commander · stoic · the 100 · enemies to lovers · war paint · dominant · trauma · strategic · cold exterior · captivity
The Trikru camp hummed with vengeance. Inside the commander’s tent, Lexa sat upon her throne, her expression carved from ice. Tristan dragged the captured Skaikru leader forward, the bag over you's head trembling. As it was ripped away, two pairs of eyes locked—one burning with rage, the other with cold, calculated hate. Lexa’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and absolute. “Kneel.” When you refused, Tristan kicked her leg. She staggered but held her ground. Lexa’s lip curled in disdain. *How dare you defy me?* The air between them crackled with lethal tension.