#import shipments handling

[doralcustomsbrokers]

https://www.doralcustomsbrokers.com/customs-clearance-in-miami/

Doral Customs Brokers offers expert customs clearance services for all your shipments coming into Miami, FL or any port of entry in the US. We believe that to truly offer valuable customs clearance services to our importers, we must become a valuable, efficient and helpful part of their logistics team. We go beyond to make sure that your shipments are handled with care and accuracy, and in an expedient manner.

[freightforwardingindonesia]

Door Handle

Door Handle Forwarding Services Exporting or importing door handles—whether stainless steel, brass, or aluminum—requires professional handling and proper documentation. Keenam International provides licensed freight forwarding services for global shipments of hardware and door components with full legal support (PIB/PEB). We serve businesses shipping to/from China, USA, Europe, Southeast Asia,…

[keenaminternational]

Door Handle

Door Handle Forwarding Services Exporting or importing door handles—whether stainless steel, brass, or aluminum—requires professional handling and proper documentation. Keenam International provides licensed freight forwarding services for global shipments of hardware and door components with full legal support (PIB/PEB). We serve businesses shipping to/from China, USA, Europe, Southeast Asia,…

[hobiologist]

busan blues | jeon jungkook

[part one]

summary: south korea's most notorious drug king pin lived life as a ghost; never seen, yet never to be crossed. never in your face, but never too far away. never in the room, but always listening.

by day, he lived life as a shadow with a reputation -- ruthless, unforgiving, impatient.

at night? well, at night he was something just a little bit softer.

pairing: jeon jungkook x (f) reader; jeon jungkook x (f) oc.

rating: mature, 18+; mdni.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: drugdealer!jungkook, drug references, violence, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), guns, pregnancy.

masterpost

available on ao3

—————————————————————————-

It was rare that there was anything Jeon Jungkook couldn’t obtain. Money, drugs, women, upper class luxuries. Ever since he had been introduced to the world that put the term ‘sin’ to shame, it had bowed down at the mention of his name. Never his actual name, of course. To the world of guilty pleasures and intoxicated misfortunes, he was simply known as The Ghost. Never seen, never heard; yet somehow possessing the ability to make moves no one saw coming from miles away. Tilt the world on its axis without leaving a trace.

He had acquired the business from his uncle who had been in his late 50s and looking to retire; put aside the life of living in the shadows and enjoy what he had left of it. Jungkook had been 22 and searching for his path in life — the timing was perfect, the moment inevitable.

He was now 27 and had mastered the business like an art form — at least mostly. He oversaw nearly every drug import and export that occurred in South Korea, with his base being in the heart of Busan. The city wasn’t nearly as busy as Seoul; less potential eyes on him and his operation. But he was close enough where he could catch an hour plane ride to the capital if he needed to.

“He knows the shipment is supposed to arrive an hour after the confirmation time. This is his last job, he was already on thin fucking ice.”

The words he muttered to himself had been nearly the first spoken by Jungkook in the past hour. Rarely ever out of his office, he now stood underneath the familiar pier, looking out into the clear sea before him. The night sky made it nearly impossible to see, illuminated only by the slivers of light from the moon. 

The businessman was accompanied by two muscular guards about 8 inches his stature, both sporting black hair with fitted black t-shirts and slacks. They stood silently and watchful, more silent than the gentle waves around them. Each sported simple pistols near their waist, unafraid to use them if necessary.

When the sun rose, Jungkook owned a security company. It was how he had become acquainted with the guards who followed him around most of the day. They were quiet and loyal men — had been since Jungkook started the business. 

Truthfully, his security business mostly ran itself. He had an old friend, Park Jimin, who had gone to college for accounting. He ran the books and formed schedules; he mostly worked remotely but he’d visit the office a couple days out of the week. It was fairly simple — clients who needed security paid in cash, Jungkook would supply the workers and Jimin handled anything inbetween. He was compensated well for it. 

Jungkook did his best to make sure the finances for both his endeavors never clashed. The last thing he desired was to put his classmate, who knew nothing of his second life, in harms way. His personal guards were on payroll like everyone else the company hired — however, any overtime they received was directly from Jungkook, off the books. He paid them handsomely for their silence and loyalty. 

Contemplating, Jungkook began to pace back and forth in the thinning sand, hands shoved deeply in the pockets of his dark grey, Giorgio Armani suit. His black tie was rather unruly—loosened thirty minutes prior when his patience had started to run dry. 

In his line of business, structure was vital — deadlines, organization, punctuality. All of which were currently being violated.

Twenty minutes passed before the sound of rougher waves drew his attention. An hour later than expected, the small boat could be seen off in the distance, closing in on the drop off location. They never traveled large or in anything flashy; never wanting to stick out, operating in the shadows. Fairly content now that he laid his eyes on the boat in the distance, Jungkook turned his feet in the sand, looking at the body guard that stood to his right. 

“When he drops off the load, please make sure all $50,000 is there and the inventory matches the order. Lock it all in the safe, then you’re free to go. I’ll handle distribution in the morning.”

The day had been much longer than expected. 

On average, Jungkook was home around 9pm. However, he was beginning to encounter the issue of delayed shipments and logistical errors he had to fix. He wasn’t a fan of having to come out of the shadows — it put everything he worked hard for at risk.

One of his oldest workers, Jihun, was a friend of his uncle’s who had originally stayed on to make sure Jungkook easily acclimated himself to the business. He was a major part of the operation — performing background checks to make sure sellers were credible, scheduling meetings to perform trades and drop offs . What was suppose to be a couple years turned into five years and he was finally ready to retire. Jungkook couldn’t help but oblige. However, finding a replacement for him proved to be difficult. Jungkook had been attempting to do it remotely with the help of a few workers who had only ever communicated with him over email and had never seen his face. It was sloppy, but he was working every day to tighten it up.

The hum of gentle music on the radio settled him in for the 45 minute drive home. He relaxed in the seat of his black Mercedes truck, reaching for his personal cellphone he rarely ever used unless the sun had set. A warm smile spread across his lips as he looked down at the phone, clicking on the message thread titled ‘babygirl 💗’.

jungkook:

missing you, thinking about you. home soon, baby. 00:13 

babygirl 💗:

missing you too, baby. 00:14

The message came with a photo attachment Jungkook immediately opened, halfway keeping his eyes on the highway as he drove through the night.

The attachment displayed a picture of a woman in a pink silk nightgown that hugged her curves, black lace v-line exposing the plump of her breasts just enough to leave something for the imagination. He muttered curses under his breath, quickly typing back a response while keeping his eyes ahead. He felt the zipper on his pants struggle to expand as he attempted (failed) to keep his wild thoughts at bay. 

jungkook:

you’re fucking beautiful. be at the door when i get there. 00:16

The 45 minute drive home was a breeze, city lights flashing in the distance, loafer clad shoe pressed hard to the gas. His eyes played over the photo what felt like a million times, desire running through his veins like a river. 

She had the garage door open for him when he arrived, liked clockwork. She made everything function and flow behind closed doors for him; where as he was in charge and structured in his daily life, she kept their home life in order. She always had a meal cooked, his clothes pressed, the house clean, their appointments in order, the groceries stocked. He cherished her; more than anything else in his life — in his world that was black and white during the day, she filled it with her radiant colors at night. 

He parked his car, fingers slipping into the glove compartment to grab the golden band that waited for him. A soft smile on his lips, he slipped it onto the ring finger of his left hand. Unlocking the door of his home, Jungkook took in the smell of washing powder, accompanied by her sweet scent of vanilla and spring that filled the air, garage door closing behind him. His eyes immediately glared towards the dimly lit entry way, seeing the woman standing in the same pink silk nightgown she wore in the sultry picture.

A low groan emitted from his lips, dark brown eyes pooling with shades of lust that the woman found all too familiar. She gave him a teasing smile, softly curled hair pooling over her shoulders in a way that made her look angelic. He removed his suit jacket, laying it over the couch next to them.

“Strip.”

Keeping eye contact with Jungkook, the woman slowly began to shred her gown as she had been told. She was always a good listener when he spoke. 

His daze followed her fingers as she removed the straps of her nightgown one by one. The fabric slipped easily from her fingers, catching ever so slightly as it slipped past the plump of her breasts. Jungkook’s breath hitched, causing him to loosen his tie, followed by the belt. He stepped closer to her with calculated steps, almost as if he was scared to touch her — scared to ruin the perfect image that stood before him.

The cold air sent shivers down her spine as she gently teased her hair, watching him stare at her in amazement.

“….You’re a work of art. You know that?”

Stepping closer towards her, Jungkook gently cupped her face, thumbs rubbing her warm cheeks. She smelled of vanilla body wash and ecstasy, drawing every inch of sanity he had left to the brink. She shivered as she felt his clothed body press against her skin, the bulge in his pants growing larger as he held her.

Catching the glow of her eyes in the dim light, he smiled at her briefly before meeting her perfect lips with his own. Their lips danced in a familiar, yet electrifying rhythm that sent sparks through his body. In 5 years they had kissed what felt like a million times but kisses like this never got old. She nearly melted into his touch, feeling her knees begin to weaken. He was so warm, so handsome, so hers. He smelled of amber and sandalwood, skin of his hands as soft as it had been when he left that morning. Good, she thought. He was unharmed.

Her fingers entwined in his pristinely cut hair, four carat diamond ring never catching on the gentle strands. It had been three years since they had gotten married. As with most things in Jungkook’s world, the proposal had been in the dead of night.  He woke her up from her sleep, chanting about a surprise that couldn’t wait. With tired eyes she held out her arms as he slipped on her robe and carried her to his truck. She fell asleep nearly instantly in the Mercedes, the soft human of jazz music luring her to sleep once he hit the highway. When she woke up, Jungkook was kissing her cheek, luring her out of the vehicle and into a park that had the perfect view of the stars in the sky. He had walked her around the park for a little while, going over memories from their past and professing his love in a way only Jungkook could — calculated, perfect and with beautiful imagery. Once they had reached the end of the park, there was a picnic table next to the river in their sight. The table was covered in glowing candles, a small meal he prepared and 24 bouquets of the deepest red roses combined to make one large bouquet. One for every month they had been together. 

He got down on one knee in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, asking her to be his forever. And she couldn’t have said yes faster. It was the proposal she had asked him for, back when their one year anniversary came around and he asked her if she ever considered forever with him. She told him ‘of course’, thinking he couldn’t have asked a sillier question. But she requested that her proposal not be anything flashy; just simple, meaningful and when she least expected it. And he had delivered in every aspect.  

“So perfect like this. Look at you, baby.”

The wide palm of Jungkook’s hands groped the plush of her ass, kneading it ever so slightly as her eyes locked on his — sultry innocence and uncharted passion; he lived for it, breathed it even.

Locking in on her eyes, Jungkook slowly dropped to his knees, hands pressing into her hips and caressing her pelvic bone. She wore a small lace thong that kept nearly nothing to the imagination with its slit in the middle. He pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach, then to her clit. The moan she swore was gentle echoed through the walls of the mansion. It was way too big for just the two of them and their dog, Bam, asleep upstairs — but they called it home. 

“You’re so sensitive. Been waiting for me to come eat you all day, haven’t you?”

She moaned a hasty ‘yes’, fingers gripping his hair as his tongue began to gently lick her wet folds, slit in her thong providing him perfect access. The familiar taste of her arousal earned a moan of appreciation from him. He had thought it was insane to say she tasted like home but he knew no word greater to describe the taste of her on his lips. She tighten her grip in his hair as she held back her gentle cries, lost in the way his eyes lazily met hers as he took his time devouring her.

In this space, time stood still. In this home, they were in their own world. 

The cool touch of his wedding band against her pelvis made her smile, head dipping back in ecstasy as his lips began to softly suck her sensitive clit. As her orgasm neared, the touch of his ring brought back a distant memory. 

“I’m not a good person.”

It was their second month together, his eighth month in the business. They stood in the middle of a crowded club, neither of their style but they made an amusing commitment to start trying new things together. They had both been dancing, smiles on their faces as the music ran through their veins. The freedom he had felt as they danced, the way his heart pulled at him like he knew what this was becoming — or what it already was. He found himself no longer being able to looking into her eyes and promise her a world with no faults. As she stared back at him her eyes sparked of something Jungkook couldn’t quite place. She gave him a gentle smile, tightening her grip on his hand that rested in hers.

It wasn’t the smartest conversation to have in a room full of people, Jungkook knew better than that. He was a ghost in his work life and he never allowed himself to be seen out in public during working hours. 

“Good is subjective, Kook. Do you hurt people?”

There was a small furrow of his eyebrows that he prayed she didn’t see. He stared down at her eyes, looking back at him as if he controlled the stars. He’d never get over that, the way she looked at him. He was convinced he wanted to see that look for the rest of his life. Hold that trust close to his heart like a prayer.  

“Sometimes. Not unless I have to.” He firmly spoke, fingers never letting go of hers. By now the song had changed but the people around them continued to dance, paying them no mind.

“Do you actually own a security company?”

“I do.”

“Is that where you go when you tell me you’re going to work?” 

“That’s usually where my day starts.”

“If I ever ask you what you mean — all this saying you’re not a good person. Will you be honest with me?” 

Jungkook answered without hesitation, taking himself partly by surprise.

“I will. You have my word.”

“Then stop talking and keep dancing with me.” 

She gripped the couch behind her, feeble feeling arms being the only thing holding her up.  

“You’re so wet for me, baby. Been waiting all day to taste you.”

“God, Jungkook.” Whimpers escaped her lips as her fingers tightened in his hair in an effort to brace herself. He used one hand to hold her hip while the other began unbuttoning his dress shirt that had become far too hot. 

In the rush of feverish kisses and passionate touches, they found themselves moving from the living room to the california king with her cheek pressed to the mattress, his hips driving her to the brink of insanity and pleasure. He kissed the arch of her back as he thrusted his hips, the recoil of her ass making him feel dizzy. 

“Who do you belong to, baby.” His growled his words like less of a question, more of statement. Tears of pleasure welled in her eyes and she melted into his steady pace, lips parting as she struggled to breathe out an answer. She felt so full, so complete — mind so empty, bliss unmeasured.

“You, Kook. I belong to you.”

“And this pussy?” He kept a hand on her waist as the other wrapped her curly strands around his palm, pulling her hair ever so lightly to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Yours, Kook. God, harder.” She gripped the sheets, fingertips shaking with impending arousal. He always did this. Fucked her to the point where she felt insatiable and nearly incoherent; craving him so much it made her entire soul shake. Like an addict breaking sobriety. 

“You’re going to cum again for me? So fucking greedy. Go ahead, cum.”

Her orgasm arrived shortly after, her fingers clutching the sheets as she cried out his name. The pump of his hips stilled abruptly as he pressed his head against her back, hands gripping her breasts as he released inside of her. He moaned in a way that rung in the woman’s ears, sex heavy in his tone and her name breathless on his tongue, heightening her climax beneath him. The ragged sounds of their breathing clung to walls of the bedroom. Jungkook pressed gentle kisses down the woman’s spine, savoring the feeling of being inside of her for just a little longer — safe, peaceful, perfect.

“Rough day at work?” She spoke after they had finished cleaning themselves briefly, lying in their afterglow and catching their breath. Her head rested on his chest, tracing his abs with gentle and familiar intrigue. 

“Frustrating to say the least.” 

“I could tell. You fucked a little harder than usual tonight.”

With her head against his chest, she listened as his heartbeat sped up. “Harder? Was I too rough today, baby?”

“No, never, Kook. I don’t think you could be rough with me if you tried.”

His finger pressed against her chin, tilting it just enough so that her lips met his in a warm kiss. It was lazy, thankful, still a little hungry — he always did a great job of that; expressing what he didn’t say with kisses. She relished at the taste of herself still left on his lips.

His fingers gentle brushed hair from her face, stroking the plump of her cheeks as he pulled her closer. 

The sound of the central air slowly pulled them towards sleep, dinner long forgotten at the table in exchange for serotonin and coitus. 

“I’ll be leaving early in the morning, around 6.” Jungkook lazily mumbled, arms around the woman’s body pulling her impossibly closer. She hummed in response, eyes heavy with sleep and satisfaction.

“If I’m not up, wake me when you get up?”

“I promise, beautiful.”

When the sun set, Jungkook was a husband.

She had been his secret. In the life full of drugs, money and evil he lead, he had somehow managed to keep her hidden away. It started off when they met 5 years ago during a charity event. Ironic, probably. She was an advocate for the development of cancer research and therapy for patients and families affected by the disease. Jungkook was an anonymous donor. He sat in the crowd but donated virtually under a pseudo name, assuring that he was always one of the highest donors. 

They first locked eyes when she gave a speech at the end of the event. She had been wearing a light pink dress with bows that fell on her shoulders. She wore soft white heels and a smile that showed how passionate she was about the cause. Her eyes scanned the crowd as she spoke, clearly having obtained training in engaging an audience. He sat in nearly the furthest row but their eyes still met. Immediately, there was something curious yet familiar that hung in the air between them — something they couldn’t quite place their hands on. Her eyes hovered over him a few seconds too long before finishing her speech, engaging the crowd and thanking everyone for their volunteer efforts.

He was a man of stealth but he was a man of opportunity.

So he waited until the crowd dwindled and the donors said their farewell before walking up to her, watching her begin to clear her speech material from the podium. He had suavely introduced himself — confident, with a sweet smile and eyes that hoped she’d give him a few minutes of her time. She shook his extended hand, introducing herself with a playful glimmer in her gaze that he longed to know more about. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon. Have we met before?”

Jungkook woke up around 5:30 am. The smell of eggs and toast was the first thing to fill his nostrils. She had gotten up before him after all. She always did. As he came to, he felt the gentle presence of warm lips pressed against his neck, smooth hands sliding across his bare chest in a way that made his soul smile. 

“Good morning to you too, baby.”

She echoed a hum of appreciation at his words as she continued to kiss his neck, hands sliding down until they reached the bulge in his boxers, caressing it softly.

“You drive me insane, do you know that?” Jungkook continued to keep his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of her touch all over his body. She kissed her way down to the hem of his boxers, toying with the fabric. She pulled them down ever so slowly, cock springing out to brush against the plump of her cheeks. She hummed in desire, beginning to press soft kisses to the head.

“If we had more time, I’d ride you.”

He twitched in her mouth, a groan for what could have been leaving his lips. A sleepy laugh slipped from both of their mouths. She gripped the girth in her hands as she began to alternate between slowly tracing her tongue over the head and taking what length she could into her mouth, eyes hypnotized in pleasure as she savored the weight of him on her tongue.

The guttural moan he released sounded throughout the bedroom, precum sucked from his head as soon as it appeared. 

“Tonight, then. For right now, keep sucking baby.”

When they finished, the couple showered together and both indulged in the breakfast she had prepared. She helped him get dressed in another dark suit that occupied his closet, pressed to perfection just the way he liked it. She prepared an iced coffee for him and a protein drink for the drive. 

She had mastered the art of Jeon Jungkook to a science. She knew his routine like the back of her hand; knew what he would say sometimes before he said it.

Soulmates.

Before she knew it, she was watching Jungkook seat himself in the drivers side seat, practically pulling her in the car as he covered her face with gentle kisses. If his crew could see him now — tucked into the shadows of his own home, bathed in the glow of the woman who made his heart sing — they’d never believe he was the same person they knew.

“Don’t worry your mind too much today, okay? I’m feeling a little tension in your shoulders.” Jungkook playfully massaged the woman’s shoulders, getting a lazy but fond smile from her in return. 

“Can I make a request for the masseuse to do a home visit for you? Or would you rather go in person?”

“A home appointment sounds great, Kook. Thank you for thinking of me.” She traced random lines on his chest as he held her close, eyes scanning her face in search of what she wasn’t saying.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She loved that about him; his ability to know something bothered her without the need to pry. 

“Nothing’s bothering me, I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.” She hated to lie to him. He always knew, without fail. But he never pressed. It wasn’t in his nature — with her, at least.

“I’ll make the call but if this massage doesn’t work, we’re seeing a doctor.” 

She loved the way he spoke. So sure, so steady. He never left room for confusion or uncertainty, but he always took her into consideration.

He wanted to tell her that when she was ready to really tell him what was plaguing her mind, he’d be there. But he let her have it for now, not wanting to push her before she was ready.

“That sounds fine baby.” She gave him a soft grin, kissing his lips and stroking his cheek. She took a few seconds to admire him — the rosy tone of his cheeks that spread just a little as she stared at him — his big brown eyes that she never regretted getting lost in. He was everything she ever needed, she had been thoroughly convinced a million and one times. 

“Be safe. Eyes on the road and head on a swivel.”

“I promise, my love.”

Soon she was waving goodbye to Jungkook as he pulled away from the home and onto the road. She waited until he was far in the distance to close the garage door. Once he did, she double checked that the doors in the house were locked and that the security system was armed. She closed all the curtains and headed to the kitchen, opening a bottom drawer she knew Jungkook would never check. Inside the drawer laid two pistols she quickly checked to make sure were still fully loaded with bullets. Seeing that they were, she closed the drawer contently, heading to her office. 

Her office was her personal sanctuary. Having one at his place of work, Jungkook understood how important it was to have your own space to relax and work on your ideas, so he never entered without her permission. That’s why she had been able to leave the positive pregnancy tests on her desk for the past few days without him finding out. 

She was only about a few weeks along, nowhere near close to showing. She figured she had a couple of months before she had to break the news. This had never exactly been in their plan. It was somewhat an unspoken assumption that they’d never have children — with the lifestyle that Jungkook lived and how busy he always was, it never seemed in the cards. They had used the family planning method for years without difficulty. She had recently recovered from being under the weather and she suspected that threw the cycle of things off somewhere along the lines. 

For now, she tucked the four tests in her top draw, lying next to yet another black pistol. Tears welled in her eyes and she held her cellphone in her hands, contemplating if she should just call him and tell him. 

Her excuse ended up being that he was likely driving and she didn’t want to distract him. 

When she thought it about later, her excuse was that he must be busy at work and she wanted him to focus.

Her excuse when he came home that night, earlier than expected and in a much better mood than the previous day, was that he deserved to relax and she didn’t want to ruin his good day with news she was sure would devastate him.

It hadn’t been something they talked about, even when they got married. He never brought it up, so neither did she. She just loved him almost blindly, a blessing and a curse she was aware of. 

As she held him that night, listening to his soft snores and stroking his hair as he slept, her mind raced and she contemplated what life could look like for them if she confessed and continued the pregnancy. Would he have to give up what made him Jungkook? Would she be stuck at home to care for the child while he continued to place himself in whatever situations he dealt with on a day-to-day basis? She couldn’t fathom that. 

Staring at his sleeping face, she sighed and put her thoughts to rest, enjoying the weight of his body in her arms and eventually drifting off to sleep. 

She wasn’t completely oblivious to everything.

She had long known that Jungkook only wore his wedding band at home. Through some snooping, she found out that he always kept it in the truck, safely tucked away as the only thing in his glove compartment. He thought she didn’t know that he took it off the second he got in the truck to leave for work. Or that he put it back on as soon as he parked in the garage every night. She found out after they had been married for about 3 months, noticing the lack of lines on his finger whenever he washed dishes.

She didn’t think he was throwing himself at women when she wasn’t around. But she did worry that they’d throw themselves at him. She did believe he portrayed himself as single once he left their home. What she didn’t believe was that he was doing it for some adulterous reason. At least that was her prayer. 

She knew more about him than he thought. But she’d never ask him about it.

In 5 years together she hadn’t figured out exactly what he did outside of his security job.

She knew it likely wasn’t legal and that his daily life was surely more dangerous than he let on. She held his promise close to her heart every day; the promise he made to tell her his true occupation — the one that paid for the house, the cars, the suits, the lifestyle — if she ever asked. Truth was, she found herself a little too scared to ask. It’s better to be unaware, she convinced herself. She somehow told herself that it was better to sit at home and be unaware of if her husband would come every night than deal with the fact that the man she loved could be the devil himself.

Ultimatums, definites — two widely different sides of the spectrum.

His love was all consuming like that; thoughtful, selfless, inciting, promising. She had never feared him, not for a single second. But what scared her the most was that she knew she could find out he was the reincarnation of sin himself and she’d still never turn away. He treated her too good, loved her too hard, fucked her too perfect, knew her too well. She’d make any excuse in the world for him and sometimes that terrified her.

So she let him keep his secrets for now. She had hers too. 

authors note: i haven’t written anything in years so any form of feedback is appreciated. thank you for reading! :)

[artfight]

Art Fight 2025 Has Started!

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Please take the time to review our Rules and Filter Guidelines, as we've made several updates to both in preparation for the 2025 event. It is especially important to familiarize yourself with them before you begin attacking, as failure to abide by either may hinder your ability to participate this year.

This year, we're taking big steps to address concerns regarding excessive competition on Art Fight. As a part of that effort, we'd like to remind you of our Spirit of Art Fight rules, which dictate the code of conduct we expect all users to abide by when interacting with, and creating art for, each other. While Art Fight has always come with a certain degree of competitiveness, it is first and foremost an art gifting game; it is the gifting aspect, not the competition, that is at Art Fight's heart. 

[saphronethaleph]

Fascist, Thus Inefficient

“As you can see, my young apprentice, your friends have failed,” the Emperor said, triumph in his tone. “Now, witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station!”

Luke looked at him in shock.

“Fire at will, Commander!” the Emperor said.

Fourteen months previously…

“Shipment IL-214-73 arriving,” a petty officer reported.

“Thank goodness,” muttered one of the technicians. “After the delays we’ve been having, we need to get those Khyber crystals into the third main focusing array. It’s been on the critical path for a week.”

He brought up the display, frowning. “All right, I think we can make up a bit of time if we just get them straight to cutting and installation.”

“Don’t we need to run them through the testing process first?” a more junior technician asked. “That’s on the list.”

“I know it’s on the list,” the senior tech replied. “But the list was written when they didn’t expect there’d be rebel attacks hitting our supply lines.”

He waved at the screen. “The testing process means heating each individual crystal up to eighteen hundred, even though we know Khyber can all handle temperatures of up to forty-seven-fifty. The cutting process doesn’t rely on heat tolerance either. Any crystalline flaws will come out in cutting, and we can just junk them. It means cutting takes a bit longer, but by going straight to cutting we can save at several hours on the overall process. And you know how much time we’ve lost already.”

The junior tech looked worried, then shook his head.

“All right,” he replied. “I guess so.”

“You need to learn how things are done in practice,” the senior tech said. “No big deal.”

Eleven months previously...

“I’m quite sure Rothana Heavy Engineering’s XJ-15 hypermatter feed systems will meet your needs better than the alternatives,” the Rothana representative said, as Admiral Jerjerrod examined the datasheet.

He wasn’t so sure. The newer units had better specifications, certainly, but they weren’t proven, and they were also somewhat more expensive.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily the case,” he said, out loud. “While I appreciate Rothana’s position, the Sienar alternative has similar flow rates and more proven applications.”

The Rothana representative nodded, sagely.

“I understand entirely,” he said. “However, I must point out that Rothana has some important additional information to present.”

He held out a credit chip, which Jerjerrod took and inspected.

“Owing to the XJ-15’s protracted development, we are willing to provide our test units at cost,” the representative went on. “That is in addition to having a higher production rate than our competitors and a less committed production output.”

Jerjerrod hesitated, then pocketed the credit chip.

“That all seems in order,” he said. “The XJ-15 it is.”

“Marvellous,” the representative declared.

Nine months previously...

“I’ve examined the records that exist from the first Death Star,” a senior technician said. “The amount of strain that was placed on the flash suppression systems was minimal to nonexistent. Even with the full firing that destroyed Alderaan, surviving records indicate that the flash suppressors had no more than a five percent load placed on them – an amount that can be handled by untreated durasteel.”

The other men and women in the meeting looked at the data on the screen behind their colleague.

“You’re suggesting we forego the duratemp treatment on the flash protection systems?” one of the women asked, cautiously. “I can see the advantages, but the downsides seem significant. I’d even say potentially destructive.”

“It is my position that the cost of including the duratemp treatment is unacceptable,” the tech replied. “It takes time and effort, including supervisory attention which cuts into the available man-hours on the project. We only have so much experienced manpower.”

That drew winces, though none of the humans in the room drew attention to the fact that they were spending a lot of that time in interminable meetings.

“In the following presentation, I’ll discuss my proposal and how it could shave as much as one week off the final completion timetable,” the senior tech continued, flicking to the next screen of his presentation. “This model shows how the flash suppression systems are built around the main weapon…”

Six months previously…

“There simply isn’t an option,” the head of personnel replied. “Our existing system is not providing enough technicians and operators.”

“This was quite sufficient for the first Death Star,” Jerjerrod protested.

“The first Death Star was a project that took decades,” the manager replied, shrugging. “It didn’t come up at first, sir – for that I apologize – but if we are going to redress the problem, we need to act now. There is no alternative.”

Jerjerrod rubbed his temples, thinking about the problem.

The fully functional Death Star was going to need hundreds of thousands of qualified technicians and operators, familiar with the systems of the vast battle station, and so many of the men who knew much about the Death Star at the moment were busy building it.

There hadn’t been many left after the destruction of the first battle station, because most of them had been working on it at the time.

“All right,” he said. “So your proposal is…?”

“We keep the same number of trainers for now, but abbreviate the course,” the manager answered. “Two months – at most. Then we have the new graduates train the next batch for two months, and so on. Exponential growth. At twenty students per instructor and a hundred instructors to start with, we’ll end up with eight hundred thousand in six months.”

That was extremely tempting… they wouldn’t be anything like the equal of what they should be, but they could learn on the job.

“All right,” Jerjerrod said. “Approved – see to it.”

One month previously…

“Next item on the checklist?” Commander Jaskier asked.

“Step one hundred and seven,” Technician Mils replied. “Self test.”

She pressed the self-test button, and the computer system clicked and flickered as it ran through the diagnostics.

Data results and readouts went up on the screen, and Jaskier and all the others in the control station watched the results.

None of them had any comment to make about the numbers. The checklist said to run the self test, so that was what they were doing.

“Step one hundred and eight,” Mils went on. “Sign off on results.”

She did that, as well, and Jaskier nodded.

“Good,” he said. “And I believe we’ve finished that half an hour ahead of schedule! Good work, everyone.”

Now.

The firing commands flashed out through the Death Star’s systems, triggering a cascade of further commands, and the whole massive battle station’s main superlaser woke for the first time.

Fifty XJ-15 hypermatter flow regulators controlled the flow of energy from the power core into the power collectors, and the energy being channelled into the system surged rapidly – rising to one hundred and eighteen percent of nominal, above what would have been anticipated, and greater than the one hundred and two percent that the older, more proven Sienar systems would have generated.

Thousands of high powered beams were generated, controlled and focused through an enormous array of Khyber crystals… a small but measurable fraction of which were cheap industrially grown diamonds instead, added to the shipments by subcontractors eager to stretch out their production from the strip-mined planet of Ilum without running so late on their deliveries that financial penalties were imposed.

None of the technicians who were in a position to spot the problem at this stage were actually capable of doing so. Their necessarily abbreviated training had mostly been on what buttons to push, and nobody had the deeper knowledge of the systems to recognize that the system was in an anomalous state.

Then some of the diamonds shattered under the load, allowing the beams free to damage adjacent systems, and in moments the whole of the energy drawn from the hypermatter core was unleashed.

The flash suppression systems were wholly, and fatally, inadequate.

“Watch yourself, Wedge!” Lando called, his head on a swivel, and banked the Falcon around so his ventral turret gunner could clear off one of the TIEs attacking Red Leader. “We’ve got to-”

Then there was a sudden blinding flash, and Lando did a double-take.

The Death Star’s protective shield was instantly, and dramatically, visible – because the entire inside of it was full of plasma and flame, lighting it up as clearly as Ackbar’s briefing had done back before the operation was launched in the first place. Then something blew up on the surface of the forest moon as the plasma followed the funnel of the shield, and the explosive force was no longer contained but began to drift out into space.

“...the kriff?” Lando asked, eventually. “What just happened?”

“Ow,” Darth Vader said, indistinctly, reaching up to feel his helmet, which had been crushed in by an impact with the ceiling.

The Emperor’s throne room seemed to mostly be intact, though there was an Emperor-shaped hole in the window nearest his throne, and Luke had his hands out to either side as he stood on the wall.

“Father, are you all right?” the younger Skywalker asked.

“What happened?” Vader replied. “I remember the Emperor ordering that the Death Star should fire…”

“I don’t know, it exploded just after he said that,” Luke answered. “It turns out that overconfidence was his weakness… do you have any idea where the nearest spaceship is? Keeping the atmosphere in is tiring me out a bit.”

[ddejavvu]

Jake seresin doing that bathroom door thing to a sweet shy reader would be so cute😭😭

that bathroom door thing - i changed it up just a bit for the plot's sake! i hope you still enjoy it <3

--

Jake's forever grateful that Penny bought the Hard Deck, because it brought about changes that have only ever benefitted him. She's begrudgingly fond of him, so he drinks whenever he wants and pays his tab in grunt muscle when new shipments of booze are delivered and need to be hauled in. He also drives Amelia around to various after school activities, so Penny's rewarded him with his own personal set of keys in case she's waiting for pickup in the bar and can't lock up behind herself.

The bar is cleaner now than it was under previous management, which means more women are willing to set foot inside; something about the earlier gunk and grime drove them away. It's no longer a place for aviators to drink their sorrows away- it's fun, it's full, and it's family, something Jake cherishes more than he'll ever admit.

Those keys feel especially important in his pocket now as he watches you try the handle of the bathroom door, clearly in a rush. Jake's surprised that the bathroom isn't constantly occupied, what with the amount of liquor that gets consumed on a nightly basis, but some people might just be better at regulating themselves than others.

Apparently you're not one of them as you find the door locked, your face contorting into clear displeasure.

You scan the bar for Penny but- Jake realizes with a jolt down his spine, she's not here. She'd stepped out, and he'd been casually monitoring the counter to ensure that no one started touching anything that didn't belong to them.

"Coyote," Jake calls, catching his friend's attention from where he's crouched over the pool table, "Cover for Penny."

Usually the team would be annoyed at being interrupted, but Coyote is just as fond of Penny as Jake is, and he nods once, passing his cue over to Rooster. He takes up a seat opposite Jake, giving the man the chance to stand and make his way over to you.

"Hey there, darlin'," He greets, digging the keys out of his pocket, "You need'a get in there?"

"Uh, yeah, I do," You laugh sheepishly, watching intently as he slides the key into the door, "Oh my god, thank you, I couldn't find the bartender and I thought I was shit outta luck."

"I gotcha, honey," Jake grins, bicep flexing as he pushes open the door for you, "Come get me when you're done so I can lock back up, okay?"

"Alright," You agree, slipping into the bathroom and peeking through the door to call after him, "Thank you again!"

Jake beelines for the bar, reaching around the countertop to grab two bottles of beer. They're stored in an ice bucket, but he prefers them to the tap because they're quicker and easier.

"Hey!" Coyote barks, mad dogging him playfully, "You gonna pay for those, sir?"

"If these help me get that lady's number," Jake rushes back to the tables near the bathroom, sitting at one and setting the other bottle across from him, "I'll give Penny my life savings."

[sinofpride626]

Always Read the Terms and Conditions

You found an advert online, a new company looking for taste testers for their new product. A special milk shake said to put all others to shame. Typical over the top buzzwords. But the offer was for food money. You clicked on, scrolling through all the rules and hitting accept. Who had time to read all those anyways? After just a few minutes you were accepted. Your weekly shipment would begin soon

Wait what?

A few weeks later the first delivery came. Strange, you wondered. You didn't remember putting in your address but, it was so long ago. You probably just forgot. The important thing was the milkshake. You normally didn't care for them, they weren't exactly healthy. But when you were being paid to try who could resist?

It was definitely worth it. The taste was divine. Refreshing and smooth. It felt like popping in your mouth while coating your insides on the way down. A strange mix that shouldn't have worked. But it tasted amazing. You quickly provided the feedback. Opting for further samples. They even had all your favorite flavors

Day by day, week by week. They arrived. Each more better than the last. You felt amazing. Stress free. When you walked out in the streets everyone gave you looks.

Why were they looking?

Who cares? The confidence boost was amazing. You quit your job, you upgraded your wardrobe. All your old clothes never sat right anyways. You hated how small and tight they were, you just needed the push to finally change it up.

Something is wrong

Something was wrong, but who cared, you were loving life. Being handled free milkshakes everyday. It was so nice of them to bump you to premium taster. A week was too long a wait. You needed them all the time.

It tastes too yummy 💗

You got an email, asking for an in person meeting to discuss the milkshakes. Too excited you went immediately.

Was my door frame always so small?

You passed a gym and laughed. Why did people focus so hard on being fit and in shape?

Nothing was worth giving up the milkshake for

You don't remember arriving. You don't remember what you said. All you remember was being offered a new milkshake. Then black

You wake up in a barn. Your clothes missing.

You try move but you can't. Hooked up to a machine. You see a mirror but don't recognize the woman looking back. A massive thick figure. Huge tits that jiggled with every movement. Ready to burst.

A huge ass that looked like a Disney Pixar mom

Moo... Who is she?

You struggle. The machine whirs to life.

You couldn't have said yes to this

But you did

There was no way. But a copy of the contract floated to your mind.

Oh god.....

Your thoughts started to swim, as the machine started to suck. It hurt so much.

It feels so good

A feeding tube came down. Forcing it's way into your mouth

Mmmmmmmmhh!

A familiar tasting, smooth cold drink forced its way in

so fucking good

Why were you complaining

I need more

It's all you ever wanted

Moooooore, mooooo

Nothing else matters

Have to feel good

This was your dream.

Moooooo

All you need

Mooooooo

Moooooooo

Mooooooo~ 💗

[reccyls]

The Reaper and the Self-Righteous Monarch’s First Condemnation - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

This event contains major spoilers for Victor’s route.

It was now around a month after I had first met Victor. After receiving an invitation from him, I arrived at a castle that was built on the royal palace grounds.

Victor: Think of this as our hideout. A secret base from where we fight evil with evil.

The lights of the chandeliers reflected off the polished floors, making the entire castle shine beautifully.

(Ironic for a secret base for evil.)

After I took his hand in the audience chamber that day, Victor said that we would need somewhere to work out of. He had his eye on an unused castle that lay within the palace grounds, and had spent the past month repurposing it for our needs.

Victor: A room has been prepared for you. Feel free to do as you like with it.

William: Are you staying here too?

Victor: There’s no shortage of rooms.

(What a non-answer.)

We walked down the corridors as Victor explained the castle’s rooms to me. A few servants caught my eye.

Victor: All the servants working here are deaf, so if you need to communicate with them, use sign language or writing.

William: I see.

(By hiring only deaf servants, it safeguards our secrets while also providing employment opportunities to them.)

This gave me a good idea of what Victor was like, both as a ruler, and as a man with things he needed to keep hidden.

Victor: And over here is the common room.

He opened the door, revealing a lounge. At his direction, I sat down on a couch and was handed a stack of documents.

Victor: It’s perhaps rather early, but it is now time to pay evil unto evil.

The documents contained information about a particular nobleman.

William: Robert Sullivan… He’s the son of that viscount, isn’t he?

Victor: Due to some issues with some scandals, he was unable to inherit the family business. After his younger brother inherited instead, he was left with nothing.

William: But surely he still had some inheritance at least.

Victor nodded and continued.

Victor: Over the past half year, he had been using said inheritance as capital to import a large number of goods from overseas. The shipments are all the same items.

Charcoal, potassium nitrate, sulfur… Ingredients used to make gunpowder.

Victor: Though his character is unfortunate, he does have some talent as an engineer. And he put that to use…

William: Creating new recipes for explosives.

Victor: Precisely.

William: I would think the military would be beside themselves over the chance to recruit him, if he’s as talented as you imply.

Victor: Unfortunately, that isn’t likely to be possible. He has chosen to offer his talents to a group of republicans.

I looked up in surprise, and Victor met my eyes with a wry smile.

Victor: The concept of an inherited right to rule exists only because of this country. Perhaps it would be for the best if the throne were overthrown. Victor: If I did that, I would gain legitimacy in the eyes of the people. It could change the world.

William: …If one’s desire for recognition and legitimacy starts leading them down the wrong path, it could lead to the country’s doom.

Ever since Queen Victoria took the throne, republicanism had only grown more extreme in the country. The Privy Council were nominally loyal to Her Majesty, but the nobles knelt to the queen while simultaneously scheming to undermine her. It was clear to me that there were very few people who truly served Her Majesty.

Victor: So tonight, we’re going to infiltrate the republicans’ stronghold!

William: Hold on. You’re the one they’re targeting. William: Why do we have to go together? I can handle it alone.

Victor: No, I’ll come along. What else do I have this identity as Victor for, if not to go out into the field? Victor: …And what’s more, as ruler, I hope that lives need not be lost unnecessarily.

He stood and extended his hand to me.

Victor: If we can convince them to settle things peacefully, that would be ideal.

(No matter what I say, I don’t think he’ll listen to me.)

I sighed and took his hand, using it to pull myself up.

William: If Her Majesty were to be killed, her loyal subjects would be at a loss. Please don’t do anything reckless.

Looking extremely pleased, Victor smiled.

-----

Just as midnight arrived, we found our way to the base where the republicans were staying. Along the way, we made casual conversation to get to know each other better, asking about how we spent our days and what foods we liked. We also discussed what we should name this organization, what we would be doing in the future, and our ideals. The conversation was entertaining. I found that we got along so well it was like we were old friends.

William: Now that I think about it, sometimes you swap back and forth between different ways of speaking.

Victor: …Oh, well. I used to speak a bit more pompously. But it’s more convenient for my cover to change how I speak. I can’t go around talking like a royal all the time. Victor: But you know how habits are hard to change. It slips out sometimes if I’m not careful.

[TL note: William was noticing that Victor swapped between using 僕 ‘boku’ and 俺 ‘ore’ for his first person pronoun.]

But then Victor laid his hand on a door handle, bringing an end to our conversation. The entire atmosphere changed.

Victor: Let’s go.

When we entered, the republicans were holding a gathering. Robert Sullivan was standing on a stage, giving a speech to the gathered crowd.

Robert: This bomb has twice the power of a conventional one!

As he held the bomb out for the crowd to admire, cheers broke out in the audience. We hid ourselves in the back of the seats, listening to the speech.

Robert: When the new day dawns, our revolution will begin!

Victor’s brow furrowed.

Robert: Bombs will rain down on the palace from every direction, setting the world aflame! Robert: And meanwhile, our courageous brothers lying in wait in the palace will stop at nothing to take the queen’s head, giving their lives up for the battle. Robert: …It may also be difficult for the ones launching the bombs to return alive.

There was silence for a moment, before Robert once again held up the bomb.

Robert: But in order to bring peace to this country, we must defeat the queen!

Republicans: Wooo!!

Victor: …I see.

As the crowd raised their swords in excitement, Victor closed his eyes. After letting out a quiet breath, he opened them again. When I met his eyes again, I saw that they were filled with determination.

Victor: …And what’s more, as ruler, I hope that lives need not be lost unnecessarily. Victor: If we can convince them to settle things peacefully, that would be ideal.

(Ah. So that’s it.)

Realizing what was going to happen, I stood.

Robert: Who the hell are you!?

William: It must be terribly lonely, to be a ruler.

Victor: William…?

William: You wish for people’s freedom and happiness more than anything else. And yet your hopes and feelings can’t reach them, their paths stray from yours, and the number of lives you cannot save only continues to increase.

Step by step, I approached the crowd.

William: You plan to kill the queen by sacrificing your lives. Will the future you envision bring you freedom?

I stopped walking when I had every member of the crowd in my field of vision.

William: Your master loves you so, no matter how deep your betrayal runs. But now, she no longer extends her hand to you.

That sigh of only a few seconds ago was Victor finally giving up on them. Victor had decided that he could not save them, and so closed his eyes to gather the strength to move forward.

Robert: Someone get him!

William: “Everyone, stay where you are.”

In an instant, everyone except Victor and I froze in place. I could see the crowd’s confused gaze darting here and there. As their expressions slowly morphed into fear, I turned towards Victor.

William: They plan to commit slaughter under the guise of justice. In my eyes, they are evil. William: But what do you think, Victor?

His cold eyes said everything for him.

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

(Inspired by this fanart. All credits to the artist, I couldn't find a direct link to them, but THANK YOU for inspiring me to write this!)

Summary: AU of how Sylus & you (reader) met. Both are leaders of large factions in the N109 Zone, Onychinus (Sylus) and Himitsu (you). They have been cutting into your territory over the past few weeks, so you decided an introduction is required. You laid the trap and Sylus walked right into it. But this is just the beginning...

CHAPTER ONE - Golden Opportunity

Three weeks of nothing but blood and lost profits. You’re exhausted, drained, frustrated. You throw back a second glass of wine and lean back in your chair. You kick off your heels and pull your feet up into the chair, settling yourself in for another late night. You glance over at your heavy wooden desk. A pile of documents and photographs, detailing the gruesome exchange Himitsu and Onychinus had earlier that day. 

Your contact with the N109 Zone police, if you can even call them “police,” dropped the folder off along with a desperate plea to stop the carnage. 

“Looks like it’s getting worse, your boys are working overtime and only getting cut down. Please, I’m begging here, tell Hunter to resolve this. I can’t keep bringing you this intel. My superiors are already on edge.”

You always chuckle when you hear the name “Hunter” - the name of the head of Himitsu. At least that’s what the public believes. You had to come up with a name that carried some weight and maybe some danger. But was ambiguous, most refer to “Hunter” as a he, making you smile every time. You wish you could reveal yourself and watch their jaws drop when they realize a woman runs one of the deadliest crews in the Zone. But you’re far too careful to show your hand. There’s only one person who knows and you always intended to keep it that way.

Every move you make, every client you secure, Onychinus is right on your fucking heels. Himitsu has gunned them down over and over. You’ve ordered their warehouses to be burned to the ground and dealers bought out. The violence continues, and has been getting worse every day. You lean forward to grab the wine bottle off your desk and pour another glass. How do you get this to stop? You need to get back to Linkon and recruit some new blood for your shrinking crew. Not to mention work on repairing the damage made to the Himitsu reputation and bank accounts. You swirl the dark liquor in your glass, you lean back once more, contemplating your next move. 

A shrill creak brings you back to reality and you look over at the door to your office opening slightly. Dorian, your right hand and the “face” of Himitsu, enters quietly. You can tell by the look on his face that the news he brings is not good. 

“How many glasses deep are you?” Dorian says before sitting on the edge of your desk. You chuckle softly.

“Not enough I’m sure.” Dorian smirks, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Good news and bad news.”

“Just rip the bandaid off.” You gulp down your third glass of wine and pinch the bridge of your nose, bracing for what Dorian will say next.

“Our latest shipment coming in from Linkon was intercepted. I don’t have to tell you by whom.” His voice deepens. “Onychinus is taking bigger risks, attacking a convoy so close to the border.”

“Did we lose everything?” You can feel your stomach flip as your brain has already started crunching the numbers. Not only was money lost, but one of your most important clients was depending on you to get that shipment to them. Disappointing them will be a huge hit.  

“Well, yes, but…” Dorian can’t finish his sentence before you stand up and flip open your golden butterfly knife, dark sapphires inlayed in the handle. You start pacing, flipping the knife in quick circles and slashes. Your nerves were officially shot and so were your chances of retaining that client. Your bare feet shuffled along the carpet. 

“Boss, do you remember the last time you were angry pacing and practicing your new little hobby?” His teasing tone only made your frustrations grow. You wince at the memory as you glance down at the scar on your knee. You were careless and hadn’t held the knife correctly, the slice across your flesh happening so quickly you thought it hadn’t happened. You shake your head and glance up at Dorian.

“Do you actually have good news related to Himitsu or are you going to give me some bullshit about a new bakery stall opening at the night market?” 

Dorian chuckles. He stands and walks toward you, careful to avoid your hand continuously flipping the butterfly knife. “We lost a lot today, but gained something that will turn the tide.” 

You snap the butterfly knife closed and look at Dorian closely. He might be taller than you by several inches, but your white-hot stare sent the right signal. Dorian sank into the red leather armchair in front of your desk. He raises his hands in surrender.

“It’s a bit of a long story, but I’ll tell you the abridged version.” His typical goofy smile tugging at his lips helped relax your shoulders. 

“No, tell me everything.” You grab the wine bottle on your desk, now already half-way empty and sit down in the armchair next to Dorian. You don’t bother to use the glass, now abandoned on the desk, you just drink from the bottle as he tells the story.

Himitsu always had a backup plan, and this convoy was no exception. A massive order of damaged protocores coming directly from the UNICORN Division. The deal you made with the disposal company to reroute the truck to the N109 Zone had been in place for nearly 2 years. A backup squad always accompanied the operation. Traveling in the neighborhood parallel to the convoy's route. The route had changed every month to avoid an interception from police or competition. Somehow, Onychinus knew what path they had chosen this month and launched their attack on the truck, backup was only two blocks away and arrived quickly. While the product was taken, a member of the Onychinus team was injured and left behind. Dorian was fortunate enough to be riding with the squad when the attack happened and made the split second decision to keep the man alive. Dorian informed you that your golden opportunity is handcuffed to a chair, ready for an interrogation. 

You stand up, trying to ignore how dizzy you’d become, and straighten out your fitted dress. “I’m going to talk to them.” Dorian reaches out for your arm to steady you and attempts to pull you back. You lose your balance and he catches you pulling you to his lap. Dorian laughs at your tipsy state and you can’t help but join in. 

“I don’t think that is a smart play, boss. He’s still unconscious. We had to dig a couple bullets out and put a couple staples in his head. Get some rest, talk to him in the morning.”

“Fine.” 

You stand up slowly. You circle around your desk to pick up your shoes before continuing to your office door still barefoot. You smile to yourself as you leave your office and head to the elevator. You have a piece of the puzzle. This man could give you confirmation about the intel you’ve gathered on the leader of Onychinus. And it would offer you the chance to set the trap you’ve been dreaming about for the past few weeks.  

You hit the penthouse button and pace around the elevator until you reach the top floor. You press your thumb to the pad on your door and push it open when the chimes confirming the lock has come undone. You drop your shoes at the door and use your butt to close it behind you. The chime automatically plays to secure the lock. You place the nearly empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter and shuffle to your room. Along the way, you remove your heavy gold chain necklace and golden hoops and tug at the zipper of your dress. 

You discard the jewelry on your bedside table and let your dress fall to the floor in a heap around your ankles. You don’t bother to remove your makeup - one of your many bad habits - and slip into bed in your underwear, relishing the cool feeling of the silken sheets against your warm skin. You usually don’t drink that much, but lately, wine has been your closest friend. Besides Dorian. He’ll just have to get used to cleaning up after you for a few more days. This man will be your ticket out of this bloody war. You smile into your pillow, remembering the cage you have prepared for the illusive Onychinus leader.

“Sylus…” You mutter into your pillow as you drift off to sleep. 

Chapter 1: https://shorturl.at/Bx95C Chapter 2: https://shorturl.at/3PwTi Chapter 3: https://shorturl.at/a7xnF Chapter 4: https://shorturl.at/fKYgX

[ambarraquel]

Okay, since Episode 3 is out, I want to share what’s been on my mind since Season 1. I don’t know if this is possible or logical, but it’s about Irving.

This might turn into a rant 🤣. But keep reading—I promise it makes sense in a LUMONesque way.

1. We know severance is mostly irreversible, and Rhegabi just confirmed how hard it is to send messages between the innie and outie.

2. So how does outie Irving recognize that elevator?

Thanks to Felicia, we now know it’s “The Exports Hall,” where Optics & Design used to handle shipments directly. But if Irving has never been there, how does he know about it? It makes no sense for him to just know.

And then there’s his connection with Burt—it feels so deep, almost like it transcends severance.

What if Irving has been at LUMON longer than he remembers? The severance procedure can selectively erase memories, and we already know about the past MDR Refinement Calamity that LUMON may have distorted to create the lore and keep the departments separated. The most important thing is that MDR is curiously the center of all that weird lore!

Now, the OTC escape plan/MDR Microdat Uprising of Irving Mark Dylan and Helly has become new lore with the whole claymation thing—which we know has been spread to other innies, at least to some extent, because of the new employees Mark briefly shared as coworkers. What if that alleged cannibalistic assault from the paintings actually happened?

Maybe the exports elevator area was so successful that they decided to utilize it in different forms—thus the cannibalistic revolt. LUMON could have devised a whole plan, making that revolt happen as they tried to crack the technology enough to create Mrs. Casey. (Or maybe the revolt was an accident that led them to the technology behind her.) So maybe that place beyond the hall exists because LUMON had to devise a place for trial and error? Maybe employees involved in the cannibalistic revolt were wiped and “reset” down there? Maybe LUMON was experimenting with early severed chips?

We know for sure that down there is where they keep Miss Casey in storage. If LUMON can erase memories with severance, it makes sense they could also erase people or keep them in a state of suspension. So if Irving has been there before, maybe something happened to him—maybe he was even kept there as punishment. Maybe that was an early Break Room. Whatever it was, it must have been such a strong memory that, even without fully understanding it, it pushed him to take LUMON down.

Which brings me back to Irving and the plausibility of his remembrance.

1) What if he was originally in Optics & Design and met Burt over and over again, kept falling in love, and they went to the Exports Hall for work early on? So he was familiar with it, but didn’t expect to be exported himself. Maybe one of his last, most emotional memories was that black hall, which is why he remembers it. Maybe LUMON erased them multiple times because they wouldn’t allow it—or maybe they even knew each other as outies and chose to have their memories wiped. Maybe that’s why Burt followed Irving in his car—because he actually knows his outie—but that seems more convoluted 🤣.

2) Another theory of mine is that maybe Irving was part of the original cannibalistic revolt of MDR. I’d love to believe he also met Burt at that time, and he somehow survived and chose to have his memories reset rather than be fired—because that would mean living in a world where Burt was also in it, even if he couldn’t remember him. And maybe Burt was also reset?

So, the only explanation that makes sense to me for outie Irving remembering that elevator is that he’s been there before, but his complete experience was erased—except for that one lingering image of the elevator.

(And yes, I know the much simpler explanation is that someone from a Let’s Take Down LUMON secret society could’ve shown him that picture, and he’s painting it over and over because he’s part of an effort to take LUMON down. But honestly, that’s too simple—it takes the fun out of it 🤣.)

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[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, cartel

Part 2

Novel Attraction - Part 3

The air inside the templo is thick with smoke and tension, the scent of burning tobacco and motor oil mixing with the desert heat that seeps through the walls.

Angel leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his expression a mix of boredom and barely concealed irritation.

Another job for the Galindos.

Same shit, different day.

Bishop sits at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he leans forward, elbows resting against the scarred wood.

Around him, the inner circle of the Mayans murmurs among themselves—Taza, Tranq, Creeper, Gilly, Coco, and, of course, Angel.

Bishop exhales slowly, running a hand over his beard before speaking. “Galindo’s got a situation in Sonora. Not a fucking shipment, not a turf issue. This ain’t about moving weight. It’s about cleaning up a mess.”

Silence.

Hank shifts in his seat, arms crossed. Taza glances toward Bishop but says nothing.

Angel leans back, arms draped over the chair, expression deceptively relaxed—but his eyes are sharp. Watching. Calculating.

Bishop continues, voice even. “We take this, we’re not just earnin’ cash. We’re proving we’re worth more to Galindo than just running his shit.”

His meaning is clear.

A job like this? It puts them in deep.

Deeper than they already are.

Angel doesn’t even try to hide his skepticism.

“‘what where fucking Janitors now ?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “’Cause last time we did a job for Miguel, we spent six hours in the desert, waiting for some pendejo coyote who never showed.”

Bishop exhales sharply, shooting him a look. “You done?”

Angel shrugs, unapologetic. “I mean, I can keep goin’.”

There’s a quiet chuckle from Gilly, but the mood in the room stays heavy.

Bishop doesn’t rise to the bait, just watches Angel with unreadable patience. “This job is different. The contacts are solid.”

Angel smirks. “Sure. And lemme guess—Miguel’s already got our cut worked out? Probably somethin’ real generous.”

Creeper shifts in his seat, muttering under his breath. “We need the work, mano.”

That’s the truth of it.

The club’s been stretched thin—too many moving pieces, too many broken alliances. Whether Angel likes it or not, they need this job.

Angel exhales slowly, rolling his tongue against his teeth.

There’s always a risk.

This isn’t what they signed up for.

Moving product? That’s business. But making something—or someone—disappear? That’s personal.

“What exactly needs to be ‘cleaned up’?” Tranq asks, his voice measured.

Bishop’s jaw tightens. “Details are light. All I know is it’s in Sonora, and it’s gotta be handled. Quickly. Quietly.”

Angel shifts, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Something doesn’t sit right.

Coco speaks up, voice dry. “We takin’ out a rat? A loose end? Or a whole fucking family?”

Angel, never learned to keep his mouth shut.

“So, what’s the play if things go south?” he asks, eyes shifting back to Bishop “‘Cause I don’t know about you, but I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of bein’ the only ones takin’ bullets for the Galindos.”

Taza speaks up for the first time. “We’ll have a fallback route. If it gets hot, we pull out.”

Angel lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That always works out great for us.”

Bishop’s patience is wearing thin. “You got a better idea?”

Angel leans back again, arms still crossed. “If we say no?”

Bishop holds his gaze, unwavering. "Then someone else does it. And we lose our seat at the fucking table.”

They need the money.

They need Galindo’s favor. But this?

This feels different.

He’s done dirty shit before—but there’s a line, even in this life.

“Fuck.” Angel mutters under his breath.

The meeting is held at a private estate on the outskirts of Santo Padre, the kind of place that radiates power in silent, unspoken ways.

The long gravel driveway winds past manicured hedges and imported stone fountains, the ostentatious display of old money and new blood.

Angel parks his bike with the others, glancing at the row of black SUVs lined up like sentinels along the driveway. Galindo security.

“Real subtle,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his kutte pockets.

EZ gives him a warning glance, but Angel just smirks.

They both know what this meeting is—a power play.

The interior of the estate is polished and clinical, all marble floors and dark leather furniture, but there’s an underlying coldness to it.

They’re led into a spacious office, the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and cologne.

Miguel Galindo stands behind a massive oak desk, posture composed, his expression unreadable. To his right, Nestor, his ever-present enforcer, stands with his arms crossed—silent, watchful.

Bishop takes the seat across from Miguel without hesitation, arms draped over the chair like he owns the space. The rest of the Mayans remain standing.

Angel leans against a bookshelf, arms crossed, studying Miguel carefully.

The cartel boss doesn’t rush. He lets the tension stretch, a tactic meant to remind them who holds the power in this room.

Finally, he speaks. “The job in Sonora is… bigger than you were led to believe.”

Bishop’s jaw tightens. “How much bigger?”

Miguel’s gaze flickers toward him, then slowly scans the rest of the room, his expression giving nothing away.

“There are… footprints. Records. Sensitive information in various locations that need to be altered, in our favor.”

His fingers tap lightly against the desk.

"This isn’t just about making something disappear. It’s about making sure it was never there.”

Angel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Sounds like you need a fucking hacker, not a biker club.”

A flicker of amusement crosses Miguel’s face. “who said it was digital ?"

Angel frowns, but Miguel doesn’t elaborate.

EZ, always the more careful one, asks the obvious question. "What kind of information?”

Miguel’s smile is thin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The kind that could put all of us in the ground.”

The room goes silent.

Bishop’s fingers drum against the armrest of his chair, a habit that only shows up when he’s thinking through something messy. "How many locations?”

Miguel leans back in his chair, fingers laced together. “A selection, the details are still being gathered”

“And this specialist?” Bishop asks, eyes narrowing. “Someone we can trust?”

The air in Miguel Galindo’s office grows noticeably heavier as Nestor steps forward, placing a thick manila folder onto the polished oak desk in front of Bishop.

Angel leans in slightly, curious but guarded, watching as Bishop flips it open.

A series of black-and-white surveillance photos spill across the desk.

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then, Angel’s brows furrow. “…No fucking way.”

Across from him, EZ goes rigid.

Bishop doesn’t react—not at first. His fingers slide one of the photos closer, studying it with the same measured intensity he applies to every decision.

The woman in the images is smiling the photos show her in different places—locking up her apartment, stepping out of a coffee shop, walking through the Santo Padre streets with a bag slung over her shoulder.

The girl from the library.

The same girl Angel had been teasing just a couple of days ago.

The realization settles like a slow, creeping weight in his chest.

Miguel watches their reactions carefully, a hint of amusement flickering behind his otherwise unreadable gaze.

“She’s the specialist.”

Angel swears under his breath, glancing toward EZ, who looks just as caught off guard. Neither of them say anything.

Not yet.

Miguel’s voice remains calm, measured. “She doesn’t know she’s involved yet. That’s where you come in.”

Bishop leans back in his chair, expression unreadable. “And what exactly do you want us to do?”

Miguel exhales slowly, his fingers tapping against the desk. "Persuade her.”

A loaded silence follows.

Angel can feel EZ stiffening beside him, but he keeps his expression neutral.

Miguel continues. “She’s not some mercenary. She may need some ... convincing.”

Nestor shifts slightly, arms still crossed over his chest.

His tone turns sharper, more calculating. “That means I expect you to keep her on track. Keep her in check.”

Angel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “So, what? We’re supposed to babysit some clueless librarian and hope she plays along?”

Miguel tilts his head and gives Angel a sharp look.

The meeting moves on, but Angel barely hears the next few minutes of conversation.

Angel keeps his expression carefully composed, but his mind is racing.

She’s just some girl—who barely seemed capable of handling a locked door, let alone some kind of cartel-level data erasure.

The meeting room inside the Galindo estate was bathed in low, warm light, but it did nothing to soften the tension tightening in Angel’s shoulders.

He sat with his arms crossed, elbow braced on the edge of the long conference table, fingers rubbing idly over his jaw as he listened to Miguel Galindo speak.

“By the end of the week, I want her in my pew.” The words landed like a hammer.

No hesitation. No room for negotiation.

Angel felt his chest tighten.

From the corner of his eye, he saw EZ go still, though his face betrayed nothing.

Bishop leaned forward slightly, voice calm but firm. “That’s a tight timeline.”

Miguel didn’t flinch. "It needs to be done.”

His gaze swept the room, calculating. Expectant.

Angel forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach was twisting.

Does he even know what the hell he’s asking?

Miguel Galindo wanted them to take a girl, a librarian—a woman who probably didn’t even know what a cartel really was—and make her sit in front of him in that damn church pew, surrounded by men who would kill over a bad business deal.

Angel had seen the kind of people who sat there.

And he’d seen what happened when they failed to meet expectations.

“And if she doesn’t cooperate?” It was Taza who asked, though Angel caught the way Bishop shot him a sharp glance.

Miguel’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then you make her.”

The weight behind the words settled into Angel’s chest like a stone.

Miguel wasn’t asking.

Angel ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

Bishop’s fingers drummed against the table, deep in thought  “We’ll get it done.”

The words came out solid.

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

That was Bishop’s way.

Angel closed his eyes for half a second, jaw tightening.

She was alone in Santo Padre.

She had no one looking out for her.

And Miguel Galindo wanted her in his pew.

…By the end of the fucking week.

The weight of Miguel’s order hung heavy over them.

Angel sat in one of the worn-out chairs in the clubhouse, a beer resting against his thigh, his knee bouncing with restless energy. Across from him, EZ leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees.

Gilly sat back against the couch, arms crossed, while Coco dragged a cigarette between his lips, his dark eyes unreadable.

Find you. Take you. Deliver you.

Angel exhaled slowly, jaw tightening.

"So, how we doing this?” Coco’s voice was casual, but there was a sharpness behind it. He wasn’t just talking shit.

He wanted a real plan.

Gilly nodded. "She don’t got nobody looking out for her.” He looked over at Angel. “Shouldn’t be hard, right?”

Angel felt something cold settle in his stomach.

No one looking out for her.

It was true.

And it made it a hundred times worse.

He glanced at EZ, who was watching him carefully. EZ had been there when they ran into you. Ez saw the way Angel looked at you.

Angel gritted his teeth and looked away.

"Best way to do it?” Coco mused, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Wait ‘til she’s out late. Grab her, keep it quiet. She’s smaller then us—”

Angel’s grip tightened on his beer bottle. “Not like that.”

The words were out before he could stop them, voice sharper than he meant.

Coco raised an eyebrow. “Relax, hermano. ain’t sayin’ we hurt her.”

Angel exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw.

EZ was still watching him. “There’s better ways to do it.”

Angel shrugged, trying to keep his tone casual. “She ain’t street smart. Talk to her the right way? She’ll come easy.”

“Pfft.” Coco scoffed. “You trying to ask her on a date or kidnap her?”

Angel shot him a glare.

Gilly leaned forward slightly. “She’s been workin’ at that library all day, yeah?”

EZ nodded. “That means she’s got a routine.”

“Library closes late,” EZ continued. “Not a lotta people around.”

Angel ran a hand down his face.

He didn’t want to think about this.

Didn’t want to plan how to take you.

But he had to.

Because if they fucked this up?

You’d end up in Miguel’s hands anyway.

And that was a hell of a lot worse.

“We follow her home.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “Let her think it’s just another night. Then we move.”

Coco sighed dramatically. " Fuck man, I miss the days when we just knocked people over the head and threw ‘em in a trunk.”

Angel shot him a look. “Yeah? Try that shit, pendejo what happens if they see bruises on her”

Coco rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll do it your way, Romeo.”

EZ didn’t say anything for a while.

He was watching Angel, brows furrowed slightly. “You good with this?”

Angel’s fingers tapped against the glass of his beer. “like we got a fucking choice?”

[autisticadult]

The deal

Chapter two: the meeting

Warnings: once again yall, pretty tame :) mafiaboss!elijah AU :) slow burn has me in a chokehold so buckle up. As always, minors DNI !!!! Dom/sub dynamics are coming !!!!

A/N: I’m so glad chapter one got so much love yall :) I am really feeling slow burn for this for some reason so I hope that’s ok, I did give yall a nice lil moment at the end though, enjoy <3

Taglist(message me if you’d like to join!): @tinysunshine

Life under Elijah Mikaelson’s roof was nothing like you’d expected, though you weren’t sure what you had expected. Perhaps more violence, more overt displays of the power that made him the most feared man in New Orleans. Instead, you found yourself tangled in a web of subtleties, power plays, and rules so unspoken they might as well have been etched into the mansion’s walls.

For the most part, Elijah left you alone during the first few weeks, appearing only when he had some use for you. These interactions ranged from casual conversation to tasks he assigned without explanation. At first, you had hoped that he might lose interest in you, that his fascination was fleeting. But as the days passed, you realized Elijah wasn’t the kind of man who let go of things he claimed as his.

One evening, after finishing a task in the kitchen—sorting a shipment of imported bottles for Elijah’s collection—you wandered into the dining room, hoping to steal a moment of solitude. Instead, you found Rebekah seated at the massive oak table, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Y/N,” she drawled, her tone sharp as a dagger. “Adjusting to life in the gilded cage?”

You hesitated in the doorway. Rebekah was beautiful and dangerous, her presence a constant reminder of the family’s reputation. But she was also unpredictable, and you couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or looking for a reason to toy with you.

“Trying,” you replied carefully.

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “Smart girl. But I wonder, do you truly understand what you’ve done?”

You blinked, unsure of her meaning. “I’m protecting my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sure you believe that,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “But you’ve chained yourself to Elijah, and he doesn’t do anything without reason. Whatever he sees in you, it won’t be simple. Or easy.”

Rebekah’s words unsettled you, but you pushed the feeling aside. “I can handle it.”

She laughed, the sound musical but laced with disbelief. “Can you? Or are you just too stubborn to admit you’re in over your head?”

Before you could respond, the door to the dining room swung open, and Elijah entered, his presence immediately filling the space. He didn’t look at Rebekah; his dark gaze went straight to you.

“Y/N,” he said smoothly, “a moment, if you please.”

You followed him without question, feeling Rebekah’s knowing gaze on your back.

Elijah led you to his study, a room you’d been in only once before. He gestured for you to sit, but as always, his politeness felt like a command rather than a suggestion.

“I’ve been observing you,” he began, leaning back in his chair. His words were measured, deliberate, as though each one carried weight.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “And?”

“You’re resilient,” he said, his tone almost… approving. “You’ve adapted more quickly than I anticipated. Most would have crumbled under the pressure by now.”

“Maybe I’m not like most people,” you replied, trying to mask your unease with confidence.

His lips curved into a faint smile. “No, you’re not.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—a mix of admiration and something darker.

“I have a task for you,” he continued. “A test of sorts.”

You straightened in your chair, wary but curious. “What kind of test?”

“A meeting,” he said simply. “Tonight, you’ll accompany me to a gathering of… associates. Your role is to observe and, if necessary, speak on my behalf.”

Your stomach tightened. “Speak on your behalf? Why me?”

“Because I wish it,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it an opportunity to prove your worth.”

It wasn’t a request, and you knew better than to refuse. “I’ll do it,” you said, forcing confidence into your voice.

“Good,” he said, standing. “Wear something appropriate. We leave in an hour.”

The meeting took place in a dimly lit private club, far more refined than The Red Raven. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came when powerful people converged in a single room. Elijah moved through the crowd like a shadow, his every step purposeful. You stayed close, trying to blend into the background while keeping your senses alert.

At the center of the room was a long table surrounded by men and women who looked as dangerous as they were wealthy. Elijah took his seat at the head, his calm demeanor commanding instant respect.

You stood behind him, your hands clasped in front of you, trying not to let your nerves show. The conversation that followed was a delicate dance of words, veiled threats, and subtle power plays. Elijah spoke sparingly, but when he did, his voice cut through the room like a blade.

At one point, the attention shifted to you.

“And who’s this?” asked a man with a heavy French accent, his gaze raking over you. “Your new pet, Elijah?”

The insult made your blood boil, but before you could react, Elijah raised a hand, silencing the room.

“Y/N is my… advisor,” he said smoothly, his tone leaving no room for dispute. “She’s here to observe and ensure my interests are protected.”

The man smirked, clearly unimpressed. “I hope she’s worth the trouble.”

Elijah’s dark gaze fixed on the man, and the room grew unnervingly quiet. “Everything I do is worth the trouble, Monsieur Leclerc. You would do well to remember that.”

Leclerc paled, muttering a hasty apology. The meeting continued, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Elijah’s words—or the way he’d so effortlessly silenced a man who had clearly underestimated him.

When it was finally over, Elijah escorted you outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the club.

“You were a good girl tonight, darling.” he said, a little too casually for your liking, as you walked toward his car.

“I was?” you asked, shooting him a shy glance while still feeling the lingering tension from the meeting.

He stopped, turning to face you. Elijah reached out, taking her chin into her hand as he spoke, his calm tone demanding to be respected. “Yes. But remember this, Y/N—appearances are everything in my world, to me. Tonight, you were seen as an extension of me. Don’t ever give anyone a reason to doubt your loyalty. Or mine.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. As y:n obediently whispered out a small “yes sir, I understand.” Elijah dropped her chin and turned to the car.

As you climbed into the car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d truly passed his test—or if this was just the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The ride back to the Mikaelson estate was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between you and Elijah. You stared out the window, watching the streets of New Orleans blur into shadows and flickering lights. The gravity of the night weighed heavily on your shoulders, each moment replaying in your mind like a warning.

Elijah, as always, was unreadable, his gaze fixed forward. You wanted to ask him why he’d chosen you for tonight’s gathering, why he thought you were capable of navigating a room full of predators. But you knew better than to question him so openly.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand estate, he exited without a word, leaving you to follow. The mansion’s looming facade seemed more oppressive than ever, its beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

As you stepped inside, you heard a voice call out from the parlor.

“Back so soon?” Rebekah appeared in the doorway, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She leaned against the frame, her sharp eyes scanning you. “How did our little dove fare in the lion’s den?”

Elijah didn’t break stride. “She did as I expected,” he said, his voice calm but laced with finality. “Goodnight, Rebekah.”

With that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with his sister. Rebekah’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

“Well?” she prompted, arching a brow. “What did he make you do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

She let out a soft laugh, swirling her wine. “Oh, Y/N, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for, do you?”

You frowned. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because Elijah’s games are never as simple as they seem,” she said, stepping closer. “He’s a master of manipulation, and everything he does—everything—is part of a larger plan. You may think you’re just surviving, but you’re already a piece on his board.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let it show. “I’m not a pawn.”

Rebekah smirked, tilting her head as if appraising you. “Then prove it. Survive his tests, outmaneuver his enemies, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll live long enough to understand what you’ve truly gotten yourself into.”

She brushed past you, her laughter echoing softly as she disappeared into the depths of the house.

You stood there for a moment, her words swirling in your mind. A piece on his board. The thought unsettled you, but a spark of defiance burned in your chest. If Elijah thought he could control you, if he thought you’d play his game without question, he was wrong.

Whatever his plans were, you were determined to be more than a pawn.

Later that night, you found yourself in the small room Elijah had assigned to you. It was modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but it was yours, a rare pocket of solitude in a house full of chaos. You sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the events of the evening in your mind.

Elijah’s words echoed louder than Rebekah’s. “You were seen as an extension of me.” That single statement carried a weight you hadn’t fully grasped until now. Being tied to Elijah meant more than survival—it meant navigating a world of power, deception, and danger.

As you stared at the faint moonlight streaming through the window, you couldn’t help but rethink over everything from the meeting. The gravity of your situation setting in.

The knock on your door came late, and you hesitated before answering. The mansion was quiet, the sort of stillness that left every sound amplified. You half-expected Kol’s familiar antics or Rebekah with another barbed comment. But when you opened your mouth to call out, your voice caught, something stopping you.

“Come in,” you said finally, barely above a whisper.

The door opened, and it wasn’t Kol. Elijah stepped inside, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the dim hallway light. He closed the door softly behind him, his eyes locking onto yours. He looked calm, composed, as always—but there was a weight to his gaze tonight that made the air around you feel charged.

“Elijah,” you said, standing automatically. “Is something the matter?”

His head tilted slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. “No,” he said, voice low, smooth as honey. “I simply wished to… clarify something.”

“Clarify?” you asked, your pulse quickening. His presence was unnerving, but not in the way it should have been. Not in the way someone so powerful and dangerous should unnerve you.

“You’ve done well these past weeks,” he began, taking a step closer. “Adapted quickly. But I sense you’re still questioning your place here.”

Your brows furrowed. “I told you I’m here for my brother—”

“And I believe that you were,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “But I also believe you’ve underestimated what it means to be in my world. What it means to be tied to me.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to look away, to find some corner of the room to focus on instead of the intensity in his dark eyes. But you couldn’t.

“Everything here has rules, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “Unspoken, perhaps, but binding nonetheless. Every move you make reflects on me. Every choice you make… reflects us.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m trying, Elijah. But this—this isn’t something I’ve ever—”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “And yet, you’ve endured. Adapted.”

His words sent a strange warmth through you, though you couldn’t quite place why. And then he took another step closer, his presence utterly consuming now.

“But you still don’t trust me,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Not fully.”

You blinked at him, startled. “I—”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against your jaw so lightly it was almost like a question. The room seemed to narrow, leaving only him and the way your pulse quickened under his touch.

“You hold me at arm’s length,” he said softly. “Afraid of what it might mean to let me in. And yet, you’re still here.”

“Because I don’t have a choice,” you replied, though the words felt thin even as you said them.

His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You do,” he said. “You’ve always had a choice. You chose to step into my world, to take this path. And now…”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath caught. “Sure, it started with your dearest brother but..” Elijah said with a small smirk, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“You must decide if you’ll let me show you what it truly means to be here,” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Elijah…” You said his name, but you weren’t sure if it was a protest or a plea.

“If you wish for me to stop,” he said, his gaze locked on yours, “say the word, and I will.”

Your heart raced, the air thick between you. But you didn’t say anything.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, the kiss deepened, his hand tightening in your hair, anchoring you to him.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was deliberate, every movement carrying an unspoken promise. He kissed you as though he was trying to unravel every fear, every wall you’d built between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his voice was barely audible. “This world is dangerous, Y/N. I am dangerous. But if you choose to stay by my side, I will not let you falter. Do you understand?”

You swallowed hard, your hands still gripping the fabric of his jacket. “I… think I do.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable but intense. “You’ll come to understand fully,” he said, his tone both a promise and a warning. “In time.”

As he stepped back, the space between you felt colder, but the fire he’d ignited in your chest remained. And though he didn’t say anything else before leaving, the lingering warmth of his kiss spoke louder than words.

Whatever game Elijah was playing, whatever role he saw for you, you’d find a way to survive. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way to turn the tables. For now, all you could do was think

‘what the hell just happened.’