#reuniting in the middle of a war | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s4svnn · 3 months ago

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First sexy time after oob!jk and aj reunited plsss

Control - Out of bounds drabbles

Summary: You hated to admit it but the existence of your boyfriend alone was enough to make you horny, so when he was so distracted with work that he wasn’t making any advances on you, there was only one way to get what you wanted - you needed to make him lose control.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader (Aylah)

Genre: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: unprotected sex, rough sex, riding, back shots, orgasm denial, impregnation kink, sub + dom dynamic, degradation kink, oral (f+m receiving), spanking, mirror sex.

When Jungkook told me he was staying in London with me instead of going back to Canada, I was over the moon. And when he surprised me with a freaking penthouse and asked me to move in with him? I swear, I almost blacked out from excitement. More time together, more late-night cuddles, more waking up next to each other—it sounded perfect.

But then reality hit. And by reality, I mean Jungkook. Shirtless. All. The. Damn. Time.

It didn’t matter what time of day it was—morning, afternoon, middle of the night—he was allergic to fabric from the waist up. Just abs, tattoos, and sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips. And to make matters worse, he wasn’t even doing it on purpose. No teasing, no smug looks. Just existing in all his ridiculously sculpted glory like it wasn’t the most unfair thing to ever happen to me.

At first, I tried to be normal about it. “It’s fine,” I told myself. “You’ve seen him shirtless before.”

Yeah, but I hadn’t lived with it. Hadn’t been ambushed by the sight of him casually sipping his morning coffee with messy bed hair, tattoos flexing as he stretched. Hadn’t walked into the living room only to find him doing push-ups because apparently, that’s what he does when he’s bored.

And to top it all off? The man was busy. So busy training for his upcoming matches that he barely had time for me. It wasn’t that he ignored me—no, he still kissed me, still pulled me onto his lap during movie nights, still curled around me in bed like I was his favorite thing in the world. But when it came to, uh, other activities? Yeah. That wasn’t happening.

At first, I was patient. I told myself he was just tired. But as the days passed, my suffering increased. My boyfriend was the human embodiment of temptation, parading around half-naked while I was practically feral. And he had no clue. None.

I was nearing my breaking point.

So, when I walked into the bedroom one night and found Jungkook standing there, fresh out of the shower, damp hair falling into his eyes, abs glistening under the warm lights… I knew I wasn’t making it out of this alive.

“Babe?” he said, tilting his head when he saw me frozen in the doorway. “You good?”

No. No, I was not good.

And if he didn’t do something about it soon, I was going to lose my mind.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto my face. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m just gonna… take a shower.”

Jungkook nodded, running a towel through his hair, completely unaware of the absolute war raging inside of me. “Okay,” he said casually, turning back toward the dresser like he wasn’t the reason my entire body felt like it was overheating.

I spun on my heel and practically fled into the bathroom, locking the door behind me as if that flimsy piece of wood could somehow protect me from my own thoughts.

The moment the water hit my skin, I let out a deep breath, trying to relax. Trying to wash away the tension. This is fine. This is nothing. You just need to cool down. Literally.

But the second I closed my eyes, he was there. The way he’d been standing in the bedroom just now—fresh from the shower, hair damp, muscles flexing with every little movement. His tattoos, dark and intricate, wrapping around his arms, his shoulders, his chest. The way the water had still clung to his skin, little droplets running down his abs—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, my fingers twitching at my sides. Maybe… maybe I could just—

I exhaled slowly, letting my hand drift lower, the warm water making everything feel softer, more intense. I tried to focus, to chase the feeling, but it was useless. No matter what I did, my mind kept circling back to him. To Jungkook. To the man standing just outside this door, completely unaware of what he was doing to me.

Frustration curled in my stomach, making my movements frantic, desperate—until suddenly, I knew. It wasn’t going to work.

Nothing was going to work.

Not without him.

With a frustrated groan, I slammed my hand against the shower wall, resting my forehead against the cool tile as I tried to steady my breathing.

This was officially the worst.

Because now, not only was I still aching, but I also had to walk back out there and act like I hadn’t just attempted—and failed—to relieve myself while thinking about my own boyfriend.

Kill me. Just kill me now.

Taking a deep breath, I shut off the water and grabbed my towel, already dreading the moment I had to face him again.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my skin still flushed from the shower, my eyes dark with frustration. This wasn’t working. I needed a new strategy.

And suddenly, an idea hit me.

A very reckless idea.

Normally, I’d bring my clothes into the bathroom and change in here, avoiding any unnecessary… distractions. But tonight? Tonight, I didn’t care. No, actually—I was counting on it.

I grabbed my black lace two-piece set—the one I knew Jungkook loved—and slipped it on, adjusting the delicate fabric until it sat just right. Then, I reached for my cocoa-scented body oil, pouring a generous amount into my palms before smoothing it over my skin, starting from my legs and working my way up.

My hands glided over my thighs, my stomach, my arms—every inch of me gleaming under the bathroom lights, the sweet scent wrapping around me like a second skin. By the time I was done, I looked dangerous. And I felt it too.

The towel I’d wrapped around myself earlier? Straight into the laundry basket. No backup plan, no safety net—just me, my frustration, and the sheer audacity to walk back into that bedroom like this.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed open the door.

Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to the storm that was about to hit him. His damp hair fell messily over his forehead, his jawline sharp under the glow of the bedside lamp. He still hadn’t put a shirt on—because of course he hadn’t. Just sweatpants, hanging low, exposing the sharp V-line that was already my weakness.

He didn’t even look up at first. But then, as I stepped fully into the room, his thumb froze mid-scroll.

And then he looked up.

I watched as his gaze trailed over me, slowly, deliberately. From my bare legs to my oiled-up skin, to the black lace hugging my curves perfectly. His jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

I smirked. Got him.

The air was thick—whether from the heat of my shower or the shift in energy between us, I wasn’t sure. But I could feel it. The weight of his gaze pressing into me, the way his movements seemed to slow, like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or stay silent.

Good. Let him wonder.

I made a show of walking over to my dresser, pulling open a drawer with practiced ease, pretending to search for something important. In reality, I didn’t need anything. I just wanted to make him wait whilst I was bent over giving him a full view of my backside.

Because if there was one thing Jungkook hated, it was being teased.

Still, I said nothing. Just took my time, moving with slow, deliberate care as I picked up my hairbrush and dragged it through my damp strands, the rhythmic strokes filling the tense silence. I could feel him watching me, I could almost hear the way his jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin.

I fought the smirk threatening to curl at the corner of my lips.

"You're really gonna act like I’m not here?" His voice finally cut through the silence, low and edged with something between amusement and irritation.

I blinked, finally pausing my movements, as if I’d only just realized there was another person in the room. Slowly, I turned my head in his direction, my expression blank, eyebrows slightly raised in feigned confusion.

"Hm?" I murmured, tilting my head.

Jungkook leaned back against the bed frame, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on me with an intensity that would have made anyone else squirm. But not me. Not tonight.

"I said—" He exhaled sharply, licking his lips as if trying to keep his cool. "You’re really gonna act like I’m not here?"

I frowned slightly, as if deep in thought, then looked around the room as if searching for something. Then, with the most convincingly oblivious expression I could muster, I turned back to him.

"Oh… were you talking to me?" I asked innocently, blinking up at him.

The muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Don't do that," he warned, his voice lower now, more controlled.

I shrugged, returning my focus to my hands as I massaged the last of my lotion into my skin. "Do what?"

I could tell he was biting back his frustration, but that only made my game more fun. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, casually scrolling as if he truly wasn't worth my attention. The air between us was practically crackling now, thick with a tension neither of us would acknowledge—yet.

But I knew Jungkook. And I knew he wasn’t the type to be ignored.

He wouldn’t just sit there and take it.

And that was exactly what I was counting on.

Jungkook was silent for a beat, but I could feel it—the shift in his energy, the way his patience was thinning by the second.

I scrolled idly through my phone, tapping at the screen as if completely engrossed, while in my peripheral vision, I saw him shift his position, one hand running through his dark hair. A habit of his when he was trying—and failing—to keep his composure.

He exhaled, slow and measured. "Alright, bet."

I didn’t react. Didn’t look up. Just kept pretending he wasn’t there, despite the way I could feel the weight of his stare burning into me.

Then, before I could even process his next move, my phone was snatched clean out of my hands.

"What the—" My head snapped up, eyes narrowing as Jungkook leaned back against the bed, holding my phone above his head like it was nothing.

"So now you see me, huh?" His voice was smug, his lips curling into a lazy smirk as he spun my phone between his fingers. "Thought I was invisible a second ago."

I folded my arms, leveling him with an unimpressed stare. "Give it back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Make me."

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play?

I let out a slow breath, tilting my head as I considered my next move. Then, with zero hesitation, I crawled onto the bed, reaching for my phone. But Jungkook, being Jungkook, was already one step ahead, shifting just out of my reach, his smirk deepening.

"Try harder," he challenged.

My frustration flared, but I kept my expression neutral, deciding I wasn’t going to play his game—I was going to flip it.

So instead of lunging for my phone again, I sat back on my heels, brushing a stray strand of hair over my shoulder, acting completely unbothered.

"Fine," I said coolly. "Keep it."

That caught him off guard. His smirk faltered for half a second, his grip on my phone loosening slightly. "What?"

I shrugged. "You clearly need it more than I do. Enjoy whatever you find there." I dragged my gaze over him slowly before turning away, sliding off the bed with a nonchalant grace that I knew would get under his skin.

Jungkook didn’t move at first. He just stood there, watching me, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he was debating his next move. But the look in his eyes told me he’d already made up his mind.

And then, just as I was about to turn away, he grabbed me.

One strong hand wrapped around my wrist, the other settling on my waist as he turned me around, backing me up until my legs hit the edge of the bed. My breath hitched, but I refused to show any reaction. I just stared up at him, my chin high, daring him to do something.

Jungkook let out a slow exhale, his grip firm but not rough. His eyes roamed over me, taking in every inch, like he was deciding exactly how he wanted this to go.

Then, his voice dropped—low, steady, completely in control.

"Get on the bed."

I blinked, heat prickling up my spine at the way he said it. Not a question. Not a suggestion. A command.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Excuse me?"

Jungkook’s jaw ticked, and in response, he leaned in, his hand sliding from my wrist to my hip, squeezing lightly. "You heard me," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. "Get on the bed."

A slow, deliberate silence settled between us.

I could have fought him on it. Could have tested him a little more, dragged this out just to make him work for it.

But something about the way he said it—the way his voice dipped, the way his grip tightened just enough to remind me that he wasn’t playing anymore—made me decide against it.

Without breaking eye contact, I stepped back, the backs of my knees pressing into the mattress.

Then, still moving slowly, I climbed onto the bed.

Jungkook watched me the entire time, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek, like he was pleased. Like he had been expecting me to obey.

I sat back on my hands, one leg bent, the other stretched out, watching him carefully. "Happy now?"

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Not yet."

Then he took a step closer.

And just like that, the game had changed.

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t fade as he hovered over me, his bare chest inches from mine, heat radiating between us. His hands skimmed my thighs, firm but slow, his touch setting fire to my skin.

"See?" he murmured, his lips so close to mine I could feel his breath. "I knew you couldn’t lie to me."

I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, but my body betrayed me—my breathing uneven, my pulse racing beneath his touch.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

His fingers traced higher, his thumbs pressing into my hips as he pulled me closer, our bodies flush against each other now. My breath hitched at the feeling of his skin against mine, the warmth, the tension so thick it was almost unbearable.

Jungkook tilted his head, his lips barely grazing my jaw, trailing down—slow, deliberate, teasing.

"You act tough," he murmured, his voice low, rough. "But the second I touch you…"

His hands slid up my waist, fingertips ghosting over my ribcage, and I had to fight the urge to arch into him.

"You go back to being a slut for me," he finished, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.

A quiet gasp escaped me before I could stop it.

Jungkook smirked.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured against my skin.

I exhaled, fighting to stay composed, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as his touch traveled, inch by inch, making me burn for more without a single word spoken.

“You’ve got this way of acting like you’re in control," Jungkook murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing against my ear. "But I know better."

I barely held it together, my body reacting instinctively, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his gaze searing. “So don’t worry,” he added with a hint of mischief in his voice. “I’ll make sure you feel it.”

If you had told me an hour ago that I’d be at Jungkook’s mercy, I wouldn’t have believed you for a second. The version of me standing in the bathroom, all glazed up, thought she was going to have complete control over her boyfriend. But now, looking at the present situation, I can see just how delusional I was..

I was now sitting on the floor, my legs tucked underneath me, feeling a rush of vulnerability as Jungkook stood over me. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, his figure towering as he looked down at me with an intensity that sent shivers through my body. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently at first before pulling me closer, his grip firm and possessive. With a deliberate, slow movement, he guided my mouth, making sure every inch of his length was covered as he moved me back and forth. The control he held over me was undeniable, each motion timed perfectly, leaving me breathless and at his mercy. I could feel the heat radiating from him, and despite the haze in my mind, I couldn’t deny how thoroughly he had taken charge of the moment.

"Good girl," he breathed, his voice low and thick with desire. As his pace quickened, his hands gripped me tighter, urging me on. "You take me so well," he continued, the words dripping with approval. The rhythm between us grew more frantic, and he could feel every subtle movement I made in perfect sync with him. I gagged as he continued his relentless pace, shoving me forward as he pushed his hips further into my mouth with more force, tightening his grip on my hair to keep me in place as he used me to chase his own high.

Once he released himself into my mouth, he tilted my head back, his eyes locking onto mine with a cold, unwavering stare. 'Swallow it,' he demanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. I paused, staring back at him, my lips curling into a mischievous grin, as if daring him to push further. Then without warning, his hand shot out, tightening around my neck, pulling me in so close I could feel his breath on my skin. His gaze burned into mine as he growled, his voice low and full of authority, 'Swallow it, Aylah. I won’t repeat myself.”

With no more hesitation, I swallowed, feeling the pressure of his gaze intensify. His grip remained firm on my neck, his eyes never leaving mine as I processed the sharp command hanging in the air between us. The taste lingered on my tongue, and I could feel the weight of the moment, each second feeling like a challenge he was daring me to meet. Then without warning, he gripped me tightly, lifting me effortlessly off the ground and tossing me onto his shoulders. My body was suspended for a moment, disoriented, before my legs instinctively wrapped around his neck. The shift in position was swift and commanding, my hands instinctively grabbing onto his hair to steady myself as my heat came in direct contact with his face.

For a brief moment, he stood there, silent and still, as if waiting for something. Then, slowly, he began to exhale warm breaths directly into my core, each one caressing my skin with a heat that seemed to grow more intense with every passing second. The soft, steady warmth made my body react instinctively, heat pooling in places I hadn’t expected as I arched into his touch. I could feel the subtle curve of his lips as he smiled against me, a smile that was tinged with satisfaction, clearly pleased by my response. After a brief pause, his voice dropped to a low, almost dangerous tone. “You don’t deserve this,” he murmured, each word deliberate and heavy with meaning, “after the stunt you pulled.” There was a pause, just long enough to make my heart race, before he continued, his voice darker and laced with authority, “But you’re lucky I’m patient, I’ll leave your punishment to later.”

Before I could fully process the weight of his words, I felt the fabric of my thong shift as his hand moved with precision, pushing it aside to expose my wetness to him. The air around me seemed to still for a moment, every inch of my body acutely aware of the shift in the atmosphere, as his tongue moved slowly and deliberately in a long, lingering stripe across my core. I found myself momentarily frozen, a mix of surprise and anticipation rushing through me, my breath catching in my throat. Yet, despite the effect his touch had on me, he continued without hesitation, completely unfazed by the way my body reacted. He dipped in further, his movements growing more urgent as he devoured me with an intensity that felt almost desperate. It was as though he'd been starved for so long, his actions frantic, as if he feared that at any second I might slip away and he'd never have this again.

He paused momentarily, his lips brushing lightly against the skin of my thigh as he pulled back just enough to catch his breath. His eyes, heavy with satisfaction, met mine, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You taste so fucking good,” he said, his voice low and rich with appreciation, as if every taste was a revelation. He then shifted his stance, harshly throwing my back against the wall, as he forced his face further in between my legs, gripping my thighs with increased pressure. His hands strong and assertive pulled me closer, guiding my movements with a firm control, I couldn’t help but release a soft, breathless moan caught in the intensity of the moment. But before I could completely ride out my high he pulled away dropping me onto the bed without hesitation.

I let out a soft whine, my breath shaky as I propped myself up on my arms, struggling to steady myself. My voice was a mix of confusion and frustration as I looked at him. “What gives? I thought you said I was off the hook.” My words hung in the air, a little pleading, but more curious, as I tried to make sense of the shift in his demeanor." He smirked at me, his eyes glinting with that familiar, teasing intensity. “I didn’t say you were off the hook, I said I’d leave your punishment to later” he replied, his tone playful yet firm, as if reminding me that the game was far from over.

I glared at him, my eyes narrowing as my body stiffened in defiance. I refused to give in easily, the challenge burning within me. But as I met his gaze, I saw the determination in his eyes—unwavering, unmoving—and I knew that resistance was futile. With a reluctant, heavy sigh, I began to turn agonizingly slow before his hands reached out grabbing my thighs to hoist my ass up and against him, as he pushed my head down to lay flat on the bed. Suddenly, his hand shot out again and gripped my hair, yanking my head back with a sharp pull that jolted my neck. His face was inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath. His voice was low, filled with an edge of frustration. “Stop acting like a little bitch, and do what I say,” he growled, his words carrying a weight that was impossible to ignore.

I pushed my ass into him, desperately trying to gain some form of touch, but his grip tightened, holding me in place. A smirk spread across his face, his eyes glinting with amusement as he stared at the evident stain my wetness left on his sweatpants. “Treating you like a slut turns you on, noted.” Before I could even get the words out to tell him to hurry up, his hand came down with surprising force, the sound of it cutting through the air with a loud, stinging crack that resonated between us as I jolted forward. The impact sent a shockwave through my body, the sharp sting on my ass lingering long after the sound faded, leaving the tension in the air thick and almost palpable as I moaned out at the sensation.

At my lack of response another sharp slap landed on my ass, this one even harder than the first, leaving an imprint of his hand on me. He started massaging the spot where his hand had landed, the pressure of his fingers working into my skin, as he dropped his fingers in between my legs dragging them up and down my folds to collect my slick before dipping his fingers into his mouth, “You’re so responsive.” I let out a soft whine, feeling my patience wear thin at his actions. “Jungkook, please,” I said, my voice laced with a hint of desperation. He leaned down closer, a playful smile tugging at his lips as his body laid flat against my back, his abs digging into my behind, “Please what, my love?” he teased.

I spoke again, my tone dropping slightly “Fuck me.” He paused for a moment, leaning in closer as if listening intently, only to tilt his head and raise an eyebrow, acting completely oblivious to what I had just said. “Hmm?” He leaned in even further, a playful smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I didn’t quite catch that.” he teased, his tone light. “Could you speak a little louder, my love?” His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I could tell he was enjoying the moment far more than I was. Then with newfound confidence I spoke more angrily “hurry up and fuck me you prick,” but unfortunately he didn’t react in the way I expected, instead he pulled me backwards by my neck, his pants long gone as he forced me down onto his length pulling me to sit flat on his lap, his legs in between mine as the sudden intrusion caused me to cry out. “Talk to me like that again you bitch, I dare you.” he spoke lowly, his anger radiating off him.

I let out sharp breaths trying to adjust to the feeling but Jungkook didn't allow me to do so, instead he grabbed my hips harshly pushing me up and down against him, bringing his mouth to ear before whispering “you wanted to be impatient, so this is on you.” My breathing quickened as his pace became more relentless, the sound of skin slapping against eachother filled the quietness of the room, as he thrusted into me whilst dragging my hips down to meet his brutal actions. The intensity of it all led to me inadvertently clenching around his length, causing him to push me down so that I was layed flat against the bed as he took me from behind, watching my ass clap as he pushed harshly into me. I moaned out at the sensation urging him to carry on as he grabbed onto the skin of my ass dragging me backwards, his nails dinging into my skin as he spoke clearly amused by my reaction “You like that, you like being a slut for me?”

“Y-yes go h-harder, fuck.” At that, he smirked, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. Without a word, he stopped moving, his hands gripping my waist with firm control. In one smooth motion, he turned me on the bed to face the floor-to-ceiling mirror that reflected both of us. I found myself suddenly face-to-face with my own dishevlled reflection, yet my gaze remained locked with his through the mirror. He stood proudly behind me, his presence commanding, a contrast to the vulnerability that seemed to radiate from me as I was bent down before him for him to as he pleased with me.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and deliberate, the words piercing the silence. “You see that?” His voice was calm, yet there was an edge to it that made my heart race. “I’m in control, don’t ever get that twisted.” His eyes burned with a quiet authority as he spoke, making sure every word sank in, before he continued his relentless pace forcing my head up to watch him through the mirror. His hand gripped the back of my neck tightly urging me to watch as he used me for his own pleasure, leaving marks all over my body as he claimed me entirely with his actions. “I want you to watch,” he said, his words carrying weight as he subtly emphasized the command. His eyes stayed fixed on me through the reflection, never wavering, as if reminding me to stay present in the moment, fully aware of everything happening between us, “You’re mine you understand.”

“Y-yes—” I cried out overwhelmed by the feeling of his length pounding into me as I felt myself nearing my release. I watched as his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth curving into a satisfied smile. The change was subtle, but unmistakable—he seemed pleased, the tension in his features easing as he spoke clearly content with my response, “good girl, now take me like the slut you are, take all of me.” I cried out again as I felt him release inside of me, his pace not faltering even in the slightest as he sped up throwing me into a state of overstimulation, his voice looming over the sounds of my moans, “You’d look so good carrying my child, fuck, imagine that.” His voice only edged me further as I clenched around him cumming for what felt like the hundreth time as he filled my mind with more impure thoughts, “Shit, you like that don’t you, the idea of being filled with my cum, have me put a kid inside you.”

I gasped at the seriousness of his words, my mind turning off as I welcomed the idea of bearing his child, completely possessed by his alluring tone. Then with a few last thrusts his movements came to a halt as he laid down against my behind, his length still inside me as he kissed up my back, "I love you. I love you so fucking much," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. The words hit me like a rush, and without thinking, I turned my neck slightly to face him, my breath catching. "I love you too, babe," I whispered in return, the sincerity of my words clear. Then, without hesitation, I kissed him, matching the raw intensity of his previous actions, our connection deepening with every second. I pulled away slightly, resting my forehead against his, letting the moment stretch out just a bit longer. A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I gazed up at him, teasing, "So, impregnation kink?"

He blinked, a sudden flush creeping up his neck, and quickly turned his face away, trying to hide the red on his cheeks. "Shut up," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. I raised an eyebrow, amused, then leaned in just enough to catch his eyes. "To be fair, I'd be lying if I said I was opposed to the idea." The blush deepened, his face turning even more red, as he stumbled for words. "W-what?" he stuttered, his voice betraying his unease. I smirked, feeling the teasing spark between us. "But you're going to have to put a ring on me first, Jeon," I said, my words playful but laced with absolute seriousness.

At that, he broke into a wide grin, his face still flushed. He kissed me all over, his lips soft and insistent, a promise in each touch. "I will, I will I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, as his hands gently cradled my face as he kissed me again. “I love you.”

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socialobligation · 1 month ago

Note

Hihi!! U said ud like to start doing more writings rather than smaus, so I thought I’d leave u a writing request this time! Okay so picture this, it’s post-war with bakugou x mia!reader who was presumed dead but apparently was just stranded in the middle of nowhere (this part is kind of a plothole but if u could figure out something that would be sososo amazing!!) and after like 6 months finally reunite post-war?? Ofc take ur time and stay healthy author !! Love ur work !!<3333

six months too late | k. bakugo

bakugo thought you were gone. for six months, he lived with that weight. but fate had other plans—and now, you're standing right in front of him.

bakugo had never been good at dealing with grief.

anger? sure. fear? he could mask it. pain? he lived with that shit daily. but grief? real, soul-crushing loss that settled deep in his bones and refused to leave? that was different.

and it was eating him alive.

you had been gone for six months.

the war ended, but not without casualties. the city was rebuilding, heroes stretched thin trying to repair the damage. civilians were starting to feel safe again. life was moving on.

but bakugo couldn't.

because you weren't there.

no body. no trace. no closure.

just... gone.

they'd looked for you. he'd looked for you—refused to stop even after the others tried to tell him it was no use. rescue teams had combed through the rubble, searching collapsed buildings and debris for any sign of you. but all they ever found were reminders of how brutal the battle had been.

a boot. blood on the pavement.

but never you.

bakugo had stood there, watching as they cleared the wreckage, hands clenched into fists so tight his nails left crescent moons in his palms. he didn't speak. didn't move.

he didn't cry.

because if he did—if he let that crack form even for a second—he wouldn't survive it.

he stopped saying your name after the first month.

it hurt too much.

everyone could see it. he wasn't the same.

bakugo still trained with the same intensity, still went through the motions of being a hero-in-training, but the fire was gone. his explosions felt duller. his anger, less controlled.

the dorms were quieter without you. your laugh used to echo through the hallways, bright and infectious. you'd tease him relentlessly, calling him out on his bullshit with that signature grin he pretended to hate.

now? silence.

even his friends had stopped trying to get him to talk about it. they didn't ask how he was doing anymore—probably because they knew the answer.

shitty.

he was doing shitty.

bakugo didn't sleep much anymore.

every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

not the way he wanted to remember you—smiling, happy, calling him an idiot when he tried to act cool.

no.

he saw you in that moment.

the war. the smoke. the chaos.

"get out of here!" you'd screamed, shoving him back, your eyes wide with desperation. "go, bakugo!"

he didn't listen. he never would.

but then—the explosion.

a flash of light. a deafening roar.

and you were gone.

bakugo woke up most nights with his heart pounding, breath ragged as he reached for something—someone—who wasn't there.

his bed was cold. the dorm was quiet.

and you were still gone.

he should've been there. should've done something. should've protected you.

bakugo had played that moment over in his head a thousand times, wondering where it went wrong. how he let you slip away. how he—of all people—had failed to save the one person he couldn't live without.

six months. that's how long it had been.

life didn't wait for grief to pass. UA moved forward. class 1-a graduated and stayed on as provisional heroes to assist with the rebuilding efforts. the dorms weren't as chaotic anymore. they were quiet. colder. bakugo still trained like his life depended on it. he threw himself into work with relentless determination, trying to drown out the ache that never went away. his body was exhausted, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that gnawed at him from the inside.

kirishima watched him with worried eyes. mina tried to get him to open up, but he brushed her off. kaminari—even kaminari—stopped cracking jokes about "grumpy bakugo" because this... this wasn't just grumpiness. this was grief. and no one knew how to fix it.

bakugo didn't say it out loud, but he had given up. he stopped checking the reports. stopped listening when the search teams gave their updates. stopped hoping. because hoping hurt too much.

it was a random afternoon when everything changed. the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the UA campus. bakugo was heading back to the dorms after another grueling training session, his body sore and his mind numb. he was used to this feeling by now—the hollow ache in his chest that never fully went away.

but then—

"bakugo." the voice was soft. almost too soft. his brain didn't register it at first. it couldn't.

"katsuki."

that voice. his heart stopped.

slowly, like he was afraid moving too fast would break the fragile illusion, he turned around. and there you were. standing a few feet away, looking tired, worn, and a little worse for wear. but alive.

alive.

bakugo didn't move. didn't breathe.

"hey," you said, voice barely above a whisper, like you weren't sure he'd even want to see you.

bakugo's knees nearly gave out.

"holy shit," he breathed, his voice cracking as his feet finally moved. he stumbled forward like a man possessed, eyes locked on you as if he was afraid you'd disappear again if he blinked.

you didn't move. didn't speak. and then—you were in his arms.

bakugo crushed you against his chest, arms wrapped around you so tightly it was like he was trying to make sure this was real—that you were real.

"you're..." his voice broke, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it would anchor him to reality. "you're real."

"i'm real," you murmured, your voice trembling as you clung to him just as desperately. "i'm here, katsuki."

bakugo's body shook. "where the fuck were you?" his voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "do you know how long i—"

"i know," you whispered, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands. "i know. i'm so sorry, katsuki."

his eyes were glassy, filled with too many emotions to name. anger. relief. pain. love.

"i thought..." his voice trailed off, and his grip on you tightened. "i thought i lost you."

"you didn't," you smiled, pressing your forehead against his. "i'm here now. i'm not going anywhere."

"swear it." his voice was barely audible, but the desperation in it was palpable.

"i swear."

bakugo's lips crashed against yours. it wasn't gentle. it was raw, desperate—a collision of lips and teeth and everything he'd been holding back for six long months. he kissed you like he was trying to make up for every second you'd been gone, like he was terrified this was still a dream. but you kissed him back just as fiercely.

and for the first time in six months, bakugo katsuki could breathe again.

you didn't talk about it right away. the first night, you stayed curled up in his bed, wrapped in his arms like he was afraid to let go. bakugo didn't sleep—just held you, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, grounding himself in the steady rise and fall of your breathing. he didn't ask where you'd been. didn't ask how you survived. because right now? none of that mattered.

you were here. that was all that mattered.

days passed before you could bring yourself to tell him. about how the explosion had thrown you so far, so fast, that no one thought to look beyond the city. how you'd been buried under debris, barely clinging to life, until a group of villagers in a remote area found you and nursed you back to health.

how you'd spent every waking moment after that trying to get back to him.

"i tried, katsuki," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you sat on his bed, hands trembling in his. "i tried to come back."

"i know."

bakugo's thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch gentle despite the storm in his eyes.

"i didn't mean to leave you."

"i know."

his jaw clenched, and he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. "you're not leaving again."

"i'm not."

"swear it."

"i swear."

bakugo kissed you again, slower this time, softer—like he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. and for the first time in six months, he wasn't holding onto a ghost.

you stayed by his side after that. bakugo didn't sleep alone anymore. every night, he fell asleep with his arms around you, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. and every morning, when he woke up and saw you there—he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay again.

it wasn't easy. some days were harder than others. but you were there.

and bakugo?

he wasn't letting go this time.

not now. not ever.

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vividxpages · 10 months ago

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✩˚౨ৎ˚✩‧The Great War PART 1 ✩₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧

PART 2 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 1700

summary: Jace and you are lovers, but stand on opposite sides of the war, not allowed to see each other anymore. But love always finds a way. (inspired by “The Great War” by Taylor Swift)

warnings: angst, reader is Alicents's daughter, the Greens being a bad family, hurt/comfort!, kissing

a/n: help, I'm obsessed with this boy and every song starts to sound like a possible fic idea for him!!!

𓆩♡𓆪

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

Sometimes, you could only breathe above the clouds.

Up here on your dragon’s back, the trouble you left behind underneath you did not matter anymore. You thought of the castle that slowly poisoned you from the inside, the dark nights where you thought you were completely alone in the world with no comfort in reach but the memories you carried with yourself.

Once there had been laughter at the dinner table, the halls filled with the family you had not seen in months. Now, you only saw your brothers and your mother together in one room during council. You shuddered at the memory of today’s meeting, snuggling deeper into the saddle and closer to the dragon who kept you safe in the sky.

(“Maybe we should send our dear sister.” Your brother Aegon had proposed at some frustrating point of an endless council, taking a deep swig from the wine glass in front of him.

You had simply stared at him, silent. No one was really listening to you anyway and you were past the point of turning to your mother pleadingly. She was just as silent, always frowning, always doing nothing. “What do you mean, Aegon?”

“We can weaken them from the inside.” He had spoken to the others then, who at least looked so confused as you had felt. “Send them my little precious sister who a certain bastard son always had a weak spot for. I don’t see the problem if you kill him while you’re fuck-“

Your chair had screeched over the floor and fell down with a loud thud on the stone floor. You had clenched your hands into fists as you stood, fury in your eyes.

“Aegon, stop with such nonsense.” Alicent had said quietly, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You fled.)

You welcomed the tears on your cheeks like an old friend, letting them cool your skin as you stirred your dragon through the sky, opting to just turn right and never come back to Westeros.

But oh, how your heart still clung to them.

The family up north in the realm, the family you had lost forever in the middle of his conflict.

Suddenly, you felt your dragon tense and directed your attention to the west, where a shape of a big shadow flickered through the clouds. Your mind began to race with what you’d do if Aemond had followed you, always being damned to bring you back when you had strayed too far away from Kings Landing.

But this shadow was not big enough to be Vhagar.

And those dark curls did not belong to your brother.

You gasped as your dragon let out a recognizing screech, lunging forwards through the clouds until you and the other rider could almost touch at how close your beasts were.

Time seemed to slow down as they flew past each other, teasingly snapping at each other’s necks with the joy of being reunited, but there was no doubt. As you raced through the skies, you looked into your Jace’s eyes.

You let out a broken gasp and quickly looked over your shoulder, but he and Vermax were already out of reach, descending down beneath the clouds. And suddenly, you knew where he was going. You spurned your dragon on, the wind cutting into your skin as you raced after them, faster and faster until you let your dragon spread its wings for a quick landing by the beach Jacaerys had chosen.

Only the silver moonlight illuminated the shore by the cliffs, void of any other soul who could witness the forbidden reunion between the two of you. If you had been in company, Jacaerys would’ve already been dead or held captive.

But you were alone, for the first time in months.

You slid down your dragon’s back, nearly blind by the need to reach him, to throw yourself into his arms like you had dreamed so often.

When you had seen each other for the last time, there had not been a war yet.

And Luke had been still alive.

(You had cried for hours when Aemond had returned, blood still drying on Vhagar’s massive teeth. You had begged your mother to write a letter, just a simple letter to Jace, but everything at court had still been too fragile to do anything but be in shock over what had happened up there. It had nearly driven you mad, to know that somewhere Jace was suffering the loss of his little brother and there was nothing you could do to comfort him.)

Now, he was right there in front of you, leaving Vermax behind him and running towards you on the wet sand by the water. You broke out into a sprint as well, a disbelieving laugh that was anything but amused leaving your tight throat as his features became more and more clear to you.

You crashed together like two waves.

The embrace was nearly violent as his arms slung themselves around you, lifting you up and pressing you into him. There was no strength in your bones anymore and if Jace wouldn’t have held you so tightly, you would’ve crashed onto the ground, shattering into a million pieces.

Only Jace was holding you together right now.

He was everything you had been missing in those terrible weeks. He smelled like sea and wind and smoke and your hands shook as you combed through his wet curls, your tear-streaked face securely hidden in his neck.

You never wanted to let go of him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

“Gods- my love…” He mumbled into your ear and you let out a choked sob as you held each other. It was like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you first. His hands drifted over you restlessly, up and down your spine, holding onto you as if you could disappear again at any moment.

“How did you find me?” You asked breathlessly, your bottom lip still trembling dangerously as you caressed his cheeks, needing to refamiliarize yourself with the feel of his skin on yours.

He swallowed thickly, unshed tears glistening in his beautiful years. “I remembered the route you liked to take when you needed to stop thinking. And it’s cloudy today. No one saw me coming. I’ve been waiting for a cloudy night like this for weeks-“

His voice broke and you pulled him closer again, shudders of pain and longing and relief to be with him going through you in an endless loop. How much had changed since the last time you had seen eye to eye: Your father had always said you’d make a good match back then and now Jace had one brother less and you were a captive in your own home.

“I missed you so much.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked out on the ocean. “I- oh Jace, I tried to write, I wanted to send you a letter, but- I wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t help you and-“

“It’s okay.” He said, but it sounded lifeless, void. “It’s not your fault. I wished I could’ve been there for you too. I know how much you loved Luke.”

Gods, you wanted to cry and never stop again. Even now, Jace was trying to be strong for you, as he had always been.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” He told you and cupped your cheek, looking deeply and longingly into your eyes. “I missed you every second we’ve been apart. Have you been treated well? Have Aegon and Aemond-“

“I love you too. I want to come with you.” You interrupted him fiery and he shuddered at the insane idea of it, the consequences unimaginable and likely deadly for one of you. “Please, please, let me come with you, I can’t stay a single day there, my mother is not the same anymore and- my brothers have been horrible with the things they want to do to Rhaenyra and you.”

He shushed you gently, drawing his arms tighter around you and swaying you back and forth. “I’ll find a way. I’m not letting you stay there alone for much longer, my love. It makes me sick to think about you being alone in Kings Landing, believe me, but…mother says it’s not safe, not yet-“

“I won’t cause your family any trouble, I promise-“

“It’s not us we’re fearing for.” He smiled sadly at you. “It’s you. I won’t summon your brother’s anger on you. I’d rather take it on myself, but- we need to be a little more patient, okay?”

You could see how much effort those words cost him and you had no doubt if it was his choice to make, he’d take you with him to Dragonstone and never look back. You watched his throat bump with tension, his jaw set, his lips pressed together tightly.

A sudden small smile danced over your face. “So you only came to me tonight because you wanted to see me?”

His eyes were dark with longing, with wanton he could not give in to, not tonight. “My love...I needed to see you.” His thumb lovingly brushed over your cheek, the pad of it briefly touching your lips.

There was so much you wanted to say, so many things you needed to tell him and hear from him, but in this short moment you were only a girl and he was a boy. Your boy.

He met you right in the middle, delicately holding your face between his hands as your lips met, desperately kissing you as his taste exploded in your mouth once again. He kissed you drunk, enveloping all your senses until all you felt was him. His lips were dry and salty from the long flight over the clouds and along the coast, your runny noses sliding against each other, but it was perfect.

Your heart was mended with every little sigh into your mouth, his long lashes brushing over your cheeks, your hands tangling in his hair…

You thought that maybe, in another lifetime, the two of you could’ve been able to stop the war.

Another part of you knew that you always had been damned, cursed.

You blinked into the starless grey sky above you as Jace began to ravish your neck with wet kisses and you thought of the old saying passed on from generation to generation.

Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.

On which side would yours land if you ever lost him?

On which would his land when it finally sank in that he could never have you?

#jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #harry collett #jace targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing

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digiflora · 1 year ago

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𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄!

... aka fictional boyfriends as things my pet cat does lmfao

༊*·˚ featuring ➻ my genshin, hsr & jjk faves

༊*·˚ gia's notes ➻ switching up the layout bc i can teehee... also this one is kinda slop cos its just every character on my masterlist oop. N E WAYS i found out that im allergic to my cat but love is pain and i am a masochist so here we are

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DOESN'T RESPOND UNLESS YOU CALL HIM BY HIS NICKNAME.

he's leaning against your kitchen counter, fingers tapping against it as he's poised so deliberately to give off the impression that everything he's doing is so absent-minded. the way he's scrolling through his feed so aimlessly, just tuned out from the world, including you and your futile attempts at getting his attention.

you call his name, tug at his sleeve, and you don't miss the mischievous smirk on his lips as he glances up at you.

"i don't know who that is, sorry, i hope you find him though."

it's infuriating, sometimes, when he lets his more playful side out. but you know him well, and you play along, not being able to help the smile that fights to stay on your lips.

"well then, my beloved, could you help me look for him?"

and there's an instant change from him, back straightening as he stops leaning against your counter, arms open wide to receive you, a beam on his face.

"gladly, my love."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ kaveh, welt, dan heng, luocha, GETO

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GETS EXTRA AFFECTIONATE AND CUDDLY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

no matter as to whether you had gone to bed with him or before, you're woken up prematurely in the middle of the night at the sensation of your body being moved, ever so gently, across the sheets, closer towards a warm body that nestles itself solidly behind you.

you're barely awake, but you smile to yourself at the newfound comfort, having drifted away as you slept, and now happily reunited.

"i missed you," he breathes against your ear, turning his head to dip down and press kisses to your cheek. you smile, nose scrunching at the ends of his hair that tickle your skin, but welcome it nonetheless.

his arm slips around you, keeping you safely anchored to him, and he lets out a contented hum that almost sounds like he's purring, chest solid against your back.

"you're acting like you've come back from war," you murmur, and he can hear the way you tease even in your half asleep state.

"every second away from you is agony, my love."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ DILUC, alhaitham, JING YUAN, choso, NANAMI

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 RANDOMLY BITES AND HEADBUTTS YOU.

sure, there's doing something unexpected to grab your attention, but it catches you off guard every. single. time.

he has seemingly no regard for whatever it is that you're doing- you're cooking something? he sneaks up behind you, teeth sinking into your shoulder before he slinks away like it never happened.

trying to get work done? he comes up to you, using his head to poke you and offering no explanation as he walks away.

it's ... endearing, to say the least. it comes from a place of love, that's for sure. make no mistake that you like to bite him too, but he still manages to one-up you each time.

while it started off as surprising in the early days of your relationship, over time you've adapted to it, now even offering a body part for him to headbutt as a greeting.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ cyno, WRIOTHESLEY, neuvillette, BLADE, toji, HIGURUMA

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 FOLLOWS YOU AROUND AND WHINES IF YOU DON'T GIVE HIM ENOUGH ATTENTION.

"babyyyy, i'm bored."

you don't have to turn around to know that he's pouting, some grown ass man acting like a toddler in hopes that you'd pay attention to him. you can't help but roll your eyes, what with him pushing the limit between cute and aggravating for the past half an hour or so.

ever since you had invited him over and he practically let himself in, he had basically followed you from room to room, huffing and puffing as you focused on your work instead of entertaining him.

and as you finally settled in your room, at your desk, you watched out of the corner of your eye as he flopped down onto your bed, his head dangling off the edge as he scrolled through his phone half-heartedly.

and you had to admit, he looked cute like that. you bite back your smile as you see him glance up at you to see if you're looking at him before flopping back down on the bed with a huff.

you'll be done soon, then you'll give him all the attention he wants.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ CHILDE, thoma, sampo, gepard, GOJO

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence!

an introduction to your new roommate dan heng, and the guitar that he loves to play so much

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seungsluv · 8 days ago

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the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; litgh degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮⋆˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish,” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me.

Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire,” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you — a word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom �� but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections—sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a *little* less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me,” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. I then with that all my excitement died and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges. The way she glanced at Seungmin—almost too interested—made my skin crawl.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer— everything —but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel,” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan,” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N,” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs — a real, full laugh — and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it—I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Nick shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Nick nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company,” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chans's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that falls onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were—whatever—you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — *hated* — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation,

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges — just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal — slow and fast at the same time — until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, completely wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. — “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it — the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again — like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move — like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. — “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked wrecked — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open.— “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again — glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him — slow and deep — as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

304 notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 7 months ago

Text

Bait and Switch

prompt: ( requested ) Adar knows you by surname and reputation, but makes a fatal mistake: underestimating the mutual desire to reunite with your husband.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader -> hair color specified reader that does not specify race

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.7k+

note: did i steal the Targaryen hair color? "obviously," - Severus Snape. but don't let HOTD's wigs fool you - this hair color is NOT indicative of race.

warnings: reader insert for the haters, spoilers, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, fuck tone of ellipsis 'cause Adar talks slow. POW!Reader (prisoner of war), violence, blood, injury, depiction of medical phenomenon (cauterization), slight gore (Reader bites off an Orc finger). healthy family dynamics, embedded Aragorn quote, Middle-earth fire is hotter than reality so JUST. roll. with. it. okay? okay. also, this requires a lot of imagination 'cause author invents really random lore but have fun with it. not edited, author can't see straight so what the fuck is this?

incarnate: embody or represent (a diety or spirit) in human form

"We found an Elf still alive, Lord Father!"

Adar watched lazily as one of his children stood over a body covered by toxic volcanic ash; twitching as it regained consciousness. "Kill it," he answered simply. The Orc snarled in pleasure and bent to grab the Elf's head; gripping their hair aggressively, yanking their head up - possibly snapping the Elf's spine - and lifted his blade in the air. However, the clump of hair was familiar and suddenly, Adar was barking, "Wait!"

Not many Elves had this particular hair color. It was dyed from soot and ash, but he could recognize the bright, platinum white-blonde hair. While some Elves were extremely fair yellow-blonde, this was white - like the purest of snows. And Adar only knew this trait belonged to one single bloodline.

The Incarnated, a single brood blessed by the Valar to give them unnatural strength and skill in battle. They were impressive, formidable foes; and typically, never lost a fight, battle, or war. They were absolutely brutish, almost impossible to kill, yet humble, generous, and kind.

Their aim always found the bullseye. Broadswords able to sever bone. Morality skewed more positive than simple neutrality. Silver tongues sharpened to prick the ears that listen.

However, it should be noted that even the Incarnated cannot withstand against the eruption of a volcano.

The Orc snarled with confusion now, hissing through his bloody teeth but not lowering the Elf. Adar strolled over, glaring at their captive, but slowly lowering himself to a squat as the Orc presented his finding. Adar's eyes squinted, reaching out and musing the trademark locks out of the Elf's face; smirking as he caressed her cheek free of ash.

He growled your name, sight still hazy from the eruption of what will later be known as Mount Doom - yet could still recognize sounds. Slowly, you blinked and tried to focus, groaning as pain in your scalp burned and prickled; spine bowed from the horribly painful position.

"Adar?" You whispered in confusion.

"You remember me."

You scoffed, slurring slightly, "You left quite a lasting impression."

His hand dropped to push hair from your neck and shoulder, revealing a long blemish from his dagger years ago. "And here we meet yet again," Adar chuckled. "Release her," he told his child, who instantly dropped you with a grunt; ash puffing up on impact. "Come," Adar offered his hand as you tried to sit up with trembling limbs, "we've still farther to go."

"Fuck you," you seethed, spitting at him; ready for the pain to end after the displacement and turmoil of your people. You had been with the Númenoreans, along with Commander Galadriel, and this... "King" Halbrand; celebrating victory against Adar's first volley of Orcs when the explosion happened; spewing toxicity into the earth, through the air, and evidently, over the area to distinguish what will be known as Mordor.

"Hm," Adar considered your weak form, chuckling. "Get her up," he commanded, standing, and watching as chains were slapped to your wrists and ankles before being tossed into a bloody, maggot-infested, wood-rotting wagon.

Seemingly eons away, Elrond was being informed of your assumed demise. Your husband refused to believe it, but by the solemn look of the messenger, his greatest companion, Galadriel, he knew there was weighted truth to her words.

"Did you see her?" Elrond asked.

"See her fall? No - "

"Did you even look for her?"

"Of course we did, but it was too dangerous to linger longer than what we'd been there for."

Elrond's head shook, "No. No... I won't believe it - "

"I know it's difficult to accept, but... She's gone, Elrond."

"I would know if my wife is dead," Elrond snarled uncharacteristically. "Believe what you wish, but I know she still lives."

Galadriel knew better than to argue; she, herself, spent years of denial after Sauron murdered her brother, Finrod. So she gave Elrond space to process what he'd learned.

Yet while a circumstantially redeeming quality, Elrond was stubborn and confident in his morals and opinions. So, he refused to believe your life was lost; something in his gut twisted knowingly, assuring you were just misplaced and surely, soon to be home. Elrond knew you had a flair for the dramatic, so, he just prayed this was one of those times - where you wouldn't reappear until the very last second to make an entrance.

Yet Adar took every precaution to ensure you did not escape or could be rescued. He didn't parade you around, he kept you hidden away to prevent gossip from revealing your location. You were constantly left chained to posts by rusting irons, no comfort offered, no reprieve; nothing to pass your annoying suffering a little easier. You were fed just enough to be kept alive, you were allowed to wash yourself with a single cloth every few weeks - but typically with an Orcish audience watching, claiming they're "on duty". You lost use of your tongue after so many months had passed without a single indication aid had been deployed - hope shattered and futile.

You wondered if Elrond knew. You worried he thought you lost to the war. In vain, you prayed he didn't give up on you. However, you were logical and logic screamed at you that nobody would come - there was no point! You would've believed being told someone perished, too, if you heard of such circumstances.

Despite being an Incarnated, you were emotionally drained. Though, it's worth noting that under normal circumstances, you would've NEVER ended up in this position; but because of your vulnerable state and the opportunity was too good to pass up, Adar prided himself on "defeating you". He didn't know that you were beyond patient; waiting, observing, listening, leaning routines and schedules. Any opportunity you identified, you searched for anything that could help you escape; something sharp, small enough to pick the lock of your irons. You were Incarnated - your will to survive (even out of pure spite) rivaled that of any enemy.

Camp to camp, you were moved. Day by day, you lost a little more sanity. Nights grew cold, days short.

You were surprised when a pair of Orcs lumbered into "your" room, unlocking you from the post but keeping the chains on your wrists in place. They yanked you behind them, shoved you into Adar's tented shelter then forced you to your knees before the food-filled banquet table.

"And of course, there's her," Adar waved at you lazily, smirking when his newest prisoner of war sat forward with a gobsmacked expression.

She whispered your name, head snapping up to find your companion, Commander Galadriel, sat at the opposite head of the table to Adar. You smiled slightly and whispered her name softly, aware of your appearance and how straggly, despondent, and wary you must look.

"What is the meaning of this?" Galadriel demanded, the emotion in her thick voice making it crack.

"We found her," Adar smirked, "after you and your people abandoned her."

"We did not - "

"She's been... An honored guest of ours," Adar cut Galadriel off. "Her hair - it's a rare trait, I knew who she was when she was found. Figured she could truly help... Turn the tides in this war."

"You do not know what you've done," Galadriel breathed. "If her kin knew you held her, they would raze your camp into the dirt and return your children to darkness."

"You think... I do not understand the risks of holding an Incarnated? I have faced them before, known their wrath... But against Sauron, it was a necessary risk to take."

"Why?"

"You must see," Adar explained, "that it is not His lies which must be extinguished. It. Is. Him." He paused, revealing, "And I can help you do it." Adar leaned forward in his chair, "I can help you destroy Sauron, and should you value your friend's life, you will let me help you."

"What help could you possibly provide, Orc?" Galadriel spat, now leaned back casually in the chair Adar sat her in.

"Uruk," Adar corrected in Black Speech, standing from his seat to venture towards the side of the room. He stood before a plain wooden box, lifting the lid, and revealing in his hands:

"Morgoth's crown," Galadriel sat up. "I was told - "

"There are many stories of what happened after the Silmarils were pried from its setting," Adar validated. "But I was there when Sauron re-fired it to fit Himself. I was there when He kneeled to be crowned. And I was the one who used its power to slay Him."

Adar set the crown to the table, your stomach growling at the sight and smell of full platters.

"If what you say is true... Why did He return?" Galadriel asked.

"Because I had not yet found you, as I have her," he gestured at you.

"What part are we to play in this?"

"It is said the Three Elven Rings saved your people from fading. Is it true?" When Galadriel didn't answer, Adar nodded at one of his children standing over you; making the Orc bash you in the temple. "Is it true?" Adar repeated over your whimper of pain.

"Yes," Galadriel grit, glaring at the small dribble of fresh blood dripping down the side of your face. She decided red wasn't your color - no matter how much your husband liked seeing you in it.

"Then perhaps... Together, this crown and your Rings would be powerful enough to truly destroy Sauron forever. The Deceiver believes he is still beyond my grasp... But I know he hides in Eregion. And I suspect you know for certain... Halbrand is Sauron... Isn't he?"

You laughed a little, "Halbrand? Sauron? Come off it, you're mistaken. Go on, Commander, tell him - tell him." Galadriel was silent as she was overwhelmed by her memories. "Commander, tell him he's wrong! Halbrand isn't Sauron, tell him he's mistaken!"

Adar mistook the silence as her being defiant, nodding to his son again in permission. So, the Orc swiftly backhanded you with enough force, it literally toppled you backwards with a groan.

"I kept her alive... For you," Adar growled, bearing his teeth at the Elleth. "But I'll execute her at nightfall if you continue down this path of resistance. The fate of that city and your friend now rests on your ability to put aside your pride." Galadriel's teary eyes casted over you, sprawled out on the floor - not finding the use in sitting up to your knees again. "I suggest you find the will to do so... If you can, for everyone's sake." Adar removed the crown from the table and placed it back in its box, Galadriel hissing your name, only receiving a nonverbal thumbs up to indicate you were okay. When the Father of Uruks returned, he clipped matching irons to Galadriel's wrist before snatching up his sword, tossing over his shoulder, "We will speak again. I'll give you until nightfall to decide."

The Orcs filed out of the room after Adar, leaving you on the ground and chained to a spare post. Slowly, you tried to sit up and use the beam as support; grimacing in pain that made your friend question, "Are you hurt?"

"They're not the most merciful lot," you tried to joke with a smirk, but it turned into a wince, "but I've been through worse, I'll be fine. Listen to me, Galadriel," you sniffled, "you can't tell Adar anything. I don't care if he's gutting me, you don't tell him - "

"I would not have your life ended on my account, it would be as if swinging the sword myself!" Galadriel argued with heat.

"Adar is not your ally," you scoffed, "nor are the Orcs - look at what they've done! Continue to do! Do not be so foolish! So blinded, please, I beg you, my friend. If you tell him about Sauron, yes, your enemy might be vanquished, but you could be creating an entirely new and future enemy that all of Middle-earth must endure. My life is not worth that."

"It's worth more."

You smirked, "Don't forget who I am, friend; I am Incarnated, and I will not die easily nor without a fight. Adar will not succeed in my death so easily."

Galadriel shook her head, "If I do not indulge Adar with information I have and you lose your life because of that, Elrond would never forgive me."

You gave a watery smile, sniffling, "How is he?"

The Elf shook her head, "He's... He refuses to accept your fate, operates on a shorter fuse, he's mourning - even if he doesn't acknowledge or believe he is."

"It's not that I don't love you, my friend, but... I'll miss him the most," you let a single tear fall, a wistful smile toying on your lips. "You'll look out for him, won't you? Just... Just don't let him be alone, please. He'll try to push you away, but be patient; he'll need you and I'll rest easier knowing you'll be there."

"I won't do as you ask," Galadriel grit. "Look at you!"

"How can you be so confident that the moment you tell Adar what he wants to know, he won't kill me anyway?"

"Because Adar appears a man of rationality - unlike Sauron - "

You scoffed, "None of them are rational, Galadriel! They have their own agendas - and none of them benefit the likes of us! Don't tell him anything else, I don't care if he's gutting me like a pig, you don't say anything!"

"I can't agree to that," Galadriel shook her head, "I won't, not when there's a chance we can both get out of this alive."

"And if we survive just to witness the eradication of our people!?" Galadriel was silent, bowing her head. With a sigh, you asked, "Where's Nenya?"

"Safe with Elrond."

"Oh?" You chuckled. "How'd that happen? You have to break his finger off to put it on?"

Galadriel gave a breathy chuckle, "He needed a bit of convincing, but with the greater good at stake - he was left no choice."

With a smirk of amusement, you nodded slowly, then requested, "Could you promise me something decently reasonable?"

"I can try."

"If you make it outta here and I don't - "

"Do not say that!"

"Galadriel, just - stop for a moment and listen to me, please. If you get out of here and I do not, tell Elrond what happened. Tell him Adar found me after the volcano erupted, kept me prisoner, and that I tried." Tears brimmed your waterline, "Tell him I tried to escape, to get back to him... But if I don't make it and you do, please, tell him I love him - more than anything. Tell him I'll wait for him on white shores."

"Tell him yourself."

As promised, when night fell, Adar returned. His second in command, Glüg, approached you with a brandished sword and laid it at your neck with a cruel and twisted expression.

"Have you made your decision?" Adar questioned, Galadriel looking between him and the threat to your life. "Choose wisely, or I'll let my children bleed her; right here, right now. Tell me what I've asked."

"Don't tell him shit, Galadriel!" You barked in a last ditch effort, earning a balled-up-armored fist to rock your jaw. You spit a glob of blood to the side, snarling at Glüg, "You hit like like a bitch." He spit on you.

With a huff, Galadriel exposed, "Yes, Halbrand is Sauron. He's in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow Him to dominate my kind... And yours."

"Every kind in Middle-earth," Adar corrected.

Quickly, Galadriel rushed, "But He will not attempt escape until His task is complete. And that gives us a momentary advantage."

"'Us'?" The Father repeated.

"Unlock me."

"Galadriel! Think for a second!" You snapped, but Glüg pressed his blade deeper into your throat. You seethed, frustrated and angry tears turning suffocating. Adar approached your friend, eyes trained on her, causing the Elleth to look away in discomfort as Adar undid the iron cuff on Galadriel's wrist.

"As we speak, Y/N's husband, Elrond, hastens from Lindon with an army of Elves..." She boldly looked at Adar, you struggling against the blade at the sound of Elrond's name, "And Nenya, my Ring."

"Galadriel! Stop, don't say another word! Silence yourself!" You begged, whimpering shrilly when blood flowed from Glüg's disgustingly dirty blade.

"I see," Adar turned from the Elf.

You were ignored and Galadriel rose from her seat, following Adar while continuing, "Once he arrives, he will seal off the city, loose Celebrimbor from Sauron's grasp, and then together... Uruk, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return."

"And what then?" Adar questioned.

"Any Ring that have known his touch must be destroyed."

"I meant, what then for the Uruk? Will your High King permit us to return home in peace? Or will he proceed with his plans to invade Mordor? The shadow has not only overcome you, it has overcome all of Elvendom. In the end, your drive to prove your virtue will work right into Sauron's designs."

"You speak lies," Galadriel whispered as if in disbelief. "Hoping I will reveal something."

"You have already revealed everything I hoped you would and more."

You groaned and tossed your head back into the beam; a harsh thump echoing as Adar charged out of the tent with Galadriel and Glüg on his heels.

"Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel struggled in her restraints, unable to stray far from her seat as two Orcs entered the tent and began unclipping your irons. You didn't fight them, rolling your tired eyes as they began dragging you out on your backside. "NO! NO! Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel sobbed, on her feet, trying to follow.

"Remember your promise," you told her, forcing yourself to find contentment that your friend could be the last friendly image your brain would register.

"No, please! Please! You will not profit from her death! I have told you what your Father wanted, now release her! Her death will not profit you, but instead, will bring about your utter ruin! Please! Y/N!"

The Orcs ignored Galadriel's pleas, dragging you from the tent and amongst the snarling, snapping Orcs. Adar stood before a cart big enough for a single prisoner, smirking, giving his children command in Black Speech to load you inside. He watched, telling you, "Galadriel says your husband is on his way with an army. Surely, the sight of his wife might give Commander Elrond pause. The knowledge that you're alive will bring him to my table."

You were strung up by your arms, spread in exposure, tarps thrown over the cage to effectively cut you off from the rest of the world. You felt the cage rattle as you were lugged through mud. You couldn't identify hardly anything... Until a familiar horn bellowed in the short distance, making your chest tighten. While excited by the prospect of a rescue, you loathed the idea of Elrond running head first into a trap.

Your Elven ears picked up on the sound of thundering horse hooves, knowing your people (kin, too) were charging towards Adar's army; who were swiftly gathering in organized ranks. Your cage came to a halt, and a moment later, you flinched when the front-facing tarp was ripped down and the light above Eregion glared down on you. You were greeted with the sight of your husband surging closer on horseback, time seemingly slowing when your eyes locked and he registered who Adar's prisoner was.

You flinched when an Orc pressed the tip of their blade into your already injured neck, reopening a wound to send a single stream of blood steadily flowing.

"Halt!" Elrond called in Sindarin, the entire procession coming to an almost synchronized halt. He sized up the enemy, but kept letting his eyes glaze over you - disbelief coloring his expression. Elrond's horse stamped in place, Adar stepping forward to speak.

"Welcome, Commander Elrond."

"Y/N!" A voice shouted from the army, Elrond's head snapping over in time to see your siblings - three brothers, two sisters - dismounting their horses.

"Wait, wait!" Elrond barked at them, holding a hand up; your siblings halting themselves.

"Wise," Adar taunted, your irons noisily rattling when you tried to adjust your stance.

In Sindarin, you called to your eldest brother, "Do what needs done, do not spare my life for this foolishness! Take them down! Be done with it! Rid us of their filth!"

"I should think... Commander Elrond would like to hear my proposal first," Adar told you casually.

"I think they should put you and children in the dirt!" You spat, earning several snarls, growls, and hisses from the surrounding Orcs.

Elrond encouraged his horse forward, standing in the sunlight highlighting 'no man's land'. He glared at Adar, but asked you, "Are you hurt?"

"Only my ego," you assured.

His eyes flickered over to Adar, then nodded, "I will hear you first."

"You're wasting your time," you told him in Sindarin.

"On you, it's not a waste," he answered stiffly, almost angrily. "I would have her set free for the duration of our parlay."

"But of course," Adar agreed, being carted away at his Blackened command. Due to the tarps hanging over the other 3 sides of your prison, you lost sight of Elrond; forced to blindly follow instruction and behave.

The Elves were not permitted weapons in the Uruk camp.

Elrond dismounted his horse with Vorohil and your eldest brother, Iallion, who insisted on going to gauge your state, in time to watch the Orcs yank you from the cart and drag you into a tent as if your legs were of no use. It was all he needed to know to understand your treatment the past few months you've been 'missing'. His hand clapped Adar's shoulder before the Father of Orcs could pass him by, snarling, "If I come to learn you've been mistreating my wife, I assure you, there will be consequences."

Adar just chuckled and lead the way into his tent. Several Orcs shoved Elrond's shoulder and forced him, his second-in-command, and your brother to follow.

Inside, Elrond noted the walls lined with Orcs, all surrounding their prisoners of war - you and Commander Galadriel. The blonde Elleths were shackled to the same post, both standing, though, you were leaning into the beam for support as it appeared you could not stand on your own. When you noted their arrival, you perked up slightly, but not enough to wash away the worry he felt.

Elrond was offered a seat, just staring down Adar, who began, "The Ring you carry... Show it to me."

Elrond snarled, "Show me the care you've taken of my wife."

"She is perfectly healthy... As you can see. The Ring, Commander..."

Elrond glared for several long minutes, then answered, "A foolish act if I had brought it here."

"You are a courtier," Adar pointed out. "More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword."

"You've never seen me wield either."

"And yet," Adar's head cocked slightly, "I have faced the Incarnated and won. Beside Sauron, there's none alive... Entitled to those rights."

Iallion demanded in a snarl, "How came you by my sister? You say you won against her - where?"

"Didn't win a fucking thing! The bastards found me; facedown in volcanic soot after the battle with the Númenoreans. I told you to keep charging - you should've kept charging," you answered, earning a swift kick to the back of your knee; making it buckle and ram the post.

"Touch her again and I'll slaughter everyone in here," Elrond threatened.

"You so much as twitch - "

"And one of your children shall kill me? My wife? My men? You think I am not aware of that fact, do you honestly think I wouldn't risk life and limb for my wife? Do not. Touch. Her."

Adar just stared at Elrond, then nodded, "Fair enough. Though, if she speaks again... Cut out her tongue."

Elrond, Iallion, and Vorohil all sat forward when Glüg's blade chimed as it was deployed from the sheath; another couple Orcs shuffling and snarling forward to box you in. Your eyes rolled when the same dagger pressed unforgivingly to the pulse point beneath the hinge of your jaw.

Adar continued, "Sauron is my enemy as much as yours... Give me what I need to defeat Him and let us be rid of Him."

"Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion?" Elrond countered.

"Eregion has fallen into shadow... It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls."

"Not Lord Celebrimbor," your husband tried to refuted, desperate to believe there was still some good left to fight for.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him... You can...save...them," Adar explained, naturally making Elrond look to you still held at knife point. Galadriel was uncharacteristically silent, chained to the same post, facing one another. "It is an earnest offer... I suggest you take it," punctuated Adar before he rose from his chair. "And leave Sauron to me..."

"Right, 'cause that worked sooo well last time," you scoffed, making every Elven eye widen in surprised shock. "You're the reason He still lives, you're forcing us all to do your bidding and fight against Him!" When an Orc's hand rose in a sudden movement to grip your chin - intending to hold open so Glüg could amputate your tongue - you simply reacted out of panic by erratically whipping your head to the side in time to catch the Orc's hand. His pointer finger landed between your teeth, too slow on the draw; losing the finger to the single, incredible chomp as if a root vegetable.

The Orc screamed in pain, spitting the finger and causing black blood to coat your lips like sadistic make-up.

"Lord Father - "

Adar silenced Glüg with a hand in the air, the injured Orc being escorted from the tent; hissing at you in a way that made you smirk. The Father of Orcs glanced at you, demanding, "Quiet," before slowly moved around the banquet table. He complimented Elrond, "You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar. If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins... You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you... My forces outfight yours... And you will fall."

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black," Elrond stood to meet Adar, "with the blood of your kin."

You smirked slightly, always having faith Elrond would choose responsibility over emotion - something Galadriel was increasingly struggling with and unable to master. Glüg lowered his blade when he heard Elrond's threat - thinking this war was meant to played with strategy, not overwhelming numbers that would discard Orcish life without thought or consideration.

Adar assured, "My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely... Adar?" Elrond questioned, using the Uruk's name as if an insult. "Are they?" He asked the room, letting his eyes bore into those of few Orcs to truly drive his words and plant seeds of doubt.

Adar didn't respond, pausing, then demanding, "You may haggle over Galadriel... But it's the Ring for your wife's life. What is it to be?"

Elrond's eyes locked with yours, noting the way your head shook. He slowly stalked around Adar, his hand unsuspectingly unclipping the decorative detail of his cloak's shoulder broach. His teary gaze lifted to lock with yours, portraying his apology and grief, then turning to Adar, "Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours."

Orcs hissed.

"Very well," Adar accepted, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I suppose not all vows are kept sacred... I will meet you there... With your wife's head on a pike."

Elrond held Adar's attention, relenting, "If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell."

Adar's eyes shifted to Glüg's over Elrond's shoulder, the Orc assuring, "He's unarmed."

Interesting, you mused to yourself, he saw Elrond's broach but doesn't report it? Perhaps this war caused tension among their legion - beginning to question the man they followed.

After Adar's nod, Elrond turned to approach the beam in record break time. "My love," he greeted softly, tears evident and ready to spill. You both just stared at each other, unable to accept or process being within proximity to one another after being apart for so long - and only now, reunited to say goodbye. "Forgive me," Elrond whispered in Sindarin.

"Win," you answered in a matching hushed volume. "And if you don't, meet me on white shores."

He nodded, hand lifted to caress your cheek in disbelief; shuddering at the feel of your flesh. "I've missed you past the point of words, my star," he frowned.

"No more than I you."

You snuggled into his hand, stomach lurching when he leaned forward to press his final kiss to your lips. It wasn't passionate, but something chaste for show only; your chained hands reaching to hold his free one as it was all you could reach. The broach's center was pressed to your palm, your tear streaking through grimy cheeks when he pulled back to rest his forehead on yours. "I love you," he swore.

"I love you, too," you whimpered, bottom lip trembling with emotion as Adar looked to the ground. You wished to say your acting skills were that good to be truly deceptive, but in reality, something in your intuition refused to let you believe you'd survive this.

Hating the look of devastation on your otherwise devastatingly beautiful features, Elrond leaned in again before hushing against your lips, "Be ready."

"Be smart."

Elrond nodded, kissed you one last time before pulling back. Almost as if in pain, he turned, unable to handle being so close so improperly; causing him to snap, "Iallion, Vorohil," who flanked his tail upon their exit of the Uruk tent.

You sniffled, leaning on the beam in exhaustion, still playing into the facade you thought Elrond was trying to silently communicate. You weren't defeated yet; the pin kept in your clenched fist to cause indentations from the star-point design.

Outside, Iallion and Vorohil questioned Elrond's confidence, being told a legion of Dwarves had been summoned to march to Eregion's aid; telling his second to guide the army to the battle while he held the city. Before trotting away, Elrond pulled on his helmet and told the two in Sindarin, "And it starts with the rescue of my wife and decimation of this camp."

You used Elrond's pin to pick Galadriel's lock first, insisting she had to flee before anyone caught you. She tried to refuse, something about loyalty or other, but you all but shoved her away from you and snarled for her to leave you.

"Elrond's near," you reminded her, "I'm not going anywhere."

"He's coming for you," she realized.

"Did you have any doubt?"

She chuckled, "I suppose not."

"Get out of here," you cocked your head, indicating she flee out the tent flap. You focused on your own lock as the sounds of invasion echoed around the camp. Praying Galadriel found a way to disguise herself, you struggled to unlock your irons; hearing someone rush into the tent behind you.

"You!"

An Orc was surging up to you in record time, bloody dagger in hand, twisted snarl curling his lip. You dropped the pin on accident, unable to retrieve it; but having enough mind to wait until the Orc was a foot from you, stepping back, extending your chains. The Orc slashed directly into the weakened metal, severing your bond, but the loss of tension made you flop backwards; rolling over your shoulder and onto your feet.

The Orc, ever graceful, hacked wildly at you; forcing you to go on the defense and dodge his attacks around the tent. Three more Orcs filed in; but however you might argue, luck was on your side for your brother, Iallion, came charging in with your sister, Eliriel.

"Y/N!"

You caught the sword your brother tossed, slashing the offending Orc's head from his shoulders as your siblings disposed of the other three enemies with ease.

Realizing the Orcs were vanquished (for now), you turned to your brother and raced into his embrace. He grunted and caught you, petting the back of your head before releasing and letting you hug your sister.

"Do you need medial aid?" Eliriel asked in worry, pushing hair from your shoulders to expose flesh - checking for any injury or bloody blemish.

"No - "

"Can you fight?"

"The day I answer no, you've permission to put me in the ground yourself," you scoffed, nodding at your brother. "You came back?"

"Elrond's leading the charge, they're razing the camp," Iallion explained, "otherwise he would've come himself."

"Where is he?"

"Come, we can find him," he insisted, eyes raking over you. "Sure you're all right?"

"Never better," you chuckled without humor, intent on holding the horrors you've experienced at the hands of your captors close to your chest. "Now, we gonna stand here and talk or go hunt some Orc?"

"YES!"

The Incarnated swarmed together in a protection fashion around you; a sibling shield, if you would, due to your lack of armor. Individually, the Incarnated were almost impossible to defeat, but together, they rivaled armies; exactly as the Valar intended. However, while fearsome in battle, you were still but a few and the Orcs were a grand-many; almost easily overwhelming any Elf they encountered.

Exactly why you were separated from them.

You faced against four different foes, turning as if dancing steps to something intimate; blade flashing in the sunlight, ringing as it clanged against blackened blades and rusted armor. It was easy to cut off your retreat or direction back to your siblings, forcing you back several yards as the Orcs swiftly closed in.

"Y/N! DUCK!" You heard from behind you; not thinking, just dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Horse hooves passed you, looking up in time to defend against another blade as Elrond engaged the others. You were both fairing decently until a moment of distraction - where an Orc swung his axe into Elrond's chest and knocked him from his horse - leaving an opportunity for your attacker.

With a scream, the Orc's blade sliced your chest in a deep slashing, managing to cut into your neck; blood starting to stream into your torn and tattered prison clothes. You were blinded by stinging pain, whimpering as your non-dominant arm curled across your chest as if gauze to lay over the injury; dominant hand occupied by your sword, defending yourself with weak whimpers.

One final hack made your sword arm collapse into the ground and for the Orc to stomp on your wrist to hold you there. You were pinned. The Orc laughed and sadistically reached down to swipe a grimy finger into your wound, causing you to hiss through teeth, only to lift his finger to his mouth and taste your life force. The sight alone made your stomach lurch, a panicked cry escaping your lips.

Elrond heard the enemy's laugh and lifted his head in time to see it lick your blood; noting your cry and position beneath the Orc. His face steeled into something beyond infuriation. The three Orcs that filled the space between you and he were quickly dispatched, Elrond engaging your attacker - letting you scramble backwards into a tree trunk for a front row viewing.

With a wild swing, Elrond swiped at the Orc; who reached up to grab hold of his helmet, which was freed when Elrond rolled from under him. The Orc swung, blade whistling; catching Elrond's cheek and sending him to the dirt, much to your worry. He glared at the enemy, wiping at his injury as the Orc growled, "I'm gonna spill her guts at your feet, Elf!"

Elrond's eyes flickered to you, taking the threat as credible; swiping the sword away, using a second blade to inflict injury before driving his longsword into the Orc's belly - driving him backwards into the basket of a trebuchet (or catapult). When pinned, Elrond drove his dagger into the Orc's sternum; leering over him in Sindarin, "Die."

Elrond yanked both weapons free and turned for the machine's mechanisms; yanking a rope and setting the trebuchet into motion. "No, no, no, no," the Orc begged when he realized what was happening; lifted off his feet only to be flung with the basket of rocks through the air, over the width of the Glanduin, and into the walls of Eregion.

Your husband wasted no time to drop the rope and turn for you; rushing forward and sliding to his knees beside your bleeding form. "Elrond, oh, my stars," you rushed with a bloody grin, reaching for him with your dominate hand as the other still tried to staunch your injury.

"I knew you weren't gone, I knew it," he breathed, taking your face in hand, "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry. I should've come sooner - "

"You got here right when you were supposed to," you assured, sniffling. "Have you - Have you seen Galadriel? I set her free, have you seen her?"

"Why was she not with you?"

"I sent her away, I wasn't sure how long I'd take to escape," you trembled, "then Iallion and Eliriel got me out."

"Why didn't you run?"

"I did..."

"No, away from the battle - "

"I ran to find you," you whispered, offering a sad smile. "Oh," you breathed, fingertip ghosting over his cut cheek, "that'll scar."

"It's nothing," he shook his head, "but yours isn't - I have to get you away from here - "

"There's no time," you rushed, "so, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

You swallowed thickly, "Clean your blade, put it in the fire."

Elrond's brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to see the trebuchet set ablaze by his men; the Orcs fleeing from the danger, leaving a rare opening. "I don't... Oh," his eyes widened, nodding and rushing to do as you bid. He cleaned his blade on his cloak as he sprinted to the burning machine; sticking his blade in, then returning to your side. "Can you stand?" He asked.

"If you can get me up," you nodded.

"C'mon, love," Elrond whispered, hands under your arms and hoisting you up the bark with a small grunt. "I've got you - "

"Elrond!"

He didn't think, just gripped the blade of his dagger and flung it in a fluid motion over his shoulder where you were staring. The weapon struck an approaching Orc in the throat; gurgling black blood as he went down, but Elrond didn't even bother to watch. He just returned his attention to you, "C'mere, starlight, I've got you."

"Commander!" A different voice shouted, your siblings rushing to the scene. Iallion, as the eldest, gave command to the others, "Circle - circle up! Get around them!" As the Incarnated surrounded you, Elrond was assisting you towards the flames. "Commander, orders, sir?"

"Stand guard," Elrond replied, easing you to your knees. "All right, my love," he paused, checking the blade, "think it's good?"

You nodded, "It's good. Just, uh... Aim, please."

He huffed, "As if I'd miss." He pulled his sword fully from the flames, the thin metal burning bright red; even sizzling subtly. "Ready?"

"Wait, wait," Eliriel bartered, finding a chunk of wood and placing it in your mouth. She lowered to her knees and hooked her arms around yours; restraining them behind your back in a vice. "Okay... Okay, good - do it, do it now, Elrond!" She begged, seeing blood flow a little more freely now that you weren't trying to plug the wound.

When your husband lowered the blade to your injury, you lost consciousness after screaming blood murder until air depleted from your lungs. The flesh was cauterized as cleanly as Elrond could manage, satisfied when he noted no weeping openings.

"Commander! What orders, Commander!?"

Elrond was torn between his wife and his company - but Iallion encouraged, "Go, brother. We'll get her somewhere safe."

With a scoff, Elrond shook his head and carefully pulled the wood from your mouth; gathering you off your sister and into his chest. "Where's safe anymore?" Elrond asked rhetorically in Sindarin, standing with you in his arms.

The camp was in complete disarray, Adar realizing the Elven Calvary had destroyed nearly everything in their path, almost to a barbaric extent. He would've questioned the displayed Elven bravery, but his mind knew better and reminded him he threatened Commander Elrond's wife... No wonder the camp was stamped into the ground.

The sun sank, darkness spread, and Adar listened to report after report, all confirming the Elves were fairing better than expected. Many Uruk lost their lives, more were injured, and the Orcs were encountering outmaneuvers no matter where they attacked.

Adar returned to the tent he left you and Galadriel in... Finding empty irons, no prisoners, and several of his children - dead. There was no confirmation as to who the wounds were from, but considering the swift yet strategically fatal injuries, he assumed the Incarnated had come to your rescue. Death was only graceful when dealt by their hands.

"Perhaps, Lord Father," Glüg reported, "we should sound the retreat. The Commander Elrond is formidable, angry over his wife's injuries..."

"No," Adar refused.

"He slaughtered half the camp to find her!"

"We do not retreat," Adar growled, making his son shy back a step. "Send him in..."

"He will kill our own kind!"

"Send. Him. In. Commander Elrond is on the battlefield, his wife smuggled away - "

"His wife is on the field, Lord Father! Khor saw her," Glüg gestured at his brother, who nodded vigorously at Adar.

"All the more reason... Send him in."

After your wound was cauterized, Elrond managed to find a horse and rush you a safe distance into the woods with Eliriel to guard you. Upon awakening, you were stiff with pain, but infuriated by the obvious delay in consciousness; rolling to your feet and testing the bounds of the near-fatal, scabbing wound.

"You can't go," Eliriel insisted, watching you stretch, "you'll tear open - "

"Adar kept me alive just enough for this moment, I have business to settle with him. I've been on the sidelines too long, sister," you snapped, "and injured or not, I will not leave Eregion to the darkness. There's still a chance - our people still fight. Will you join us? Or shall you turn tail, as our uncle did? Demote yourself?"

Your uncle, another Incarnated, had been a member of the original alliance of Elves against Sauron; one of the first to leave Valinor on a noble quest to Middle-earth. He was one of the reasons your kin had been blessed, but he's also the reason you know what happens if Incarnated refuse their Holy Calling... Facing Morgoth's apprentice was traumatizing beyond belief, your uncle leading alongside Galadriel's brother, Finrod, in many abattle. Yet Sauron's craft was vast, weaseling into your uncle's heart and brain to the point of insanity; so much so, that upon your uncle going AWOL, Finrod was slain in response.

Galadriel never blamed you nor other Incarnated; she blamed only Sauron, rationalizing he was who fucked up your uncle's head so much that the Valar took back their gift. A forfeited Incarnated was gazed upon with utter contempt until driven into exile, and even then, they aren't immediately granted immunity nor entrance into Aman, - or the Undying Lands - but instead, must plead for redemption. Needless to say, your uncle gave your kin quiet a public mess to rectify and it was a grave insult to throw such an accusation at an Incarnated.

"Sister?" You prompted.

From the dirt, Eliriel nodded and reached for your hand; allowing you to heave her onto her feet. "You'll need armor - do not argue!" She snapped with a pointed finger when your mouth opened. "Come."

Eliriel lead you through the woods at a mild pace as to not irritate your injury. Using the darkness to your advantage, you snuck around until happening upon a fallen Elleth who was about your size and body type. Swiftly, you took her armor with a prayer in Sindarin, securing it, then latching on her weapons belt.

"Ready?" You asked, seeing Eliriel nod. "Stay close."

"I'm older than you!"

"Then act like it!" You laughed over your shoulder, sprinting from the treeline and directly towards the fray taking place before Eregion's walls. You snatched a full quiver from a dead Elf, not stopping; plucking up an abandoned bow, still surging; then snatching whatever spent torch-arrows you could, doubly determined.

Blood transformed impacted dirt into a marsh; bodies littering the land, a city on fire, and Death permeating the air. Your sword sang with glee at each blow; injury holding strong, giving you fuller permission to move as you needed. When you raced into battle, you were an entirely different breed; purely animalistic, relying on your senses to cause the most damage. All you could process was you needing to kill.

You happened to be in the right place at the right time because just yards ahead of you, several jagged arrows thumped into your comrade, Rían's, body at varying angles. She swayed and dropped to her knees, revealing ahead of her, a small gaggle of Elves - Elrond included. Rían reached for a torch arrow as you noted the barrel of oil by the Grond and quickly connected the dots.

It was as if the Valar arranged it themself: where one Elf fell, an Incarnated steps up to assume responsibility without hesitation nor prompt. Three additional arrows struck Rían, who fell dead, and there you stood; causing your name to fall from your husband's mouth and for you to spring into action. Without hesitation, you ignite your own arrow, notch it, aim, then release before rushing towards Elrond; seven arrows impalied the place you vacated. "What're you doing here!? It's not safe!" Elrond demanded when you lowered to his level behind a barrier of dirt.

Your arrow found it's mark, catching the entire Grond and surrounding Orcs in a violently gnarly explosion. You smirked at your husband, anchoring him by his neck to place a desperate, messy, slippery kiss to his lips. On retraction, there came a loud, wet smooch sound; you nodding and answering, "Winning a war."

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