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bobfloydsbabe · 26 days ago

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the only painkiller i need | bob reynolds x oc

SUMMARY: Bob Reynolds meets the nurse assigned to take care of him and finds himself smitten.

WARNINGS: nurse!oc, inaccurate medical stuff, discussions of food and lack of appetite, touch starved bob, one vague smut reference. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: Lewis was so damn good in Thunderbolts that I simply could not help myself, so here I am with my first Bob Reynolds fic. Enjoy!

CREDIT: In fic divider by @saradika-graphics

His eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the lights above his head. He’s in the same large bed as last time he woke up, still wearing a grey sweatshirt, but something’s tugging at the skin of his hand.

He casts his eyes to the left and finds there’s someone in the room with him. It’s not that dark-haired woman from before. Valerie, he thinks her name was. No, this is someone else. A nurse, he realizes. She’s young, probably around his age, and she’s humming. The tune is unfamiliar but pleasant. It settles his nerves somewhat. She’s fiddling with an IV bag, maybe checking if the dosage is correct.

She hasn’t noticed he’s awake yet, so he turns his head a little and watches her for a moment. She’s wearing navy blue scrubs, a cream white long-sleeved top underneath for warmth, probably because it’s cold in the facility. She wears a small gold watch around her wrist, and a gold ring with a spiral design adorns her slender index finger.

“Where is she?”

The nurse screams. Actually screams. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, her pale skin going pink as she turns to look at him. Her wide eyes are somewhere between blue and green, and the blush makes her freckles stand out. They’re all over.

“Mr. Reynolds, you scared me.” She says, removing her hands from her mouth and pressing one against her chest where her heart is likely beating rapidly. Her lips are parted, breathing heavily.

“Sorry,” he mutters and looks away. Her eyes are too intense. “Where’s the woman?”

He’s not looking at her, but he senses her confusion. “Valentina?” He nods. That was her name, not Valerie. “She’s working on something else right now.”

He nods again. Tries to wring his hands, but something pulls at his skin, making him hiss. He looks down and finds a needle stuck in his vein and tape on top. He glances up at the nurse, who is typing something on a tablet.

“What’s this?” He asks and lifts his hand a little.

She looks at him with a warm smile that immediately sets him at ease. He tries to smile back, but he must be messing it up if the deepening crease between her brows is anything to go by.

“It’s just fluids,” she answers and sets the tablet down, turning to give him her full attention. “You’re dehydrated and a little anemic. I’m treating with an IV for hydration and an iron supplement to get your hemoglobin levels up.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he’s looking at her hair. It’s not red but not quite blonde either, and the strands of her braids alternate color in the woven pattern. It looks like the early morning sky when the sun’s just about to break over the horizon.

She looks at her tablet some more, checking things off and writing notes. He can’t stop staring and every time their eyes meet, he quickly looks away, but he can see her smiling in his periphery.

“Alright,” she says after a few minutes of this. “You’re all set. I’ll be back with something to eat and the iron supplement. It’s important you take it, Mr. Reynolds.”

He grimaces. Being called Mr. Reynolds makes him feel wrong, too much like his father. Bob sees her head tilt to the side, eyes trained on him, but she doesn’t say anything. Shaking her head slightly, she gathers her tablet and stethoscope and goes to leave. Her hand reaches for the door, and just as her fingertips touch the handle, his voice carries across the room.

“Wait!”

He flinches at the sound, unintentionally loud and desperate. She turns around to face him, but where he expected to see fear, he only sees concern. She’s smiling at him again and he feels a little unsteady.

“What’s your name?”

Her smile widens, and it’s like the sun after a long storm. It lights up the room more than the yellow glow of the lamps, making something in his stomach flutter and his cheeks feel warm.

“Andie,” she tells him. “Well, Andromeda, but it’s a mouthful, so everyone just calls me Andie.”

“Andie,” he says, trying it out and liking the way it rolls off his tongue. It suits her, he thinks.

“I’m Bob.” He inwardly cringes, hating how awkward and small his own voice sounds, but Andie doesn’t seem to notice or mind. She looks straight into his eyes and still her smile doesn’t falter.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bob.”

He’s not sure how much time passes, but she comes back like she promised.

She nudges the door open with her hip and comes in carrying a tray heaped with an assortment of food. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a bit of everything.”

He watches her set the tray down on the table between two comfortable-looking chairs and then almost panics when she starts to leave.

“Please stay!”

He cringes again. This is the second time in as many meetings that he’s shouted at her from across the room. She must think he’s a weirdo, and the thought of that makes him want to crawl under the covers and never come back out. But he forces himself to look up and meet her eyes.

Somehow, she’s still here and smiling at him. “Please,” he begs pathetically. “Please stay. I could use some company.”

She grins, and it’s like looking at the sun. “I was just closing the door.”

Heat flushes his cheeks. “Oh.”

She closes the door and crosses back to the table, taking a seat in the chair closest to her. Bob hesitates. Something about Valentina made his skin itch, but he feels none of that with Andie and he’s not sure why. A part of him doesn’t trust it, but he joins her. His appetite is questionable, but he knows he needs sustenance.

The tray is filled with all kinds of breakfast food. A stack of fluffy pancakes with a small jug of maple syrup to pour over it, chopped fruit, and a pile of toasted bread with various spread offerings. Juice and coffee too, if the smell of dark roast is anything to go by. His eyes catch on the tiny paper cup that he instantly recognizes, making his stomach drop.

Andie must notice. “It’s the iron supplement for anemia that we talked about,” she tells him. “It’s going to help with some of the dizziness and disorientation. I would never give you something that we hadn’t already discussed.”

Bob looks from the pill cup and up at her. Her face is serious. “You promise?”

The corners of her mouth turn up. “I promise.” He believes her. “Now, dig in.”

He reaches for the orange juice and the little red pill first. He stares at it for a moment, feeling conflicted, but then he looks at Andie, who’s pouring coffee for herself, and he realizes he trusts her. He has no reason to, but he does. So, he tosses the pill in his mouth and downs it with the juice.

He puts the glass down and looks at Andie. “Do you need to check if I’ve swallowed?”

Her eyes widen at the same time as a flush colors her cheeks, and for a second he’s confused until it dawns on him exactly what he said.

His eyes widen, matching hers perfectly. “I meant the pill,” he clarifies, wringing his hands but hissing at the pull on his skin from the IV that’s still in his hand. “I meant if I’d swallowed the pill, not… that. Or anything else. Just the pill.” He’s panic rambling. It’s happened before, but not in the presence of the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. The woman who still hasn’t said a word, but whose cheeks aren’t just pink anymore, but a shade of bright red.

He deflates. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, fully prepared for her to leave and never speak to him again. His silly heart already aches with longing.

“Bob, look at me.” He reluctantly meets her eyes. They look green right now. “It’s okay, I’m sorry too. My thoughts should not have gone there.”

He’s confused. She’s not upset? She’s apologizing to him?

“Hey,” she says, voice softer this time. “I trust you to take the medication we’ve agreed on. I don’t need to check.”

Relief floods his system, leaving him temporarily lightheaded. She looks so genuine, and she’s the first person in a long time who’s let him feel in control of what goes into his body and what doesn’t. That level of autonomy feels foreign, but he doesn’t hate it.

He likes it. He likes that Andie gave it to him.

They eat in companionable silence. Bob eats half a piece of toast with butter and a few grapes, while Andie piles her plate with pancakes, fruit, and two pieces of toast. She drinks a class of orange juice and a second cup of coffee with a splash of milk.

“Not hungry?” she asks after a while, holding a hand in front of her mouth as she chews. There’s no judgement in the way she looks at him.

He shrugs. “Not really.”

Andie hums and straightens her back. “I’ll let it slide,” she tells him and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “But when I come back later, I expect you to eat more. You need to build up your strength.”

“Valentina says I’m already strong.” He sounds pathetic even to his own ears. Like a child.

Andie’s full lips press together in a thin line. “Valentina says a lot of things,” she mutters, disdain in her voice, though he senses it’s not directed at him. She reaches across the table and tray, grasping his hand without the IV and notices her hand is so much smaller than his. There are freckles on it just like the ones on her face. He wants to trace them with his fingertips. With his lips too.

She looks right into his eyes, making him audibly swallow. “You are strong, Bob,” she assures him, voice sincere and intense. “But there’s a difference between superpower strong and normal healthy strength. I’m here to help with the second part.”

The skin on his hand tingles and his body feels hot all over. He stares down at their hands, turning his hand over so her palm meets his. He expects her to pull back, but she doesn’t, and when he lifts his gaze to her, her pretty lips are parted.

For a moment, they just look at each other. Bob watches color flush her cheeks and the strands of wavy hair that have come loose from her braids. She’s watching him too, but he doesn’t shy away from it like he normally would.

She offers him a soft smile, then stands and gestures to the tray. “All done?” He nods, standing too.

His heart races as she rearranges things on the breakfast tray. He can hear the blood pumping through his veins as his pulse quickens. He doesn’t want her to go. He doesn’t want to be alone again, alone with his thoughts. The self-doubt that’s been his constant companion since childhood is mostly quiet when she’s in the room.

“Alright,” she says and hoists the tray up in her arms, completely oblivious to Bob’s internal crisis. “I’ll be back a bit later to check on your IV. Can I get you to open the door for me?”

“Sure,” he mumbles and shuffles past her, arm brushing against her shoulder. Even the quick touch through clothing sends a jolt of electricity up his spine. He grabs the handle and pulls the door open.

“Thank you.” She stops next to him and offers him a smile. “And thank you for having breakfast with me.”

It sounds like a date when she puts it like that, and even though he knows that’s ridiculous, it makes heat rush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

He tucks his chin against his chest and mutters a low, “you’re welcome.”

She disappears out the door, taking what little light there was in the room with her.

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hederasgarden · 1 year ago

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Sweet Surrender

Summary: Jake’s given and taken orders a hundred times throughout his career but nothing compares to the moment he realizes you liked it. Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: 18+ only. Sexual content. Authority and sir kink, praise kink and Hangman being a cocky asshole. A/N: Thank you @wildbornsiren and @whatblogisthis216 for beta'ing and @blue-aconite for the beautiful graphic. In the future I may write part 2 if my muses cooperate. Reblogs and comments feed the muse.

Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Masterlist

Jake doesn’t pay much attention when you’re first introduced with the rest of the eggheads from the Office of Naval Research. Another one of many civilian engineers working on the new plane he’s been assigned to test. You keep things professional and polite although he can tell you find him attractive. It’s written all over your face and demeanor. You’re not the only one, several of the other engineers can’t seem to string together a full sentence around him.

You’re pretty, he can admit that much to himself, but a sweet face has never been enough on its own to hold his interest. Especially when he’s here to do a job, one he takes very seriously. The chance to be the first to fly the latest prototype jet isn’t an opportunity that comes up often. He volunteered immediately for the assignment when it came up, beating out most of his Top Gun class for the honor.

What he doesn’t bank on is having to sit through mind numbingly boring briefings and listen to the engineers argue anytime the tiniest adjustment is made. Most of his exposure to you is during these meetings but the first time you talk to him one on one is four weeks into the project.

That’s when he notices your particular….quirk. You’re following him out after the morning briefing, yammering away about the new wing design specs. He’s read your report in detail and already familiarized himself with the changes.

All Jake wants is a moment of silence to mentally prepare himself for today's test but you keep talking. It doesn’t help that he’s got the beginning of a headache forming behind his eyes and you’re oblivious to his attempts to cut the conversation short.

“I got it. I know how to fly a plane,” he tells you.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you start but he cuts you off with a look.

“I’ve read your briefing packet, top to bottom. It was extremely thorough. If I have questions you’ll be the first person I ask. Scout’s honor,” he adds, giving you a sloppy half salute that seems to confuse you for a moment before you start talking again.

“I just want to make sure-“ you begin and Jake sighs, annoyed.

“I got it. Now go sit down,” he tells you curtly.

You step back back, brows raised. Jake almost misses the way your pupils dilate and your lips part just so.

"I'm sorry, Sir," you reply. "I..."You stammer and tug at the hem of your shirt before hurrying to take a seat.

You watch him from behind the computer bank as he climbs into the cockpit and fiddles with the controls. He can feel you watching him as he puts his helmet on. It’s clear to him that you want his approval, even if you don’t realize it.

Fuck, that paired with the ‘sir’ and the delicious little waver in your voice spikes his interest. He waits until you’re practically squirming in your chair before he gives you a nod. Your response is immediate, shoulders dropping and the tense lines on your face easing.

It’s not just that he makes you nervous, he’s seen that plenty of times before. No, this is different. Special. You liked it when he barked an order at you.

–

Over the next few weeks, he watches you closely, taking note of your responses to everyone you interact with. It’s clear you crave praise from others, perking up under any compliment you receive and deflating under criticism. However, it’s your response to authority that interests him most. You’ve got a natural inclination to listen to orders but as far as Jake can tell he’s the only one who elicits that type of reaction from you.

Each encounter he has with you is a chance to test the theory he has. He catalogs the difference in your responses; when he’s softer in his requests versus an outright order. Jake sees how quickly you obey a demand to sit next to him at the next briefing, just so he can be close to you. The speed you produce a new report just for him is a powerful thing. He especially loves the way you blossom under his praise when he compliments changes you've made to improve performance.

You’re smart, undeterred when the men in the room try to speak over you. Even though you’re quiet-natured, you’re no pushover either. He respects your determination and hard work.

The most telling moment is one afternoon when you’re loitering on the edge of the hanger as he finishes up his conversation with the flight chief. It’s clear you need to speak to him. The fact that you won’t interrupt him is just a bonus– something he knows from experience will translate well in the bedroom.

“Come here,” he commands, crooking a finger at you. He doesn’t even have to raise his voice to have you scurrying to him. You touch your chest and fiddle with the locket you wear, twisting the thin gold chair around your index finger. Jake’s not sure if he’s just gotten better at clocking your reactions or you’re extra affected today but whatever the reason, he’s enjoying the show.

“What do you need?” He asks.

“For you to sign the report,” you tell him, opening the folder and pointing to the highlighted portion.

When he takes the pen from you he makes sure to drag his fingertips over the back of your hand, watching for your reaction behind his aviators. The soft sound that passes your lips doesn't disappoint him. He thinks about what other sounds he could drag out of you. How he could get you desperate enough to beg him to fuck you. The way you’d sigh his name and -

“Sir?” Your soft voice snaps him out of his little daydream. You’re staring up at him expectantly. “I need my pen back, please.”

When he hands it back, you smile. It makes him long to pull you against him and kiss you breathless. To test out the limits of how well you’d listen to him but he knows he has to wait until the project is over. He’s not about to jeopardize either of your careers though as the weeks drag on he certainly finds himself fantasizing about that.

You’ve caught him staring at during the morning briefings once or twice, his chin resting on steepled fingers. It’s always the same response from you, the double blink and glance away. Sometimes you’ll bite your lips and fiddle with the pencil, tapping it in rapid succession against the table. He can feel your eyes on him too and he has to repress a smirk. These morning briefings are starting to become his favorite part of the day.

—

Two torturous months pass before the admiral visits and the project gets wrapped up. He has some innocent fun with you during that time, nothing overly mean, just enough to get you flustered and stoke the flame. His favorite form of foreplay.

The team celebrates at the Hard Deck. Alcohol flows freely and spirits are high. It turns out engineers partied harder than pilots. You only have a drink which bodes well for Jake. He needs you sober for this and wants a clear head of his own, nursing a single beer most of the night.

While he waits for an opportunity to get you alone he formulates how he wants to approach this. He doesn’t doubt his assessment. He’s rarely wrong about these things but it’s always possible you’re not completely aware of your quirk. If he embarrassed or frightened you all his waiting would be for nothing.

After another hour or so he senses his chance. You head outside to take a quick call and Jake follows. He waits at a safe distance to give you some privacy but once you slide the phone back into your jacket he makes his presence known.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you greet. You look surprised to see him but pleased too.

“It’s Jake,” he corrects, stepping toward you.

When he presses into your space you take a half step back and then another, letting him herd you into a little alcove out of sight. You watch him curiously, maybe even a little confused. You’re not scared to be alone with him —you trust him.

“What’s up?” You’re trying for casual but failing adorably.

Jake’s close enough to touch you, but refrains from it. He won’t until he has your permission and understanding. He smirks and tits his head. A direct approach might be quicker but he’s curious if you’ll figure it out on your own.

“I know your secret, sweetheart,” he whispers.

That gets you going. You don’t seem to know where to put your hands. Nervous laughter comes next but Jake stays quiet, letting you squirm a little longer.

“My secret?” You question.

“It’s compatible with mine,” he hints.

You frown, forehead wrinkling. He recognizes the expression from countless morning briefings when you were contemplating a problem. It’s cute watching your brain work in real-time to put the pieces together. A full minute passes before your eyes dart back to his face, surprised.

He nods encouragingly and then very hesitantly you say, “Is that so, sir?”

There’s a heavy emphasis on the last word.

“Smart girl,” he praises.

You grin and rock back on your heels. “Well, I did design the aircraft you’ve been flying the last four months,” you shoot back.

He can see the struggle it is for you not to smile. You’re proud of your work and should be but he can’t have you mouthing off already.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he warns playfully, loving the way you immediately duck your head.

“Sorry, sir.”

You sound appropriately contrite and he smirks.

“Look at me.” Two fingers under your chin encourage you to meet his gaze. “I want you to be honest,” he begins, watching carefully for any sign you’re not on the same page as him. “Do you want to do this?”

“Do you mean…you mean sex, right?” You ask, looking a little unsure.

You’re so sweet that Jake slips character briefly to give you the soft smile you deserve. “Sex and more,” he confirms. “I can help you explore this side of yourself.”

“Yeah. I want that,” you tell him shyly.

“That’s good to hear, but that’s not how you talk to me, and I think you know it.”

“I want you to teach me, sir,” you respond.

“Better,” he praises.

He slides a hand up your jaw to grasp the back of your neck and angle your face upward so he can crush his lips against yours. He closes the distance between your bodies, pressing you back into the wall with a groan. You make a desperate little sound that goes right to his dick and grasp his biceps tightly.

You part your lips and fuck, he’s finally tasting you fully like he’s been imagining. He loves how soft and warm you are in his arms and the way his lips slide against yours. All of his pent-up desire is out now. The hand at your hip slides down the curve of your ass to grasp your thigh so he can grind shamelessly against you. You whimper, nails pressing into his skin. He rocks his half-hard cock into the warmest part of you, needing more friction. He wants to hear you make that little sound again too.

“Oh, please,” you gasp when you finally part.

You sound wrecked and he thinks you look it too.The skin of your face is warm to the touch and your eyes are a little glassy. Jake's half convinced you might let him have you here and for a moment he actually considers it. He knows how good that kind of messy, quick fuck can be but tonight he wants to see all of you. To spend his time taking you apart until you’re incoherent and at his mercy. He can’t do that here.

“Easy,” Jake whispers, running a hand down your back. “Look at me,” he instructs, smiling when you do. You’re trembling all over and he rubs his thumb over your swollen lips as he gazes down at you. “Catch your breath.”

Once you’re calm he lets go of you and runs a hand through his hair. You’re watching him, waiting to be told what to do. “Go inside, say goodbye to your friends. Then I want you to meet me out front. Got it?”

You nod and he surges forward to kiss you one more time before stepping back to let you past him.

Fuck, tonight is going to be good he thought.

♡

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#jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader

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prokopetz · 8 months ago

Note

Trying to make an entry for the jam made me confront a question: how does one inject flavour and evocative writing in an RPG when there is little to no space for flavour text?

I ended up unable to add any writing that wasn't rules without going over the 200 word limit, outside of maybe the naming of some mechanics, but I went in thinking that being able to provoke the imagination would be the difference between an ok entry and a really good one.

How would you do it?

(With reference to this post here.)

The customary answer in the one-page-RPG sphere is graphic design, but here you can't do much of that, so you need to rely on phrasing, rhythm, register, word choice, and yes, game-mechanical jargon. Indie RPGs are often mocked for using their own idiosyncratic terminology rather using the "standard" jargon developed by Dungeons & Dragons and its various direct imitators, but there really is a point: even something as simple as the level of formality of the mechanical text can have a huge impact on how a game comes across.

Let's look at an extreme example – my own recent experiment in fitting a complete game into a single Bluesky post:

CREATURES Need: 3d6 Character * Skills: Hands, Feet, Mouth, Guts; assign 3, 2, 2, 1 * Traits: claws, fangs, fins, horns, shell, slime, tail, tentacles, trunk, wings; pick 2 Conflict * Roll dice=skill * Highest: * 6: Yay * 4–5: Okay * 1–3: Uh-oh Scenario * escape maze * eat wizard * profit!

This one only has three hundred characters to work with, and consists almost entirely of rules text, yet the structure and word choice convey a very clear idea of who the player characters are and what they do!

It can be helpful to bear in mind that the separation of rules text and flavour text is an artificial one, adopted by long-form games where mixing mechanics with microfiction can make the former difficult to when there's three hundred pages of the latter to comb through. You don't really need to worry about that in a very short game, so you're free to have the same text play both roles.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #game design #game jam #tumblr 200 word rpgs 2024 #tumblr 200 word rpgs #200 word rpgs #violence mention #death mention #cannibalism mention #anthropophagy mention

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sunsets-and-crows · 2 months ago

Text

I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 10

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 6K

- - -

Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut: mutual masturbation. Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind. Sylus being hot and a menace. OOC Sylus (probably) TRIGGER WARNING: stalking and dubious consent. Graphic deptictions of violence.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

You rubbed your hair with the towel as you walked towards the kitchen, steam still clinging to your skin. The shower had felt cleansing in a way that nothing had before, rinsing off the night, the filth, the weight of every reckless step that led you here.

Finally, you could rest.

No more snooping. No more uncertainty.

You’d designed the penthouse for this. Every detail planned. Every contingency covered. This was your battlefield. And Sylus Qin, your formidable opponent, should’ve been right where you left him. Restrained. Contained. Yours to interrogate. Yours to study. Well, just yours.

The whole penthouse was soundproofed, under constant watch by your security cameras, and beautifully decorated. You couldn’t take credit for that, of course; the place came furnished. It was perfect. Perfect and private.

You’d tied him to a chair in the kitchen, ropes pulled taut, secure. You’d checked them twice, taking note of how they pressed lightly into his skin, firm but harmless. They wouldn’t leave a mark.

You knew what kind of man Sylus was. He needed to be restrained fully. Utterly.

And yet-

The chair was empty.

The ropes lay in limp coils on the floor.

Fuck.

2 hours earlier…

The car hummed to a stop in the underground garage. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting that same sickly bureaucratic white. Migraine-inducing in the way only bad government buildings and death scenes manage to do.

You parked in the assigned space and twisted in your seat. There he was, safe and sound. An unconscious mass of man sprawled out in the backseat, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths.

You leaned back and let your eyes close, just for a second. Relief washed over your frayed nerves.

Now onto the next steps.

How the hell were you supposed to get him inside?

The man was massive. Pure muscle. Not an ounce of give. You had half a mind to slap him awake, just to make him help you out. Obviously, that was out of the question.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, exhaling hard. Okay. Think.

Carrying him? No chance. Dragging him? Worse. Asking for help? Absolutely out of the question. Committing another murder when he was so close to being yours was tempting but deeply unstrategic.

You scanned the garage, desperate for salvation.

A wheelchair sat tucked in the corner between a wall and the dumpsters, blanketed in dust. It had been abandoned. Clearly.

You loathed the idea of dirtying him like that. But you had no choice. Not if you wanted to keep him.

Wrestling Sylus into the chair took longer than you'd admit. He was a dead weight in every sense. Slack, immovable, too solid to fight against. At one point, you had to hook your arms under his and just heave, like dragging a corpse you loved too much to bury. Your muscles burned and your breath came in hard pants. The whole ordeal would’ve been hard on a good day, but tonight, you were in a tight gown and impossibly high heels. Silk and stilettos were not exercise-appropriate.

The whole time, he didn’t make a sound save for his soft breaths from deep sleep. You’d definitely given him too much, but that was out of your hands now.

Panting, your knees took the weight as you bent forward.

He barely fit. Legs too long, shoulders spilling over the sides. Almost laughable, if you weren’t so close to falling apart. If you had been in a slightly better mood, you’d have taken a picture, a memento to remember all your hard work.

But you weren’t in a good mood. Not even close, despite how close you were to winning.

Your body ached. You were sweating. You didn’t even want to look at your hair right now. That dress had to go. So did the sweat, the stink of desperation, and the weight of everything that led here.

The whole place echoed with the sound of your heels as you wheeled him forward.

His fingers twitched on the armrest of the chair as you rolled him over the lobby’s threshold.

It took a humiliating amount of effort, wheeling him to the elevator, pretending like this was all just part of the plan. The security guard barely glanced up from his desk, uninterested in what appeared to be a rich man's night gone wrong.

The elevator doors slid shut. A sharp exhale rushed out.

You had him.

Finally.

2 hours later…

The towel slipped from your hand, landing with a soft, inconsequential thud. You didn’t move to pick it up.

For a moment, just a moment, you struggled to register the scene before you. As though some vital part of your brain had short-circuited mid-thought.

Your eyes locked on the kitchen chair and refused to move. It was empty.

Not just empty, but abandoned. The ropes you had tied so carefully lay coiled on the floor, a snake’s shed skin. Dead. Useless. One of them was still looped neatly around the back leg of the chair, like it was trying to convince you that it had served its purpose. But the chair was toppled. Its angle, completely off in a way that made your stomach twist.

He was gone.

The realisation broke over you slowly, a slow drip of cold water that rose in your body. Blood roared in your ears, loud enough to drown out thought.

You blinked, slowly. Once. Twice. Hoping that something would shift, that you’d wake from whatever terrible nightmare this was.

No.

No, no, no.

He was supposed to be right there! Tied. Secured. Yours. You’d planned every detail, mapped out every possible outcome. You’d watched him for months and accounted for everything. Every risk. Every variable. Now, the man who was at the centre of it all had simply vanished.

A jagged line of panic crawled up your spine when a soft sound cut through the quiet.

Clink.

Sharp and unmistakable.

Glass on glass.

Your head whipped towards the noise before your body had caught up. Your heart pounding in your chest, hard enough to make you feel nauseous.

And there he was.

Seated calmly in the armchair in front of the fireplace. A fireplace you definitely hadn’t lit, but was now crackling with heat and flame. The amber light cast deep, shifting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet calm in his eyes. He looked entirely at ease. His long legs stretched out comfortably in front of him, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, like he belonged there. Like he always had.

He looked almost angelic and your heart tugged painfully with the reminder that he was anything but. He was a finely honed weapon. One that you’d kidnapped.

You were so fucked.

There was a glass of whiskey in his hand. Another waited on the table beside him, already poured. A perfect two fingers. Untouched. Like he'd been expecting you.

A slow, deliberate smirk curled at his lips as his eyes found yours, wide, shocked. It turned your very blood to ice in your veins.

“Good evening, kitten,” He drawled, voice low and lazy like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. “Took you long enough.”

Your body stopped working entirely.

“I debated joining you in the shower.”

Shock rooted you to the spot. Limbs frozen. Jaw slack and useless. Even your lungs seemed to forget their function. You stared, mind racing. But it was like piecing together shattered glass. Sharp, dangerous and impossible.

All those calculated moves. All the hours of planning. The preparations, the surveillance, the sedative. You had sacrificed sleep, sanity and your entire reputation on a gamble you thought you’d controlled.

Now it all lay in ruins, a glass chessboard shattered by a move you had never seen coming.

Check.

Sylus Qin. Untied. Unbothered. In your safehouse. In your chair. In the only home you had left.

Checkmate.

You were dead.

He raised his glass to his lips and took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours. Then, casually, he patted the cushion of the seat beside him. As if you were the one who was in trouble.

“Come on,” he said, voice rich with indulgence. “Don’t be shy.”

Your throat locked around a sound that didn’t make it out. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Your mind scrambled to catch up. Your instincts screamed two things at once: run, or drop to your knees.

He tilted his head at you, and this time there was something almost gentle in his eyes. Something soft and knowing.

And then he said your name.

Not an alias.

Your real name. The one you had kept buried and protected in any and all of your interactions with him.

His tongue curled around it like a promise. Each letter flowing along his tongue, sweet, sinful, and so fucking perfect, like he’d been waiting to say it.

Hearing your name from his lips sounded like sin dressed in silk.

It was a command.

It slid down your spine and wrapped around your ribs. The unspoken ‘sit’ forcing your feet to move before your brain could tell them not to. Step by step, you closed the distance between you. Each movement felt like crossing a threshold you could never return from.

When you finally sat, it was only barely. Spine ramrod straight and perched on the edge of the seat like a child expecting punishment. Your hands tightly folded in your lap. Mind screaming. Body still.

“Good girl.”

Fuck.

You were going to die.

Either he was going to kill you, or you would spontaneously combust from being this close to him.

“Naturally, you'll be telling me everything,” he said, a smug smile and eyebrow raised. “Every single step of your little plan.”

Sylus didn’t look at you. His attention was fixed on the flames licking the wood in the fireplace as he took another drink. Waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

“I-” Your voice caught, unsure how to even begin. “I’m sorr-”

He tutted softly, cutting you off as you made to apologise. “Not yet, sweetie.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass slowly, watching it catch the light. “I want information.”

You swallowed hard. “What do you want to know?”

His gaze slid to you then, slow and deliberate. His smile was small, sardonic, almost taunting, but not unkind.

“What. Was. Next?”

Three words. Just three. But the weight of them hit like a blow to the chest.

“I don’t know,” you lied, too quickly. “I was jus-”

Sylus cut you off with a slight raise of his glass, the way a chess master might lift a single finger over a pawn. “You do. You went too far not to have an endgame in mind.”

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs, every piece on the board scattering like shrapnel.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to-” The words hit a wall in your throat, unsure how much to give away. You looked up, finally, locking eyes with him. “I just wanted to talk.”

He chuckled at that. A dark, syrupy sound that made your skin heat with shame. “Talk?” He echoed, brow arched. “Do you usually drug the people you want to talk to?”

No, they’re expensive

The embarrassment crawled up your neck, settling in your cheek. Your gaze dropped to your lap, the weight of his attention and teasing unbearable. “That’s not- I didn’t mean-”

“Relax, kitten.” He sipped his drink. “No need to be embarrassed. You're not the first person who’s tried to get close to me. Just the first who almost pulled it off”

That word, almost, landed like a blade between your ribs.

You nodded, slowly, trying to breathe through the sting behind your eyes.

His expression shifted again, impossibly gentle.

“I’ve been watching you for a while,” you whispered. The admission small and shaking.

“I know,” Sylus said without pause.

Fuck, he knows.

“I’m with the Hunter’s Association. I’m supposed to bring you in.”

“I know, sweetie”

What doesn’t he know?

“I tried,” You whispered, voice cracking. “God, I tried. But I couldn’t. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I know, kitten, I know.” His words were soft, reassuring.

A breath hitched in your throat. Sharp and desperate. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. Your hands trembled in your lap and your vision blurred, tears bubbling up faster than you could contain them. You bit your lip, hard, hoping the sting would anchor you, hoping it would give you something to hold on to.

“Please, I’m sorry.” The words slipped out, dry.

You told him everything. Each reckless step laid bare. Your reasons: obsession, loneliness, that sick hunger for something that felt like fate, stayed locked behind your teeth.

But the rest spilled out like a confession at the gallows. Your eyes fixed forward, like a child, hoping if you didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t see the desperate mess you’d become.

The silence that followed was long. And awful.

Why hasn’t he killed me yet?

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

“You tied the ropes too kindly,”

Your head snapped up.

“What?”

He sipped his drink like this was a casual debrief and not the unravelling of your soul.

“They were secure,” he said, nodding. A quiet acknowledgement of your effort. “Tight. But not tight enough. A little more tension, a little less slack and you might have kept me down.”

Humiliation rushed to your cheeks, hot and sudden. Your mouth opened, but no words came out, no defence.

Sylus grinned, wider now. “Next time, make it hurt.”

Next time?

Your stomach flipped violently.

“I-” you couldn’t look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Aww, sweetie,” he said softly. “That’s precious.”

You covered your face with your hands, the embarrassment twisting into something sharp and unbearable. And still, he wasn't done.

“Don’t be embarrassed” his tone changed, dropped, deepened. “You did well.”

A pause.

“You really couldn’t have done better.”

Your hands slowly lowered from your face.

He wasn’t mocking you.

He was praising you.

You blinked at him, stunned into silence, throat tight.

“I’m sorry.”

Then, quieter, hoarse, crumbling, “You can go.” You didn’t look at him when you said it. You couldn’t. The shame was too loud, too heavy. “I’ll forget about all of this,” you added, forcing each syllable through a throat lined with glass. “I won't say anything to the association. You can walk out that door and I'll just…pretend I never saw you.”

It wasn’t a gambit. It wasn’t a strategy. It was a surrender. The finality of a king in check, being forced to bow in quiet resignation at his feet.

There was a long silence, thick and pressing. It made your chest ache.

And then his fingers were under your chin, firm but gentle, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. You hadn’t noticed him move, hadn’t realised how close he’d gotten until he was right there, crouched in front of you. Not looming. Not threatening.

Just watching you.

“Go?” he repeated, a soft scoff escaped him, soft and incredulous.

You nodded, trying to hold yourself still. “I didn’t mean to- I just…” Your voice caught again, lost in the thick tide of emotion threatening to pull you under. “I’ve crossed so many lines. I just wanted to talk. To be near you, that's all. That’s all it was.”

You shook your head, the words spilling faster now, cracking at the edges. “This isn’t right. It was never supposed to go this far. I didn’t mean for-”

His thumb brushed along your cheek, catching a tear before it could fall. The touch feather-light, reverent. Like you were something precious. Fragile. Something he had to be careful with.

A warmth spread through your skin, blooming at the contact. It hurt. Everything about this hurt. Letting go hurt.

And then, so gentle you almost missed it, he kissed your cheek.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage like a creature begging to escape.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes flicked to his, unsure, unsteady, half expecting mockery there.

But Sylus wasn’t smirking.

He was just close. Oh, so close. Watching you. Like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

His voice dropped to a whisper, low and thick with meaning. “Why would I want to go?”

The words sent a fresh wave of confusion through you, short-circuiting what little logic you still had.

“I have it all, sweetie,” he murmured, thumb stroking slow circles on the back of your hand now. “Power. Control. Loyalty. Everything a man could want.”

He leaned closer.

“And then you appeared.”

Your breath caught. At this rate, you were going to pass out from how irregular your breathing had become.

His smile softened, but the look in his eye only grew darker. “Defiant. Burning. Watching me when you thought I didn’t see. Wanting me in all the wrong ways. So beautifully wrong. Irresistible.”

“I- I don’t understand.” Your thoughts raced. A mess of moves, trying to figure out how he’d backed you into this corner so neatly.

Sylus chuckled. A dark, sinful sound that ripped a shiver through you, a velvet knife dragging along your spine. “You don't have to understand. Not yet.”

The tip of his finger traced the edge of your jaw.

“You’ve utterly captivated me.”

It was almost enough, but it wasn’t everything.

You needed more than his pretty words whispered. You were greedy. You craved clarity, something that you could hold onto with both hands. Something tangible and buoyant to save you from the aftermath of your own choices.

“Why?” The question fell from your lips, small and aching. “Why would you ever let me get this close?”

Sylus tilted his head, almost amused by the question. “Do you think I let everyone drug and tie me up, kitten?” His words were sinful.

“I think,” you began, forcing your voice to steady. “What?”

He grinned widely, thoroughly enjoying your reaction.

“You said you’ve been watching me. You said you know.”

“I did,” he murmured, thumbing over the ridge of the glass and levelling you with an intense, hard stare. “And I do”

Your brows drew together. “How long?”

He didn’t answer right away. He stood, stretched his arms overhead with an almost theatrical laziness, then moved back toward the whiskey decanter. Poured another two fingers. Drank it. Like you weren’t sitting in the middle of a goddamned breakdown.

“Too long,” he said eventually, facing away from you. “I should’ve stopped you when you first started sniffing around the N109 zone.”

You swallowed. “Why didn't you?”

“Because it was entertaining, at first.” He turned then, the glass dangling from his fingers. “Because I wanted to see how far you’d go. Because you were clever. Brave. Reckless. deliciously out of your depth.”

He set his glass on the mantelpiece and turned, looking into your eyes.

“And because, eventually, I wanted you to catch me”

You blinked, dumbfounded.

He gestured for you to join him by the fire, to close the distance between you. And you did. Like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done; he took your hand and dragged you closer, until there was nothing between but a searing, scorching heat. Your glass clinking slightly as he set it down next to his on the mantle, forgotten.

“I wanted you to catch me,” he repeated, voice lower now. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do when you had me.”

His hand slid up your arm, caressed the skin of your shoulder and finally settled around the base of your throat. Not tight. Not threatening. Just there. A point of contact. A claim.

“And now I know.”

Fear and something else twisted in your gut. Something you didn't want to name.

“I know exactly how far you’ll go.” his fingers stroked the underside of your jaw. “How much you’re willing to risk. How much you want me.”

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear

“And kitten… that makes you mine.”

His.

Just like he was yours.

The ghost of a smile curled at the corners of your lips. Something deep and fulfilling thrumming through your veins.

He hadn’t whispered it like a promise. He declared it. Like it was the truth. Like it had always been the truth.

And maybe it had been.

There weren’t many things you believed about the world. Most of it was chaos, blood and noise and meaningless patterns. But there was one belief that had always clung to you, that rested in your bones with the barrow that made you up.

Love wasn’t chaos. It was prewritten.

A kind of predestination. A binding. The idea that somewhere out there was someone so perfectly matched to you that it bordered on divine design. That love, real love, wasn't soft and clean. It was a mirror. A reflection of your soul, in all its twisted glory.

Give and take.

Hunter and hunted.

“You don’t sound surprised by any of it,” you said, turning to press your cheek further into the palm of his hand.

He laughed then, rich and delighted, like you’d told him the sky was blue.

“I orchestrated half your plan, sweetie.”

Your eyes widened, caught off guard by his confession. A breath of a laugh escaped you.

“Who do you think sold you the sedative? A high-dose paralytic? No questions asked?” His thumb coasted along your cheekbone now, feather-light. “Who do you think sent you the penthouse listing just when you started looking? Come on, sweetie. You’re smarter than that.”

It felt like falling and floating at once. The floor dropping out from under you.

Your voice came out as a whisper. “You?”

He smiled, and god, he looked so pleased.

You’d done that. You’d pleased him.

“Of course it was me. I picked this place for you, for us.” He brought his other hand up, both of them cupping your face, gently like the centre of his universe rested there.

“You were hunting a wolf, kitten. And the whole time, you were already in his jaws.”

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.

He didn’t need them.

“Every move you made, every bait and switch, each moment, I watched. Every sleepless night you spent planning, I let happen. To see the fire in your eyes when you thought you had the upper hand.”

He tilted your chin higher. His thumb grazed your bottom lip.

“And when I decided it was time, I gave myself to you. Gift-wrapped, drugged, and tied to a chair. An offering I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“I didn’t,” you breathed.

“No,” he said, gaze dropping to your lips. “You didn’t.”

His hands cupped your face like they were holding revelation. Like he’d sculpted you from ash and want, and now you were finally here, he had no intention of letting you turn to dust. Of letting you slip through his deft fingers.

The fire crackled beside you, casting molten gold over the sharp line of his jaw, the planes of his cheeks, the curve of that cruel, beautiful mouth. His crimson eyes gleamed, the softness in them giving way to something fierce, hungry.

Reverence and desire.

There was no need for walls or pretence. Not when he was making everything so clear. His intensity searing, branding you with the knowledge that he had waited, bled and suffered for this moment.

For you.

The air between you thrummed with energy. The tension pulsing.

One breath. Another.

You weren’t sure when he moved, but he did.

Slow. Deliberate. He moved like he had all the time in the world. Like there was no outside, no Hunters Association, no blood soaked into your plans. Just the two of you, bathed in fire and fate.

He stopped, dangerously close. His lips, a hair's breadth from yours. Waiting. The heat of your breaths mingled together, charged with the spark of your twisted connection.

And when you could wait no longer, you closed the distance.

Your lips brushed his once. A feather-light ghost of a touch that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You paused, trapped under the weight of the feeling. Aching.

And then he kissed you. This time harder, his mouth warm and claiming, coaxing you open. One hand still cradled your face, the other slid into your hair, fingers curling possessively at the base of your skull.

You made a sound, halfway between a moan and a gasp, and that was all it took. The spark caught fire.

He devoured you.

His teeth scraped your lip, pulling you deeper and deeper into the depths of his desire. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting, claiming yours like he had a right to. Like he earned it.

You wouldn’t deny him anything anyway, but after everything he had done for you, he did deserve it.

The taste of him flooded your senses. A dark, dangerous taste that you found yourself quickly becoming addicted to. You fell deeper into his arms, into him.

Your knees buckled under the intensity of the whole moment. The culmination of months of hard work, of pining, yearning obsession, it had your knees weaker than you would've wanted. His arms tightened around you, catching you and pulling you closer against him with a low growl that rumbled in his chest.

You clung to him, drunk on him. Your fingers slid into his collar, like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. Not the thing dragging you further into the depths of the flames.

You felt like you were burning. Melting. Becoming something new in the heat of him. Every second deepened the kiss. More pressure. More heat. Until you were dizzy and desperate and his in every way that mattered.

He broke the kiss, just long enough to breathe the words against your lips.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, pulling you closer against his body. He was just as affected as you were; the evidence of it pressed against your stomach, hot and heavy.

“Yours,” you whispered back, sliding your hands into the soft strands of hair at the base of his neck to reconnect your lips.

You needed it like air, the confirmation that he wanted you just as badly, desperately as you wanted him.

You were so close.

So soft and trusting beneath his hands. So devastatingly his.

Truly, he wanted to keep control. To stay steady. To savour this moment. There was power in restraint. He’d always known that. Power in keeping his hands to himself. In watching people squirm, letting them confess and unravel.

He would’ve loved to see you unravel for him like that. To offer yourself up like some trembling little lamb.

But then you kissed him.

That devastating brush of your lips, hesitant and uncertain. Your mouth barely touching his. The fear of rejection so evident.

As if he would ever deny you or himself the pleasure of the connection that thrummed between you.

As if you didn’t already own him.

And just like that, the tightrope snapped.

All the moves, the strategies, every carefully curated inch of self-control shattered.

He surged forward with a groan like something had broken loose inside his chest, one hand tangling in your hair as the other wrapped around your waist and dragged you into him.

His mouth crashed onto yours. Demanding and possessive. Starved. He needed you to feel what you’d done to him. What you’d turned him into.

Fuck.

You tasted like sin.

Like surrender.

Like everything he’d starved for. Yearned for.

And gods, you had no idea.

It was sweet, the revelation, the reveal. He let you dance closer and closer to the flame, knowing you thought it was your idea. Utterly intoxicating. The push and pull. The give and take. Letting you believe that the control was yours. Walking straight into the trap with your head held high and your heart on fire.

You gasped and he swallowed it whole. That sound. That reaction. You.

Oh you. Kissing him back without hesitation, surrendering with that same desperation he’d carried for weeks. Months. You moaned when he deepened it further, and he lost the last shred of reason he had.

There was no plan anymore. No manipulation. No fucking scheme.

Only you.

Only this.

You chose him. You saw him, not just the legend, not the leader of Onychinus, but him. Every part of him.

And you still wanted him.

It destroyed him.

He had never planned on falling for you.

But then again, falling wasn't the right word.

He’d plunged.

Straight into the comforting flames of your presence, into madness, obsession. You

The moment your lips met his, something snapped inside him. The thing that had held the two of you back was suddenly, irrevocably gone. Dust and ash beneath your perfect feet.

There was only you. Your mouth. The velvet heat of your tongue. The sounds that spilled from between your lips. Moans. Whimpers like you were breaking apart in his hands. And he needed it. Needed all of you. Your devotion, your fire, your sharp, clever mouth.

And gods help anyone who ever tried to take you away.

He pulled you closer and you clung to him like he was air.

He was shaking when he pulled away and looked down at you. Eyes focused, intense.

This was it. This was the moment he stopped being careful. The moment he gave in.

He didn’t move, loath to part from you at all. Tight hands gripped tighter, even as his forehead rested against yours, breathless, hearts hammering in sync. For a long time, he just held you there, his fingers curled into your waist like he wasn’t sure you were real.

And then he said your name, quietly. Like an invocation.

“I need you to understand,” He murmured, voice low and rough. “This isn’t a game that I played along with to humour you. This-” His lips ghosted across yours again, then your cheek, your temple. “This is everything. You’re mine and I. Am. Yours.”

Your eyes misted over, pupils blowing wider and he fell even deeper.

“I knew who you were from the moment that I started keeping tabs on you,” he continued, his breath mingling with yours as he huffed out the words. “Not your name, not your mission. You. the way you looked at the world, like it owed you answers. The way you burned through it, so brightly. You and that perfect, laser-focused mind of yours.”

His hand held the slightest tremble as they cupped your face. Almost imperceptible, but he knew that you saw it.

“I will never walk away from you.”

He paused, like it physically pained him to speak the next part.

“I tried,” he said, barely a whisper. “Fuck I tried. I told myself I’d keep my distance. Let you chase. Let you think you were in control. That was supposed to be enough.”

He laughed then, low and bitter. More at himself than anything else.

“When I first saw you-” He grabbed your waist impossibly tighter, a bruising, punishing grip. “A hunter, keeping tabs on me, spying. Another sharp little thing sent by the hunter’s Association to play bait. I thought I’d drag it out, play with you, then cut the cord.”

His thumb dragged slowly along your lower lip, and you felt the pulse of heat between you.

“And then your gaze shifted. You started to see me, not as a target anymore, oh no, kitten. As a man, something you wanted. Hunting for an entirely different reason.”

He smiled, slow and sinful, like it wasn’t just a memory. It was a prize he was still savouring.

“Everything changed.”

The hand cupping your face slid down your neck, your arm, and eventually both hands framed your waist. Gripping like he was holding something precious.

“When you killed that man for me, kitten…” He exhaled sharply, the memory surging through him. Your pink-tinted cheeks started a fire inside him he couldn’t contain. “You stopped being an adversary a long time before that, but god, the way I felt. Loyalty like that?” His fingers dug in, possessive. “I could live in it, could build a kingdom around it.”

His lips nudged against yours again.

Breaths coming out in pants.

He groaned and then he smashed his lips against your honeyed ones.

Deep and claiming, like he was starving.

His mouth opened over yours and swallowed your gasp of surprise. His tongue licked into your mouth, drawing more of those quiet moans from your throat. He chased the sound, closer and closer with a low groan of his own, deeper and almost pained.

Your bodies were flush, the heat of you pressing against him as he loomed over you. His hands splayed across your back, strong and certain.

How can someone taste so sweet and sinful at the same time?

He needed more of you, more of that taste burned into his tongue.

It still wasn't enough.

His lips trailed lower.

Along your cheek. Down over your jaw. Across the line of your throat.

You gasped again, and his breath hitched. He groaned, the sound vibrating against your neck as his mouth landed at the juncture between your shoulder and throat.

His teeth grazed the skin there.

And then he bit.

Not hard. Just enough to make you gasp again. To leave something behind. A mark. A promise.

His lips caressed the spot, kissing, laving his tongue over that spot. Worshipping. The sounds he dragged out of you had him addicted.

He wanted more. Wanted to make you sing your sweet, pretty song. His name. His.

He sucked, deeper, possessive. Lips sealing around his mark, drawing the blood up to the surface, painting your skin in a bruise the shape of him.

When he pulled back, he didn't move far. Just enough to breathe you in.

He rested there for a moment, his nose brushing your skin as he inhaled, long and slow, like he was trying to steady himself. It wasn’t working.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked, cracked open. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I do,” you whispered, voice low, your fingers tugging on his shirt like a lifeline. “I feel it too. How could I not?”

His breath was warm against your neck.

“I have waited so long,” he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive spot he’d marked. “To touch you. To make it real.”

“It was always real,” you told him. “I always knew that you were mine. I just had to make it happen.”

“Hmmm, yes. You made so many moves to catch me?” he said, voice a velvet purr. “And for each one, I was helping you make them. I wanted to see how far you’d go. What you'd sacrifice. What you’d become.”

He leaned in close, nose brushing yours.

“And you didn’t disappoint.”

“Neither did you.”

One hand rose, fingers brushing your pulse.

“You still think this was your idea?” he asked, gaze dropping to your mouth. “You haven’t even begun to understand how deep this goes. You’ve spent so long craving me, chasing me, dreaming of having me to yourself.”

He chuckled, dark and warm.

“But I’ve already taken you. Every look. Every choice. Every thought that ended with my name on your lips? That was mine. You’ve been mine for a long time, sweetie.”

You were never opponents.

Just two pieces circling fate.

Now the board was yours, and every knight, rook, and pawn that tried to keep you apart was sacrificed for the endgame. No black or white, just a king and a queen stained not by war, but by the love that undid them.

Your lips curved, happy. Content.

“Then take what’s yours.” You leaned in until your breath danced across his mouth, the sensation prickling and heightening every emotion. “I’ve had your name buried in my chest all this time? I was yours before I knew it. But you-”

Your eyes met his, steady and electric. “-You were mine too.”

He leaned back just enough to look into your eyes again. What he showed you-

It wasn’t just want.

It wasn’t just obsession.

It was devotion.

And it was hungry.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

Is it perfect? No. Is it the best I can do? Maybe. Is it what you're getting? Yes, yes it is.

I literally couldn't look at this for another second. Enjoy!

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback on this ❥

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bmebookmyessay · 1 year ago

Text

What exactly does graphic design mean? Including examples for beginners?

Graphic design is a dynamic field that plays a pivotal role in shaping the visual aspects of our world. It involves the art of communication, utilizing visual elements to convey messages, ideas, and information. In this comprehensive guide, we will unravel the essence of graphic design, explore its key components, and provide examples to aid beginners in understanding its significance.

Understanding Graphic Design:

Graphic design encompasses a diverse range of visual elements, including images, typography, colors, and layout. Its primary goal is to communicate a message effectively and aesthetically. From creating logos and websites to designing posters and marketing materials, graphic design is omnipresent in our daily lives.

Key Components of Graphic Design:

Typography:

Fonts, sizes, and styles contribute to the visual appeal and readability of text.

Color Theory:

Understanding color combinations and their psychological impact is crucial for creating visually appealing designs.

Layout and Composition:

Arranging visual elements in a harmonious way to guide the viewer's eye through the design.

Images and Icons:

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cr-summer-wildflowers · 2 months ago

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Nominations are Now Open!

Okay, here me out: Verin and Cerkonos. Why isn't this already a thing? Himbo 4 Himbo communication.

Or... okay okay okay - Fearne & Orym needs more fics. But also Beau/Yasha/Imogen/Laudna definitely needs more attention. Or maybe you're a Vexleth truther or an Esswulf fan or think that the Temult family dynamics are absolutely fascinating.

Does this sound like something you'd be into? Then we have a fic exchange for you!

Critical Role Wildflowers is an exchange that features pairings that have fewer than 500 works on AO3. The first step in the process is nominations - where we decide which pairings will be eligible for signing up.

Nominate here

FAQ & Rules are here

Discord is here

The things you need to know for nominations:

The relationships can be platonic or romantic, but all characters have to originate in Exandria and have under 500 works in AO3

When nominating a ship, don't use the main critical role tag for the fandom! Instead, use one of these: Critical Role Campaign One Critical Role Campaign Two Critical Role Campaign Three Exandria Unlimited (note: includes Calamity, Kymal, Divergence, as well as the original) Wildmount Wildlings Darrington Brigade Critical Crossovers The Re-Slayers Take

For the relationships - please do use the canonical tag whenever possible! This is the one that autofills whenever you start typing. If nothing pops up, then please try to add the full character name, alphabetizing by last name. (For example, Lucien Tavelle/Tyffial Wase, but Cree Deeproots/Lucien Tavelle)

Want answers to the following questions? Check them out under the cut:

How do I contact a mod? Who all is running this anyway? How can I follow the exchange? Do I have to join the discord?

What's the schedule? What is the difference between nominations and signups? Why are they separate? What exactly is a crossover, considering campaign 3? Are platonic relationships allowed? What relationships are not included? So is everything else included? What does it mean for a relationship to not be included?

How do I contact a mod?

If you need to contact the mods for any reason, here are the ways in which you can do so. Please use the method which suits you best. If you do not receive a response within 48 hours, please try again using an alternate method.

E-mail: [email protected] The CR WIldflowers Discord A comment to any post on the Dreamwidth Community Tumblr message or ask to the Summer Wildflowers blog.

Who all is running this anyway?

From 2021 - 2024, Wildflowers was run by @ladyofrosefire and @capitola

For 2025, it’s being run by @operafloozy with generous help from @mapleandgingeroatmeal (helping with answering questions and clarifications, discord moderation among other things), and @anubisisms (graphics design and discord creation/moderation). If you know any of us and are more comfortable reaching out to that person directly, please feel free to do so.

How can I follow the exchange?

You can follow us here on Tumblr and Dreamwidth. You can also join the CR Wildflowers Discord Community.

Do I have to join the discord?

Nope! It’s completely optional. We’ll be using the discord for questions, resources, sprints, reminders, encouragement, and general camaraderie, but if it’s not your jam - or you just are in enough discords–that's perfectly fine.

What's the schedule?

For 2025, the schedule is as follows:

Nominations Open: April 25 Nominations Close: May 8 (11:55 EST) Sign ups Open: May 9 (9AM EST) Sign ups Close: May 23 (11:55 EST) Assignments Go Out: No Later than May 26 (11:55 EST) No Penalty Default Deadline: June 23 (11:55 EST) Assignments Due: July 7 Works Revealed: July 14 Creators Revealed: July 21

What's the difference between nominations and signups? Why are they two separate things?

Nominations: You have the chance to nominate various relationships - platonic, romantic, or sexual. This is not required to participate, but if nobody nominates a relationship, you can't request or offer it.

Signups: You look through the list of nominated relationships and create 4-10 prompts based on them and offer to write 4-10 relationships. This can be relationships that you nominated or ones that you didn't - and you don't have to request or offer every relationship you nominated (it's considered good manners to at least intend to request or offer them). You have to do this step to get a gift fic.

Why is it done this way? There are a lot of possible combinations of relationships that are out there, and you're all creative individuals. The 2024 tagset had over 300 relationships nominated. This is an exchange, which means that the offers and requests have to match. We need to limit it somehow. And you might decide to offer or request relationships that don't match the ones you nominated (maybe someone else nominated them - or someone else has an idea so brilliant that you want to steal it). But also - the background logic for automatically signing someone up based off of their nominations would be a lot for poor AO3.

After the way campaign 3 ended, is everything a crossover? Is nothing?

The general rules we have are as follows:

a) If the characters largely interact in one campaign, nominate that pairing in that campaign. For example, Ludinus Da'leth/Trent Ikithon would be in Critical Role Campaign Two; Ludinus Da'leth/Predathos would be Critical Role Campaign Three

b) If the characters interact in multiple campaigns, nominate that pairing within the campaign they are featured in the most. For example, Keyleth & Percy interact in both Campaign One and Campaign Three, but because they are more heavily featured in Campaign One, they should be nominated there.

c) If the characters are from a miniseries (Exandria Unlimited, for example) and are also seen within a main campaign, go with the one where they have more screen time (approximate). For example, Dorian & Fearne and Fearne/Opal are pairings that have interacted in both Campaign 3 and Exandria Unlimited, but Dorian & Fearne would be Campaign Three, while Fearne/Opal would be Exandria Unlimited.

d) If the characters feature in different campaigns and haven't interacted or you're not sure if they've interacted, nominate them within Critical Crossovers.

Use your best judgement, you're not going to be yelled at for getting it wrong.

Are platonic relationships allowed?

Yes! Platonic relationships are allowed and encouraged, and this includes platonic versions of the disallowed romantic relationships. If the platonic relationship has more than 500 fics, though, it also falls outside the guidelines for this exchange.

What relationships are not included?

This year, in 2025, the list is as follows:

Keyleth/Vax'ildan Kima/Allura Percy/Vex'halia Percy/Vax'ildan Vax'ildan & Vex'ahlia Beauregard Lionett/Yasha Nydoorin Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast Essek Theylss/Caleb Widogast Fjord Stone/Caleb Widogast Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast Jester Lavorre/Fjord Stone Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast Nott & Caleb Widogast Yasha Nydoorin & Mollymauk Tealeaf Laudna/Imogen Temult Laudna & Imogen Temult Orym/Dorian Storm

Is everything else included?

All relationships where all of the characters involved originate from Exandria (or Ruidis) count. Note that this does not include RPF.

What does it mean for a relationship to not be included? Does that mean that Yasha can’t ever refer to her wife or Vex and Percy can’t ever have a conversation about their kids?

The relationships above aren’t eligible to be included in the nominations, which means that people can’t sign up to have them be the focus of a work. Other relationships can be depicted (unless they are specifically listed in the DNW list), but the requested relationship should be the focus.

#critical role #summer wildflowers #exchanges #nominations open

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onlinetutoringhelp · 2 years ago

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pretzel-box · 10 months ago

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-2- THE WALLS WHICH WILL EAT US

word count: 5,2k

tags: GN!reader, graphic mentions of panic attacks, getting attacked

summary: You get shipped to the Hadal Blackside and start your new mission to get the crystal and Z-13, Sebastian Solace. But it seems like the visitors of the Blackside are getting you first.

The sharp scent of various chemicals invaded your senses the moment you arrived at the dock, where Urbanshade housed their high-tech submarines for underwater expeditions—expeditions much like the one you were about to embark on. The dock itself was a massive, bustling hub, with staff members moving swiftly through the vast hall, each absorbed in their own tasks. Cargo was being transported, machines were being meticulously maintained, and the air was filled with the constant hum of activity, all contributing to the strange, industrial rhythm of the place.

The dock was located within a closed hall, nestled just below water level in one of Urbanshade’s many sprawling facilities. From where you stood, you could see the vast array of technology they had developed, each piece funded by the considerable wealth of people like your father. It was impossible not to feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale of their operations. Urbanshade’s business was far more than you had imagined; mining oil from the ocean depths seemed like it was just a side hustle for them, a mere footnote in their grander, more mysterious endeavors.

As you took in your surroundings, the reality of Urbanshade’s reach began to sink in. The size of the submarines alone was staggering, each one a marvel of engineering, designed to withstand the crushing pressures of the deep sea. Workers in identical uniforms moved like clockwork, each performing their duties with practiced efficiency. The atmosphere was one of cold, calculated precision, a far cry from the chaotic hustle you had expected.

“Hey, over here.” A voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. A tall man, dressed in the same standard-issue uniform as the others, stood before you. His demeanor was strict, his expression unreadable. He was clearly used to the environment, his posture rigid and commanding. This man was your guide, assigned to escort you through the facility, ensuring you didn’t stray from the carefully laid path Urbanshade had set for you.

“Follow me,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned on his heel and began to walk, expecting you to follow without hesitation.

You fell into step behind him, your mind racing as you tried to absorb everything at once. The guide led you through a series of corridors, each more sterile and unwelcoming than the last. The walls were lined with thick metal plating, a stark reminder of the underwater pressures that lurked just beyond. Occasionally, you caught glimpses of other workers, their faces blank as they passed by, absorbed in their own duties.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Urbanshade was preparing you for. The deep levels of the ocean were a place of mystery, danger, and unimaginable pressure, both physically and mentally. And yet, here you were, about to be plunged into its depths with little more than a vague idea of what awaited you.

The guide finally stopped in front of a heavy, reinforced door. He glanced at you, his expression softening ever so slightly, before pressing a button on the wall. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the medical station beyond.

"Standard procedure," the guide said, his voice less harsh now, as if trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "They just need to make sure you’re fit for the journey ahead. Nothing to worry about."

You nodded, stepping through the doorway into the sterile, clinical environment of the medical station. The room was starkly lit, with white walls and gleaming medical equipment arranged neatly along the perimeter. A team of doctors and nurses, all dressed in pristine white uniforms, waited for you inside. Their faces were a mix of professionalism and mild curiosity, as though you were just another specimen to be examined before being sent on your way.

As the door closed behind you, sealing you in the room, the reality of your situation began to weigh heavily on you. You had to pass this final checkpoint, a thorough examination to ensure you were physically prepared for the journey ahead before getting the one-way ticket to hell.

The doctors gestured for you to sit on a cold metal chair in the center of the room. You did so, feeling the coolness seep through your clothes as they began their work, checking your vital signs, drawing blood, and performing a series of tests designed to assess your fitness for the perilous journey.

All the while, your mind kept drifting back to the massive submarines and the dark, unknown depths they were built to explore. You couldn’t shake the feeling that once you boarded one of those vessels, there would be no turning back. The only way out was through, and whatever lay ahead in the deep ocean was as vast and unknowable as the abyss itself.

As the medical team finished their assessment, the door slid open again, and your guide reappeared. His expression was as stern as before, but there was a slight nod of approval as he looked at you.

“You’re cleared,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you exit the room. “Now, let’s get you suited up. It’s time.”

With a deep breath, you followed him out of the medical station.

After the medical examination, the guide led you back through the labyrinth of hallways, deeper into the heart of the facility. Your mind raced as you walked, the sterile environment doing little to calm your nerves. You were heading toward something monumental, something that would change the course of your life, but the details were still murky, shrouded in the secrecy of Urbanshade’s operations.

Finally, you arrived at another reinforced door, larger and more imposing than the last. The guide swiped a keycard through a panel, and the door slid open with a deep, resonant hiss. Inside, a small team of technicians was bustling around a large metal chamber—your submarine. The sight of it sent a shiver down your spine. It looks like a giant dark prison that would suffocate you slowly once you step inside.

“Suit up,” the guide instructed, gesturing toward a nearby rack where a diving suit hung waiting for you.

You approached the suit, eyeing it with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. It was sleek, made from a dark, heavy material that felt both flexible and incredibly durable. The suit was designed to withstand the crushing pressures of the deep sea and most of the things that were swimming in the water such as tiny bacteria, and as you ran your fingers over it, you could feel the quality of the suit.

With some help from the technicians, you began the process of donning the suit. They worked with swift efficiency, guiding your arms and legs into the suit’s sleeves, adjusting the fit, and sealing it tight around your body. The suit clung to you like a second skin, the material warming slightly as it activated, responding to your body heat.

Next came the helmet, a heavy, reinforced piece with a full visor that provided a wide field of vision. The technicians lowered it carefully onto your head, locking it into place with a series of metallic clicks. The moment the helmet sealed, your world became slightly muffled, the sounds of the facility fading into a low hum as the suit’s internal systems took over. A heads-up display flickered to life on the visor, showing a stream of data—your vitals, oxygen levels and a myriad of other readings you couldn’t yet decipher.

The last piece of your equipment was a utility belt, which the technicians fastened securely around your waist. The belt was lined with pouches and compartments, each designed to hold the tools you’d need for the mission. You noticed a small pouch containing a syringe—likely the medication to knock out Sebastian. It had the same color as the syringe in Mr.Wiltshires office. Another compartment held the USB stick, its purpose still lingering in your mind and clearly important given its inclusion in your gear. There were other items as well—what looked like a flashlight and a single medkit.

As the final adjustments were made, the guide stepped forward, his expression as unreadable as ever. “This suit will keep you alive down there,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But it’s not invincible. Be smart, and don’t push your luck.”

You nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The weight of the suit was beginning to settle in, both physically and mentally. You were about to be sealed inside a metal capsule and sent into the darkest reaches of the ocean, a place where few had ventured and even fewer had returned from. But there was no turning back now.

The guide led you toward the submarine’s entry hatch, which stood open like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow you whole. The technicians handed you a pair of thick gloves and a small pack containing a few rations and basic batteries for the flashlight—just in case.

With everything in place, you took a deep breath and stepped into the submarine. The interior was cramped, with barely enough room to stand upright. Every surface was lined with panels of blinking lights, screens displaying data, and rows of buttons and switches whose functions you could only guess at. It was a far cry from the spacious, sterile halls of the facility above.

The guide climbed in after you, maneuvering with practiced ease in the tight space. He gestured for you to sit in one of the reinforced seats bolted to the floor. You complied, feeling the seat’s harness click into place around your suit. The guide moved to the controls at the front of the vessel, flipping switches and pressing buttons with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before.

“This is it,” he said without looking back at you. “Once we close the hatch, we’ll begin the descent. The sub is fully automated, so you won’t need to do much. Just keep an eye on your vitals, and stay calm.”

The hatch began to close with a heavy clang, the last sliver of light from the outside world disappearing as the metal door sealed shut. A dull thud echoed through the chamber, followed by a series of mechanical whirs and clicks as the submarine’s systems came online.

You felt a slight shift as the vessel detached from its moorings, the faint sensation of movement signaling the start of your journey. The submarine began its slow, steady descent into the depths, the hum of the engines the only sound breaking the silence.

You glanced at the small viewport beside you, watching as the murky waters of the facility’s dock gave way to the inky blackness of the deep sea. The light from the sub’s exterior lamps cut through the darkness, revealing the occasional flicker of marine life darting past. But as you continued to descend, even those fleeting glimpses faded away, leaving you surrounded by a void so absolute it felt like you were sinking into nothingness.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you descended deeper and deeper. The pressure increased with every meter, the submarine creaking and groaning in response. You kept your eyes on the HUD inside your helmet, watching the readings carefully, trying to stay calm.

Suddenly, a voice crackled through the comms, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re reaching the operational depth,” the guide said, his voice sounding distant. “Everything’s looking good. We’ll be in position shortly.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and took a deep breath to steady yourself. You were about to reach the point of no return, the depth where Urbanshade’s mysteries lay hidden.

As the submarine settled into position, the guide turned toward you, his face illuminated by the dim glow of the controls. “From here on out, you’re on your own,” he said, his tone serious. “Follow your mission, and you’ll be fine. And remember—whatever happens, stay focused. This isn’t just some walk in the park. What you find down here could change everything.”

With that, he pressed a final button, and the submarine’s systems hummed to life in full force. The hatch beside you opened with a loud hiss, revealing a narrow passage leading out into the deep.

It was time. You unbuckled your harness, your gloved hands moving with a new sense of purpose. The small pouch on your belt containing the syringe and USB stick felt heavier than before, a constant reminder of the stakes. You adjusted your gear one last time, ensuring everything was secure.

Then, with one final look back at the guide, you stepped out of the submarine and into the unknown.

The submarine’s departure was swift and final, leaving you standing alone in the small, dimly lit underwater dock. The hatch closed with a deep metallic thud, and the vessel immediately began its descent back into the depths, the sound of the engines fading into the surrounding water until there was nothing but silence. You were left to take in your new surroundings.

The dock itself was smaller and far more utilitarian than the one you had departed from. Heavy cargo boxes were stacked neatly along the walls, each labeled with codes and symbols you couldn’t decipher. Metal shelves held various tools and equipment, their contents slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry. A few tables were scattered around, covered with open crates, maps, and other items left behind by whoever had last used this space. Everything had a layer of dust on it, giving the place an eerie, abandoned feel.

As you took a cautious step forward, your boots echoed on the metal floor, breaking the stillness. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and oil, mingled with a faint metallic tang that made your skin prickle. The lighting was low, casting long shadows that danced across the walls with each flicker of the overhead lamps.

You moved toward one of the tables, scanning its contents. A few scattered documents caught your eye, their pages yellowed and brittle. Most of the text was smudged or faded, but you could make out references to “Navi-Paths” and “Asset Collection,” terms you recognized from your briefing. Whatever had happened here, it was clear that this facility had been operational once—before it was abandoned to the deep.

Suddenly, a crackle of static filled the air, making you jump. After a moment, a voice from Urbanshade HQ cut through the noise, calm and authoritative.

“Welcome to the Hadal Blackside,” the voice began, echoing in the empty dock with an unsettling clarity. “You are now within one of the most classified zones in all of Urbanshade’s operations. Your objective is simple: collect all assets and follow the designated Navi-Path. The resources you gather here are invaluable to our continued efforts, and your success is imperative.”

The voice paused, letting the weight of the words sink in before continuing.

“The Navi-Path has been mapped out for you. Follow it closely. It's the door signs. Straying from the path may result in disorientation, loss of communication, and even death. You are on your own out there, but we expect nothing less than full compliance. Remember: your mission is the priority. All other considerations are secondary.”

The transmission ended abruptly, leaving you alone once again in the oppressive silence of the dock. The weight of their words hung heavy in the air, the enormity of your task settling in. You adjusted the belt strapped around your waist, securing the small pouches that held the few tools you’d been given—some basic equipment, the small syringe for “emergency” use, and the USB stick that would prove vital to your mission.

Steeling yourself, you moved toward the exit, your path uncertain but driven by necessity. The first room beyond the dock was a wide, cavernous space, lit only by a few dimly lights that barely cut through the darkness. The walls were lined with more shelves, some of which had toppled over, spilling their contents onto the floor. Papers, tools, and unidentifiable scraps of metal were strewn everywhere, evidence of some past chaos.

You stepped carefully around the debris, your eyes scanning the room for anything useful. You found a few more documents, some partially legible, others completely ruined by time and moisture. Most were mundane—logs of inventory, maintenance records—but you stuffed a few into your pouch, just in case.

As you moved deeper into the room, your flashlight beam landed on a closed file cabinet in the corner. You approached it cautiously, the handle cold and slightly rusted under your gloved hand. With a bit of effort, you managed to pry it open. Inside, you found a stack of neatly organized files, most of them still in decent condition. You quickly flipped through them, noting the keywords: “Expedition Logs,” “Resource Acquisition,” “Subject Analysis.” These were the assets you were here for. You stuffed as many as you could into your pouch, the weight pressing against your side as you continued your search.

The next room was larger, with a vaulted ceiling that made the space feel even more ominous. Large machines sat dormant along the walls, their purposes unknown but their sheer size intimidating. The sound of dripping water echoed through the chamber, each drop amplified in the silence.

As you moved cautiously through the room, you spotted another item of interest—a small metal case half-hidden under one of the machines. You pulled it out and carefully opened it, revealing a series of USB sticks neatly lined up inside. Each was labeled with codes similar to the ones on the files you’d found. You didn’t know what they contained, but they were clearly important. You took the entire case, securing it in one of your larger pouches.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, sending a jolt of fear through you. You blinked, trying to shake off the unease. The facility was old, after all, and flickering lights were just another sign of its decay—nothing to worry about. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself, brushing off the creeping dread that began to settle in.

But then, the sound hit you—an ear-piercing, bone-chilling scream that reverberated through the walls, freezing you in place. It wasn’t human, not by any stretch of the imagination. The sound clawed at your nerves, each second amplifying the terror gnawing at your gut.

Before you could even process what was happening, a massive black cloud of smoke burst into the room, swirling with unnatural speed and intensity. The sight of it sent your mind into a frenzy. This was no ordinary malfunction. Panic gripped you like a vice, your instincts screaming at you to run, to hide, to do anything to escape whatever horror was hurtling toward you.

Without thinking, you bolted toward the nearest hiding spot—an open locker tucked away in the corner of the room. You flung yourself inside, pulling the door shut just as the cloud surged closer, filling the room with darkness and a suffocating sense of dread. You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to stay as still and quiet as possible.

Inside the cramped locker, you could hear the creature—or whatever it was—moving through the room, the sounds it made more akin to a swarm than a single entity. It hissed and crackled, its presence oppressive, as if the very air was being sucked out of the space. You could feel the vibrations of its movements through the metal walls of the locker, each shift causing you to tense up even more.

Time seemed to stretch out, every second an agonizing eternity as you waited, hoping that the creature would pass you by. Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them comforting. What was that thing? Why was it here? And, most terrifying of all—would it find you?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to quiet your breathing, hoping against hope that the locker would be enough to shield you from whatever nightmare had been unleashed in this forsaken place.

The giant monster rushed past as quickly as it had appeared, leaving you trembling in the confines of the locker. Your chest heaved, desperate for air, but it felt like no oxygen was reaching your lungs. Panic gripped you tightly, each breath coming out as a shallow gasp. Your thoughts spiraled, the terror of what you’d just witnessed crashing over you in waves.

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you fumbled with the helmet of your diving suit, the need to get it off suddenly overwhelming. The locker felt suffocatingly small, the walls pressing in on you from all sides. You could feel the cold metal against your back, your fingers finally finding the latch on the helmet. With a frantic jerk, you ripped it off your head, letting it fall with a clatter inside the cramped space.

Gasping, you sucked in the stale, metallic-tasting air of the locker, but it wasn’t enough. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, the sound of your own pulse deafening in your ears. It felt like the walls were closing in, squeezing the breath out of your lungs. No matter how much air you took in, it wasn’t enough to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, your mind replaying the sight of that monstrous cloud over and over again. The sheer horror of it, the way it had filled the room with darkness and dread, it was too much to handle. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the images out of your head, but they wouldn’t go away. The locker felt like a cage, trapping you with your fear, and your thoughts spiraled further out of control.

Your breaths came faster and faster, each one shallower than the last. You tried to steady yourself, to get a grip, but your body wouldn’t listen. You felt like you were drowning in your own panic, every nerve in your body screaming for escape, but there was nowhere to go. The fear had taken over completely, locking you in a vice grip of terror.

For what felt like an eternity, you sat there, struggling to breathe, your body shaking with the intensity of the panic attack. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion began to slow your frantic breaths, but the fear still lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind. You knew you couldn’t stay in the locker forever, but the thought of stepping back out into the darkness, where that thing might still be lurking, was almost too much to bear.

But you also knew you couldn’t stay in this state, trapped in a locker, paralyzed by fear. You forced yourself to take deeper breaths, to focus on the sound of your breathing, the feel of the cold air filling your lungs.

In the end, you couldn’t stay in the locker any longer. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, suffocating you with your own fear. With shaky breaths, you finally gathered the courage to push open the door and step out into the dark, disorienting space. The room was eerily silent, the absence of light making it impossible to see where you were going. You hesitated, trying to get your bearings without crashing into any furniture or walls.

Then it hit you—you had a flashlight. Relief mingled with your lingering panic as you remembered. Quickly, you fumbled for it, plucking it from your belt and flipping it on. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing the room around you. The light danced over scattered documents, overturned furniture, and… a strange, human-shaped hole in the wall.

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. The edges of the hole were jagged, as if something had forced its way out of the wall. Unease prickled at the back of your neck as you stepped closer, the flashlight’s beam trembling in your hand. You leaned in to get a better look, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.

Suddenly, a soft, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the hall—a faint shuffling, like something dragging across the floor. You froze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The sound was close, too close, and it sent a chill down your spine.

You swung the flashlight around, its beam sweeping over the room, desperately searching for the source of the noise. The light caught movement—just a flicker at the edge of the beam, but enough to send your heart racing.

Your breath hitched as you slowly turned toward the direction of the movement. Your flashlight illuminated a figure emerging from the wall itself, its form eerily human but distorted in unsettling ways. The Wall Dweller moved silently, its dark, gaunt shape blending seamlessly with the shadows. It was halfway out of the wall, its empty eyes locked on you with a chilling intensity.

For a moment, you were paralyzed by fear, your body refusing to respond as the Wall Dweller slithered free from the wall. But as the flashlight beam lingered on it, something unexpected happened—the creature froze. Its body stood still against the light, and for a brief second, it seemed almost uncertain.

Then, with a sudden, jerky motion, the Wall Dweller recoiled. It shifted back, retreating toward the open door you came from as if the light had unnerved it. You watched in shock as the creature sprinted back through the hallway, its gaunt figure slipping away into the darkness from which you came. The shuffling sound faded as quickly as it had begun, leaving you alone in the quiet room once more.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, flashlight still pointed at the now-empty wall. The encounter had left you rattled, but relief washed over you as you realized the Wall Dweller had fled, seemingly more afraid of you—or perhaps of the light—than you were of it.

Slowly, you lowered the flashlight, trying to steady your breath. The room was silent again, but the tension in the air had lessened. Whatever that thing was, it was gone now.

You took a moment to steady yourself, the flashlight still clutched tightly in your hand. The room was quiet, the Wall Dweller gone, but your nerves were frayed. You couldn’t afford to stay here any longer, not with the darkness pressing in and the uncertainty of what might be lurking nearby. You needed to keep moving.

Cautiously, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, the beam of your flashlight leading the way. The hall stretched out before you, lined with doors that seemed to go on forever. You chose one at random, the door creaking open as you pushed it with trembling hands. The room beyond was an office, eerily quiet and dimly lit by the emergency lights flickering weakly overhead.

You scanned the room, your eyes falling on several desks cluttered with papers and office supplies. You knew what you were here for—files, documents, anything that might be of value or contain information. Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to move forward, sweeping the flashlight over the desks and shelves.

As you approached the nearest desk, you noticed a stack of files haphazardly piled on top. Quickly, you started rifling through them, your eyes scanning the labels and dates. Some of them seemed important, so you grabbed what you could, shoving the files into the small pouch at your waist. The rest of the room yielded more documents, USB sticks, and other bits of data that you added to your growing collection.

The more you found, the more you realized how vital this information might be. But as you continued to search, the lights above you flickered, sending a jolt of fear straight through your chest. You froze, staring at the ceiling as the light stuttered again, threatening to plunge you into darkness.

Panic gripped you. The memory of the Wall Dweller was still fresh in your mind, and the thought of being caught in the dark again was unbearable. Your breath quickened, the room suddenly feeling far too exposed, too open. You needed to get out, and fast.

There was no locker here, nowhere to hide. You glanced around frantically, searching for another exit, another room—anywhere that might offer safety. The lights flickered once more, this time staying off for a fraction too long. It was enough to make your decision.

Without thinking, you bolted from the office, your footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted hallway. You didn't care about the noise, didn't care about anything except getting to a place where you could hide. The hallway seemed endless, but you pushed yourself forward, heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you spotted another door ahead, slightly ajar. You sprinted towards it, not slowing down until you reached it. Your hand shot out, wrenching the door open as you stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind you.

Panting heavily, you leaned against the door, trying to catch your breath. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of your flashlight, but it felt safer—more enclosed. You aimed the beam around, revealing another small office. This one was more cramped, with just enough space to move around.

Relief washed over you as you noticed a locker in the corner, its metal surface gleaming dully in the light. You wasted no time, crossing the room and throwing open the locker door. It was empty, just big enough for you to fit inside. You clambered in, pulling the door shut behind you as you crouched down, trying to quiet your breathing.

The darkness of the locker felt strangely comforting now, a shield against the unknown. You hugged your knees to your chest, listening intently for any sound outside. But there was nothing—just the pounding of your own heart and the faint hum of the building’s dying lights.

And then a heavy force rushed into the room before smashing itself against the metallic locker, the force pressing a dent into the double doors, making you scream as your space went smaller and smaller. You pushed your shaking legs against the doors with full force, keeping the dent and the monster from squishing you to death but whatever the creature was, wouldn't stop and rammed more against the poor locker that would soon give up.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the relentless force continued to crash against the locker, each impact louder and more violent than the last. The cold metal bent inward with every strike, the sound of creaking steel and the screech of the creature echoing in your ears. The small space grew unbearably tight, the walls closing in as you pushed back with all your might, your legs trembling under the strain. Fear clawed at your throat as you realized the locker wouldn't hold much longer. Desperation surged through you as you searched frantically for any possible escape, knowing that the next impact could be your last.

The relentless assault finally ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. You gasped for breath, your body trembling from the strain and adrenaline. The creature had retreated, its monstrous presence fading into the distance. The metal locker, now warped and twisted, barely provided any protection, but it was over.

Your legs were numb, a dull ache spreading through your entire body. Bruises throbbed on your skin where the locker had pressed into you, and the terror of the encounter left you drained, every ounce of energy spent. As the adrenaline ebbed away, the pain intensified, overwhelming your senses.

With a final, weak breath, your vision blurred, and you slipped into unconsciousness, your body slumped behind the battered double doors.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #asabovesobelow #pressure #gn!reader #gender neutral #sebastian x gn!reader

143 notes · View notes

venusrising91 · 1 year ago

Text

Noise Complaint

Pairing: Wonho x Male reader

Genre: Smut, enemies to lovers/hate to love (no plot just vibezzzz)

Summary: Your new nextdoor neighbor, Wonho (Lee-ho) is a loud, inconsiderate gym rat. He keeps you up all hours of the night with his seedy escapades and you're sick of it.

Word count: 2,014 (2 pages)

T/W: aggression, physical violence

It was 4am and you had work at 8, yet rest was as far from your reach as the sun would be once it rose.

Short hours.

You had short hours to get some much needed sleep. But no matter how hard you’d tried, you hadn’t been able to reach the REM state and it was all thanks to your obnoxious, ridiculously muscular neighbor, Lee-ho.

For the third time this week, giggling voices and blaring music, followed by high-pitched moans had kept you wide awake. Usually, after one or two rounds with whatever girl he’d picked up scouring city night clubs, the mewls and slaps and yes daddys would subside, and you could finally drift. But tonight, he seemed to have endless energy. You heard his date come four times. Back to back.

It was almost 6:30 by the time they wore themselves out.

You’d barely slept. At the office, you struggled to keep your eyes open, staring through slits at the charts on your computer. The project manager noticed you nodding and called you into her office after the meeting. As head graphic designer, you were expected to oversee and execute this assignment—because securing this client would ensure you a raise next quarter, but the arrival of your new neighbor had thrown a wrench in your performance.

She threatened to take you off the project and her disappointment was all you could think about on your commute back home.

In the apartment lobby, you pressed the button on the elevator console so hard it nearly jammed.

“Sup bruh.” You whipped your head around and there was Lee-ho, all 6 feet of him, donned in gym wear and sipping on some colorful drink. You clenched your teeth.

“Hey,” you mumbled back with listless regard.

The elevator doors opened and Lee-ho walked gingerly ahead of you. Before he could step inside however, his cell slipped from his pocket. As he bent you couldn’t help but notice his butt: firm, round, muscled. You tore your eyes away and carded your hair. Inside, the music was soft and unobtrusive. The exact opposite of Lee-ho.

“How you feeling?” he asked, plunging his hands into his pockets.

“Tired.”

He snorted. “Oh yeah, me too.”

“I’m sure you are.” You glared at him, slightly envious of the angle of his jaw, of how much sharper it was than yours. And envious also of the broad span of his chest, his neat features, his lips, his hair. He was by all accounts, an objectively better looking man than you and this only added to your irritation.

“What d’you mean by that?” asked Lee-ho, quirking his brow. He must have sensed your frustration because now he was folding his arms, closing up. You didn’t care.

“You know the walls that separate us are paper thin, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

The doors slid open on your floor. “I can hear everything. All the time.” You stepped out before him, stalking down the hallway.

“My bad, dude. I’ll keep it down,” he shouted after you. There was a smug air about his tone and you ignored him as you shoved your key into the lock. It was only 7pm but you were exhausted. After a quick dinner of leftover pasta, and an even quicker shower, you went to bed, desperate to get back the hours you’d lost. You drifted in minutes, sleeping soundly, until loud music and moans yanked you from your dreams at 2am.

You leapt from the bed, pulling on a robe, not bothering to tie it. It took less than two minutes for you to reach Lee-ho’s door. You pounded on it furiously, on and on, until he swung it open. For a moment, each of you stood silently observing one another. He was fully nude, sweating and cupping his genitals as his eyes swept over you. They lingered on your chest, you noted, then trailed up to meet your gaze. Despite your robe, you felt suddenly bare, and exposed. Quickly you tied it, covering yourself from him.

“What the fuck, dude?” said Lee-ho.

“Keep it down.”

“Yeah and what if I don’t?”

“I’ll write a formal complaint. You're violating code of conduct with this shit. Some of us have actual jobs, you know?”

“I have a job.”

“Gym bro influencer and fuckboy does not an occupation make.” This was rude, and uncalled for. But you were sleep deprived. Lee-ho's shoulders slumped down a measure—he appeared somewhat diminished in the face of the insult and you almost felt bad for him. Your eyes fell on his abs however, and then, without meaning to, dipped even lower, catching a glimpse of what was too large to be completely covered by his palm. Even his cock was better than yours—he didn’t need your pity. Without waiting for a retort, you turned and stormed down the hall.

Back in your bedroom, the beginnings of an erection tugged at the tender flesh between your legs. And by the time you lay back in bed, you were rock-hard, and aching.

In the morning you shaved and contemplated calling out, but you really couldn’t afford to. At work, you tried to concentrate but all you could think of was Lee-ho, of his throbbing head, peeking up from behind his hand in the middle of the doorway. You didn’t like men. At least you thought you didn’t. You’d had a few girlfriends in the past and once or twice thought about experimenting with a guy back in college but no one ever drew you in. No one ever attracted you the way—

Enough, you weren’t doing this. What were you thinking? You weren’t into dudes and especially not ones you despised as much as Lee-ho. He probably never had to work for anything a day in his life. Just had to show up and collect everyone's praise and adulation.

Prick.

Back at the apartment, you took the stairs to avoid crossing paths with him. Thankfully it was Friday, and you could catch up on your shows without feeling guilty for missing the sleep that was so hard to come by lately.

After dinner and a shower, you binged a season of a new show on Netflix, and dozed off halfway through. But a short while later, a sharp knock on the door jolted you awake.

You shuffled to it, half-dazed. Waiting on the other side was Lee-ho, glaring a hole through your forehead.

“You know, you’re a real asshole?” he declared.

“Could say the same about you.”

“What you said the other night—you don’t talk to people like that. I want an apology.”

You scoffed and made to shut the door. But he stopped it, forcing it open. “Get off the door and fuck off,” you clipped.

“Or what?”

Impulse and anger drove you to shove him, which was stupid. His arms alone were twice the size of yours. He shoved you back and you stumbled into your apartment. Lee-ho stepped over the threshold, letting the door slam behind him. Then his hands were on you again, crashing into your chest. It knocked the air from your lungs. Enraged, you swung and missed. He caught it and wrapped his hand around your throat, pinning you against a wall. His face was inches from yours as he strangled you, but slowly, his grip loosened. Each of you were panting. He smelled expensive, like Tom Ford—the scent filled you, clouded your head and senses. His breath on you was warm, his lips resting short inches from yours. He brought them even closer, until the tips of your noses were grazing.

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

“I—I’m not—I’m straight but…your…” he trailed off, hand sliding across your chest.

“You wanna fuck me, that it?” Neither of you said a word, only stood there, gazing, panting. Then your hand traveled down, until it landed on his crotch. You palmed his cock, and found it was already hard for you. After the other night, you couldn’t get it out of your mind. Once it was in your mouth, he made the most helpless sounds, cupping your head and guiding you as you swallowed it again and again.

“Fuck, your throat feels s-so good,” mewled Lee-ho. You fought against your gag reflex, getting harder each time he shoved it in, down to the hilt. Your eyes watered. You never thought the taste of cock could turn you on this much. Women were lovely and all but this was something else entirely. It was like satisfying some primal urge you never knew existed until now. You squeezed his balls gently, sucking him all the while. He came in minutes and stood over you shivering as the orgasm rippled through him.

You rose, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Lee-ho dropped to his knees, pulling down your boxers. He took you in his mouth and it felt like the world stopped spinning. His tongue swirled around the tip, one hand cradling your heavy balls, the other gripping your ass, a finger seeking the rosebud. He tried to slip it in but you panicked, bucking away like a spooked horse.

“I thought you said you were straight?” you whispered.

He popped your cock from his warm mouth. You twitched as he smirked up at you. “Chicks like it sometimes. I figured you might wanna give it a try. Feels tight though, got any lube?”

You hesitated, wondering what it would be like to have his finger circling inside you. There was nothing but heat and silence as you stared down at him. “In the bedroom,” you said, breathlessly.

As you lay on your back watching his chiseled body shift in the dim light, he slathered the lube you kept in your bedside drawer onto his middle finger. Then he drizzled some over your erection, spreading it with long strokes.

“Fuuuuuck,” you whined, arching at the pleasure, at the way he gripped you.

“You like that?” With this, he slid a finger inside you, taking it slow. The pressure had you arching even more. Once he eased you past the initial pain, all you could do was moan and claw and look down at your rock-hard cock as he pumped you in two places, at different paces. In the front he squeezed tight, giving you fast, steady strokes, but in that pulsing spot between your cheeks he worked you soft and deep, taking his time as his finger explored your depths. The pressure was glorious, and you felt your entrance contracting around him. “You’re dripping for me,” he cooed. You looked down at yourself as he gripped the base, a long rope dangling from the tip onto your stomach. He licked it, dragging the pad of his tongue along your abs, then swallowed you whole. After a few hard sucks he pulled back, finger still buried in you, coaxing out spasms you couldn't control. Fuck he was so attractive, you never thought a man could make you feel this good.

The next moment, you were shooting ropes in the air, convulsing under him and fisting the sheets as he drained you. He let you pant there, chest heaving, before taking your length back into his mouth. He sucked and finger-fucked you through your sensitivity, ignoring your loud moans and cries. You asked him to stop but you didn’t mean it. You wanted more and he gave it to you. All night. After your third orgasm you could barely stay conscious.

Lee-ho crept beside you, watching as you shivered your way through the leavings of your latest high.

“I’m s-sorry,” you muttered between waves of it, “about the other day. You’re right, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ll be quiet from now on, promise.”

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes open, and drifted then, still tingling from what he'd done to you. Your rest went uninterrupted for the first time in weeks. But when you woke, Lee-ho was gone.

From then on, the noise had stopped, just like he'd promised. But a few times a week, just before bed, there came a knock at your door, and a smirking, half-naked Lee-ho waiting on the other side of it.

#wonho imagines #lee wonho #lee hoseok #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #shin wonho #lee hoseok smut #monstax smut #monsta x wonho #kpop x you #kpop x y/n #wonho x reader #wonho x you #yaoi #bl manhwa #mm romance #male reader

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feelbokkie · 9 months ago

Text

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 7

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

WARNINGS: swearing, slight angst from being overworked

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: closed

W♡RD C♡UNT: 3,007

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

One thing you love about touring is how easy it is for you to walk into a cafe or restaurant and work without having to worry about anyone being able to read or understand you. If you were back in Seoul, you'd be confined to your desk at your job or stuck in your apartment out of fear someone would notice what you're working on and leak it. But overseas, you have much more freedom in your workspace. Hell, if you could find a park with free wifi, you'd work in the grass.

Still, cautious that someone might recognize one of the kids' faces, you find a spot off in the corner and try your best to sit with your back away from people so they wouldn't be able to see your screen.

What you currently hate is that Seoul is in the same timezone as Tokyo so you can't use the excuse of not joining a work Zoom by saying that it's at an inconvenient time for you.

"So we have pretty much all of the pages done and laid out. Of course, there are a lot of blank pages but we're using them as templates right now. The graphic design team wants to show you how they look." Mina, the team leader in charge of everyone back in Seoul while you're traveling, announces.

"Yeah, sure," You say as you take a sip of your nearly empty coffee. You gave them a vague layout of the ordering of what you want and how some of the pages should look, but you still mostly gave them creative freedom over most of it.

You watch as one of the graphic design artists searches his screen for something, probably looking for the share screen button, before a large black, white, and red image takes over your screen. You're looking at what you assume is the full group version zine, but really it looks like it could be just tour merch. You flip your notebook to a blank page, ready to take notes on what you see.

"Right so, let's start with the group version. You said you wanted to keep the color scheme and theme of the tour running throughout this version so we tried to do that like this..." One of the graphic artists explains.

You nod along, scribbling your notes, and pay attention to what everyone is saying. You're not opposed to team meetings, they can be helpful in trying to get a clear line of communication. But really, this entire meeting could have been an email. You could have viewed what everyone had done so far, emailed them their notes, and gone back to your business. But instead, you have to sit here and actively listen while everyone explains every little detail on the screen.

Your eyes drift to your now empty coffee cup. You got to the cafe about an hour before the meeting so you could get some work done. Normally, you wouldn't work so early but because there is a show later today, you're not going to have much time after to do anything other than prepare. And while you wish so desperately to be able to run off and order another one, you can't exactly leave the meeting you're running. Especially not with your boss sitting quietly in the corner of your screen evaluating you.

"For the member-specific versions, you said you wanted to draw inspiration from their solo stages. So this is what we have going on for Bang Chan ssi." Someone else explains. They probably divided themselves into teams so they could get more done. Must be nice.

Tap.

A full glass of iced coffee appears next to your notebook. You stare at it for a moment, confused because the cafe you're sitting in doesn't have table service. You quickly glance up and are met face to face with a man completely covered in black sweatpants, an oversized plain black t-shirt, a black baseball cap, and a matching black paper face mask. The color in his straight hair has long since faded into an almost ashy color. With the voice of whoever is talking in the meeting right now and the sudden coffee being placed in front of you, you almost don't register that it's Changbin standing in front of you.

"Can I sit here?" He asks quietly, slightly dropping his mask so you can hear him better.

You quietly nod and gesture for him to sit, confused as to why he would even want to. The cafe is relatively empty. The only other people in there are the baristas and an older man reading a newspaper while eating a croissant. There are plenty of other tables for him to sit at.

You rip out a blank piece of paper from your notebook and quickly scribble a 'thank you' and a note saying that you're in a meeting. Changbin reads it and nods like he understands but he doesn't move.

Great.

Changbin quietly sits across from you scrolling through his phone and drinking his iced coffee. Your back hurts from how straight you’re sitting and your neck is starting to get tired from all the nodding you’re doing while listening through each concept. Luckily, they didn't show you every single page, only showing you what they have done so far for each member and a few blank spreads.

"So, what do you think so far?" One of the younger members of the graphics team asks. You don't recognize her. She might be an intern. Then again, it's not your department so you don't know everyone there.

"Overall, I think it's a good starting point. We do have some room for improvement." You say as politely as possible. The last thing you want is a reputation as a micromanaging bitch. Or worse, a foreigner who thinks they know better than everyone else.

"For example?" Mina pushes.

You pick up your notebook and pretend to flip through it, you already know the key points you want to touch on now. "I like the color schemes you've pulled out from the solo numbers. I think we should keep the color scheme the way it is for the concert portions of each version but for the rest of the travel pages maybe we should go with a lighter shade? Especially for Bang Chan and Changbins. It'll be a little easier to lay out the travel pictures and bring a different vibe for that part."

You watch as everyone takes their own notes of what you just said, some nodding along as well.

"Anything else?" Someone mumbles.

"Just one more big thing actually. I noticed that a lot of the pictures used for the concert portions, especially with...Bang Chan, I.N, and Hyunjin, the pictures are a bit more...well not exactly risque but it shows off really one side of their performances. Maybe try to showcase some of their duality when they're performing? Like the pictures of them performing "I Like It" or one of the pictures I took of Felix and Seungmin chasing each other with water bottles. I'll have some more pictures for you to use later if what I sent before wasn't enough." It bugged you when you first saw it. Chan and Jeongin's pages somehow came out more like an ad for a live adult show and you know neither of them would be comfortable with that. You weren't comfortable either and you know that you would have received some backlash over it as well. At the end of the day, it's your name that's going out there.

"We'll fix that as soon as possible. Anything else?" Mina asks once again.

"Nothing major. I'll type out the rest of my list, along with my earlier notes, and send them in an email." Just like this meeting could have been. "Oh, really quickly, whoever's idea it was to give the solo songs their own layout like that, great job!"

A quiet 'thank you' rings in your ear but you can't see who said it.

"Alright. Oh before we go, we did have a request to make." Mina says slowly, a slightly annoyed smile plastered on her face that probably mirrored you. You resist the urge to roll your eyes and instead glance at Changbin who is now watching you with an amused look on his face.

"Yes?"

"Can you ask some of the members to redo their writing? I know you wanted to have a little transcribed section next to the parts that they wrote down their answers but some of it's illegible." She says softly.

"I could but the members are very busy at the moment. Their schedules are pretty packed in every city we're in and I don't want to have to bother them any more than I already am. I'm assuming the writing belongs to either Lee Know, Han, Hyunjin, or..." You glance up one more time and make eye contact with Changbin again. "Changbin."

"You're probably right. I haven't seen the writing myself but it seems like it's about half of them."

"Understandable. They all have rather...unique writing styles. I'll make you a little guide later once I have some time and if that still doesn't help then I'll transcribe them myself. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Please, for the love of God don't.

"No, that's fine. Great meeting everyone. We'll touch back in a few weeks, Y/n ssi."

"Okay." You exhale in relief. You watch as people start to disappear from the meeting. "Ah, bujangnim, I have a question for you in private if you have a moment."

"Yes, Y/n ssi?" Your boss asks, caught by surprise to have finally been acknowledged.

You gain control over the meeting now that Mina left. You make sure to stop the recording before turning your attention back to your boss. You wish you could kick Changbin off from the table but something tells you that if you didn't it would cause another issue.

"I was wondering if you read my email about possibly reassigning some more of my responsibilities to other members of the department?" You speak carefully, watching your tone and choosing each of your words carefully. Your mouth feels like it's filled with cotton all of a sudden. You might choke if you speak too fast. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, I'm glad for all of the opportunities you've given me. It's just that I'm doing so much for this project by myself and there are so many comebacks and debuts happening all at once."

You watch as your boss' lips press together and he leans into his chair. You glance up at Changbin again, embarrassed to have him sitting so close to you during this meeting, but he's back to minding his own business on his phone.

"I did see your email and I was just about to send one back to you." He sits back up in his chair and leans over the table he's sitting at, resting his elbows on it. "Unfortunately, you do your job too well."

"Excuse me?" Reflectively, your head tilts to the side as you try to understand.

"What I mean is, you've created a brand for yourself at the Star. Outside of the scandals that most of the department thrives on, your album reviews, concert reviews, and small articles about up-and-coming idols bring in a lot of foot traffic to the music section. We did outsource some of your projects to interns and other writers in the department and we have people begging for Jeong Ilsung back. In all honesty, I'm regretting letting you go off on that little passion project of yours."

"I-I see," Your voice cracks unintentionally. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself calm, the pain offering a slight distraction from the dull needles hitting the back of your eyes.

"Because you're currently overseas, there's only so much you can do. But I'd like for you to continue with your album reviews. We have some interns doing the other stuff until you get back." He explains cheerfully, trying to really sell the plus side of the Sisyphean mountain of work ahead of you.

"Of course," You can almost feel the skin tighten around your fake smile. You've been wearing it so long today, you might be permanently stuck like that.

"Was there anything else?" He asks, you can almost hear the exhaustion in his voice.

I wonder if that's how I sound?

"No, that will be all. Thank you, bujang--" Your boss leaves the call just before you can finish saying goodbye.

You squeeze your eyes tightly as you tilt your head to the ceiling. You pinch the bridge of your nose and inhale deeply, your head slowly starts to feel like a bubble. Maybe if you hold your breath long enough, everything will stop for a moment. Maybe you'll pass out and you can miss tonight's show. Surely, they don't need you for every single night. Maybe--

"Noona?"

Pop!

You finally exhale and sit upright again. You almost completely forgot that Changbin was still sitting with you. His face is the softest you've seen directed at you the entire time you've known him. He almost looks like the soft, cuddly, sweet man everyone describes him as.

"Right, sorry." You take a sip of your now mostly melted coffee.

"No, it's fine, you were busy." He shifts in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position.

"So," You lean back into your seat and relax your face. No need to wear a smiling mask, Changbin already knows he's your least favorite person and you know that you're his. "What did you need?"

"I just wanted to bring you a coffee and apologize." He gestures at the drink he bought you earlier. "You know, for the thing with your phone."

"What thing with my phone?"

You remember exactly what he's referring to. You'll probably never forget the most hurtful insult you've ever received in your professional career. You just want to hear him admit it.

"You know, when I called you ou--" Changbin stops himself and clears his throat instead. "I mean when I implied that you were recording us."

"You're forgiven. I get it, you don't trust me. It was a simple mistake." You say simply. You sit up and save what you're working on.

"Thank you,"

The silence is awkward between you two. You're waiting for Changbin to be done so you can head back to the hotel and rest before the show. Changbin is...well, like usual, you have no idea what's going on through Changbin's mind.

"Did you have something else you wanted to talk about?" You ask politely as you continue to shut down your laptop.

"I didn't know if you had anything you wanted to say." He says almost innocently as he takes a sip from his cup.

It takes you a little too long to connect the dots in your head to understand what Changbin is implying. Or rather what he's asking for. You let out a loud, scoff in disbelief that comes out more like an evil laugh. You weren't even aware you could make a noise like that. But apparently, if someone pisses you off enough...

"You are absolutely fucking unbelieve..." You mutter under your breath before you turn your complete attention onto Changbin. "If that's how you apologize, then I can tell you several places you and your apology can go. I'm not going to sit here and apologize for something I didn't do."

"So polite," He smirks like he's winning.

"Do you realize how insulting what you accused me of is?" You clap your hands together and keep them there. If you don't you might jump over the table and strangle Changbin. "To put it into perspective, it's as if I accused you of plagiarizing songs from other people. Both are very illegal, by the way. And the most hurtful thing to hear when you know how long and hard you've worked to get where you are with your career."

Changbin's smirk falls off of his face and he back to an unreadable expression. Still, he doesn't offer up a second apology. You look around the cafe to find something, anything to calm yourself. You didn't realize how loud you were getting but the looks from the few other patrons and the staff is enough to let you know how much of a scene you're causing.

You muster all your emotions into one deep sigh and turn back to Changbin. "You don't have to like me, I certainly do not like you right now. But I need you to trust me so I can do my job. And when this is all over, you won't have to see or hear from me ever again."

Still, Changbin stays quiet, only this time, he's having trouble meeting your eyes. Like he might actually feel guilty if he looks you in the eyes. Or maybe you'll turn him to stone.

"Look, I don't know how else to get you to trust me." You safely eject your thumb drive from your laptop and set it on the table. You shut your computer down all the way and shove it into your bag, pulling out both of your completed notebooks to make space. "Here are most of the notes I've taken of you guys so far and here are all of my current drafts. Read them or don't. I don't care. But if you do, you'll see that I really don't mean any harm to you or any of the other kids. I can give you the notebook I'm currently working with after I'm done if you want. Some of my notes are in English so if you need help, just ask Chan or Felix. Now if you'll excuse me."

Exhausted and not wanting to deal with anything else for the next few hours, you toss the strap for your bag over your head and push yourself off the table, leaving Changbin alone in the cafe.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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