take a stronger position in court. As long as the Queen’s influence over the ministers remains, any accusations against her will be buried."

You frowned, your fingers nervously toying with the edge of your cloak. "But I’m just a princess—no real power in the court’s decisions." The tone in your words showed a vulnerability he had never heard before.

"Not yet," Wonwoo corrected, his voice firm. "But if you strengthen your alliances, build trust with the right ministers, and show them your capability... you can turn the tide."

"And you... you’ll help me?"

Wonwoo met your gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Always."

Your shoulders seemed to relax, and there it was again—that smile. Genuine, grateful. A warmth spread in his chest, a feeling he tried to deny.

"Thank you, Wonwoo..." you whispered, stepping closer. "I... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Wonwoo felt his breath hitch for a moment, your proximity disarming him. He nodded, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I’m just doing what’s right."

As you turned to leave, the shadows seemed colder without you. Wonwoo stood there for a moment, watching your figure disappear into the moonlit path. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his mind racing.

She trusts me.

But for the first time, the thought didn’t bring satisfaction. It brought guilt.

"It's not a sin to stare at your wife," Jisoo's teasing voice seeped into Wonwoo's ears, pulling him back to reality. Wonwoo shifted his gaze from you, where you stood across the training grounds, back to Jisoo and Seungcheol, who were sparring with swords.

"I'm not staring. I'm monitoring," Wonwoo muttered, adjusting his grip on his sword. "One more round," he added, signaling another bout. Jisoo groaned, wiping the sweat from his forehead, while Seungcheol got back into position without complaint.

Laughter echoed from the other side of the field—your laughter, light and melodic. You stood beside the younger trainees, Seungkwan and Dokyeom, showing them proper sword techniques and gently calming Seungkwan, who was rubbing his head after a clumsy blow from Dokyeom.

"Are we going to witness another spar between the Seja and Ongju?" Dokyeom asked innocently once the session ended.

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze shifting to Seungcheol, who was catching his breath after sparring with Jisoo. Meanwhile, Jisoo was already sprawled on the ground, panting.

Seungcheol straightened, gripping his sword again. "I'm always ready, Ongju," he declared, determination flaring in his eyes.

Wonwoo's gaze remained fixed on you. He noticed how your fingers wrapped around your sword—different, more resolute. As you drew it, the sunlight caught the blade, revealing a stunningly ornate weapon with your name engraved on it, adorned with delicate floral patterns. It was new.

A murmur of awe spread among the onlookers, Seungkwan and Dokyeom exchanging excited whispers as they watched. Your skill was undeniable, each movement calculated, each step confident. Yet, Wonwoo noticed you were holding back, your strikes precise but never too forceful.

Yet as the spar continued, something changed. Your strikes grew sharper, your eyes more intense. Seungcheol’s defense faltered under your relentless assault, his sword flying out of his grasp, clattering against the stone floor. He stumbled, gasping for air, and there you stood—your blade inched away against his throat.

"Enough for today." Wonwoo's voice cut through the tension as he swiftly stepped between you and Seungcheol, his hand gently pushing your sword down.

Your eyes, fierce a moment ago, softened at his touch. You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and looking away.

"You shouldn't let your emotions guide your sword," Wonwoo whispered, his voice low but firm. "It only leads to regret."

You clenched your jaw, your gaze fixed on the ground. "It wasn't emotions... It was control."

Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, the words weighing heavily between you both. And yet, beneath your calm facade, he could sense the storm raging within.

"Draw your sword," Wonwoo instructed, his voice steady as he unsheathed his own. The training field lay quiet and empty, a canvas of fading sunlight catching on the polished blades. It was just the two of you, shadows stretching long on the ground.

"Seja let his emotions get the better of him earlier," Wonwoo continued, guiding you through a familiar technique. His movements were precise, controlled, each swing calculated. "And you almost let yours take over too."

Your swords clashed, the sharp ring of metal slicing through the silence. You adjusted your stance, trying to mirror his movements, but his expertise made it feel like a dance you struggled to keep up with.

"Emotions are a luxury in the field," he reminded you, his voice low but firm. "You should let your head lead everything—your mind should be your weapon, not just your blade."

You gritted your teeth, pushing against his strikes. "I'm from the women's military, Wonwoo. What do you expect?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Women are quick learners. They’re agile too. You have an advantage."

In a swift, fluid motion, he twisted his wrist, catching your sword at an angle and pulling your arm. The force made your weapon slip from your grasp, and before you could even react, your body collided with his. His arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you as you let out a surprised squeal.

Your breath hitched, your chest pressing against his. For a second, you were close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him.

"Are you messing with me?" you murmured, your eyes narrowing at the faint grin on his face.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering. "But remember—losing focus, even for a moment, can be costly."

Your heart raced, a mix of frustration and something else entirely swirling within you. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself staying there for just a heartbeat longer, caught in the quiet, lingering closeness.

"Argh…"

Wonwoo’s pained groan filled the quiet training field, and you couldn’t help but burst into a fit of laughter, your giggle light and melodic.

"You’re right," you teased, leaning back slightly while still caught in his hold. "Losing focus for even a moment can be costly."

Wonwoo glanced down, seeing your foot firmly planted on his, the sharp ache radiating from the spot. Yet, despite the pain, a chuckle slipped from his lips.

"Noted," he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. "But I didn't think you'd take my lesson so literally."

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? I thought a great commander like you would’ve been prepared for any surprise attack."

Wonwoo’s smile widened, and in a swift move, he leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "Careful, princess. Provoking your instructor might lead to more intense training."

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, but you maintained your defiant smile. "Is that a threat, Commander Jeon?"

"A promise," he replied, stepping back and letting go of your waist, though his eyes lingered on you for a second longer.

From the upper balcony of the palace overlooking the training field, the King stood silently, his sharp eyes observing the scene below. His stern expression softened as he watched you and Wonwoo. His beloved daughter, always so fierce and resolute, now laughed freely in the presence of her husband. The sound of your laughter, carried by the gentle breeze, reached his ears like a soothing melody.

Beside him, his trusted advisor cleared his throat softly. "Your Majesty, it seems the princess has found comfort in Commander Jeon’s company."

The King’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Comfort? Perhaps. But more importantly, she seems happy."

He had been wary when you insisted on marrying Wonwoo, even more so when the marriage was hastened. There were whispers—speculations that you were driven by something more than love. Yet watching you now, eyes bright and smile unwavering as you bantered with Wonwoo, the King’s doubts faded.

"She has always been strong," the King murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "But even the strongest need someone who can match their strength... and soften their heart."

Wonwoo’s gentle laughter joined yours as he leaned closer, whispering something that made you swat at him playfully. The King chuckled under his breath. His daughter, who once stood as a fierce warrior on the battlefield and an unyielding presence in court, was now a young woman in love—blissfully unaware of his watchful gaze.

"Perhaps Commander Jeon is the right choice," the King whispered, his tone more certain now. "A man who can make her smile so freely might also be the one who can protect her in ways even I cannot."

The advisor nodded but remained silent, recognizing the rare moment of a father’s quiet pride and relief.

Below, you stood with Wonwoo, his voice low and urgent. "The confrontation with the Queen is tomorrow. My team found the black magic tool in her chamber. The same type used against your mother. This is our strongest evidence yet."

Your pulse quickened, and you leaned closer. "So it’s true… she used black magic to murder my mother?"

"It seems so." Wonwoo’s tone was steady. "But you need to be wary of your brother. He might act impulsively. The Queen is his mother, and if he feels cornered—"

"You’ll be there," you whispered, your voice laced with trust.

Wonwoo’s grip on your back tightened slightly. "Yes, I will. But I need you to be ready for everything. This is the moment of truth. Tell me…" His voice softened, his breath brushing against your ear. "What do you want to be?"

Silence settled between you. The wind seemed to hush, the distant hum of the palace growing faint.

"A queen." Your voice was unwavering.

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. His hand moved in soothing circles on your back. "I thought so. Then we will make sure you become one."

Above, the King’s smile only grew, watching you two so close, completely unaware of the quiet storm brewing in his own palace.

The next morning, Seungcheol stood by the palace balcony, staring at the distant mountains. The crisp air did little to calm the storm in his chest. Rumors of the Queen's chamber being sealed and whispers of dark artifacts found within had shaken the palace. His mother denied everything when he asked, her voice steady but her eyes avoiding his.

"Seja."

The familiar voice of Commander Jeon pulled him from his thoughts. Wonwoo approached calmly, his expression unreadable.

"You seem troubled," Wonwoo remarked, leaning casually against the railing.

"Of course, I am," Seungcheol replied sharply. "These baseless accusations against my mother… They disrespect the royal family."

"Accusations are dangerous," Wonwoo agreed, his tone neutral. "But avoiding the truth can be even more dangerous."

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Wonwoo’s gaze stayed on the distant courtyard where you stood, speaking with some palace staff. "Loyalty is a fine thing, Seja. But it should never blind you."

"My loyalty is to my family," Seungcheol stated firmly.

"As it should be." Wonwoo turned slightly, his face thoughtful. "And family is not just by blood. It's about those you protect, those you stand beside… those you trust."

Seungcheol’s grip on the balcony tightened. "If you're here to lecture me—"

"Not at all." Wonwoo’s voice was calm, almost warm. "I'm simply reminding you that loyalty to the wrong person can cost you everything."

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. "You speak in riddles, Commander."

"Do I?" Wonwoo finally looked directly at him, his eyes steady. "I speak only of ensuring that those we care about are safe. And that means making difficult choices."

Seungcheol said nothing, his gaze shifting back to you, watching as you laughed with the staff, a bright presence even in the tense atmosphere of the palace.

Wonwoo's voice softened, almost a whisper. "It would be a shame if someone tried to harm her... or use her."

Seungcheol’s breath caught. "Who would dare?"

"Who indeed?" Wonwoo stepped away, his tone light again. "Be careful, Seja. The palace is full of secrets. And those who survive are the ones who choose their allies wisely."

And with that, Wonwoo walked away, leaving Seungcheol in quiet turmoil.

The grand hall was filled with tension as the King sat at the head of the chamber, surrounded by ministers and royal advisors. You stood beside Commander Jeon and his investigation team, the air thick with anticipation. The evidence of the Queen’s dark practices lay displayed—charms, sigils, and artifacts pulled from her private chamber. Wonwoo’s voice was steady as he presented the findings.

"After extensive investigation, we have uncovered these items in the Queen's chamber. The symbols match those of forbidden practices."

Whispers erupted among the ministers. Some looked shocked, others whispered among themselves, and the King’s face darkened with disbelief.

"This is a grave accusation," one minister dared to speak, "Are we certain of their authenticity?"

"My team has verified them," Wonwoo stated confidently. "This is no fabrication."

The doors suddenly burst open, and Seungcheol stormed in, his eyes blazing with fury. "Fabrication? That’s exactly what this is!" he shouted. "This is a scheme orchestrated by them—by her and her husband!"

The room fell silent. The King leaned forward, his face unreadable.

"Seungcheol," his voice was low, "mind your words."

But Seungcheol was beyond reason. His gaze fixated on you. "You have always been a thorn in my mother’s side. And now you bring this falsehood to tear our family apart? Have you no shame?"

You stepped forward, your voice unwavering. "Are you underestimating my husband's professionalism?"

"Professionalism?" Seungcheol scoffed, unsheathing his sword. "This is a coup disguised as justice!"

Before anyone could react, Seungcheol lunged forward, his sword aimed directly at you. Gasps erupted across the chamber.

But Wonwoo was faster. In a heartbeat, he moved between you and Seungcheol, his own sword drawn and his body acting as a shield. Metal clashed with a resounding ring, and Wonwoo’s steely gaze locked with Seungcheol’s.

"Seja! I order you to stop, or I will take your crown prince title for tainting the palace with your recklessness!" the King’s voice boomed, his authority undeniable.

Seungcheol’s face paled, his sword trembling against Wonwoo’s. The room was frozen in silence.

"Step back, Seja," Wonwoo's voice was calm, but his gaze held a quiet warning. "Do not mistake your anger for righteousness."

Seungcheol's breathing was heavy, his rage and desperation clear. But the weight of the King’s words sank in, and slowly, he lowered his sword, stepping back with a glare that could burn through steel.

You exhaled, your hand clutching the back of Wonwoo’s sleeve. Wonwoo’s sword remained up, protecting you until he was certain the threat was gone.

"Escort the crown prince out. He will remain under supervision until this investigation is concluded," the King commanded, and the guards moved immediately.

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of betrayal and fury, before he was pulled away.

The King’s voice returned to its composed, regal tone. "Commander Jeon, proceed with the presentation. This matter will be judged without bias."

Wonwoo gave a respectful nod, his hand gently touching yours in a silent reassurance. The investigation continued, but the room had already felt the tremor of a family on the edge of a storm.

Later that evening, you were summoned to the royal chambers, the air thick with uncertainty. The King’s advisors had left for the night, but the weight of the day’s events lingered heavily in the silence. As you stepped into the dimly lit room, the King was seated by his desk, papers scattered in front of him. He looked older tonight, wearier than usual, as if the pressure of the crown were beginning to take its toll.

"Ongju," he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "Come sit with me."

You approached cautiously, wondering what new twist this complicated situation would bring. The King motioned for you to sit across from him, his expression serious.

"I have been thinking," he began, his voice low but steady. "You have shown great strength in recent days, and your actions have proven you are no longer just my daughter."

You blinked, uncertain of where this conversation was headed. The King studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.

"Do you understand what I mean?" he continued, his voice almost hesitant. "The whispers... they are growing louder. There are those who believe that Seungcheol is the rightful heir, that he is the only one worthy of the throne. Yet, there are others who look at you and see the same strength in you. You are the daughter of a king—your bloodline is noble, and your actions have proven your capability."

A tightness formed in your chest as his words hung in the air. You had known the politics of the court were always about power, but to hear your own father speak of succession, especially now, made everything feel more real.

"You are considering... me?" you asked quietly, unsure of how to process what he was implying.

The King nodded, his face serious. "I am. It’s not just about blood, but about what you can offer to the kingdom. What you’ve shown today, in the face of threats and uncertainty, it’s not something Seungcheol has done. He is... impulsive. He acts with his emotions leading him, and that could be dangerous. You, on the other hand, have a steady hand. You know when to act and when to hold back."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. The throne was no longer just a symbol of power—it was a dangerous position, one that could bring enemies closer than ever.

"Seungcheol has the Queen’s backing," the King added, his voice dropping into a more guarded tone. "And you’ve seen the lengths to which she will go to secure his place. Her supporters are pushing hard for him to take the throne, and there are whispers in the shadows... that if I am not careful, I may lose everything. Not just the throne, but my life."

Your heart quickened. The Queen’s influence was vast, and her supporters, many of them still deeply embedded in the palace, were a force to be reckoned with.

"Your mother’s death was only the beginning," the King murmured, more to himself than to you. "The Queen will stop at nothing. I have tried to keep her at bay, but her reach is long. If Seungcheol takes the throne under her influence, he could be just another pawn. The court will be hers to control."

The King looked at you then, his eyes softening. "I need you to be ready. You must prepare yourself. You are not just a daughter of this kingdom—you are the future of it. If you want to be the one to wear the crown, you must take it. But know this, my child..." His voice faltered for a moment, something raw seeping through. "There are dangers ahead. Many will try to destroy you before you even get the chance to rule."

You nodded, a chill settling deep in your bones. The path before you was dangerous, fraught with enemies both outside and within.

"I won’t let them take what is rightfully yours," you said, your voice resolute. "I will fight for this kingdom, for you."

The King reached out, taking your hand in his. "I know you will, my child. And I will be here to guide you. But remember—being the heir to this throne is not a privilege. It is a responsibility that weighs heavier than anything else."

The weight of his words crushed down on you, but there was no turning back now. You had already made your decision. Whatever it took, you would do whatever was necessary to protect the kingdom—and yourself—from the shadows that loomed ever closer.

"You must prepare for what is to come," the King added, his voice thick with the gravity of the moment. "You and Wonwoo both. He is your strength, and you are his."

You nodded, a silent promise forming in your heart. With the Queen’s forces lurking in the background, and Seungcheol’s volatile nature, the game of thrones had only just begun. And you would be ready.

The news spread like wildfire across the kingdom, swiftly moving from the royal court to the streets, and every corner of the kingdom buzzed with whispers. The King’s announcement that you, Princess Y/n, were now considered a potential successor to the throne, alongside Crown Prince Seungcheol, sent shockwaves through the kingdom.

For years, it had been a given that Seungcheol, backed by the Queen’s influence, was the clear heir. But now, with your name officially in the running, the political landscape was thrown into chaos. Supporters of the Queen saw it as an affront to her carefully laid plans, while those who had quietly hoped for your rise whispered that this was the beginning of a new era.

In the royal court, tensions flared. Ministers and advisors who had once been steadfast in their loyalty to Seungcheol were now divided. Some saw the King’s decision as a brilliant move to balance power, ensuring that the kingdom’s future would be in capable hands, no matter which path it took. Others feared that it was the beginning of a deadly power struggle, one that would tear the kingdom apart.

Among the nobles, debates raged. Some secretly hoped for Seungcheol’s downfall, seeing your rise as a way to bring back stability. They admired your calm, measured approach and saw it as a stark contrast to Seungcheol’s emotional decisions. Others, particularly those loyal to the Queen, viewed your claim as a direct threat to their own power and wealth, and they would do whatever it took to ensure you were never crowned.

The people, meanwhile, were divided. Some viewed you as the beacon of hope, a princess who had shown courage and strength despite the odds. Your involvement in your mother’s case, your unwavering determination to protect the kingdom, made you a symbol of a new, more just rule. Others, however, still saw Seungcheol as the rightful heir, the one groomed for the throne from birth, and they were hesitant to accept any challenge to his position.

The Queen’s supporters were particularly vocal, spreading rumors and making it known that they would not tolerate such a disruption to the throne. They accused you and Wonwoo of conspiring to undermine Seungcheol, even going so far as to say that your actions were merely a way to avenge your mother’s death, a personal vendetta that should not influence the fate of the kingdom.

Inside the palace walls, the pressure mounted. Seungcheol’s reaction to the announcement was swift and volatile. His pride, already wounded from his earlier confrontation with you, flared up again. He felt betrayed—not only by his father but also by the very court that had once rallied behind him. It was one thing for you to challenge his position indirectly, but now the King’s words had solidified your place as a contender. This wasn’t just about a title anymore—it was a threat to everything Seungcheol believed he was entitled to.

As the whispers in the court grew louder, the inevitable became clearer. The Queen’s treachery could no longer be denied. The evidence—irrefutable and damning—had been laid out for all to see. The black magic tools found in her chambers, the dark rituals she had orchestrated in the shadows of the palace, and the bloodstains of countless plots woven to ensure her son, Seungcheol, would inherit the throne had all been uncovered. The King, with great reluctance, had no choice but to order her banishment from the palace.

The Queen was stripped of her title, her wealth, and her influence. Her supporters in the court were purged, one by one, as the King acted swiftly, making an example of anyone who dared to question his decision. The Queen was sent outside the palace, cast into the cold and unforgiving world, her once grand power reduced to nothing more than whispers in the wind.

Seungcheol’s reaction was expected, though no less shocking. He was enraged. His mother, the one person who had always stood by him, had been torn from his side, and he could not, would not, allow it. He stood before the King, sword in hand, his face twisted in a fury that had never been seen before.

“Father,” Seungcheol spat, his voice a venomous whisper. “You’ve betrayed her. You’ve betrayed me. This is not justice—this is a political game, and you are a fool to think I’ll sit back and allow you to take everything from me.”

The King stood resolute, his gaze unyielding, though the pain was visible in his eyes. “Your mother’s actions were not of justice, Seungcheol. She tried to seize the throne through deceit, through murder. I cannot allow her, or her supporters, to hold any power in this kingdom.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his sword tightened. “Then I will take what is mine by right. I will not let you destroy everything I’ve fought for. You’ve destroyed my mother, and now I will destroy you. I will take the throne by force if I have to.”

The room went silent as the tension in the air thickened. The King, with his final breath of resolve, turned to you. “Princess Y/n... You are now the only one who can take the kingdom forward. Seungcheol’s rage will only burn everything in his path. We have to stop him.”

But even as he spoke, it was clear that the kingdom was on the brink of collapse. Seungcheol’s plan was already in motion. His supporters, loyal to the Queen, were rallying around him, and whispers of a bloody coup began to spread.

As Seungcheol gathered his forces, plotting his revenge, he turned to the one person he believed could take the throne from his father—you. In his eyes, you were now the only option left to secure the kingdom’s future, even if it meant eliminating the King in the process.

“You, Princess Y/n,” Seungcheol said, his voice cold and calculated as he faced you one evening in the royal courtyard, “are the only one who can stop this madness. I will not let my father destroy everything. He has chosen to destroy my mother, and now, I will do what’s necessary to take what is mine.”

He stepped closer, his sword at his side, but there was no threat in his posture—only an eerie calmness. “The King is weak. His time is over. You will either stand with me, or you will stand with him. I will take the throne. The question is whether you’ll be by my side, or if you’ll watch me burn the palace to the ground.”

The choice was placed before you. The kingdom was teetering on the edge of chaos. The King, your father, was desperate to maintain control, but Seungcheol’s anger and thirst for justice were undeniable.

And there, in the silence of the night, as the storm clouds gathered on the horizon, you knew your answer.

To take the throne now meant to fight a war—one that would tear the kingdom apart. To stay loyal to the King was to risk your life in a game of politics, where enemies lurked in every shadow. But to align with Seungcheol, to stand at his side, meant betraying your own blood, your own father.

The path ahead was unclear, but one thing was certain: the battle for the throne was about to begin. Whether you would rise as the future queen or fall victim to the flames of war, only time would tell.

The weight of the world pressed against your chest, each breath a struggle as you stood alone in the quiet garden under the pale moonlight. The cold metal of your sword felt like ice in your trembling grip, and your vision blurred with tears that you could no longer hold back. The scent of fresh earth and damp leaves filled the air, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging within you.

You didn’t want this.

Not the crown. Not the power. Not the throne built on blood and suffering. A sob escaped your lips, raw and desperate, as your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground. The sword slipped from your grasp, the metallic clang echoing in the darkness, but you didn’t care. Your hands covered your face, and your shoulders shook with silent cries.

"I don't want this... I don't want any of this..." The words spilled from you, muffled by your own palms.

You felt a presence before you saw him. Wonwoo’s warm, calloused hands reached for you, gently pulling your hands away from your tear-stained face. His touch was steady, but his gaze betrayed a deep concern, an emotion you hadn’t seen before in his sharp, calculating eyes.

“Y/n…” His voice was a whisper, soft yet pained. He crouched before you, his dark eyes searching yours, and the sight of your tears seemed to shatter something within him.

“I never wanted this... I just wanted... I just wanted to protect them... to protect you...” Your voice broke, and you felt your chest tighten again. “But... all I see is blood... blood on my hands, blood on my family...”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. For so long, he had been the one with a plan, the one who held his resolve like an unbreakable shield. But seeing you like this—vulnerable, broken—every calculated thought he had ever harbored, every whispered promise of revenge, crumbled. His ambitions, his hatred, even his own thirst for justice seemed insignificant now.

“I never wanted to lie to you,” he whispered, his fingers gently trailing along your cheek, then falling away. “But everything I’ve done, everything I planned… it started long before I met you.”

A cold sense of dread washed over you. The weight of his words pressed down, making your breath hitch. “What are you saying?”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenched, his gaze shifting to the moonlit garden before he spoke again. “I wasn’t just a simple commander in Silla’s Hwarang. I was born as Jeon Wonwoo, the crown prince of the fallen Jeon Kingdom—overthrown and destroyed by Silla’s forces.”

Your blood ran cold. “The Jeon Kingdom… the one that was… massacred…”

He nodded. “My family was killed. I was only a child, taken in by my uncle who survived the invasion. He raised me in the shadows, trained me for one purpose—to take revenge on Silla’s royal family. To bring justice for my people, my family… for everything we lost.”

“Revenge…” you echoed, the word like ash on your tongue.

Wonwoo’s gaze fell, guilt clouding his sharp eyes. “I infiltrated Silla, rose through the ranks, and became a commander. I built connections, watched the court, and gathered allies. And then… I met you.”

You stepped back, your voice wavering. “So… you married me for your plan? To get closer to the throne? To manipulate me?”

“Initially, yes.” His voice was firm but laced with regret. “That was the plan. To use our marriage, to use your status, to bring down the queen and weaken the royal family. But…”

He took a step toward you, his hands trembling slightly. “But everything changed. You changed everything, Y/n. The moment I saw you fighting for your own place, for your own justice… I saw something beyond vengeance. I saw someone I didn’t want to hurt.”

Your heart raced painfully in your chest. “And now? Are you still trying to use me? Are you going to kill the king? My brother?”

Wonwoo’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “No. Not anymore. I won’t hurt you or your family. Not if you don’t want it.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, tears stinging your eyes. “Not if I don’t want it? Wonwoo, everything is already falling apart! The queen is exiled, Seungcheol is desperate, the kingdom is on the brink of chaos—and I’m a pawn in your game!”

His expression twisted with pain. “You’re not a pawn. Not to me. Not anymore.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and his thumbs gently wiped them away. “But everything is ruined, Wonwoo. I’ve hurt people. I’ve done things I never wanted to. And it was all for a lie…”

“It wasn’t a lie,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” his hand gently resting on your cheek, wiping away the fresh tears. “We can stop. We can let it go.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching. “Wonwoo… after everything… you would stop?”

His eyes darkened with a thousand emotions, but he nodded, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Yes. If it means you won’t cry again, then I’ll stop. I will walk away from everything.”

A sob escaped your lips again, but this time it was softer, almost a breath of relief. You leaned into his touch, letting his warmth ground you, letting his calm voice silence the chaos in your mind.

“But… Seungcheol… the King… the court… they will never stop. They will turn on us… they will—”

“Then we will face them together.” Wonwoo’s voice was resolute now, a fire in his eyes. “Not for revenge, not for power… but for you. For us.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, your tears soaking into his robes. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, a quiet promise in his embrace. The sword lay forgotten on the cold ground beside you, the moonlight reflecting off its blade—a faint glimmer in the darkness.

And for the first time, in the midst of this chaos, you felt a flicker of hope.

The king had fallen under his own son's sword in the dead of night. By dawn, the news spread like wildfire, leaving the kingdom in turmoil. Whispers filled every corner, from the bustling markets to the quiet courtyards. The ministry acted swiftly, stripping Seungcheol of his title as crown prince, a desperate attempt to maintain order. But instead of breaking his resolve, it only fueled his rage. Seungcheol’s ambition turned merciless, his gaze now fixed on one target—you. The only obstacle between him and the throne.

The grand hall was a storm of frantic murmurs, ministers and generals speaking over each other, panic evident in their faces. But your voice cut through the chaos with the clarity of a blade.

"Evacuate the people outside the capital at first light," you commanded, your voice unwavering. "Prioritize children, women, and teachers. All military units must be prepared for combat. I will face Seungcheol myself."

Silence followed your words, the ministers exchanging uneasy glances, but none dared to challenge you. Your presence, a commanding force, anchored them in the midst of chaos.

"I’m going with you." Wonwoo’s voice rang out, steady but tinged with a desperate protectiveness. As Commander Jeon, his duty was clear, but as your husband—an even stronger bond pulled him toward you.

But you shook your head, your expression resolute. "No, Commander Jeon. Your responsibility is to ensure the safety of our people. They are your shield, and you are theirs. Trust me to do what I must."

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, his knuckles pale as they gripped the hilt of his sword. "Y/n—"

"Don’t make this harder than it already is," you whispered, forcing a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "You taught me to lead with my head, not just my heart. So that’s exactly what I’m doing."

Wonwoo’s gaze softened, a storm of emotions swirling within him—fear, anger, and something far too close to grief. But he knew better than to argue with you now. Not when every second mattered.

"I will protect them," he promised, his voice low but fierce. "But promise me… you won’t take unnecessary risks."

"I promise I will do what I must. For this kingdom. For our people."

As the grand hall emptied, the heavy doors groaned shut, muffling the frantic echoes of preparation beyond them. But in the stillness that followed, you remained—standing beneath the vast banners of the royal crest, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across your resolute face.

A familiar warmth wrapped around your wrist, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see Wonwoo, his dark eyes fierce yet softened, a contradiction of fear and longing.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but each word weighed with emotion. "Please… let me stand by your side."

"You already are," you whispered, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "Wonwoo, if something happens to me—"

"Don’t." His voice broke slightly, his grip tightening on your wrist. "Don’t talk like that."

"You taught me to face reality," you countered gently. "And the reality is, I might not come back from this. Seungcheol is driven, and I cannot guarantee—"

"I don't care what he is," Wonwoo interrupted, his other hand coming up to rest over yours against his cheek. "Listen to me. I never told you this… but I never planned to love you. I never planned for you to become the one person I cannot lose."

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you like a tidal wave. You had known him as a strategist, a man of unwavering resolve—a man who always seemed to know what he wanted. But in this moment, he was simply Wonwoo—the man who held your heart.

"Then don’t lose me," you whispered, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. "Stay alive. Protect our people. That’s your promise."

"And you?" His voice trembled, his hands now cradling your face. "What do you promise me?"

"I promise… I will fight with everything I have. And if I must fall—" you hesitated, your voice thick with emotion, "—I will fall knowing I loved you."

Wonwoo’s lips captured yours, desperate and fierce, a kiss that spoke of everything he couldn’t say. A promise. A plea. A goodbye he refused to give.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads remained touching, your breaths mingling in the tense silence. His eyes, dark and intense, held yours.

"I will come back to you," you whispered, the tears you tried to hold back finally slipping free. "I swear it."

"And I will be waiting," he whispered back, his thumb brushing away your tears. "No matter how long it takes."

As you pulled away, the cold air rushed between you, but Wonwoo’s warmth lingered—an invisible shield around your heart.

You turned, walking toward the door, the weight of war pressing upon your shoulders. But with each step, you held onto his promise, like a faint light guiding you through the darkness.

Wonwoo led the people to the hidden village where the remaining Jeons lived. His uncle listened intently as he explained the chaos that had erupted in the capital—the king’s fall, Seungcheol’s betrayal, and the abrupt turn of their once carefully planned revenge. The weight of bloodshed hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how far vengeance could twist one's soul.

“It’s over,” Wonwoo whispered, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Enough of this revenge. We’ve lost too much.”

His uncle placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a silent understanding passing between them.

Days turned to a week, and the village grew restless. News from the capital was scarce, tension simmering beneath the surface. The people prayed for peace, for the safety of their loved ones. But Wonwoo’s heart remained in turmoil. He found himself pacing at the village's edge, eyes fixed on the distant forest path, hoping for any sign of you.

Then, a rider arrived from the capital, his horse covered in dust, a royal emblem on his chest. Breathless and weary, he delivered the news.

"The Choi clan has fallen. The queen’s allies have been defeated. Seungcheol has been overthrown."

A collective gasp swept through the crowd, joy and relief spreading like wildfire. Mothers hugged their children, elders whispered thanks to the heavens, and even the warriors smiled with pride.

But Wonwoo remained still, his heart pounding against his ribs. “And what of the princess?” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed his fear.

The messenger smiled, “The capital is now secure, and the coronation of the new queen will be held in a month.”

Wonwoo’s vision blurred for a moment, the tension flooding out of him in a rush.

“She’s safe! My sister is safe!” Chan’s voice pierced the air, and he jumped up, hugging anyone nearby.

But Wonwoo’s relief was silent. He closed his eyes, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. A faint, shaky smile crossed his lips. You were safe.

“Commander!” his uncle’s voice snapped him back.

Wonwoo’s expression hardened with determination. “Prepare the people. Those who wish to return to the capital can do so. Our warriors will guide them for protection.”

“Yes, Commander!”

But even as his people moved in a flurry of preparation, Wonwoo was already mounting his horse. His grip on the reins was tight, his gaze locked on the forest path.

“I’m going back to her.” He spurred his horse, the powerful beast surging forward, hooves thundering against the ground. Trees blurred past him, the cold wind biting at his face, but none of it mattered.

His thoughts were filled with you—your fierce resolve, your gentle smile, your warmth.

“I’m coming to you.”

The gentle hum of the projector filled the spacious lecture hall, casting a soft, warm glow over the screen at the front. Jeon Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, his steady gaze meeting the curious faces of his students.

"And that's where our story ends," he concluded, a faint smile crossing his lips. "The tale of the Queen of Wonhwa and the turbulent rise of the Jeon family."

A hand shot up among the students. "Professor Jeon, how was their life after that? Did the queen live happily ever after with Commander Jeon?"

Wonwoo's smile deepened, but there was a subtle wistfulness in his eyes. "History is often silent on personal happiness. There isn't much evidence detailing their private lives. However, what we do know is that the Queen's reign marked a significant shift. Women's education began to establish itself as a formal part of the kingdom’s policies, and her son—later known as one of the most strategic kings in military history—led an era of unparalleled strength and prosperity."

The students whispered among themselves, a mixture of awe and curiosity in their expressions.

"So, was Commander Jeon the father of that legendary king?" another student dared to ask, leaning forward.

Wonwoo chuckled, "Historical records are unclear, but there are many who believe so. After all, the Queen’s most trusted advisor and protector was none other than Commander Jeon."

"Professor, do you think they loved each other?"

Wonwoo paused, his gaze drifting momentarily to the window where a gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside. His voice softened. "Love can be found in many forms—through trust, sacrifice, and shared ideals. Perhaps that is the greatest mystery of their tale."

The bell rang, and the students began packing their things, chattering about the lecture as they filed out. Wonwoo stood by his desk, collecting his notes, his fingers lingering on the worn pages of his lecture book.

As the last student left, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"I think you make it sound more dramatic each semester."

Wonwoo looked up to see you leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile on your lips.

"Perhaps," he admitted, his expression softening. "But you have to admit, it keeps them interested."

"Did you tell them about how the Queen and Commander Jeon would sneak out of the palace to share mooncakes under the stars?" you teased, stepping closer.

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. "That's not historically verified."

"Neither is their undying love, but you mentioned that."

"Touché." He leaned back against his desk, his smile lingering as his eyes met yours. "Shall we get some dinner?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Dinner? Or mooncakes under the stars?"

"Why not both?"

You laughed, taking his outstretched hand. Even after centuries, the story of the Queen of Wonhwa and Commander Jeon lived on—retold in history books and whispered between two souls who somehow always found their way back to each other.

Wonwoo closed his leather-bound lecture book, tucking it under his arm as he walked beside you. The hallway buzzed with students rushing to their next classes, but his focus was entirely on you.

"I'm just saying, your administrative policies seem overly strict," Wonwoo remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Strict?" You turned to face him, your expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. "Wonwoo, I’m trying to maintain academic integrity, not run a summer camp."

"And I'm saying that micromanaging professors' attendance reports isn't maintaining integrity. It’s just paperwork chaos," he shot back, his tone teasing but his words pointed.

"That's because some professors treat their classes like optional gatherings. I’m ensuring consistency," you defended, crossing your arms.

"Or you’re turning the faculty into a military academy," he quipped.

You stopped walking, your gaze challenging. "You sound like you're worried you’ll be the first to break the rules."

Wonwoo chuckled, stepping closer. "I'm the model professor. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s the others who’ll run for the hills the moment they hear about your new policies."

A faint smile tugged at your lips, but you tried to keep your tone stern. "Well, if they do, at least we’ll know who’s not serious about their roles."

"You really do enjoy being the strict dean, don’t you?" Wonwoo leaned slightly, his teasing gaze unwavering.

"I prefer 'responsible,'" you corrected, turning back to continue walking.

"Of course, Madam Dean," Wonwoo replied with a playful salute, easily matching your pace.

"Don't you 'Madam Dean' me," you muttered, but you couldn’t hide the smile forming.

"Won't I be hearing that a lot when you take over the dean’s office officially?" Wonwoo teased, his voice light but proud.

"Yes, you will. And you better address me properly in meetings," you retorted, feigning seriousness.

"Fine. But don’t think I won’t bring up your paperwork obsession in the next faculty gathering," he warned, earning a light glare from you.

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me," he challenged, the mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat.

"Maybe I will."

"Good. I love a challenge."

And as your bickering continued, anyone passing by could see it—two professors locked in a playful, spirited exchange, each word carrying a mix of familiarity, trust, and something far deeper.

The end.

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alexthetrashyracoon · 1 year ago

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Simon wants to marry you.

This fact was as clear as rain on his mind. You were the love of his life, he was ready to settle down with you and grow old.

So Simon prepared everything for that special day, it was your fourth year anniversary and Simon wants to ask you the biggest question someone could ask and he hoped, maybe even prayed despite not believing in any higher deity, that you would say 'yes' to his proposal.

He has planned out the whole day, from the moment you woke to the moment you would close your eyes for the night again, everything was supposed to be perfect.

Simon brings you breakfast in bed, watching your smile brighten when you see the freshly pressed orange juice and the fresh buns, still warm from the bakery. "Happy Anniversary." He whispers before slipping back into bed behind you, pulling you between his legs and stealing some of the freshly cut Mango from your plate.

When breakfast is over, you two made a mess out of each other while trying to feed each other, he scoops you up and carries you into the bathroom, telling you to get ready and that he has a lot of plans for today which causes you to become perceptive. Immediately starting to question him about his plans, but he's still a trained soldier, he withstands your flow of questions.

Another plan of Simon for today was bringing you to a fair, the same one you two met four years ago.

Here he wanted to ask you to marry him, on top of the Ferris wheel where you two had been stuck together four years ago due to a technical issue with the electronic.

But after spending a few hours walking the fair ground, having to walk back to his car once to bring Lord Otto from Otterson, the plush Otter he won you at one of the stupid and usually very rigged fair games, to safety and out of the way. You make it to the Ferris wheel and Simon's face fell.

"Out of order..." He breathes and runs a hand through his short blonde hair, staring up at the still standing wheel and the dangling cable cars.

"Damn." You curse softly next to him and scratch your neck. "Well, maybe we can ride it another day, mhm?"

"Yeah, maybe. Well, we can't change anything now." He chuckles and squeezes the velvety box in his back pocket. Keeping it safe until you two would reach the next destination.

The small restaurant by the corner where you two lived was filled with loud voice, happy laughter, children running around, not that Simon minded, he knew you were a very outgoing person and enjoyed the social interactions from such evenings.

Simon had reserved a table a few weeks ago and the waiter brings you and him over, Simon shushing the poor man who just wants to help you sit.

He is your boyfriend, bloody hell, he can do something so simple as helping you get seated.

"I know it is our anniversary, Simon," You chuckle as you put down the glass of wine Simon has ordered for you and him, "But something feels different. I just don't know what. Special..."

"Four years is just a long time, love. Maybe your brain finally catches up with... wha-?" Simon wants to be cheesy with you before asking you the question of all questions when suddenly his feet feel wet and he looks down, seeing water come from the kitchen.

His second attempt of asking for your hand has been sabotaged by a broken water pipe.

Simon curses internally as he carries you back outside, not wanting to get your feet wet and cause you catching some flu.

Well, there is only the romantic walk through the nearby park which is empty around this time of the night, so you two can walk around the pond and watch the fireflies and swans before he can go down on one knee and finally ask.

But before he even get you through the sturdy iron gates that allowed entrance to the park, his phone rang, Prices' number on the screen and everything in Simon screams to ignore his Captain for the sake of your relationship and your future.

He apologizes and takes the call, listening to Price explaining that they've got information about a certain Russian Terrorist planning an attack and that they had to meet within the next hour.

"It's fine." You reassure him when he brings you back to your shared apartment, squeezing his hand with a gentle smile on your lips. "I had a lot of fun today with at my side. And saving the world is much more important. We can celebrate another time, Si."

"You're too forgiving." Simon replies and presses his chapped lips against your forehead. "But it's not fine. I had the whole day planned out. And the universe seems against me at all, bloody hell. All I wanted to do tonight was asking you to marry me. And everything I've tried blew. The Ferris Wheel, the restaurant, even the walk..."

You cut him off before he can talk himself into a frenzy by wrapping your arms around his neck, having to stand on your tiptoes and planting your lips on his.

"Yes." You grin when you pull back. "Yes, I will marry you, Simon Riley. I will marry you."

Maybe he should have simply asked you this morning during breakfast, might have saved him from getting another grey hair on his head. But sometimes the simple answer is hidden behind the complicated ideas.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod x gn!reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader

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connorsui · 8 months ago

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Luke & Kieran/ Sylus x wife! Reader || Imagine ||

"One last game!"

Note: not as polished as I would like but I did always imagined how these two would be like around their boss kid? -

The evening was coming to a close, and the house, bathed in a soft, warm glow, looked like it had been hit by a miniature hurricane. Pink toys—plushies, blocks, glittery shoes—were scattered haphazardly across the living room floor, the remnants of what had once been an innocent evening of fun. Now, the peaceful warmth of the home had been overtaken by a growing sense of chaos as frantic footsteps reverberated through the hallways.

Luke and Kieran were in full-blown panic mode, tearing through the house. They tossed pillows, peeked under tables, and flung open every door, desperately searching for a toddler who had seemingly vanished without a trace.

“You can trust us with the kid, we said! Nothing bad will happen, we said!” Kieran muttered bitterly, lifting a cushion and glancing under the couch. “And now look! Thirty minutes of searching, and she’s gone! GONE!” His voice cracked as he threw the cushion across the room in frustration.

Luke, visibly rattled but trying to maintain some semblance of calm, walked over to Kieran. “Come on, she couldn’t have gotten that far, right? I mean, her legs are tiny! Point A to point B takes her forever.”

Kieran, still crouched on the floor, slowly rose and stared at Luke, incredulous. “Yeah, and you remember how fast she moved when she took Mephisto on that ‘plane ride’ with her plushies? Thought the bird was too slow to fly?”

Luke folded his arms, trying to look nonchalant but clearly feeling the pressure. “Okay, yeah. And your point?”

“My point is... the kid can run.”

“Oh, that’s just perfect,” Luke groaned dramatically, flopping onto the floor in complete defeat. “None of this would’ve happened if someone hadn’t suggested one ‘finaaaal’ game with the boss’s kid. One minute she’s here, and the next—POOF! Gone. With a trail of glitter.”

Kieran stared at Luke in disbelief. Even though they were both wearing masks, Luke could feel the heat of Kieran’s glare. “Wait—are you seriously blaming me for this?”

“Who else?”

Kieran threw his hands up. “Who else? Uh, who was it that thought party cans were a great ‘welcome back’ surprise for the boss and his wife, huh?”

“Well, it was either that or hide-and-seek, and you—”

Before Luke could finish his retort, they both froze. A burst of giggles echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable click of a door locking. They stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“How… how did she get upstairs!?” Luke whispered in disbelief, his voice shaky.

Without a word, they both bolted toward the staircase, skidding to a halt at the sight of the baby gate, now hanging loosely by its hinges. It was tilted precariously, as if it had been outwitted by the most cunning toddler alive.

“Oh, she’s smart—” Luke began, but Kieran cut him off with a sharp smack to the back of his head.

“Focus!” Kieran growled, stepping forward. “Alright, kiddo, time to come out now!” His voice was firm but coaxing. But instead of the sound of obedient little feet, they were met with more giggling, playful and distant, echoing through the upstairs hallway.

Luke exchanged a glance with Kieran, who rolled his eyes as they both cautiously climbed the stairs. “This is going to be bad,” Luke muttered under his breath.

The upstairs hallway was dimly lit, the shadows stretching along the walls. Suddenly, Sylus' daughter peeked her head around the corner, her bright red eyes wide with mischief. The second she spotted them, she squealed with delight and darted away, disappearing around the bend.

“Oh, come on!” Kieran groaned, as they raced after her, rounding the corner just in time to see the door to the boss’s office wide open.

“There’s no way she’s in there...” Luke whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How did she even get in here?” Kieran asked, just as confused.

They entered the office cautiously, careful not to disturb anything. The room was pristine, neatly organized—until they noticed a pair of tiny feet peeking out from beneath the desk. And there it was again: that unmistakable giggle.

Kieran’s eyes lit up with an idea. He motioned for Luke to come closer. “Alright, here’s the plan: you go left, I’ll take the right. We jump out, and give her a little scare.”

Luke grinned. “Perfect.”

They positioned themselves on either side of the desk, ready to strike. But before they could even make their move, Sylus' daughter popped out from beneath the desk, a wide grin plastered across her face.

“Surprise!” she shrieked, spraying them both with party cans they had been saving for later. Neon foam shot out, covering Luke and Kieran in a sticky mess of silly string as the toddler collapsed into giggles.

“Surprise! Surprise! I win! I win!” she chanted, hopping up and down with glee as she sprayed them again.

Luke, now covered head to toe in foam, looked over at Kieran, both of them utterly defeated, but unable to suppress a smile. Her excitement was contagious.

“Alright, that’s enough, kiddo,” Luke laughed, scooping her up as she squealed, still waving the can.

Kieran quickly snatched the can from her, shaking his head with a playful smirk. “Yeah, yeah. You win.”

Setting her down, they both attempted to question her about her little escapade, but all she did was giggle uncontrollably, covering her face with her tiny hands. “I didnt leeeaaveee I played!, I played and won” she squealed between bursts of laughter.

Before they could question her even further, the sound of footsteps behind them made them freeze. They slowly turned, only to see You and Sylus standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with amused expressions.

Silly string wasn’t just on Luke and Kieran—it was everywhere. The desk, the chair, the floor—nothing had escaped the carnage.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to hide the laughter. “I - I ...take it you all had a great time?”

Luke and Kieran stood in stunned silence, caught red-handed in the chaos, while Sylus' daughter grinned proudly.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she cried, running towards you with open arms. “We had so much fun today! Mommy, look!”

You bent down, scooping her up with a warm smile, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I can see that, sweetheart.”

As Luke and Kieran stood there, still sticky and covered in foam, they glanced over at Sylus, who crossed his arms, looking every bit the stern boss. His eyes flicked over the mess, then back at the two men, who stood awkwardly under his gaze.

“Uh... we tried our best,” Luke muttered weakly, scratching the back of his head. “She’s... uh, faster than she looks.”

Kieran nodded, backing him up. “Yeah, I mean, we had a plan! But she outsmarted us.”

You stifled another laugh, turning to Sylus. “Go easy on them. They did try, after all.”

Sylus’ expression softened, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No promises,” he muttered, before walking past them into the office to inspect the damage.

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b1eedthefreak · 2 months ago

Text

Wildflower

Daryl x girly!Reader (set during the first episode of season 4!)

Warnings: None!

⸻

“You’re Daryl Dixon, right?” the newbie with glasses asked, practically breathless as he approached the group outside the prison gates. “It’d be an honor to shake your hand, man! You’re a legend.”

Daryl blinked, stunned and uncomfortable, slowly reaching out to shake the guy’s hand while glancing sideways like someone would save him. Carol stifled a laugh beside him.

That’s when you popped up, bright as the damn sun, hair tied back with a pink ribbon you’d managed to salvage from an abandoned house. You bounced over, boots clacking against the gravel, and dramatically clasped your hands together in mock awe.

“Oh. my. GOD!” you gasped, eyes wide as you stared at Daryl. “I’d be honored to shake your hand Mr. Dixon,” you said, extending your hand with an exaggerated grin, batting your lashes.

Carol outright burst into laughter, and Daryl stared at you with his usual narrowed eyes and tight lipped grimace. “Ya done?” he muttered.

You gasped again, letting your jaw drop and clutching your invisible pearls. “No??… Okay…” you giggled, slipping your hand into his anyway and giving it a firm shake before skipping off. “What a gentleman,” you added over your shoulder, just to annoy him.

An hour later, the two of you were heading into the woods on a run—just you and Daryl. You walked a little behind him, talking his ear off like usual. “So I was thinking,” you began, “if we find canned peaches again, I’m totally hoarding them. Like, no shame. That’s my treat. You can have the beans… Bleh.”

Daryl grunted.

“Grunt twice if you agree.”

He grunted again, and you giggled like a child.

Not long after, Daryl halted in his tracks and crouched low, spotting fresh deer tracks. He raised a hand for you to stop. “Stay here,” he muttered. “I’ll get it.”

“Wait—what? Hey! I can help!” you said, puffing your cheeks as you stepped closer.

“Yeah? Gonna charm the deer to death?” he mumbled, already stalking forward. “Go collect water or somethin’.”

You huffed. “Fine. Rude,” you grumbled, trudging off toward a nearby stream with your empty bottle. “Didn’t wanna slice up Bambi anyway…”

You were crouched by the water’s edge, mumbling about how frogs were better company, when you heard his boots behind you. You didn’t turn around, still filling your bottle. “Let me guess… you brought me the antlers or something.”

“Close,” Daryl drawled, sounding suspiciously amused.

You turned, and your jaw dropped.

In his dirt-smeared fingers was a small, delicate bunch of wildflowers. Purples, soft yellows, one stubborn little pink bloom right in the center. It was the apocalypse, sure—but they were the prettiest thing you’d seen in weeks.

“Daryl…” you breathed, rising slowly.

He shrugged one shoulder, avoiding your eyes. “They were just there. Figured you’d like ‘em.”

You launched forward, throwing your arms around his neck like he’d just given you a diamond necklace. “DARYLLLL!” you squealed, showering his face in kisses. “You do love me!”

He rolled his eyes, muttering, “Woman get off me…” but his arms slid around your waist all the same.

You kissed the side of his face three more times before pulling back with the biggest smile.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Later, everyone sat around the campfire, the deer roasting over the flames while laughter hummed through the night. You sat snug against Daryl’s side, one of the flowers tucked into your hair. You’d made a show of putting it there earlier, just to be annoying. “Matches my vibe,” you had said, blowing him a kiss.

Now, with your head resting on his shoulder and your body curled up beside his, your voice was quiet, breath slowing. His arm was around you, rough hand dragging soft patterns over your thigh as your eyes began to flutter shut.

Glenn leaned over, whispering, “Shhh. Don’t move.”

The others fell silent.

Click.

He snapped a photo with the old camera he’d brought back from a run. Then, gently, he placed the printed photo in your lap as you snored softly against Daryl’s arm.

“She’s gonna love that.” Maggie whispered.

Daryl looked down at you—his pink girl, fast asleep with a flower in her hair and a smile still lingering on her lips. He didn’t say a word. Just tugged the blanket higher over your shoulder and leaned back, letting you stay tucked into him for the rest of the night.

⸻

a/n: this one is for all my girly daryl lovers out there :3 my requests are also open!

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut

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harmonyrae · 2 months ago

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A Devilish Duke

Synopsis: You must be cursed, doomed to be an old maid, no one will ever marry you. You’ve tried to restrain your rebellious nature, but when you meet the devilish Duke of Tartarus, you genuinely have met your match. His brazen behavior could completely ruin your reputation. So why aren’t you running away?

AN: I tried my best to be historically accurate - my Google history is crazy & I have 7 pages of notes. However, some modern terms are just way easier to use for a smoother reading experience. All photos taken from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: SFW (future works could have NSFW elements fyi), plot & angst, violence & blood, death of parental figures mentioned, Sylus is a brat, Simon Basset coded tbh

Word Count: 7k

Another season, another abysmal attempt at impressing the Queen. While you hadn’t tripped like last season, you certainly didn’t improve your reputation. Instead of stumbling over your own feet, you stumbled over your words. Why couldn’t you just curtsy like everyone else? Even Angeline Ashby has a better chance at finding a match this season, and she’s a lecherous cow.

The warm glow of the rising sun was the final straw, you weren’t sleeping tonight. You crawl out from under the blanket and shuffle to the wardrobe to find your riding coat. You braid your hair and tuck it down the back before grabbing your boots. You tiptoe down the stairs to the kitchen and sneak out the backdoor, crouching down for a moment to lace up your boots.

The hem of your skirt dampens with the morning dew. You pull your coat sleeves down over your hands, you can’t wait until the warmth of spring extends into the early morning hours. It’s the only time you can be yourself, when you can go for a ride without hearing your mother lecture you about using your fathers hunting saddle. You’ll always be grateful your father taught you to ride astride, you only rode side saddles when you absolutely had to.

The door of the stable creaks loudly and you wince as the horses whinny in response. You slide through the door and approach the first stall. You peek over the gate and see your mare, Misty, eating. The stable boy must have already come by, which means you don’t have to be as quiet.

“Misty…”

She shakes her head, strands of her silky black mane falling down over her face. She snorts, slowly walking up to the gate to greet you. You rest your hand on nose and she nuzzles closer. You take a few minutes to dote on her, giggling as she licks your hand in search of a treat.

“Come on girl, let’s get out of here, yea?”

She sighs and backs up to let you into her stall. You throw on her horse blanket before putting your fathers saddle on her back. Reaching under, you secure the girth before slipping the bridle over her head and attaching the rein. You adjust the stirrups, patting her side while whispering praises. You lead her out of her stall to the stable doors and out into the paddock, closing the door behind you. A subtle click, and the back gate of the paddock locks, the open field before you begging to be explored. You use the gate to step up and swing your leg over the saddle, tucking your skirt underneath before sitting down.

“Okay girl, let’s see where we end up today.”

You tap your heel against her side and she starts to walk, as she warms up you give the command for her to trot. The chilly morning breeze is a welcomed sensation, your mental anguish is finally silenced as the air whips past your ears. Another kick and she’s off, her muscles flexing under you, effortlessly carrying you far away from the stuffy manor you call home. You finally lean forward and tighten your hold on the reins.

“Go on girl! Go!”

Misty speeds up, galloping through the field as the sunrise paints the sky gold. Your eyes burn from the rush of air, your cheeks ache from smiling, you’re free. Or at least you’re feeling free, your reality is far less enjoyable.

You ride along the river, watching the water flow and break off in countless directions. You follow one of the streams and down a hill towards a large pond. Ducks waddle across the field towards the water, their babies close behind. You direct Misty to take a turn around a large oak tree along the bank and scream when you spot a man standing just an arms length away. Misty narrowly avoids him and neighs loudly, another horse lifts their head and responds, anxious hooves sinking into the wet soil next to their master.

“Whoa! Whoa girl!”

You try to regain control of Misty, but your skirt bunched beneath you causes you to slide. You release the reins and cling to her neck as one of your feet slips out of the stirrups. With one harsh kick of her legs, you’re falling. You close your eyes, bracing for a painful landing and yelp when you feel arms wrap around your torso, catching you.

It takes you a moment to realize the man you almost ran over has caught you. You’re laying on the ground in his arms, frozen. You cautiously look over your shoulder only to realize your hair has freed itself from your coat, the braid fully unwound, your wild curls covering the man’s face. You roll away from him and sit up, sweeping your hair over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask your embarrassment.

“What were you doing? She could have kicked you, getting so close like that!”

When you finally lift your head, your stomach drops. Of course, only you would nearly kill the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He sits up, resting an arm on his knee as he gives you a once over. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned, showing a tantalizing view of his toned chest, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His clothes are caked in mud, but his face is clean, aside from a smudge of mud over his right cheek. Silver white hair swoops down across his forehead and as he lifts a hand to wipe away the mud from his cheek you catch a glimpse of a small gold hoop hanging from his ear. A prominent nose, sharp jaw, plump lips, but nothing is as striking as his eyes. The deep crimson reminds you of red velvet cake or your favorite wine.

“A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

No, his voice reminds you of red velvet cake with how rich and delicious he sounds. His words finally resonate and you instinctively scoff. Gorgeous or not, he shouldn’t have run up on Misty. You look around and don’t see her, panic slowly building in your chest.

“Oh really? You want a ‘thank you’ for scaring off my horse?”

He raises his brow, clearly surprised with your tone.

“If I’m not mistaken, you almost ran over me. And I could have let you break your arm, would that have made you happy?”

“Oh, you’re so right! Thank you so much, my knight in shining armor truly saved the day!”

You hear hooves approach and turn to see Misty slowly returning to you. She greets the other horse with a soft neigh. The other horse, who is just as gorgeous as their rider, responds in kind. You groan as you struggle to stand up, you may not have hit the ground, but sliding off of your saddle certainly strained your muscles. You gesture for Misty and she trots over, lowering her head to accept your pats.

“She looks fine to me. And you’re welcome.”

You whip around and glare at him. He brushes off his trousers and stands, his full height making you momentarily forget why you were angry with him. Thankfully, his smirk reminds you.

“So you’re not only daft, you’re insufferable as well?”

“Daft, no. Insufferable? Debatable.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to adjust Misty’s bridle. Not that it’s askew, you just need something to do with your hands.

“I imagine if you had been riding side-saddle that might have gone worse.”

You tense, the reality of your situation setting in. You were riding in a manner deemed “inappropriate” for a proper young lady. You’re only wearing your nightgown with a riding coat and boots. And you’re alone with a man in the early morning hours.

“I’m shocked, really. Your riding was impressive.”

As anxious as you were, your temper was still too hot to ignore.

“Oh? And what’s so impressive about it? That I know how to ride astride or that I know how to ride at all?”

“I’ve never seen a woman –”

“Ahh, so it is because I’m a woman. I swear if men would stop focusing on what’s between my legs and rather what’s between my ears, perhaps society could finally move forward!”

The man is stunned, but he doesn’t look away. His gaze burns straight through you, and you’re suddenly aware of every breath, every blink, every strand of hair billowing in the breeze. He steps closer.

“I was going to say, I’ve never seen a woman ride so skillfully. But please, continue making assumptions about my intentions.”

You shake your head.

“Arrogant as well. You’re quite the gentleman.”

You don’t wait for him to respond, reaching up to hold onto the horn of your saddle to jump up. Balancing on your stomach before pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Your feet aren’t even in the stirrups before you’re giving the command to trot, waving at the man over your shoulder.

“Next time, don’t run up to a panicking horse. Have a lovely day!”

You hear the man laugh as you take off across the field, back the way you came. You rush home, unsaddling and brushing Misty quickly so you can head inside to start a bath for yourself. If your mother catches you with your mud stained riding boots and nightgown, you’ll get locked in your room every night until the end of the season.

Thankfully, your mother doesn’t find out about your misadventure. She’s far too excited about the ball starting in a few hours. She spends extra time braiding and pinning your hair into the most uncomfortable undo.

“The Duke visiting this season will help you.”

“How so?”

“Well, everyone is talking about him. His choice to reside in his mothers estate, the ball he is hosting tonight will be the first time its doors have been opened in nearly 30 years. He’s lived on his fathers estate his whole life, no one’s seen him since he was a child.”

“So they won’t have time to talk about my failures if they focus on him.”

“I have faith this season will be much better for you than the last. Just… don’t speak when we are welcomed by the Duke. Just curtsy and smile. Your sister and I will exchange pleasantries.”

Cordelia was finally home. While you loved her husband, you hated being apart all winter while they stayed in his home in Verona. She would be attending the ball with Rafayel, which would surely be the next topic of conversation after the Duke’s affairs.

“Now stand up, let’s get your dress.”

She slips the dress over your head, careful to not undo her hard work. She adjusts the sleeves to sit just off your shoulders, given your smaller than average chest size, you could wear more unique styles without turning heads. Your mother encouraged it, claiming it gave you a “more feminine frame.” You slide on the matching gloves and face the mirror as your mother adds the final touches.

“What kind of theme is ‘red’? Has the Duke ever hosted a ball before? A color is not a theme!”

“I think it’s a grand idea, it’s simple. Understated.”

“You cried tears of joy at the Windleton’s circus themed ball last season.”

“I can appreciate all styles! Now shush, get your shawl and let’s go. Your sister is waiting.”

The carriage ride to the Duke’s estate was lively. Rafayel and Cora discuss the renovations they’re doing to their winter home in Verona. Rafayel promises your mother his opera will debut in the Ton first before taking residence at the Verona opera house. Cora quietly asks about the cut on your arm, which you hadn’t noticed until now. You must have cut it during the fall this morning. You try to distract her with a story about Misty, but she just gives you a sceptical look - she can always tell when you’re lying.

The Duke’s estate is larger than you had imagined. Your mother oohs and ahhs while Rafayel leans close to his wife.

“He’s the Duke of what again?”

“The Duke of Tartarus, he was born here but moved after his mother died. I heard he’s only been back a little over a week, I’ve no idea how he prepared to host a ball so quickly.”

“Money can make the impossible possible.” You mutter under your breath.

You stare at the manor in the distance, wondering why the Duke returned and what his plans were. You’re sure by the end of the night there will be plenty of rumors to discuss.

You take Cora’s arm as soon as you enter the manor, she’s always been your safe haven amongst the chaos. She pats your hand before looping her other arm through Rafayel’s. Your mother leads you through the crowd to stand in line to greet the Duke. You can barely see past the wall of guests to get a good look, so you settle for taking in the intricate details of his home instead.

Dark red walls, black and white wood floors, intricate iron railings line the staircase and second floor balcony, chandeliers with onyx crystals. Rafayel gasps and points to the ceiling. When you look up you see a breathtaking mural, creatures of fantasy dance across the vaulted ceiling as if they’re flying.

Tall windows, lined with velvet drapes, cover the entire south wall. Just outside you can make out a large garden and hedges so tall, you’re sure there’s a maze of some kind. You shuffle forward into the ballroom where a full ensemble plays and guests dance. Waiters float through the crowd, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne.

“Oh! I see him. Oh he’s so handsome!”

You hear your mother whisper, rather loudly, and crane your neck to get a better look. Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a shout, your mother and sister stare at you in shock. You didn’t look at them, you couldn’t look at anything other than the Duke. The man you met this morning, the man you nearly killed this morning, is the Duke of Tartarus.

He stands in front of the crowd with a confident smile, his sharp features much softer in the candlelight. He bows to each guest before motioning for them to head to the dance floor and enjoy the affair. He’d changed out of his mud-caked trousers and undone shirt for a dazzling red velvet tailcoat, a matching waistcoat with a golden brocade pattern and black trousers. His white silk stock tucked neatly into his dress shirt. He looked radiant, truly noble and very different from the dirty wanderer you first met.

You turn to your mother and grip her hand tightly.

“Mama, I am feeling quite ill, I don’t want to embarrass you further by getting sick in front of the Duke. I will call for the carriage. I’ll be sure to send them back before I turn in for the night.”

Just as you’re about to let go and head straight for the door, your mother pulls you back. She loops her arm around yours and locks you in place beside her.

“You are not leaving the Duke’s party before greeting him. If you still feel poorly after, you may go. But right now, you will smile and curtsey and make a good impression with the Duke, do you understand?”

You whimper and nod. Cora places a hand on your shoulder, but before she can say a word you’re being pushed forward to stand before the Duke. You bow your head and stare at the ground, praying he won’t recognize you. The tall man beside the Duke clears his throat and gestures to you and your family.

“Your Grace, Baroness Raeton, Viscount and Viscountess Rafayel and Miss Raeton.”

You curtsy and as you stand you try to move behind your sister.

“Your Grace, it’s an honor to be invited tonight. Might I say, your home is gorgeous.”

“Thank you Lady Raeton.”

You hear those around you gasp softly and your stomach drops. You’re about to slide behind your sister even further when a pair of boots appear on the floor in front of you. You bite your lip and slowly lift your head. The Duke stands before you, his smirk now a full blown grin. He looks down at you and you swallow hard, forcing your knees to bend as you offer another curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Miss Raeton. Miss…”

He looks over to your mother who is surely in total shock by now, she stutters before responding.

“Seraphina, m-my daughter Seraphina.”

“Miss Seraphina Raeton. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing a smile. When you open them, you see the Duke reach out his hand and look down at your wrist.

“Your dance card, if I may?”

You lift your hand and turn your wrist for him to see your card, but instead of writing down his name he pulls the thread loose and takes the card completely. You stand there for a moment, your wrist still extended, before looking at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t believe this is necessary if I am going to be your only partner for the evening.”

You, your mother and sister all gasp. Rafayel tries to cover up his laugh with a cough. The crowd around you reacts similarly, either gasping at the Duke’s presumptuous declaration or snickering at your baffled expression.

“I will find you before the next song. I have a few more guests to receive.”

And just like that, you are dismissed. Your mother grabs your arm and nearly drags you off to the side of the dance floor.

“Seraphina Charlotte Raeton, explain how he knows who you are this instant!”

“Mama…” Cora attempts to calm your mother's poor nerves. “Sera, have you met the Duke before today?”

You slump against the wall and cross your arms.

“Well… no.”

“Then why did he say ‘again’ - ‘it’s a pleasure to see you again’?”

Your mother was attempting to whisper, but it came out as more of a shout. Those around you were clearly listening in. Cora and Rafayel stand in front of you, blocking their view.

“I may have… gone on a ride this morning and… seen him…”

“Seraphina please tell me you were not using your fathers –”

“Hunting saddle, yes, I was…”

Your mother clings to Cora, she fans her flushed cheeks with her other hand.

“Did he only see you riding or did you speak with him?”

“Mama… I don’t know if we should be –”

Your mother squeezes Cora’s arm and she gives you an apologetic nod - she tried.

“I… I might have almost… ran him over and then fell off Misty and he caught me.”

Rafayel snorts, earning him a slap on the shoulder from his wife.

“Sera… please tell me you were polite and amiable.”

When you don’t look her in the eye she turns to your sister.

“I am going to get some fresh air, Rafayel, won’t you join your mother-in-law for a stroll around the Duke’s garden?”

Rafayel looks between you and Cora, confused. Cora nods her head and he smiles, offering his arm to your mother.

“Cora, please… watch your sister. Make sure she doesn’t tarnish our family name any further tonight.”

She pulls Rafayel towards the door leading to the garden, leaving you alone with your sister. You turn and face the wall, balling your hands into fists. You can’t seem to fill your lungs and the enormous ballroom suddenly feels much too small. Cora’s hand settles on the small of your back and she rests her chin on your shoulder.

“Is Misty alright?”

You laugh weakly and rest your forehead against the wall.

“Spooked, but alright.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I called him daft.”

“Oh Sera…”

“And insufferable…”

“And don’t forget, arrogant.”

The Duke’s smooth voice makes you jump, you spin around and collide with your sister. She holds your arm and prompts you to curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Are you ready for our first dance, Miss Raeton?”

You stare at him like he has a second head, he surely wasn’t serious about dancing with you the whole night… right?

Cora nudges you with her elbow and you stumble forward, accepting his hand as he leads you to the dance floor. He stands across from you, hands behind his back, that cynical smirk as steadfast as ever. As the song begins, you panic, suddenly worried you’ll forget the steps to the simplest quadrille. The Duke reaches out, giving you the tiniest hint for your first step and as infuriating as he is, you’re thankful.

“You were not… serious about dancing with me… the whole night… right?”

“Completely.”

You grit your teeth and try your best to ignore the chill that runs down your spine each time your hand touches his. Half-way through your second dance, you decide you simply won’t talk to him. His snide remarks and smug expression wouldn’t bother you. You’d suffer through however many dances he wanted and then find a corner to sit in for the rest of the evening.

The Duke didn’t seem to mind the silence, he simply watched you. He steps up and lifts your hand to his shoulder, other pairs surround you as the waltz begins. The one dance you never enjoyed. Something about being led made you feel like a horse.

“Do you truly find me insufferable?”

He finally breaks the silence and you jerk as he draws you closer with his hand on your waist.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Well, this does appear to be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I beg your pardon? It appears no one taught you proper etiquette. Taking a ladies dance card? Dancing the whole evening when you should be receiving guests.”

“I’ve always felt the host should partake in the festivities. What do I have to gain from engaging in mindless chatter all evening?”

“So dancing with me in utter silence is a better use of your time?”

“It certainly is more enjoyable. Aside from the accusations.”

“Why did you take my card?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

You maintain your smile, to anyone watching you were having a pleasant conversation with the Duke. You shake your head.

“I wanted to spend time with you, sweetie.”

You gasp and attempt to pull away, intent on running straight for the door. You’ll walk home if you must. The Duke’s grip on your waist tightens and he keeps you close. You glare at him, onlookers be damned.

“Have you no shame? You’re being incredibly improper.”

“I would have thought a young lady who prefers to ride astride and speak her mind would appreciate a genuine conversation. You are proving to be a difficult study.”

You’re at a loss for words. This man is unlike any you’ve encountered. Bold, brash, shameless and entirely intriguing. You attempt to scoff, but it comes out as a pitiful huff. When you finally find your voice you look at him directly, feigning confidence.

“I should slap you for your brazen behavior, but given this is your soiree, I shall restrain myself.”

The Duke laughs.

“I do so appreciate your candor. If you’d like the satisfaction of watching someone attempt to do so, attend my bout tomorrow evening.”

“I… I don’t…”

“I’m sure your brother-in-law already knows the details. Young ladies are more than welcome, it’s not as barbaric as you think. And perhaps… I would like to see you there.”

You’re once again rendered speechless. The Duke spins you as the song comes to an end. You face him and curtsy.

“T-Thank you for the dances, Your Grace.”

“Sylus.”

Your skin warms just thinking of saying his name. He bows.

“Good evening, Miss Raeton.”

Misty was restless, she wasn’t used to you just sitting in her stall, she expected a ride. You run the brush through her mane once more.

“Sorry girl, not today.”

She snorts and you kiss her forehead before reaching for another apple from the basket you brought. After spending the morning in the sitting room with your mother in utter silence waiting for suitors - how never came - you needed a break. Spending the afternoon in the stable with Misty seemed like the best option.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Cora’s voice makes you jump, which causes Misty to grunt, but once she sees Cora, she’s as happy as can be. She paws the ground and Cora giggles as she opens the gate.

“Hey girl. I missed you too.”

Misty was a gift for both you and Cora from your father. You took to riding instantly while Cora preferred spoiling her with apples and oats. She holds out a hand and you pass her the brush.

“Are you sure you want to go this evening? I don’t like lying to Mama.”

You hike up your skirt and step up on the iron bar lining the gate, you rotate to settle yourself on the thick wood panel along the top. Holding onto the wood pillar beside you, you swing your legs. Lying to your mother was the least of your worries. Curiosity was getting the best of you, the Duke, Sylus, is too confusing. He acts more like a stable boy than a member of nobility.

“I’m sure. And we’re not really lying to Mama, I told her I wanted to spend time with you and Rafayel. I barely know my brother-in-law and I need to make sure he’s treating you well. Seems she’s just as eager to know.”

Cora leans against Misty and gives you a pointed look.

“Yes, but telling her we are visiting Monsieur Arnaud to discuss Rafayel’s opera is too far. Rafayel hasn’t had a chance to call on him and if Mama, somehow, speaks to him…”

“Then we can tell her that Monsieur was feeling poorly and we went for tea instead.”

“Why are you going through so much effort to see the Duke again?”

I laugh a bit too loudly.

“I don’t want to see him, I want to watch him lose. Rafayel said Sylus is facing –”

“Did you just… call the Duke by his given name?”

You nearly fall backwards off the gate.

“Did I?”

Cora nods, her teasing smile makes you blush.

“Rafayel said the Duke is facing the current champion, who hasn’t lost a match in two years.”

“What if the Duke is a skilled fighter? What if he wins?”

“I… He won’t. Surely.”

Cora continues brushing Misty and lets you simmer. Your foot twitches and you want to jump on Misty bareback and ride into the hills, away from the mess you’ve made.

“Mama is still angry with me.”

“She’s not angry, she’s worried. Mama knows you and Winnie will be… challenging to find a proper match. I have no doubt you’ll find someone, you’re quite a catch.”

You roll your eyes and snicker, Misty neighs and for a moment you think she’s mocking you. Then you hear the stable door open and look over your shoulder to see Rafayel with a hand over his nose.

“If we’re going we need to leave before sundown, clouds are gathering.”

“You can come in Rafayel, Misty won’t bite.”

Cora pats Misty who shakes her head playfully.

“Well, she might. If I tell her to.”

You stick out your tongue at Rafayel and he puts his free hand on his hip.

“It smells awful, I’m not going to the match smelling of horse shit.”

“Rafayel!”

You laugh at Cora’s scolding. She’s not even pregnant yet, but she certainly has a child. Rafayel is a handful, not that Cora minds. It’s been clear since the day they met they’d fallen in love instantly, you could only dream of being so lucky.

“Vulgar, but not wrong, you both should change.”

Cora gives Misty one last pet before reaching up to help you hop down. You kiss her on the forehead and toss the remaining apples in her feed bucket. You follow Cora and Rafayel into the house to freshen up where you spend far too much time contemplating what to wear to a boxing match. You dab your mothers scented powder over your collarbone and down your chest.

“And I’m supposed to think you don’t want to impress the Duke?”

You spin around and catch Cora sneaking into your room. She doesn’t let you respond, she just turns you back around and fixes your dress. The dark red linen was comfortable and the ruffled sleeves give you a hint of shape. Cora isn’t shy about reaching into the front of your dress to adjust your stay, propping your chest up like they’re on a shelf. You swat her hands away and tighten the laces of your boots.

“Sera! You cannot wear those!”

“No one will see, it’s not a ball or social event where I need to look like a perfect lady anyways.”

Cora shakes her head, but doesn’t argue. She simply grabs your arm and hauls you down the stairs to the entryway. Your mother chases after you and Cora as you walk to the carriage.

“If it rains, don’t let your skirts get wet. Don’t travel home if it starts to storm, I’m sure Monsieur Arnaud would let you stay the night. And be sure to thank him!”

You wave to her as the carriage sets off for town. Once she’s out of sight, you lean back in your seat and rub your temples. Cora rests her head on Rafayel’s shoulder and chuckles.

“And you wonder why I tend to worry over everything.”

Rafayel kisses the top of her head and sighs with a smile. Cora has been calm since marrying Rafayel, like her worries are less troublesome. He’s made her peace his priority and you’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.

The carriage enters town just as the sun sets, plunging the streets into a red haze of candlelight and shadow. When you arrive at the lounge you are escorted inside by two burly men wearing matching top hats. You’re taken all the way to the backroom, where a boxing ring is set up and rows of chairs are propped up on wooden palettes surrounding the ring. Almost all of the men wear top hats, you assume it is a sign of some kind of membership. There are a few women in attendance, most of them are serving drinks with too-wide smiles. You cling to Cora, who clings to Rafayel, who walks through the crowd with ease.

“Right here, best seats in the house. Not too close, wouldn’t want to stain your dresses.”

You raise a brow and he points to the edges of the ring where you spot dark stains.

“Blood?” Cora whispers.

Rafayel nods and urges us to sit. He waves down a man in a white top hat. He approaches and takes a small piece of paper from Rafayel. Once he leaves Cora crosses her arms and glares at him. He gives her a sheepish smirk and bats his lashes.

“It’s just a bit of fun, my love. I didn’t want the Duke to have no one betting on him. If he loses, it’s not going to hurt us.”

“You’re gambling?” Cora slaps your knee and shushes you.

Rafayel turns his attention to the ring and begins to clap. You turn to see a large man with a shaved head emerge from a side room. His arms are as big as your head. You swallow hard, this must be Sylus’s opponent. Sitting back in your seat you look at your hands and start to realize where you are and what you’re doing and the image this may be portraying, not that any of these men care, but you do.

“Sera…”

Cora taps your arm and nods her head in the direction of the ring. You look up and see another door open. You spot the top of Sylus’s head, his hair bright against the dark wood paneling of the room. The crowd around him slowly disperses, making way for him to walk to the ring. An unfamiliar sensation washes over you. Your cheeks flush, your stomach tightens, there’s so much pressure on your chest you want to scream.

Sylus’s opponent was bare chested, but he had not elicited the kind of response Sylus had. His trousers cinched tight around his narrow waist, a deep line running up his abdomen and chest, muscles flexing as he walked, his wide shoulders gave way to toned arms. You watch his chest rise and fall, mesmerized by even the simplest of movements. His shoulders shake with laughter as friends gather around him to wish him luck. He turns for a moment and you gasp at the sight of his back, defined muscles under soft skin. Cora shakes your arm, quickly reminding you where you sit. You let your eyes slowly trail up Sylus’s body and when you meet his eyes you don’t bother trying to look away. He’d seen you staring, and while you’d expect to be mortified you just… aren’t.

Sylus smiles and nods. You don’t realize you nod back until his smile turns into a cocky grin. He jumps up into the ring and rolls his shoulders. His opponent, Johns or Jonston or Jones or whatever, sizes him up. Sylus is well-built but definitely smaller. You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shift uncomfortably in your seat, aware of how warm the room has gotten. Or is that just you?

A loud bell signals the start of the fight and the crowd cheers as the larger man - whom they’re calling Jones - hurls himself at Sylus. He lands a few blows to his sides before Sylus drops to the floor and rolls. The sudden movement surprises Jones and he stumbles to catch up with him. The fight continues like this for what feels like hours, Jones swinging wildly and Sylus dodging and rolling. Finally Jones roars and tackles Sylus to the ground, he slams his fists into Sylus’s face and you cover your mouth, a sob caught in your throat.

“There we go Jones! Knock him out!” “Show him who’s boss! Attaboy Jones!” “Duke’s got nothing on you Jones!”

The crowd jumps to their feet, arms waving, hands clapping. You stand to see what’s happening, dragging Cora to her feet since your hands are locked around her forearm. You watch Jones continue to throw punches. Sylus twists and knocks Jones to his side, landing a solid hit to his gut in the process. But as soon as he’s up Jones kicks him down again. Jones grabs a fistful of Sylus’s hair and presses his face into the ground. You see blood gush from his nose and when he bares his teeth they are painted red.

“Sera, we should leave…”

Cora has to shout for you to hear her over the crowds chants. You shake your head, but she still tugs on your arm. You pull free and turn to stand on your seat to see over the rowdy crew in front of you.

“Another minute and Jones takes the title once again!”

You stare down at the ring, Jones on top of Sylus, blood splattered, he’s barely fighting back. He opens his eyes and immediately finds you, not that you were hard to spot - standing on your chair was making you stick out like a sore thumb. He holds your gaze, his eyes wet with tears from the force of Jones’ punches. Your lip trembles as the noise of the crowd becomes deafening. And then…

“What! How?!” “Jones get up!” “What are you doing Jones?!”

Sylus throws his head back and blood spews from Jones’ nose, sending him flying backward. He releases Sylus and tries to steady himself. Sylus spins and pins him down instantly, his fists pounding into Jones rapidly. Thunder shakes the building as Sylus turns the tide in his favor. With one last brutal swing, Sylus knocks Jones out cold. The crowd, once cheering for Jones, goes completely quiet. Sylus stands and cleans the blood off his face with the back of his hand. With a single smile, Sylus earns the respect of every man in that room. Cheers of admiration ring out and you shake as you laugh, totally in awe of the man before you.

“Seraphina, get down this instant!”

Cora grabs your skirt, you hop down and she catches you. She wraps her arms around you and presses her face into your ear.

“What is wrong with you? Climbing on a chair like a child!”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking. “

Cora grabs your arm and weaves through the crowd to stand at the bar.

“Rafayel went to get his winnings and speak to the Duke. He said to wait here.”

You nod and wave down the bartender. Ignoring Cora’s judgemental glance, you ask for a beer. The bartender laughs and fills a glass for you. You’ve finished your drink by the time Rafayel arrives, most of the crowd has dispersed as well.

“They’re closing the lounge because of the storm. There’s an inn across the street, we can stay there for the night. I just need to fetch something from the carriage. Stay here until I get back.”

Rafayel rushes out the door, pulling his jacket off to place over his head.

“I need to find the facilities, I’ll return shortly.”

Cora trails after you.

“Sera, I don’t think… Can you wait?”

You look over your shoulder and shake your head.

“I won’t be long.”

You wait until she concedes and returns to the bar. As soon as she’s sat down, you quickly walk to the side room where Sylus emerged from. You’d seen him return after the crowd had finished congratulating him. You quietly turn the knob and slip inside.

The room is dark aside from a few candles in the far corner. You take a cautious step forward to get a better look.

“Bold of you to come in without being invited.”

You freeze, your eyes searching for him. You see a hand reach out and pick up a glass off a small table, as you move closer, you see Sylus sitting in a high-back chair nursing a whiskey. He winces as the liquor burns the cut on his lip. He lifts a cloth and dabs the blood away.

“You’re insane.”

He chuckles and finishes his drink before standing. Your breath catches when you realize he’s still without his shirt. His hand wraps and bloodied rags sit in a heap on the floor next to the chair. You look up at him, your rage barely contained.

“He was larger than you, he could have killed you, and for what? A bit of fun?”

“I thought you wanted to see me suffer for my, what did you call it, ‘brazen behavior’?”

“Had I known what this would be, I never would have come!”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t divulge that information.”

“What is wrong with you? Do you enjoy mocking me? Putting me in situations where I’m bound to be flustered?”

“Your current state is completely your doing, unless you intend to admit seeing me in pain affected you emotionally?”

You take a step closer.

“The only emotion I have when I’m around you is anger. You are truly the most impertinent, ill-mannered, nonsensical man I have ever met!”

He takes a step closer, the warmth of his breath fans across your face.

“Then why were you so afraid when I was pinned down?”

Your pulse quickens and that familiar pressure in your chest slowly builds once again. Every harsh word dies on your tongue as you lose yourself staring into his eyes. You challenge him at every turn and he drives you insane, but you’re itching to know more about this man. You gasp for air through parted lips. Your vision blurs and only his lips are in focus. The dip of his Cupid’s bow, the plump center of his lower lip. The sensations you felt earlier crescendo and you feel yourself falling right into Sylus’s arms.

Your hands reach up to hold onto his face as his arms circle your waist. The moment your lips meet an intense warmth rushes through your chest and straight to your lower stomach. He groans into your mouth, ignoring the sting of the cut on his lip and the tenderness in his jaw. Your hand slides around his neck through his hair, keeping him as close as possible. He guides you backwards and cradles your head before your back hits the wall. His other hand slides down your shoulder, lightly grazing the skin of your collarbone. His tongue traces your lip and you gasp.

“Sylus…”

Hearing you say his name makes him more desperate. He spreads his hand across your lower back and pulls you flush against him. The firmness of his chest against yours sends tingles down your arms. You remove your hand from his face to trail down his chest and he shivers. His thumb traces your jaw and gently tugs at your chin, your lips part, and his tongue slides into your mouth. You whimper at the new feeling and grab onto his shoulder, searching for something to steady yourself. He moans into your mouth as he feels your fingers glide through his hair. You press your chest against him again, eager for more. But he pulls back.

“No. I won’t do this.”

He lets you go and rushes out the room, leaving the door wide open. You lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Your body burning and a strange warmth between your legs making you twitch. You touch your lip and let out a quiet sob. He just… left.

“Sera?”

You look up through tear-filled eyes to see Cora standing in the doorway. She takes a step into the room and as the light spills in she sees what state you’re in. She stops, her hand flat against her stomach. Her cheeks flush and she closes her eyes.

“Where’s the Duke?”

You take a breath, your body trembling with suppressed sobs.

“H-He left.”

Cora opens her eyes and stands tall, pushing her shoulders back. You’ve never seen her look like this and you don’t know if you should be afraid or in awe.

“I’m going to kill him.”

🐝❀🐦‍⬛

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wrxangel · 2 months ago

Note

Hello :)

Could I request the Kamaboko trio with a Hashira reader the view as a mother. They follow her around like a baby duck and seek her attention and approval

They’re just babies 😔 they need a nice hug and a good meal

Our Dear Sensei (Kamaboko Trio)

fem reader

a/n: haven't written for these guys in a HOT minute!!

Want to get tagged? Fill out this form: ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊˚

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The wind whispered through the trees as you walked along the dirt path leading back to the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters. The sky was a soft lavender hue, the first stars beginning to twinkle above. It had been a long mission, but at least it had ended in victory.

You barely made it past the first torii gate when you heard it—a rustling, then hurried footsteps.

“Y/n-sensei!”

Three voices, in unison, calling out to you.

You didn’t even have time to turn before a weight slammed into your side. Tanjiro, ever so gentle despite his strength, buried his face in your shoulder. His breath hitched, relief clear in the way his hands clutched your haori.

“You’re back,” he murmured. “We were so worried.”

A second body crashed into your other side, significantly less gentle.

“Where the hell were you?! We’ve been starving without you!” Inosuke’s voice was loud, muffled only slightly by the way his forehead was pressed into your shoulder. “These idiots didn’t let me run into the mountains to find you!”

And then, Zenitsu. Clinging to your arm like a desperate child, his wails loud enough to alert the entire estate.

“Y-Y/n-sensei! You can’t just go off on dangerous missions without us! What if something happened to you?! Who would cook for us?! Who would make sure Inosuke doesn’t punch a Hashira in the face?! Who would protect us?!”

You sighed, though your lips curled into a fond smile. These three were more than just your students. Somewhere along the line, they had become your ducklings, following you around wherever you went, seeking your approval, your presence.

With a chuckle, you ruffled their hair one by one.

“I missed you too,” you admitted. “And I’m fine. You know I’m a Hashira, right? It’ll take more than a few demons to take me down.”

“B-But still!” Zenitsu sniffled.

“Enough whining,” Inosuke grumbled, though he was still very much glued to your side. “She’s back, and now she can feed us!”

Tanjiro laughed softly, finally pulling back, though his hands still clutched your sleeve. “Are you hungry too, Y/n-sensei? You must be exhausted.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “I could use a meal. How about we all eat together? My treat.”

Zenitsu gasped, tears sparkling in his eyes. “I knew it! You do love us! You do care!”

Inosuke pumped a fist into the air. “FOOOOD! Finally!”

Tanjiro’s smile was radiant, his exhaustion melting into quiet happiness. “Let’s go. I’ll help cook.”

And just like that, the three of them trailed behind you, sticking close like ducklings to their mother.

You couldn’t help but feel warm at the sight.

Yes, they were warriors.

Yes, they were strong.

But at the end of the day, they were still just kids.

And you would protect them, feed them, and care for them as long as they needed you to.

The kitchen at headquarters was already warm when you arrived, and despite their exhaustion, all three boys eagerly helped prepare the meal.

Tanjiro, ever reliable, was already washing rice and cutting vegetables. Zenitsu grumbled about being forced to help, but his hands moved skillfully as he worked on seasoning the fish. Inosuke, surprisingly, listened to directions—for the most part. He still insisted on “hunting” ingredients, which really just meant charging into the pantry and coming back with an entire bag of flour like it was a prized kill.

“Y/n-sensei! Look! I got this myself! Now make something good with it!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Inosuke, put that back. We don’t need flour for-”

“Don’t waste my bounty!”

Zenitsu groaned. “You absolute barbarian! You can’t just bring random things and expect them to work in the meal!”

“Yes, I can! And Y/n-sensei is the best! She can cook anything!”

You sighed but patted Inosuke’s head, making him freeze in place before puffing up proudly. “I appreciate the enthusiasm. How about next time we bake something?”

The wild boar boy nodded sagely. “Hmph. Fine. But only because you said so.”

Dinner was simple. grilled fish, miso soup, fresh rice, and vegetables. Nothing fancy, but by the way the three of them practically inhaled their portions, you would have thought it was a feast.

Zenitsu let out a dramatic sigh, clutching his stomach. “I could cry. This is the best meal I’ve had in forever.”

Tanjiro, cheeks slightly puffed with rice, nodded in agreement. “It’s really good, Y/n-sensei. Thank you.”

Inosuke, on his third serving, was too busy stuffing his face to respond verbally. Instead, he let out a pleased grunt.

You shook your head fondly. “Honestly, what would you three do without me?”

Zenitsu gasped. “Perish.”

Tanjiro coughed, looking embarrassed. “I’d… probably manage.”

Inosuke shrugged. “I’d be fine, obviously. But if you want to keep cooking for me, I won’t stop you.”

You smiled, gathering their empty bowls and ruffling their hair once more. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you three, huh?”

Zenitsu immediately melted into your touch. “Yes, please.”

Tanjiro laughed sheepishly. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Inosuke let out a grunt, but you caught the way his lips twitched upward.

You sighed, shaking your head. “What a handful.”

But they were your handful. And you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

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tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 10 months ago

Text

oh, baby | Tyler Owens x reader

Requested by anon / Summary: You’re pregnant with Tyler Owens baby. Lots of fluff.

A/N: My first Tyler Owens fic. I hope you all enjoy. Also, the lack of Tyler Owens gifs is very upsetting.

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

This one moment was about to change your entire life. You were terrified. Would you be a good mom? Would you be able to make a good enough life for the little growing blimp inside you? Your thoughts were running a million times a minute. Wondering how this would affect the rest of your lives. How this one moment just changed the rest of your life.

You slowly sat on the edge of the tub, in shock, the positive pregnancy test in your hand. Your mind drifted to Tyler. Oh god. His tornado wrangler YouTube channel had began to soar in popularity. He and the team making a name for themselves. He had millions of views and a huge fan club. What would this do to his career?

“Hey hun-” Tyler knocks on the door, jolting you from your thoughts. His hand jiggles the door finding it locked. He furrows his eyebrows, you never locked the door. “you alright?”

“Y-yeah!” You rummaged underneath the sink, hiding the test under some towels. “One sec.”

You knew Tyler was getting ready to leave, a few storms brewing before this upcoming weekend. You exit the bathroom and met with Tyler’s hard chest, “You leaving?”

He peeks behind you, concerned and curious, “Yeah, why’d you have the door locked? You never lock the door.”

You shrug, playing it off. You could wait to tell him when he got back, “sometimes a girl needs her privacy.”

He hums in response, not completely believing you. However, he didn’t want to press you. If there was something bothering you, you’d eventually tell him when you were ready. He could respect that. He slips his arms around you, tugging you close against his chest. He was a mix of sweat and that musky sandalwood. It was calming and heavenly. “I’ll be back in a couple days. You gonna be able to hold down the fort?”

You nod against his chest, tightening your arms around him, “I can.” You lift your head to stare up at him, “You better come back in one piece.”

He chuckles with a nod, “Yes ma’am.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “I will call you when we get to the hotel.”

You walk him out to bid him and the team goodbye. Shielding your eyes from the sun, you watch him drive down the driveway. He hangs his hand out the window, waving goodbye. You return the wave, saying a silent prayer for a safe return of him and the team as your hands find your new growing womb. “He’ll be back.”

You’d spent the entire weekend trying to figure out how to tell him. You’d called one of your girlfriends in tears, wondering how to tell him. Worried you would be ruining his life. She reassured you, “Tyler isn’t that kind of guy, y/n. You know that. He’s going to support you and be excited for this next step.”

You heard the slam of the screen door, “Tyler must be home.”

“Call me later.”

You throw the blanket off you, meeting him in the foyer as he’s taking off the boots. “You’re home early?”

He smiles at the sight of you, but frowns when he notices you’ve been crying, “Had a feeling I needed to come home to my girl.” He crosses the foyer to you in only a few steps before gathering you in his arms.

At the first feel of comfort, the flood gates open, sobbing into his chest. damn hormones.

“Oh baby..” He squeezes you tighter, cradling your head against his chest, “Talk to me.”

You take a few seconds to console yourself. His large thumb wipes your tears away, waiting patiently for you.

You gather yourself, taking a deep breath before you meet his eyes, “I’m pregnant.”

His large hands cup your cheeks, his eyes light up, full of hope, “Yeah? You’re pregnant?”

You nod and hiccup a sob, beginning to rant, “I’m so sorry-you’ve just started your YouTube channel and you guys are so successful now-”

“No no no- Shhh.” He pulls you in a comforting hug, “This is incredible. I couldn’t be any happier.”

He holds you against his chest, slowly rocking back and forth as you calm down, “I knew something was bothering you. I just had a feeling.” He kisses your hair, and then makes you look at him, “We’re gonna be parents.” He's hesitant, but places a hand on your stomach, “you’re gonna be an amazing mom..”

You waddled into the room to find Tyler painting the wall of the nursery. His hat on backwards, jeans and shirt stained with paint.

“How’s it going in here?” You take a seat in the wooden rocking chair, sighing in relief. Those stairs were beginning to take a toll on you. Your growing baby leaving barely any room for your lungs to breathe.

“Almost done.” He sets the paint brush down, hands on his hips he admires his work around the room. “all I got left is this wall.”

You rub a hand over your bump, wincing as you adjust yourself in the chair.

Tyler noticing your discomfort, immediately is at your side, full of worry, “It’s not time yet-”

“No no,” You laugh, “Just some discomfort. I’m fine.”

He visibly relaxes, “He can’t come early. There’s way too much to do around here.”

You roll your eyes, “It also could be a she.” You and him agreed to wait until the birth to find out the sex. He was convinced it’s a boy.

“Daddy instincts.” He gets on his knees in front of you, hands on your stomach, “It’s a boy. I know it.” He flashes his pearly white smile at you. “a baby boy tornado wrangler.”

“I think it’s gonna be a girl.” You shrug, “mommy instincts.”

“We’re gonna prove your mommy wrong,” He says to your belly, “Right off the bat, you and I. I’ll finally be right on something.”

Of course, the baby kicks at the sound of Tyler’s voice. Tyler grins, “See, he agrees.”

“You’re screwed.” You whisper softly to Tyler. After hours of labor, you and Tyler finally welcomed your baby into the world. He’s seated in the rocking chair next to your bed, his bundle of joy wrapped softly in a blanket. --- a pink blanket.

“There’s two of us now. You’ll never stand a chance.” You reach over and caress his arm.

He looks at you with tear-filled eyes, “She’s only a couple hours old and she’s already got me wrapped around her finger. She could ask me for anything and I’m going to give it to her.”

“Like I said,” you say with a smile, “you’re screwed.”

Comments, likes and reblogs are always welcomed and greatly appreciated. :)

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heliosunny · 3 months ago

Note

Hola!

If your doing genshin lucky eggs, could I get a Wriothesley please?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Wriothesley x Reader

The Lucky Egg Dispenser was meant to be just that—lucky. A silly little machine promising fortune or surprise. At night, you swore you heard something shifting inside. A faint scratching, a soft tap-tap-tap against the shell. The idea of something alive in there unsettled you, yet a strange attachment formed.

Then, on the third day, it happened.

You weren’t even there to witness it fully. You had stepped away, just for a moment. Trouble had found you, as it always did. A group of men, rough and mean, had cornered you in an alley, their intentions unclear but certainly not good. You fought, struggled, but they were stronger.

crack

A rush of cold air surrounded you.

The men barely had time to scream.

When you turned back, the egg was gone. And in its place, standing over the mangled bodies, was a man.

Dark hair damp with the remnants of his birth, eyes gleaming like frostbitten steel. His hands, coated in fresh crimson. His chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths.

The words hovered just above him, as if the universe itself was assigning him to you. He wasn’t just some random creature that had hatched—he belonged to you.

[Name: Wriothesley] [Species: ???] [Abilities: ????]

The alley reeked of blood. The bodies lay crumpled at Wriothesley’s feet, their faces frozen in terror, throats torn open like paper.

And Wriothesley… He stood there, fresh from his hatching, the remnants of his cracked shell still at his feet, shards slick with whatever strange ichor had birthed him.

"You left me." His voice was deep, smooth like ice cracking over a frozen lake. "They tried to hurt you."

"Are you....Wriothesley? you—"

"I fixed it."

You should have run. Should have screamed. Should have done something. But you didn’t.

Fate wasn’t about to let either of you walk away so easily.

The commotion had drawn attention. Footsteps thundered down the street, voices shouting orders. The air filled with the sharp clang of weapons being drawn. Guards.

You barely had time to react before they surrounded you, their eyes darting between you and Wriothesley, to the carnage at his feet.

"Drop your weapon!" one barked.

You didn't have one. Wriothesley did. Himself.

He didn’t move, his cold stare sweeping over the guards like they were insects. For a moment, you feared he would kill them too.

But then his fingers curled around your wrist,

"I won’t let them take you."

"We can’t fight them all."

He didn’t want to let go. But the odds were stacked against you, and even he knew it. Slowly, he lifted his hands, though his grip on you never loosened.

The guards seized you both, shackling your wrists with cold, heavy iron. Wriothesley let them—for now. But as they dragged you toward the looming silhouette of the Fortress of Meropide, his voice brushed against your ear.

"This isn’t the end" he whispered. "You’re mine. No matter where they take us."

You shivered—not from the cold, not from fear, but from the certainty in his words.

This prison wasn’t your punishment.

It was his territory.

They dumped you both in like criminals, though only one of you had actually killed someone. You should have been terrified. The prison was deep beneath the ocean, its towering iron gates swallowing you whole as you were processed, stripped of anything valuable, and shoved into the main halls where prisoners loitered, eyes watching like hungry wolves.

The first few days were tense.

The prison had its own hierarchy—dangerous men who prowled like predators, others who merely tried to survive. You could feel the weight of their stares, assessing, testing. A few got too close, murmuring crude comments, trying to see if you’d flinch.

But you had him.

Wriothesley never left your side. Despite the loose prison uniform draped over his body, he carried himself like he belonged here—like he owned the place. His presence alone was enough to make most prisoners hesitate.

Well… Wriothesley had no qualms about breaking a few bones.

The first man to try and corner you learned that the hard way. A single glance from Wriothesley sent him to his knees, gasping, clutching his wrist at an unnatural angle.

After that, people kept their distance.

At night, when the dim lanterns flickered, you lay in your assigned cell, Wriothesley’s back pressed against the cold wall beside you. He watched you in silence.

"You don’t have to protect me all the time"

"Yes, I do."

You woke to the scent of iron. It clung to the damp prison air, sharp enough to make your stomach turn.

Blinking against the dim light, your vision adjusted to the sight before you— Wriothesley sat at the edge of the cell, his broad back turned toward you. His loose prison shirt was drenched in crimson, sticking to his skin. Blood dripped from his fingers, pooling onto the cold stone floor. It wasn’t his.

“Wriothesley…?”

At the sound of your voice, he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his face. His sharp features were calm, as if he had simply gone for a midnight stroll instead of painting the floor red. His knuckles were bruised, his sleeves rolled up, and there was a fresh cut along his collarbone.

He had stayed up all night.

Your gut twisted. This prison was dangerous, but how many threats had he already erased before they could even reach you?

“Did someone try something?” you asked cautiously, sitting up.

His lips curled slightly. “They were considering it.”

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket beneath you. You should have felt uneasy, but you didn’t. He had done this for you. And you weren’t the type to just ignore that.

“Stay still” you murmured, shifting closer.

His eyes followed you with quiet amusement as you reached for the cloth tucked near the water basin in the corner. Dipping it into the cold water, you wrung it out before gently pressing it against the bloodstains on his arm. The warmth of his skin contrasted against the sticky, drying blood, but Wriothesley didn’t flinch. He simply watched, silent and accepting, as you cleaned him up.

“You don’t have to do this” he said after a moment.

“I know”

But it felt like the right thing to do.

“You take care of me, and I take care of you. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer right away. The truth was, you didn’t know if fairness had anything to do with it anymore. You weren’t sure when—if—you’d ever get out of here. But Wriothesley? He didn’t seem concerned.

To him, it didn’t matter where you were, as long as he was with you.

If this place unsettled you, he’d fix it.

And the first step?

Establishing dominance.

“We need people” Wriothesley mused, stretching his fingers, the remnants of blood cracking along his knuckles. “Loyal ones. If you’re uncomfortable here, I’ll change that. But I need men under me first.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“By showing them what happens when they don’t follow me.”

Wriothesley was patient, like a wolf stalking prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The first step was simple: make a statement.

The bodies from last night had already sent a message, but words faded fast in a place like this. Strength had to be reinforced. And so, the next morning, Wriothesley found his first target—Orin.

Orin was a brute. Thick-necked, cruel-eyed, and one of the self-proclaimed big names in the prison. He controlled a handful of men, ruled over the food lines, and made sure the weak stayed weak. The type who thought himself untouchable.

Until Wriothesley put him on his knees.

It happened in the middle of the mess hall. A calculated move—right where everyone could see. Orin had swaggered up to you, muttering something under his breath, but he never got to finish the sentence.

One second, Orin was standing tall, smirking. The next, he was choking on his own breath, Wriothesley’s fingers clamped tight around his throat, forcing him down onto the grimy floor. The entire hall froze.

“Didn’t quite hear you”

Orin’s face darkened as he struggled, but Wriothesley held firm. The power imbalance was clear. He wasn’t just showing off strength—he was proving a point.

Silence stretched before Wriothesley leaned in and whispered something in Orin’s ear. You didn’t hear the words, but whatever he said made the man’s face drain of all color.

When Wriothesley finally let go, Orin stumbled back, gasping, his hands trembling. He didn’t fight back. Didn’t even speak. Just left.

After that, the whispers started.

No one wanted to challenge the man who took down Orin like he was nothing. Some men even approached Wriothesley afterward, subtly seeking protection, offering favors.

By the end of the day, he had a small following.

By the end of the week, he had control over the food lines.

And by the end of the month, Wriothesley wasn’t just another prisoner—he was someone in here.

Someone feared.

Someone who owned this place.

And through it all, he stayed by your side.

“You don’t need to worry anymore” he murmured one night, “No one will touch you. Not while I’m here.”

Even with Wriothesley’s presence looming like an unshakable shadow, you couldn’t ignore the way prison life slowly wore you down. The cold air, the damp walls, the constant tension—it was exhausting. Every step felt like treading carefully over thin ice, never knowing when it might crack beneath you.

Wriothesley made things easier, sure. But he wasn’t always by your side.

Lately, he had been busy. Busy building something. You knew what he was doing—gathering men, establishing his power, shaping the prison to fit his rules. He had a vision for this place, one where you wouldn’t have to worry.

But you did.

Because even if you were under his protection, you were still here. And the weight of that fact sat heavy in your chest.

So you took some time for yourself.

You wandered through the prison halls, avoiding trouble where you could, dodging the curious glances. You tried to focus on adjusting, getting used to the food, the routine, the idea that this place might be your life for a long time.

And when exhaustion took over, you finally decided to do something you should have done days ago.

You checked the status board.

Bringing up the system wasn’t hard—it flickered to life the moment you willed it to appear. And just like before, Wriothesley’s name was displayed at the top.

[Name: Wriothesley] [Species: ???]

But there were new things listed now.

[Abilities Unlocked: - Dominance (Passive): Influence over others grows stronger through intimidation and power. - Territorial Instinct (Active): Establishes a ‘domain’ where physical abilities are enhanced. - Tracking (Active): Can sense and locate wanted individual at all times.]

That last one

“Found you.”

His hair was slightly damp, as if he had been moving fast. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing bruised knuckles and the faint traces of a fresh fight. But more than that, there was something intense in the way he looked at you.

Like a hunter who had just found what he was chasing.

“Where were you?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I just needed some space.”

"You should've told me."

"I don't have to tell you everything."

He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep his patience. “Maybe not everything. But when you disappear, I will find you.”

“...You were looking for me?”

“I’ll always look for you.”

You exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down your face. The weight of everything—the tension, the exhaustion, the sheer stress of surviving in this place—pressed down on you all at once. And now, on top of it all, Wriothesley was here, standing too close, acting like you had done something wrong just by stepping away for a moment.

"You need to stop" you said flatly, eyes meeting his.

"Stop what?"

"This. Acting like I need to be under your watch every second."

"I was looking for you."

"And I didn’t need you to." Your voice came out sharper than intended, irritation creeping in. "I just wanted some space, and instead, I find out you've been hunting me down like I went missing. Do you even hear yourself?"

His lips parted slightly, but you didn’t give him the chance to respond.

"You’re so damn focused on controlling everything around you, making sure nothing touches me, but have you even considered how suffocating that is?" You took a step closer, eyes burning into his. "I’m already dealing with enough as it is—being stuck in this place, trying to figure out how to keep myself together. The last thing I need is you breathing down my neck."

Finally, he exhaled through his nose. "...Fine."

That was it. No excuses, no justification. Just a single word.

You studied his face, looking for any trace of mockery, but there was none.

You should have felt victorious. Instead, all that anger left you drained.

"I'm going back."

"To where?"

"Our cell." You rubbed your temple, fatigue settling deep in your bones. "I need sleep."

By the time you collapsed onto the hard prison bed, your body ached for rest. You barely reacted when Wriothesley sat down on the other end, leaning against the wall.

"You’re not going anywhere, are you?" you muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Not unless you tell me to."

You didn’t have the energy to reply. Within seconds, the world faded into darkness.

When you woke up, the exhaustion that had weighed you down for days finally loosened its grip. Your mind felt clearer, body lighter. For the first time since being thrown into this place, you didn’t feel like you were running on the edge of collapse.

You sat up, stretching out the stiffness from your limbs. Across the cell, Wriothesley sat exactly where you left him, leaning against the wall with his eyes half-lidded.

Standing up, you ran a hand through your hair. "I'm going to eat"

Wriothesley immediately shifted, ready to stand.

"Alone" you added firmly, shooting him a look before he could even open his mouth.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stared, searching your expression for any room to argue.

You held firm. "Stay here."

"...Alright."

You half-expected him to follow anyway, but to your mild surprise, he didn’t.

With that, you left.

The meal was nothing special. Just the same stale food, the same dull murmurs of prisoners eyeing each other across the hall, the same tension that never fully faded. But at least you got a moment to yourself.

By the time you returned to the cell, your body felt settled. But the moment you stepped in, you stopped short.

Wriothesley was still there.

Still kneeling.

On both knees.

Right where you left him.

His head was slightly bowed, hands resting on his thighs, his entire form eerily still. Like a loyal dog waiting for its owner to come home. The sight would have been unsettling if not for the way his shoulders were slightly tense, the way his fingers curled subtly as if restraining himself.

You took a slow step forward. "You—”

His head snapped up the moment he heard your voice, eyes locking onto you like a desperate, guilty puppy that had been caught after making a mess.

"You're still kneeling?" you asked, your voice softer than before.

"You told me to stay"

"I didn’t tell you to kneel like this the whole time."

"You didn’t tell me not to" he countered, but his voice lacked any bite. If anything, there was a strange mix of guilt and uncertainty in it.

You stared at him for a long moment. Despite everything—despite his strength, his violence, his cold control over the prison—right now, he looked like nothing more than a scolded dog.

Your resolve wavered.

"...I didn’t mean to be so harsh earlier" you admitted, shifting awkwardly. "I was just—tired. Angry."

"Get up already."

For the first time since you returned, something in his shoulders relaxed. He rose smoothly to his feet, still watching you carefully, as if unsure of where you stood with him.

You shook your head, crossing your arms. "Next time, just sit like a normal person."

"...If that's what you want"

You looked away, feeling something uneasy settle in your chest. This man—this person who had torn through the prison hierarchy with his bare hands—had been sitting there, waiting for you like this the entire time.

You weren't sure how to feel about that.

But for now, you let it go.

"Come on" you muttered, finally stepping further inside. "Let's just rest."

----

It happened fast.

One moment, you were just moving through the prison halls, minding your own business. The next, a rough hand clamped over your mouth, and your body was dragged into the shadows before you could react.

A fist slammed into your stomach. Pain shot through you like fire, knocking the air from your lungs. Before you could even recover, another hit followed—a sharp blow to your ribs, sending you to your knees.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to lift your head.

Three men. No—four.

They stood over you, sneering. You recognized them—part of another faction in the prison, one that had been growing restless ever since Wriothesley started taking control. They hadn’t dared to act before.

But now, they had you.

"Bet he’ll come running" one of them chuckled, crouching down to grab your chin roughly. "Let’s see how tough he is when his little pet gets put through hell, huh?"

You glared up at him, refusing to show fear. But inside, a cold weight settled in your chest.

They were right about one thing.

He would come.

Wriothesley had been busy.

Establishing order in a place like this took effort. Negotiations, displays of power, making sure his growing influence didn’t slip the moment he turned his back.

But then, the whispers started.

"They got Y/N." "Ain’t looking good—think they’re gonna rough ‘em up bad." "Wriothesley’s gonna lose it."

The moment he heard your name, everything else ceased to matter.

He didn’t ask where. Didn’t demand details.

He went alone.

The gang barely had time to react before Wriothesley stepped into view, his presence swallowing the space like a storm.

His knuckles were already cracking.

"You."

The leader of the group barely had time to smirk before Wriothesley moved.

The first punch landed so hard it sent a man crashing into the wall with a sickening crack. Before he could even hit the ground, Wriothesley was already onto the next, driving his fist straight into his gut, lifting him off the floor before slamming him down.

The others scrambled back, but it was too late.

One by one, he tore through them. Bone crunched under his fists. Blood splattered against the cold stone. Their screams echoed through the halls, but no one came to help.

By the time the last man fell—gasping, barely conscious—Wriothesley stood among the wreckage, his breathing slow, controlled. His knuckles dripped red.

And then—his eyes found you.

Without hesitation, he crouched down, hands hovering near you, hesitant for the first time that night.

"...Did they break anything?"

You winced slightly, shaking your head. "Nothing serious."

"You’re hurt."

You sighed, giving him a tired look. "And you just crushed a bunch of guys with your bare hands."

Wriothesley didn't respond right away. Instead, he reached out, carefully wiping away a trace of blood from your lip with his thumb.

"...They won’t touch you again."

And judging by the bodies around you, you believed him.

The next day, the entire atmosphere in the prison shifted.

Word of what Wriothesley had done spread fast—how he had taken down four men alone without breaking a sweat. But what came next was what truly cemented his rule.

He made them clean. Bruised, broken, and still limping, those same men who had laid their hands on you were now scrubbing the floors, wiping down the filthy walls, and polishing every rusted bar until they gleamed.

The mess hall, the corridors, even the corners everyone ignored—he had them working like dogs under his watchful eye.

When you saw it happening, disbelief flickered through you. The place had been a decaying wreck for as long as you'd been here—dirt-streaked walls, the constant stink of sweat and grime. Now, the floors were shining, the air clearer. It was almost surreal.

You leaned against the wall, watching as one of the men wiped down a row of benches with shaky hands. Wriothesley stood nearby, arms crossed, his eyes locked onto them with cold detachment.

"Didn’t think you’d care about something like this"

His head turned slightly, gaze flicking to you.

"You like things clean."

"You… did all this just because of that?"

"If we're going to be stuck here... it might as well feel like home."

Even after everything. Even after clawing his way to the top of this place, breaking bones and spilling blood—he was still the same creature that had hatched from that egg, bound to you by something neither of you fully understood.

You looked away, pretending the warmth rising to your face wasn’t there.

"...It’s not bad."

"You’ll like it better when it’s done."

You hated how easily he could disarm you with simple gestures like this. How he could make you feel safe even in a place like this.

But maybe that was just what he was meant to be.

A protector.

Later that night, when the whole prison finally settled into uneasy silence, you caught Wriothesley watching the clean walls with a small, almost satisfied smirk—like he had carved out something just for you in this pit.

You didn’t say anything.

Instead, you curled up in the makeshift bed, feeling the faint scent of soap lingering in the air, and let yourself believe—just for a moment—that maybe this hellhole could become something close to home.

If he kept his promise.

The air in the cell was quieter than usual. The faint scent of soap still lingered from the forced cleaning earlier, and for once, the place actually looked livable. You wouldn't call it comfortable, but compared to what it had been before, it was a damn improvement.

You exhaled, stretching your sore limbs before sitting on the edge of the bed. The events of the day weighed on you—your body still ached from the earlier fight, but at least you could breathe without feeling the grime of the prison clinging to your skin.

"Wriothesley....You’re staring"

"I worked hard today" he said plainly.

You glanced up at him. "And?"

"I deserve a prize."

"A prize?"

Wriothesley stepped closer, his movements slow but deliberate. The space between you shrank until he was right in front of you.

"You like it, don’t you?" he murmured, "The clean floors. The fresh air. I did that for you."

"You made a bunch of guys do it for me" you corrected.

"Same thing."

"What do you want, Wriothesley?"

"Something from you."

His hand reached out, fingers grazing the underside of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

The heat radiating from him felt suffocating, his presence swallowing all the space around you. But what unsettled you most was the look in his eyes, as if he was waiting for you to understand something he hadn’t said out loud.

"You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me" he murmured, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "And I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you."

"Doesn’t that mean I deserve a little something?"

"...What are you asking for?"

"You’ll figure it out."

His hand lingered for a moment longer, before he finally pulled away, as if giving you the chance to decide.

Days passed, but Wriothesley’s words still lingered in your mind.

"I deserve a prize."

You hated how it stuck with you—how every time he looked at you, there was that quiet, expectant patience. Like he was waiting.

You had tried ignoring it. Acting like it never happened. But Wriothesley wasn’t the type to forget. He didn’t push, didn’t demand, but that made it even worse. Because the longer you didn’t acknowledge it, the more it felt like he was winning without even trying.

So instead of giving in, you distracted yourself.

The status board had been something you hadn’t checked much since ending up in this place, but with no other way to escape your thoughts, you finally pulled it up.

The glowing screen hovered before you, listing various stats—yours, Wriothesley’s, and even a shop tab you hadn’t noticed before.

Curious, you scrolled through it.

There were items—strange ones, some practical, some completely useless. But what stood out the most was that there was no listed currency. No gold, credits, or anything that made sense.

"Then how the hell do you buy things…?"

Your eyes flicked over the options, barely reading before your finger accidentally tapped on one.

—[Collar + Chain] Purchased.—

The moment the message popped up, a sudden weight jerked in your hand.

Cold metal. A chain.

And at the other end—

Wriothesley stood in the doorway. The black collar wrapped snugly around his throat, a sleek silver chain extending from it—straight into your grip. You both stared at each other.

"...Well," he finally murmured, voice lower than usual. "You should’ve just told me."

Your mind screeched to a halt. "What—"

"You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?" He took a slow step forward, the chain shifting slightly, the tension between you tightening.

"I—this isn’t—"

He didn’t look upset. Not at all.

"You picked this" he reminded.

"You think I picked it—"

"You did pick it" he corrected, and this time, there was a slight curve to his lips—something satisfied.

Like you had just unknowingly handed him his prize.

And worst of all?

You still hadn’t let go of the chain.

The situation was getting worse.

Wriothesley’s fingers lazily traced the collar around his neck, his expression unreadable but undeniably smug. The chain still dangled from your grip, the cold metal far heavier than it had any right to be.

You needed to get it off. Now.

Your fingers fumbled, desperately trying to find a way to remove it through the status board, but nothing was working. Worse, from the outside, it must’ve looked like you were adjusting the collar on his throat—your hands moving over his skin, the chain shifting as you struggled.

The cell door creaked open.

A man stepped in, looking utterly confused at the sight before him.

You—practically pressed against Wriothesley, hands on his throat. Wriothesley—staring at you with an expression that could only be described as possessive satisfaction.

To anyone else, it was exactly what it looked like.

Wriothesley narrowed his eyes. The temperature in the room plummeted. The way he turned his head, the slow, deliberate shift of his jaw—everything about Wriothesley in that moment reeked of murder. Like he had just been rudely interrupted in the middle of something sacred and was now considering bloodshed.

Before Wriothesley could so much as move, you frantically signaled the man to get out. Your wide eyes and sharp hand gestures practically screamed— "You saw nothing. LEAVE. NOW."

The man bolted. Smart choice.

You let out a breath before finally managing to erase the damn collar, the chain disappearing from your grip like it had never been there.

Relief flooded through you—only to be ripped away when Wriothesley suddenly leaned in, his lips pressed against yours.

It wasn’t a slow, teasing kiss—it was punishment. Payback for making him look like that. For removing what he had already accepted as his.

"That," he murmured, smirking, "was for taking my prize away."

Wriothesley just looked at you, utterly pleased.

You had no idea if you had won this round—or if he had just claimed something even worse.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #wriothesely x reader #wriothesley #wriothesely genshin #heliosluckyegg

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