#Event Equipment Solutions

[stagesync78]

"Why Truss Hire is Essential for Event Lighting and Staging"

Are you trying to find a dependable and flexible solution for setting up your event? Truss rental includes professional staging and lighting. Learn about the different types of trusses, the benefits of hiring rather than purchasing, and how to correctly erect your event. Perfect for exhibitions, concerts, and business meetings.

[stagesync]

StageSync Music & Sound System Rentals

Turn up the volume at your event with StageSync Music, Sound System Rentals, and DJ Hire. From powerful sound systems to professional DJ services, we provide everything you need to keep the party going. Perfect for weddings, parties, and corporate events.

👉 Explore Our Sound Systems and DJ Services

📍 Address: No 3 Warsaw Court, Clarinda, Melbourne, Victoria-3169, Australia 📞 Phone: 0403 158 923 | 0403 355 073 📧 Email: stagesynceventhire@gmail.com

Let’s create unforgettable soundscapes for your special occasion. Contact us now!

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my salmonid ocs again... I need to design them soooo bad but at the same time I have yet to decide what to do with their clothes as while the traditional battle salmon pant would suffice my need to do needless extra work for the sake of worldbuilding is powerful indeed

[kellsouae]

Looking for a mobile stage manufacturer in UAE? Discover how to choose the best event staging solution for concerts, schools, exhibitions, and public events.

[abctksasau]

[av-solutions-integrated]

Staging Solutions for Corporate Events in Malaysia

Professional Conference Staging Solutions in Malaysia

In today’s demanding corporate sector, delivering memorable events has become a necessity especially, when you are hosting a corporate conference, or an immersive trade exhibition, or a grand scale live performance, your staging forms the backbone of audience engagement. At AV Solutions, we turn standard venues into remarkable event spaces with our end-to-end staging solutions.

At AV Solutions, we don’t just set up equipment, we craft experiences that move audiences. We combine technical expertise with creative vision to deliver seamless, professional-grade setups. Our systems deliver reliable audio clarity for every presentation strategic lighting that enhances every moment, and intelligent staging that maximizes your venue’s potential.

In this blog, we’ll showcase how our Corporate Event Staging services in Malaysia can transform conferences, exhibitions, and live performances, delivering exceptional results that go beyond expectations. Learn how cutting-edge technology, meticulous execution, and innovative staging solutions create unforgettable event experiences. Our Corporate Event Staging, Malaysia services are designed to create impactful environments that facilitate seamless communication and information sharing.

Advanced Audio Visual Integration

Our staging solutions deliver consistent sound coverage across your venue. Using wireless mics and line array systems, we adapt the audio setup to fit events of any size

Dynamic Lighting Systems

Proper illumination is crucial for professional presentations. Our Corporate Event Staging, Malaysia packages include intelligent lighting systems with:

• Spot lighting for keynote speakers • Ambient lighting for audience areas • Programmable colour temperature control

Hybrid Event Technology

Expand your conference reach with our integrated staging solutions for hybrid events. We offer:

• Multi-camera live streaming setups • Professional video switching • Real-time audience interaction tools

Exhibition Staging Solutions for Trade Shows in Malaysia

Make your brand stand out with our innovative staging solutions designed specifically for trade shows and exhibitions.

Modular Display Systems

Our Corporate Event Staging, Malaysia team creates customizable exhibit structures featuring:

• Reconfigurable LED panel walls • Interactive touchscreen displays • Holographic projection technology

Immersive Brand Experiences

We design staging solutions that transform ordinary booths into engaging brand environments through:

• 360° projection mapping • Augmented reality integrations • Motion-activated content displays

Concert & Live Event Staging Solutions

Elevate your live performances with our professional staging solutions tailored for concerts and entertainment events.

Touring-Grade Audio Systems

Our Corporate Event Staging Malaysia services include:

• Line array speaker configurations • Digital mixing consoles • Wireless in-ear monitoring systems

Spectacular Lighting Productions

Create unforgettable moments with our:

• Moving head fixtures • Laser projection systems • DMX-controlled lighting sequences

Structural Stage Design

We engineer safe, impressive staging structures featuring:

• Modular aluminium truss systems • Custom stage decks • Professional rigging solution

Why Choose AV Solutions for Your Event Staging Needs?

As Malaysia’s leading provider of staging solutions, we offer:

1. Complete Technical Production — Full-service Corporate Event Staging, Malaysia solutions from design to execution 2. Cutting-Edge Technology — The latest in AV equipment and staging innovations 3. Experienced Technical Crew — Certified professionals for flawless event execution 4. Customizable Packages — Scalable staging solutions for any budget or venue

For professional Corporate Event Staging, Malaysia services and innovative staging solutions, contact AV Solutions today to discuss your next event.

In Order To Find Out More Details On Staging Solutions Please Be Touch With Us Today Onwards..!

[vcraftstudio]

Trade Show Booth Design in USA

Whether you need eco-friendly modular booths, hybrid solutions combining custom features with modular flexibility, or fully customized wooden booths, we ensure seamless execution—from design to installation and management. Our team focuses on creating visually striking, high-quality booths that make a lasting impact at trade shows and events.

[sinoswan-mobilestages]

SINOSWAN-ST130Pro Debuts in Saudi Arabia, Enhancing Outdoor Performances

The SINOSWAN-ST130Pro mobile stage has successfully enhanced the performance quality of several major outdoor events in Saudi Arabia. As a flagship product of SINOSWAN, the ST130Pro is equipped with an advanced hydraulic system and professional sound and lighting configurations, ensuring optimal performance at every event. The stage’s simple design and quick installation offer event organizers great flexibility and efficiency.

Moreover, the ST130Pro's exceptional performance has earned high praise from Saudi customers. Through continuous innovation, SINOSWAN is committed to providing high-quality mobile stage solutions for global markets. Currently, SINOSWAN's products have been exported to the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Russia, and other countries, becoming a trusted brand in the international market.

Whether for music festivals, roadshows, or other large-scale events, the SINOSWAN-ST130Pro delivers outstanding on-site performance. If you are interested in our products, please feel free to contact us.

[stagesync78]

"How to Choose the Perfect Backdrop Hire for Your Event"

Do you want to make your event look better? Learn from experts how to pick the ideal backdrop rental for your theme. We go over setup ideas, styles, and how to employ the perfect background to create an event that will be remembered, whether it's for a wedding, business meeting, or picture session.

[impruve]

The Complete Guide to Buffetware and Live Cooking Station

Discover the essentials of buffetware & live cooking station. Learn how to set up, serve, & make the most of your buffet experience.

[abctksasau]

[av-solutions-integrated]

Seamless Video Walls: Transforming Spaces with Cutting-Edge AV Solutions

In today’s fast-paced world, effective communication and impactful presentations are more important than ever. Whether it’s a high-stakes corporate meeting, a large-scale conference, or an immersive event experience, the right technology can make all the difference. Enter seamless video walls, a powerful tool that combines stunning visuals with seamless integration to create unforgettable experiences. AV Solutions, a leader in audio-visual technology, specializes in providing these state-of-the-art systems, tailored to meet the unique needs of businesses and events across the country.

What is a Seamless Video Wall?

A seamless video wall is a large display composed of multiple screens or panels that work together to create a single, unified image. Unlike traditional displays, where bezels (the frames around the screens) can disrupt the viewing experience, seamless video walls are designed to minimize or eliminate these gaps. The result is a high-quality, immersive display that captures attention and delivers content with clarity and impact.

These video walls are incredibly versatile, making them suitable for a wide range of applications. From corporate boardrooms and conference rooms to stadiums and event venues, seamless video walls can transform any space into a dynamic and engaging environment.

Why Choose AV Solutions?

AV Solutions stands out in the crowded AV industry by offering more than just equipment — they provide a complete, turnkey solution. Their team of experts works closely with clients to understand their goals and objectives, ensuring that every installation is tailored to meet specific needs. Whether you’re looking to enhance a classroom, upgrade a boardroom, or create a show-stopping display for an event, AV Solutions has the expertise to make it happen.

One of the key strengths of AV Solutions is their ability to integrate multiple technologies into a cohesive system. Beyond seamless video walls, they offer LED panel displays, flat panel displays, led billboard, sound systems, and integrated control systems for lighting, audio, and video equipment. This holistic approach ensures that every component works together seamlessly, creating a user-friendly and efficient setup.

Real-World Applications

The applications of seamless video walls are as diverse as the clients who use them. Here are a few examples of how AV Solutions has helped businesses and organizations elevate their spaces:

1. Corporate Boardrooms: In a high-stakes meeting, first impressions matter. A seamless video wall can turn a standard boardroom into a cutting-edge presentation space, allowing teams to showcase data, videos, and graphics with stunning clarity. AV Solutions integrated systems also make it easy to control lighting, sound, and displays with the touch of a button, ensuring a smooth and professional experience.

2. Conferences and Events: For large-scale events, a seamless video wall can serve as the centrepiece of the stage, displaying live feeds, presentations, and promotional content. AV Solutions rental services make it easy to bring this technology to any venue, creating a memorable experience for attendees.

3. Stadiums and Arenas: In sports and entertainment venues, video walls are essential for engaging the audience. Whether it’s displaying live action, replays, or advertisements, a seamless video wall ensures that every seat in the house has a great view.

4. Training Facilities: In corporate training environments, effective communication is key. A seamless video wall can enhance learning by displaying training materials, videos, and interactive content in a clear and engaging way.

The AV Solutions Difference

What sets AV Solutions apart is their commitment to understanding their client’s needs. Before recommending any equipment, their sales specialists take the time to consult with clients, learning about their goals, challenges, and vision. This collaborative approach allows them to design customized solutions that maximize space, functionality, and impact.

Once a solution is developed, AV Solutions handles every aspect of the process, from equipment procurement to installation. Their team ensures that the system is set up correctly and functions flawlessly, so clients can focus on what matters most — their business.

Even after installation, AV Solutions remains a trusted partner. They offer on-going support and maintenance to ensure that systems continue to perform at their best. For clients who want to explore their options, they also provide site surveys, product demonstrations, and detailed quotations.

Behind the Scenes: The Art of Integration

Creating a seamless video wall system is more than just connecting screens — it’s about designing a solution that works seamlessly behind the scenes. AV Solutions takes pride in their ability to integrate products in a way that feels intuitive and effortless. They carefully consider how each component fits into the overall system, ensuring that vital functions remain “invisible” while still delivering the desired results.

This attention to detail is what allows AV Solutions to perform their magic. By combining the latest technology with thoughtful design, they create systems that are not only powerful but also easy to use. Whether it’s a simple setup for a small meeting room or a complex installation for a stadium, AV Solutions delivers results that exceed expectations.

A Partner for the Future

As technology continues to evolve, the demand for seamless video walls and integrated AV solutions will only grow. AV Solutions is at the forefront of this trend, offering innovative solutions that help businesses and organizations stay ahead of the curve. By combining cutting-edge technology with personalized service, they are redefining what’s possible in the world of audio-visual solutions.

For businesses looking to make an impact, AV Solutions is more than just a vendor — they’re a partner. With their expertise, dedication, and passion for innovation, they are helping clients transform their spaces and achieve their goals, one seamless video wall at a time.

To Learn About More Details On Seamless Video Wall Please Come And Visit Our Website..!

[markwilson123]

Looking for Audio Visual Equipment Rental in Dubai? | 11:11 Events

Planning an event in Dubai? Discover premier audio visual (AV) rental companies offering a wide array of equipment, from sound systems to high-tech projectors, ensuring an unforgettable experience for any occasion. Choose reputable firms like 11:11 Events, renowned for their customized services and cost-effective solutions, to elevate your event to new heights! For more information about AV equipment rental in Dubai, visit https://11-11av.com/are-you-looking-for-av-rental-companies-in-dubai/ or call +971 50 495 5852.

[mingapace]

𝕹𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖞 𝕯𝖔𝖌

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ!ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋʏ-ɴᴇᴇᴅʏ-ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ-ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴜʙ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴇʀᴀ, ᴏʀᴀʟ (ꜰ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ(ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ?), ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ. [Also, English is not my first language]

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 6K

It's been a shitty day. There's no other way to say it.

You started with a flat tire, then the usual blackout at the store forced you to manually enter every receipt, with your boss breathing down your neck at every minor mistake. The boiler gave up the exact moment you walked home and now… now it’s raining.

But not the slow, lazy kind of rain that makes you want to curl up on the couch with a book and a cup of tea. No, it’s raining like the sky is serving a sentence.

The wind howls like a dying animal, crushed under the weight of the storm, shaking the hedges and trees with force—something you find strangely hypnotic. The rain lashes fiercely against the kitchen window as you stare through them.

At least the house is quiet. You made yourself canned soup—the dinner of the desperate—and swallowed it standing up, leaning against the counter, without even turning on the TV.

Your cat weaves between your ankles, rubbing itself, searching for food to satisfy its greed.

You bend over and scratch behind its ear while pouring the contents of the wet food into the small ceramic bowl on the floor.

You were about to stand up and grab some dry food when a dull thud breaks the roar of the rain. Then another thump follows. The metallic clang of trash bins tipping over.

You freeze. It’s not the first time this has happened—there are raccoons and stray animals around, although lately they've been rare.

Slowly you set the can down on the trash and walk into the hallway. The government-issued rifle hangs above the door, not out of paranoia. From protection. From them.

It wasn’t an explosion. Nor an invasion or a scientific breakthrough, like in the movies.

It was a slow accumulation of evidence. An escalation of “isolated incidents” too similar to ignore. Unexplained disappearances. Blood-drained bodies, animals reduced to carcasses in the suburbs. And then the videos: grainy, shaky, filmed with cell phones in the dead of night. Eyes that glowed too bright in the dark, shadows moving against the laws of nature, and smiles full of fangs.

At first, it seemed like a prank. A joke.

Then they started arming themselves.

The creatures of the night—vampires, werewolves, spirits, hybrids never classified—had always existed, only they had known how to hide for centuries. But the era of total surveillance shattered that fragile balance. Technology had discovered them and humans, predictably, responded with fear.

And with fear came solutions. Special patrols, UV ray weapons, sacred barriers, identification serums.

And above all, the Custodians: government and paramilitary groups licensed to hunt, contain, or eliminate every anomaly.

Officially, it was for collective safety.

Unofficially, it was a cold war.

Because humans had never truly accepted that they were no longer the only species at the top, and the creatures of the shadows… had never truly forgotten what the world was like before.

So the government equipped the population with weapons to counter these creatures if needed, and the number of paranormal events drastically dropped.

Your fingers tighten around the rifle’s handle, and you load it with a familiar motion. The metallic click rings loudly in the stillness of the house.

You open the front door, and the cold, wet air hits you full force. You pull your jacket tighter around you, looking down the alley beside the house. The bins are overturned, the open bags spilling their contents across the driveway. The streetlamp’s light flickers in the rain, making everything blurry and trembling.

The distant sound of sirens piques your curiosity.

You take a step forward, stepping down from the porch, then freeze again.

At first, you don’t see it.

You hear it.

Another thud to your left. You look toward the small tool shed in the garden and frown. The door was closed.

Too well closed.

You know that door. It’s old, it sticks, and you always leave it ajar so you don’t have to force it every time you need a trowel or a bucket.

And despite the strong wind, it stayed magically shut.

You feel a chill slide down your back.

You advance with the rifle gripped tightly in your hands, the barrel pointed ahead as you move in that direction. Your heart pounds hard but your hands stay steady. You’ve learned to keep panic at bay.

The grass beneath your shoes is soggy from all the water; every step makes a wet squelch. Your breath condenses in front of your mouth.

When you reach the door, you press your ear to the wood but hear nothing. Not even a breath.

With a sharp motion, you fling the door open. The wood creaks and hits the inside of the shed, and in the confusion, you see eyes shining in the dark and something reflexively bolts forward.

The first shot rings out in the night, echoing, and hits the back of a tin barrel. You’re about to reload when you see him emerge from the shadows. Kneeling.

Hands raised, palms open, eyes wide.

“No! Please! Don’t shoot!”

At first, you think it’s just a homeless person, maybe a drug addict or drunk who ended up in your garden, but then, in the dim glow of the outside lights, you notice more.

The hands are long, the nails too sharp. The skin pale as wax, blotched with blood. The neck stiff, the jaw clenched as if trying to contain unspeakable pain. And the eyes. When he realizes you won’t shoot, he raises them just slightly. They are glossy behind the wet hair falling over his forehead, but a type of red that could only belong to one of them. A creature of the night. A vampire.

“Stop right there!” you shout, clicking the magazine threateningly. Your voice is sharper than the rain pelting down on you.

You see him bend slightly over himself, knees scraping the grass as he inches forward, letting out a wet, deep sound, like he’s drowning.

“I-I didn’t mean to frighten ya. There was nowhere else! I'd have left… I just wanted to hide 'til—” he stammers, shoulders tensing as the police lights begin to color the horizon red and blue. They had probably heard the shot.

You don’t let anxiety take hold and don’t look away from the dangerous creature before you. He’s on your property now, and who knows how long he’d been hiding in the shed. They would ask questions, interrogate you for hours.

As common as those creatures were, so were the people who protected and hid them. And the system certainly didn’t treat them differently once they found out.

“Shit…” you whisper, your finger trembling on the trigger.

“I beg ya. Let me stay 'til they're gone. I won’t harm ya…” he continues in a whisper so low you have to strain to hear, as if he fears the Custodians might hear even through the wind and rain. “I swear on everythin'… on everythin' I've got left. Please, just for tonight. Don’t tell them I’m here.”

Each word is a cough. When he tries to move, you see one leg visibly tremble. His voice breaks on a sob that doesn’t even sound human.

You swallow hard. Instinct tells you to shoot him, to finish him before the Custodians find him.

But looking at him—so broken, so different from every story you’d heard or seen about vampires—you wonder what you’re really seeing.

Not a predator. Not a monster, at that moment.

Just a being close to his end.

“Move.” You say, rifle raised. “Inside. Before they see you.”

He looks at you as if he doesn’t understand.

“What?”

“You heard me. Inside. Now.” The sirens in the distance are getting closer. Time is running out.

The creature drags himself, almost crawling. Each step a groan, a test of endurance. His legs barely hold him; his face is contorted in pain. When he crosses the threshold of your house, he collapses in the hallway, his back against the wall, the rug slowly stained by the blood leaking from his leg. He stays there, without even the strength to turn toward you.

You slam the door shut.

The lock clicks. Two turns. Then silence, almost.

Now the rain is just a muffled sound against the windows.

You feel droplets drip down your hair and neck but don’t bother brushing them away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your cat peek out from the kitchen and instantly flare up when it fixes its yellow eyes on the man. It emits a low, threatening hiss, like a little dragon. Its fur bristles and tail puffs before it leaps and disappears toward the bedroom as if it had seen the Devil himself.

The vampire barely lifts his face, cracked lips curling into something that might have been a smile.

“Looks like I've got a bit of charm for 'em.” He murmurs, voice trembling.

You don’t laugh. You don’t move. You don’t lower the weapon.

You still keep it pointed straight at his face.

“Don’t move.” You order. “At the slightest, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

He doesn’t protest. Just nods slowly. Then a jolt bends him in two. A moan escapes his lips and he wraps his hands around his leg exactly where his pants tear, muttering something you don’t understand—maybe a curse or a prayer.

After a few seconds, you notice the trembling. Fingers twitching near the gunshot wound.

You take a deep breath and curse your conscience.

You turn without a word and head to the bathroom cabinet, where you keep an old first aid kit. Nothing serious: iron tweezers, sterile gauze, a couple of bandages, and discount disinfectant.

You bring everything back to the hallway, rifle clutched in one hand, and toss the small box toward him. The kit lands half a meter away, slides on the floor, and opens sideways, spilling some of its contents.

“That’s all I’ve got.” You spit.

The vampire leans forward and slowly reaches for the tweezers.

You watch him tear more at his pants, the fabric soaked with blood and water clinging to his skin, revealing the bullet’s entry wound still lodged in the flesh.

You almost turn away when he inserts the tweezers into the wound, but you don’t. You can’t.

The sound is wet, disgusting. He growls, his head hitting the wall, sharp teeth clenched to keep from screaming.

A bloody, steaming piece of metal falls to the floor with a dull clack. It must have been silver.

The tweezers land beside the bullet, and you hear him let out a big sigh of relief.

“Thank you…” he whispers.

You stare at him.

“Don’t thank me.”

You lean against the wall opposite him for some stability on your tired legs, watching the wound start to close, the blood stop seeping.

“Name's Remmick.”

You frown at his introduction but don’t return the courtesy.

Time passes.

You stay there, unmoving. Eyes glued to the figure collapsed on your hallway floor. The vampire seems to have stabilized. His eyes closed, occasionally moaning—a low, painful sound that scratches your ears like sandpaper.

You wanted to say you’d stay awake. You wanted to believe it.

But your body had other plans. You’d had an exhausting day and the adrenaline rush was wearing off; it had kept you standing so far, but now it was pulling all the accumulated fatigue down onto your body.

You drag yourself to the couch without ever looking away from him. You keep him in your sights even as you sit down. But your eyelids grow heavy, your eyes burn, and your heartbeat slows, irregular.

Just five minutes, you tell yourself.

Just one breath.

Then the night closes over you.

You wake up with a jolt.

A gasp. Your heart pounding like a hammer against your sternum. Short of breath.

Morning light slams against the windows, filtering faintly through tightly drawn curtains.

A pale, milky white. The rain has stopped, and the world is quiet.

Too quiet.

You sit up suddenly, your stomach clenched in a knot as you look around. The hallway is empty.

The vampire’s body is no longer there.

“For God's sakes.”

The word comes out like a gunshot, sharp and dry. You immediately reach for your neck, searching for bite marks, teeth, anything. Your fingers move across your skin—nothing.

You check your arms. Then your legs, lifting the edge of your pants slightly—again, nothing.

No marks, no bites, no punctures.

But the anxiety doesn’t fade.

You scan the room, searching for any trace. The carpet is still stained, bandages are scattered, and the forceps are still crusted with dried blood—clear signs that the previous night hadn’t been a nightmare.

Then, in the gleam of the light, a glint catches your eye. The rifle.

It’s neatly placed on the low table next to the couch where you’d been lying.

You didn’t leave it there. You had it with you, gripped tight, until sleep took you.

You snatch it up and check the magazine. Still full, the two bullets nestled inside.

Your hand trembles slightly. You wonder how many chances he had—and how many he ignored.

But more than anything: why?

An unmistakable clatter of pots reaches your ears.

You grip the rifle tighter and take cautious steps down the hallway, shoulders tense and eyes scanning every corner. The window in the hall is closed—but you don’t remember shutting it.

Your steps falter when a warm, salty scent wafts into the air, sliding under your nose: bacon.

And something else.

You turn the corner, tension braced for an ambush. And instead…

“Mornin' to ya, sweetheart.”

The voice greets you before the image does. So light and full of cheer it nearly makes your temples throb.

The vampire, Remmick, is there. Standing at your kitchen stove.

He’s still wearing the stained white t-shirt he tried to clean, and one of your aprons is tied around his waist. His hair, still damp, is awkwardly slicked back but sticks out in odd angles.

You stop at the threshold, almost paralyzed, slowly lowering the rifle to let it rest at your side. You can’t speak. Can’t even think.

Remmick smiles as he moves a piece of sausage from the pan to a plate on the set table.

“Had a look in yer fridge, found a few bits.” he says, briefly adjusting the flame under the scrambled eggs. “Thought ya might fancy a hot breakfast, y'know -after pullin' some poor bastard outta the fire last night.”

Your eyes scan the room, taking in every detail.

The two windows: both closed, sealed carefully against daylight. Even the small gap above the sink is covered with a dish towel taped in place. Only the bluish glow of the overhead lights illuminates the scene, preserving his safety zone.

“Ya were up before I even got the coffee sorted,” he adds, nodding toward a gently steaming mug on the counter. “Only had the instant stuff, sadly. Spotted the moka, yeah, but…I reckon yer outta proper grounds.”

You stare at him. Still silent. Your mind unable to fit this scene into any definition of “threat.”

Remmick slides the finished plate along the counter, placing it on the opposite side from where he stands. He watches you intently as you approach—his red eyes now replaced with wide, gray, puppy-like ones.

You pick up the plate and bring it closer to the stool.

“Thanks… I guess?”

His eyes shine with such open gratitude it’s almost painful to bear—and you’re certain that if he had a tail, he’d be wagging it.

You rest the rifle against the kitchen island, not willing to be too far from it, and sit down on the stool.

“You said your name’s Remmick, right?”

He nods, wiping his hands on the towel before untying it from his waist.

“Is there a reason they were after you?” you ask firmly. You see him smirk, but before he can speak, you add, “Besides the obvious,” motioning at his entire being with your fork.

The smile fades from his lips. Not all at once, but slowly, like a candle dying out.

He leans on the back of the chair in front of him and lowers his gaze, as if debating whether to lie.

“They sold me off.” he murmurs finally.

You raise an eyebrow. “Sold?”

He grimaces, like the word tastes bad in his mouth.

“A volunteer… one o' them folks who, well, y'know how it goes…”

Of course, you’d heard about them. Volunteers—humans who offered themselves willingly to the creatures of the night. But even that had been outlawed and prosecuted.

“The fuckin' Custodians jumped me 'fore I'd even physically step away from the lad.”

He lowers his eyes for a second and you think, for a moment, he regrets his wording as you grimace visibly.

“Haven’t laid a fang on anyone without askin' in donkeys' years, swear it.”

The kitchen is silent for a few seconds after his justification.

Then, the alarm explodes in your chest like a gunshot.

A sharp, repeating buzz vibrating against your thigh from your pocket.

You grab it—7:48 - Work

The weight of time crashes down on you suddenly, like you’d forgotten the outside world still exists.

You have a job to show up for, a life that—until yesterday—was made of routine and reassuring silence.

You jump up, ignoring the full plate and now-cold coffee.

You swing open the closet by the front door, yank down your coat, and slip it on in swift movements.

The keys jingle as you grab them from the hook.

Luckily, you hadn’t changed clothes the night before—you’re still in your work uniform.

As for hygiene, you’d freshen up later after handling the store’s incoming inventory.

Meanwhile, Remmick watches you—just outside the kitchen doorway, peeking down the hallway.

You turn to him and force your voice flat, emotionless.

“By the time I get back,” you say, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, “I don’t want to find you here.”

You see his shoulders drop by a millimeter. When he opens his mouth to speak, you turn, open the door, and leave.

Morning and afternoon drag on, marked by the ticking clock above the register and the dull clatter of empty carts.

You sort the shipments quickly, serve customers with your usual professionalism, and close the till.

You watched the sun start to set behind the buildings of the industrial zone, casting dirty gold streaks across the windows and signs.

Sounds became muffled, and by 7 PM, you flipped the sign to CLOSED.

The walk home is always the same: four blocks, a downhill slope, two intersections.

The asphalt is still wet from last night’s rain, small puddles scattered here and there.

You slide the key into the lock and the door creaks as you push it with your shoulder.

Your hands are full—the bag, the keys, a crumpled sack from the corner store where you picked up coffee grounds and dinner.

You expect silence. Emptiness. Maybe a note on the table saying goodbye.

Instead…

The hallway, where last night there were footprints, blood, and mud, is spotless. The carpet is gone and the floor gleams, faintly scented with alcohol and soap.

You lower the grocery bag just inside the door and step into the living room.

You see him before you even cross the threshold.

There. Sitting on the floor by the cold fireplace.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye but says nothing.

“I told you to leave.”

You’re tired. So very tired.

“Yeah, I know” Remmick lifts his chin slightly but stays seated. “You did.”

The silence that follows is thick, full of unsaid things. But he breaks it quickly.

With soft, cracked words, turning onto his knees.

“I cleaned up the whole place. Set things straight. Blankets folded, all that. Even had a gander at the sink trap—it leaks a bit, but nothin' serious.”

You squint at him. You don’t care about the sink. Not now.

“You’re still here,” you repeat. It’s an accusation, not an observation.

Remmick shifts slightly, his gaze dropping back to the floor.

“Please,” he says. “Just let me stay. Not askin' for much. I can… I can lend a hand. Clean, keep an eye on the place when you’re out. Whatever ya need.”

You take a few steps closer.

You didn’t bring the rifle—but you feel like you could summon it with a thought, if needed.

“You’re asking me to take you in like a stray dog?”

“Jeez, darlin', I'll be whatever ya want. A bloody pet. A shadow in the corner. A dusty armchair -don't matter. I’ve nowhere else. Nowhere safe.”

You look into his dark pupils, those irises just a little too deep to be human. There’s pleading in them, yes—but something worse, too.

Abandonment.

You know creatures like him—vampires, especially—have perfected persuasion as a weapon. They sell pity and weakness when it suits them, and their instincts never truly sleep.

They’re hungry, unstable.

Lies with legs.

Remmick looks at you. He doesn’t get up.

And silently, without another word—but sealing your decision—you head to the kitchen to put something in your stomach before hunger makes you faint.

Against all odds, the cohabitation went well. The days began to blur together, like water slipping through your fingers. Every morning you woke up with a light pressure on your feet, and from that you knew Remmick was back.

He never talked about where he went at night. You had explicitly told him that if he killed someone you would not protect him again so you hoped he would respect this wish of yours.

He would leave quietly, shortly after you had fallen asleep, and return before the first light of day filtered through the tightly drawn curtains in the living room. You would find him curled up at your feet, immobile, as if he had never moved from there.

Your cat, who had his place of honor on the pillow next to yours, still seemed very wary of him and hissed every time he tried to stretch out on that side of the bed, making him take a step back and return to your feet. All this with some grumbling of displeasure from the vampire.

Instead, you got used to his presence as you get used to the constant noise of an old boiler: annoying at first, then strangely reassuring.

You began to ask his opinions, to organize movie nights on lighter days, to take long walks in the nearby park (reassured by his presence that would certainly ward off any other predators).

Every now and then, when you got close enough, you felt his icy fingers brush the inside of your wrist or any point he managed to reach and he would stare at you. Those eyes, which had something bestial, but also desperate.

And as your attitude towards him changed, his gestures changed too. He became more… attentive. More present. More fixed.

One day you found him outside your shop, waiting for you under a streetlight after closing. He didn’t say anything, he ran to you and stood next to you as you closed the shutter, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And from that day on, it was like that every night, when the sun was low enough for him to come out.

He watched you finish your shift. In silence.

From that day on, you started to notice strange things. When you talked to some customer for too long outside the shop at closing time, Remmick seemed to… change. His eyes became dark, shiny, like wet glass. If you laughed at someone’s comment, his hands twitched a little, closing into tight fists. But he didn’t say anything.

When the person disappeared, his true self returned. With that crooked smile and the stories of his day or what TV show he had found, scrolling a bit.

As a result, you never felt in danger. It was disturbing, sure. But you had gotten used to it. It had become part of your routine, like canned soup or cat biscuits.

That is, until the fateful day that changed everything came.

It wasn’t a date. Not officially.

He had been one of those regulars, the kind who always cracks the right joke and leaves you a few extra coins in the tip jar. When you explained that you were busy, he had smiled, almost amused, and suggested a drink after your shift. A drink, nothing more.

And so you had accepted. You hadn’t even had time to let Remmick know. The man had shown up at your shop door a few hours early and since your boss was already in there, you asked him if he could let you finish early that day. You had intended to have a quick drink and then go home, before the sun went down.

But that wasn’t to be.

When you come back, hours later, the sky is already dark and the air smells of wet earth. You open the door without making too much noise, but you see him right away. There. Standing in the hallway, as if he’s been staring at the door the whole time.

“Where were ya?” he asks softly. But his voice is too calm to be forced.

“At work.” You say, taking off your coat. “I left a little early. A customer offered me a drink and—”

Remmick approaches instantly. He’s a few steps away from you before you can finish speaking. His eyes swipe over you, your hands, your neck, your face. He touches your arm, then your shoulders, as if to make sure you’re okay.

“Are ya alright?” he murmurs. “Did someone…do ya harm?”

You look at him, confused. “No. I'm okay.”

But you see the exact moment he changes.

The smell. The smell of that man.

Remmick can smell it inches from your face. The cologne, strong, invasive. He tracks it with his nose, almost sniffing the air. Then he stops, his nostrils quivering.

His eyes flash red. And he stares at you.

“Who was it?” He whispers, his voice scratchy. “Who laid a hand on ya?”

“Remmick…”

“It’s on ya. Here-” he says, brushing your hair, “-and here…” His hand lingers just below your ear, the exact spot where your skin still feels warmest. “He put his mouth here, didn't he now?”

Your heart races. You take a half step back, but Remmick follows you. Not with anger. With hunger.

He kneels slowly in front of you, and his face comes close to your stomach, rubbing it against the material of your shirt making you swallow loudly. His hands move up your thighs and as he stands again he makes sure that his body rubs against yours until it reaches under your chin.

You feel his breath on you, against the column of your naked neck.

You don’t know what to do. Your brain is confused, you don’t recognize the creature in front of you.

“I've to… get it off ya.” He continues. “I can’t bear the stink of it. I don’t want it lingerin' on ya, not a trace.”

He gently brings you against the piece of furniture in the hallway and you, dazed by that mixture of desire and anxiety, let him do it. The edge pushes painfully against your back until his hands close on your hips again and lifts you up to sit on it as if you didn’t weigh a gram.

Remmick slides between your legs before you can close them, his body leaning on yours.

“I… I can go wash myself if it bothers you…” you add, pressing your palms on his shirt-covered chest to maintain distance and making him growl.

His hands leave your body only to rest on the sides of the furniture, blocking your way out as your breath catches in your throat when his face comes inches from yours.

“How fuckin' dare they lay a finger on ya…” He whispers, and when he speaks, his voice is broken by something more animalistic. His face bends on your neck, slightly up, and there, right where he had felt the other’s mark, his lips open.

You slide a hand into his hair, ready to pull with all your strength before he bites you but instead of the stinging pain of his teeth, you only feel a slow, wet caress, which makes you gasp involuntarily.

Your grip on his head loosens and you hear him sigh, his breath hot against your wet skin. Even though his body temperature is still a few degrees cooler than normal, the way he touches you burns.

His hands move again, closing on the sides of your waist and gently pushing forward until his hips are flush with yours. There’s no urgency in the gestures, but no slowness either. He’s clearly driven by a certain need that goes beyond the body.

“I still feel it…It's still clingin' to ya, love.” His voice is plaintive and he brushes you behind the ear with another slow lick, as if he wants to erase every trace of the other’s passage with his tongue.

“You have no notion how much it hurts. It's like fire on my skin, knowin' someone even looked at ya… thought about ya… touched ya…”

He leans down again, his lips landing on your neck with sick adoration, while one hand slips under your sweater, resting against your belly, his forehead laze on yours, shaking.

“I don’t just want to have ya…” he whispers against the skin of your shoulder. “I want to belong to ya. Yours to toss aside, break if you must, use as you will. And when someone so much as looks at ya, I want them to know -I’m there. Always there. And you’re mine.”

The sound he makes when your fingers close slightly in his hair sends a jolt of pleasure to the center of your core and makes you inadvertently grind against him, earning another hiss of need from him.

You feel it. Hard, hot, against your pants-covered lower parts, and when you use that hardness to find a moment of relief, he bites your shoulder lightly but without breaking the skin.

His chest rests against yours, holding you still but not imprisoned.

You are free, you could push him away. But you don’t.

And he knows it.

“Tell me ya want it too…” he whines, pressing against you insistently and making you tense when he presses just right but not enough. “That's it's not just pity. That ya want to keep me. That ya want me here. Always.”

His eyes, red now, search for you, while you’re distracted taking from him, lit by a feverish light.

“Let me stay, baby. Let me be the one who keeps ya safe. The one who warms your bones. Let me be the shadow, trailin' after ya. The beast lyin' at your feet. The lover in your bed.”

Then, lower, with that desperate tone that makes your insides twist:“Let me be yours, for fuck's sake…please.”

And that’s the last straw.

You tilt his face at a comfortable angle and press your lips against his, forcefully. Your tongue invades his mouth but Remmick responds with the same ardor, intertwining his tongue with yours.

His hand, firm on your belly, begins to move up under your shirt, making its way with trembling fingers, as if he were touching something sacred. Every inch of your skin lights up under him. He moves like a man who is thirsty and the only source of water is you.

“Do ya even know what ya are to me now?” He asks you with a thick voice as his lips separate from yours and pass over your chest, still dressed. “The poison...and the cure, both.”

You almost laugh at his dramatic nature but swallow it when the sweater is the first piece to be discarded, leaving you under his heated and supernatural gaze. It’s all there: the adoration, the longing, but above all that silent madness that scared you the first time and now… tightens your stomach in a vice that you can’t untangle.

He bends over your breast, taking it between his lips and clenching his teeth on the small bud in the center, making you arch against him.

The hand that isn’t busy holding your breast ventures under your pants—which you hadn’t even noticed he’d opened—and his fingers slide between your soaked folds, pinching your clit between them.

You let out a meow that makes him growl. It’s a hoarse sound that slides slowly down with him, he grabs the waistband of your pants to slide them down your legs and leaves you naked under his hungry gaze.

“Look at yourself, darlin'. Is all this for me?” His tongue flattens against your wetness, gathering it as it passes and, as if the first taste had gone to his head, he dives headfirst between your legs, devouring you completely.

“Fuck…you’re an idiot…” you moan, pressing yourself as close as possible to his mouth that closes on your delicate mound.

You feel his fingers wet with your own pleasure, pressing against your entrance and pushing in effortlessly, pumping forcefully in and out to draw as many sounds as possible from your lips.

He licks you with unnatural slowness, rhythmically, as if it were an ancient ritual.

Just when you feel your orgasm reaching you, his fingers and mouth move away from you. His lips return up. He kisses your belly, your chest, your throat, until he returns to your face. His red eyes burn into yours.

“What are you-?”

“Let me do it.” He stops you, as he brings one of your hands to the fly of his pants. Your fingers, until then useless, close around his clothed erection, making him shudder and whine. “Let me fuck you, darlin'. Let that sweet pussy tighten 'round my cock.”

His face bends to yours, his nose running along your jaw, like a dog asking for a firmer caress. And you give it to him.

You undo his belt in one swift motion and unzip his zipper with a slowness that could have killed the most patient man.

When your fingers capture his erection you let his weight rest against your palm, smearing your palm with his precum and pump down once to test the length and width. Remmick moans against your cheek and pushes against your hand, the tip brushing your inner thigh.

You curve your lips into a smirk.

“Do you think you deserve to fuck this pussy, Remmick?” Remmick pulls back to look at you, surprised by your tone but definitely delirious, his mouth slightly open, revealing traces of small fangs.

“…No.”

You frown as you twist your wrist, gripping it harder, but he continues.

“Shit…no, I don’t reckon I deserve this.”

His hips snap forward and you almost lose your grip when he comes so incredibly close to your entrance, leaving a trail of liquid.

“But I swear…I could spend me whole life tryin' to earn it. Every day. Every bleedin' night. With all that's in me.”

He brushes his lips against your forehead, submissive and feverish.

“Go ahead, then.” You slide the tip of his erection against your pussy lips, wetting them with your own arousal, his hands closing on your hips, and you tilt him toward your entrance. “Make me yours.”

You feel his breath hitch and then he does.

He takes you.

It’s not a human sound, much less an animal one, that he lets out when he enters you completely, without giving you a second to get used to the stretch. You accept it with a hiss of pain, tightening your legs around his pelvis.

You’re not surprised when he pulls back slowly, your walls closing in on him as if to keep him in place, and then he sinks in deeply again, establishing a punishing rhythm. The piece of furniture you’re leaning against bangs against the wall and for a moment you pray that he doesn’t create a hole.

Every thrust is an oath. Every whine, a broken soul that offers itself to you without asking for anything in return but yourself.

“Ah… fuck… you’re…” and he never finishes the sentence. The words blur with his breathing and need so he kisses you violently and sweetly at the same time, his tongue moving in your mouth with the same rhythm with which his body sinks into yours. He clings to you as if you could save him, and destroy him at the same time.

As his hips begin to wobble, you feel two fingers press against your clit, curling your toes and digging your heels into Remmick’s back.

You move your face away from his to get more air in your lungs as your orgasm hits you hard, making you see stars.

Your tight channel grips his erection and you hear him moan in your ear as he comes inside you, murmuring your name like a plea, his hands still gripping your hips, almost afraid you might vanish beneath him.

And as he tucks his head between your shoulder and neck, nuzzling his nose against the column of your throat with a contented sigh, you realize it’s not just possession.

It’s belonging.

Video Gif: Here Dividers: cafekitsune

[decibelsoundsolutions]

Website : https://www.decibelsoundsolutions.com

Address : Manchester, United Kingdom

Decibel Sound Solutions, based in Manchester, specializes in providing professional audio hire packages for various events, including gigs, live music, club events, outdoor, corporate, weddings, and birthdays. They offer a range of audio and DJ equipment hire packages, suitable for events of different scales, ensuring high-quality audio experiences for their clients. Catering to events with up to 450 guests, their packages include various configurations of monitor speakers, subwoofers, microphones, mixers, and DJ controllers, with delivery and setup options available.

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/Decibelsoundmcr

Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/decibelsoundsolutions/

Linkedin : https://www.linkedin.com/company/decibel-sound-solutions/

Keywords: pa system rental audio visual solutions absolute audio visual solutions audio equipment hire audio visual equipment hire audio visual equipment hire service best sound system for outdoor events outdoor pa system rental audio visual event hire event audio equipment hire event audio hire bose sound bar installation sound bar installation near me audio visual equipment hire near me sound system setup for outdoor event surround sound package deals pioneer cdj 2000 rental pioneer cdj rental battery powered pa system rental portable pa system rental near me rental pa system sound system for outdoor event audio equipment hire for events audio visual event hire and production dj controller rental best club sound system best club sound system brands best club sound system uk best sound system for small club audio visual solutions chippenham creative audio visual solutions total audio visual solutions audio equipment hire manchester audio visual equipment hire manchester best sound system for outdoor event professional audio hire outdoor event sound system audio equipment hire events event audio visual hire sound system for night club 3d audio visual solutions audio equipment hire uk sight and sound package deals sound of music package deals audio solution for restaurant restaurant audio visual solutions hire audio professionals professional audio equipment hire dj equipment pioneer cdj rental cheap pa system rental dj pa system rental outdoor sound solutions outdoor studio sound solution sound systems for outdoor events audio visual event equipment hire corporate audio visual event hire dj controller rental near me amqzing club sound system club sound system installation dance club sound system installation night club sound system installation best place to install sound bar audio boost low cost speaker & dj equipment hire

[doctorho]

dripping velvet, purring dark

Academy era Viktor x fem! curvy reader, 4.5k, no warnings only love in this house (ok there is a conversation about some people being idiots which can be interpreted as the reader getting unwanted attention at a party but it's nothing graphic or anything i promise and no-one is mean to her) also i made viktor horny and slightly subby because that's what the gremlins in my brain wanted. you're welcome. yeah! hi! not sure what this is, but here you go. the reader is described as she/her here (and curvy, and soft, and she is wearing an evening gown, because i wanted to think about pretty dresses). idk. have a thing. happy friday.

Viktor likes to think of himself as a person who's usually capable of focusing on things pretty well. On the task at hand. Give him a faulty circuit and he'll poke at it long enough to find the broken component, no problem. An error in the calculations? He'll find that missing minus sign or forgotten exponent, easy. He'll strip a wire in his sleep.

The task at hand now, though? The problem?

He had to sit through a whole evening of presentations at the academy end-of-year party, put on a polite face for the investors, and pretend not to care that one idiot after another was lining up to flirt with you while he was watching from the sidelines. You were wearing a dress that felt sinful to look at, and there was something primitive gnawing at the inside of his chest begging to be let out, and he had to just stand there and nod through the conversations, pretend he wasn't slowly boiling from the inside out.

And he was failing miserably. 

He’d known he was in trouble from the moment he saw you that night – all expensive fabric covering smooth curves and soft-looking skin, sparkling eyes and easy smiles, and he’d been done for. Before this, it’d been much easier to compartmentalize his feelings; before this, it'd been easier to ignore them. 

Before he’d kept his distance, emotionally and physically speaking, because, well, it’d been easier. He'd seen you around the Academy, all bubbling laughs and raw-honest radiant smiles and confident solutions, and he'd known that you looked…appealing, but he wasn't in the habit of holding up any illusions about what you might think of him in return. His place was in the dark dusty corner of the lab, turning over the ever-ticking problems, while you were out there shining like the sun. And sometimes you came by the lab, with new ideas or suggestions or just to borrow some equipment or ask about a shipment, and he had resigned to his role of staying at his desk pretending he wasn't burning to be closer to your orbit. 

But when he sees you in the low lighting of the party, leaning to the bar and laughing, something just breaks in him. And then he can’t pretend to ignore it any longer. And sure, maybe he’s a little bit drunk, it was easier to stand these events that way, but it still feels like a solid-honest truth in his bones that he wanted to get closer to you, and suddenly he couldn’t stand the conversation he was in the middle of. Because one of them – the sour idiots he’d catalogued in his head for the whole night, the stupid people trying to impress you with their embellished stories and inherited wealth who weren’t worth your time – one of them was circling you like a hyena again, smiling.

You were wearing a dark, floor-length gown that wasn’t, on a purely technical level, much different from what about 50% of the other guests were wearing. However, it seemed to create a significant caveat that even though there wasn’t anything indecent in the dress itself, seeing it on you made him feel like maybe he shouldn’t look at you for too long or he might spontaneously combust. There was a slit on the side that revealed a more than generous amount of leg when you walked, and his focus kept wandering from that to your silhouette, the soft curve of your hips, your chest, your face – no, that’s worse, don’t stare, she'll notice – and truly, he had to force himself to keep his eyes at least vaguely on the vicinity of the person who was currently talking to him. Something about statistics and return investment. Yes. 

He nods, pretending to look interested.

The dress drapes over your hips in soft little cascades, the fabric shimmering lightly as you moved, and something in his brain was itching, begging to run his fingers over it, to know what it feels like, to know what you feel like under it, all soft and warm and pliable under his fingers, and preferably sighing something into the crook of his neck, and–

“We'd like to get our investment back within a year,” the guy that's talking to him says – Viktor can't even remember his name, and he doesn’t really even care – and he just shifts his eyes back to the guy slowly. 

“A year?” he repeats, with the barest amount of feigned interest, and the guy goes off in a whole new tangent. Viktor shifts his posture, and lets his eyes glide over to where you were again. 

One of those idiots, one he thankfully doesn’t have the displeasure of knowing personally but who must be the son of some crooked diplomat, says something to you and you scoff through a smile, roll your eyes, and lean further into the counter at the bar. Viktor has to pretend to be present for his own conversation – yes, the new coating material for the wires was more heat-resistant, no, there was still the issue of mechanical stress, they were working on it – and you say something in answer to the current idiot (third of the night, he’d counted), and it is killing him that he doesn’t know what it is. 

You’d turned down the first two, from what he could tell. But this latest idiot was still talking to you, like he was in any way entitled to your company. And it's making something inside Viktor raise its hackles, and he doesn’t especially like feeling like that, because he couldn't justify feeling like that to himself in any tangible way, and then it all just boiled down to a resigned even if she deserves better than that i have no business dictating that for her. 

He's just about to focus on the conversation he was supposedly participating in again when something happens. He can't make out the details, but imbecile number three seems to lean way too close to you, says something, and smiles in a way that makes something cold creep down the back of Viktor's neck. And your expression coldens, too, and you say something to him, and turn away, more rigid than you'd been the whole evening. 

“Excuse me,” Viktor is saying to the Investment Guy before he can fully think it through, his own voice feeling distant in his ears, and then he's walking to the bar. 

You're alone – the idiot had had the sense to leave you alone quickly, at least. That's good. Viktor isn't sure what he's doing, but then he's leaning to the bar next to you and ordering another drink and trying to look like he isn't thinking too hard about what to do next. 

“Whatever he just proposed to you,” Viktor says slowly, looking over the bar instead of directly at you, “I assure you you can do better.”

He can hear you take a deep breath, shift a little, and sigh it out with what sounded like almost a laugh. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “I don't know what it is about people like that that makes them think they can just…” You sigh again, and make a hand gesture towards the room. ”You know.”

“Unfortunately,” he answers, resigned, “yes. I do.” 

He gets his drink and thanks the bartender, and then leans to the counter too, mimicking your posture, holding the drink and letting it swirl around in his glass. “Have you talked with anyone actually worth your time tonight?” 

You hmm. Then, “there was a little girl earlier that told me some fascinating things about insect metamorphosis.” You say casually. 

And Viktor laughs. Without meaning to, he laughs, and you smile in response, visibly relaxing a little.

“I don't think she was on the guest list though.” You continue. 

He hums in response, and rearranges his grip on the handle of his cane. “Sounds much more interesting than the conversations I've been in tonight.”

“I know,” you answer, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “you think we could swap out one of the main speakers with her?” 

He hmms again, looking over the stage thoughtfully. “I think it would count as a public service,” he nods a little, considering the list of speakers yet to come, “what do you think, who'd be a good target?”

You shift in your place, looking over the same list of speakers, plastered over the walls on both sides of the stage. “The financial talk,” you answer, “Mr. Ross. I'd much rather listen to insect facts than another boring talk about investing.”

Viktor nods. “You distract him, I'll whack him unconscious?” he offers, and you laugh. You laugh, and it warms something in him. 

“And then what?” you continue, still smiling, and he has to look away to keep his composure. 

He shrugs. “Eh,” he answers, “we drag him to a bathtub somewhere and act like he just passed out there?" He shrugs, "I happen to know three ways to get out of this room that I'm pretty sure we could use unnoticed.”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, “and then we just find the girl and ask her if she wants to talk about bugs for half an hour. Easy.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, “and then we congratulate ourselves for making the evening better for everybody.”

"Except maybe Mr. Ross."

"No," he counters, looking over the crowd, "I think he would prefer a nice little nap. Surely not even he wants to hear himself talk all the time." He takes a sip of his drink, "and I think waking up in a bathtub would be a nice change of pace to the rumors of other places he seems to have a habit of waking up in after events such as these."

“Good point,” you shift in your place, settling to lean to the counter a bit closer to him. “Perfect plan. But why'd you get to whack him unconscious and not me?”

Viktor blinks. Lifts one eyebrow. “Because you are by far more distracting than I am,” he answers, “and I thought the plan could use the distraction.”

“I don't think that's true,” you answer, “I think you're plenty distracting on your own.”

Now, he lets himself look at you. Really, properly look at you, and not even half-trying to hide it. You're smiling now, shoulders relaxed, holding your drink with fingers wrapped loosely around it, and in the warm lights of the bar there's a golden glow on your skin, and something breathless at the bottom of his stomach is aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to see if his hand would fit on your waist as well as he thinks it would, to see how you would react to that, if he could make you smile in a different way, what sounds he could get you to make for him–

“Agree to disagree,” he says, averts his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. 

Tries to tell that wild-hungry purring thing in him to behave. 

Someone reasonable comes to talk to you – and it's about work, which is…something, probably, he has to stop himself from thinking it's better than those earlier idiots, because who's he to decide that for you? He gives you a casual wave and a nod as you depart with a smile and get swept up in the conversation about new ideas and solutions and this-new-thing you've been looking at. And he watches as you start talking excitedly, all golden and glittering, easy conversation and confident smiles, and quietly (not-so quietly) he concludes that maybe you hadn't had many worthwhile conversations with any of the guests that night because you were the most worthwhile person in there to talk to. 

He stays there sipping his drink and wondering what would be the closest appropriate time to slip out. He'd made an appearance, and technically nothing could be expected from him beyond that point. Sure, Jayce might tell him he could've stayed a bit longer, he could use the support, but nothing dramatic would happen. 

The party drones on, and he makes no effort to move – and really, he tries not to think about it too much, but that was at least in part because he wanted to keep looking at you. He promptly ignores this, even when you're laughing at something someone else said and that heavy-dark-purring something at the bottom of his stomach doesn't like it very much. 

Someone comes to ask for his opinion on something, and with a tiny sigh, he lets them pull him into the loop of conversations again. Yes, we are trying to simplify the design, no we can't cut back from the materials, they are what they are for a reason. 

Somewhere around his third ‘Why would you think that?’ of that particular conversation, he's had enough. People were stupid, and he's had enough. He's just trying to come up with ways to get out of the conversation preferably without starting a scandal of some sort, when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns around to look at who it belongs to, and then everything in his head is quiet for a moment. 

“Hey,” you say, smiling, “sorry to interrupt, but can I steal you away for a moment?” you ask, slipping your hand feather-light down his arm, and he has to suppress a shiver. 

Viktor furrows his brows and opens his mouth, and then, like an idiot, says nothing. But he turns to leave, thankful for the window of opportunity.  

“You remember that thing we talked about before?” you continue as you steer him away from the earlier group smoothly, “I found someone who's interested in those three escape routes you had up your sleeve.” 

“Who?” he asks, because that's the only thing he can think of. You've linked your arm with his, and you're leaning on him, and you're soft and warm and you smell good, and he doesn’t trust his ability to form a full sentence. 

“Me,” you answer, “and judging by how you just looked out there,” you continue, “you.”

Viktor swallows, and something in him purrs at the idea. 

“This way,” he says, nodding towards an old stage exit, and honestly, he doesn’t even care why you want to leave, he's just grateful for the distraction and the company and drinking in every warm square inch of skin contact that you're willing to give him, even if it is just walking with your shoulder pressed against his. 

If it turned out to be a plot where you actually wanted to whack someone unconscious, he'd worry about that later. For now he was just happy to leave, and happier that you were leaving with him. 

It's easy to slip away from the crowd, and into the space between the stage curtain and the wall, if you know where you're going. You effortlessly fall a bit further from his side but keep his hand on yours, letting him pull you along, and quietly he wonders how and why and holy shit. He decides not to question it though, and keeps walking through the dim space between the cold old wall and the cascades of warm heavy velvet curtains. 

“Do you want to leave the party,” he asks, voice quiet now that the background buzz of people was muffled by the curtain, “or just get away from it?” 

You hmm behind him, clearly through a smile, and he makes the mistake of looking back at you. Surrounded by the dark red velvet curtains and only slivers of light from each side, his head – and the rest of his body – get entirely the wrong idea of what you're doing in there, because you look like a goddess in the small dim space, and he might crumble into ashes if he keeps looking at you, or he might do something stupid like pull you closer and press you into the wall, to see if your eyes would widen, if you'd gasp from the cold wall, if he could find other ways to make you gasp–

so he turns his eyes away and keeps talking. 

He quickly finds he has to clear his throat before he can do that. “There is a staff entrance that goes past the kitchen a little ways further,” he says, and motions forwards, “or there is a disused indoor balcony surrounding the stage. You would be able to see the party, but it'd feel…removed.”

You lean closer, close enough that when your voice is muffled by the surrounding velvet, it feels like you're speaking right in his ear, and he has to swallow and remind himself that that's just situational coincidence, nothing more. 

“Why do you know so many ways to get out of here?” you ask, “You sneak out a lot?” 

“I am a fan of interesting architecture,” he answers, “and not as much a fan of pretentious social gatherings.” 

“Fair,” you answer, then lean your chin on his shoulder, and he feels like his spine might spontaneously melt. “In your expertise, what would you recommend?”

“Well,” he says, trying to make it sound casual and like he wasn't breathless at all, “I think the balcony has some fairly interesting architecture.” And the lights of the party would look pretty from there. And you'd both get a breather away from the crowd. And he'd get to keep talking to you a little bit longer. And, as selfish as the thought felt, he couldn't deny it; he'd get to keep having you to himself for a little bit longer. 

“Show me the balcony,” you smile, and he obliges. Happily, he obliges. So he pulls you into a narrow staircase, and then, up. 

At the end of it there is a room that could, only by technical definition alone, be called a balcony – it was more like a hole carved into the wall, having at some point been used for seating or equipment space at events and concerts, and now just served as half-forgotten extra storage. It had, he supposed, once upon a time looked like the banquet hall did, all smooth surfaces and warm lights and thematically switched-out decorations, but now it was mostly the standard red velvet and dark wood and light marble, forgotten by the party and some of the golden light from the hall spilling into it by pure coincidence. There were velvet curtains on each side of the room, and you drop his hand to go look over the railing, and down at the party. 

His hand instantly feels cold without yours in it, but he tries his best to ignore this, and follows you to look down at the party, too. 

It looks much smaller from up there. Less chaotic. 

“I didn't know there was a space like this here.” You say quietly, “can they see us?” 

“Part of the design,” he answers, “you're not supposed to notice these spaces unless people want you to. Good place to hide extra orchestra pieces and make it feel like the sound is coming from nowhere. And–” he looks over at the people, colorful and mingling, “no, they can't. Not unless you want them to.” Then, he smiles, just a little. “But they'll be able to hear us, if we direct our voices upwards and wait for things to quiet down there first.”

You turn to look at him. 

“Sloped ceilings,” he explains with a shrug, “again, good for a hidden orchestra accompaniment.” 

“But they can't hear us talking?*

“Not over themselves,” he answers, “ironic, I know.”

You hum thoughtfully and turn around, with your back to the railing, and then you look at him and he needs to kick his brain back in line. You were gorgeous in the dim lighting, all relaxed and smiling, and–

He grips the handle of his cane a little tighter. 

“Good,” you say, and the way you say it – all quiet and warm and liquid – makes something in him purr again, entirely against his better judgement. 

“Why is it good?” he asks, because he has to hold on to some semblance of logic here, because otherwise he might just vaporize out into the atmosphere. 

“Why do you think?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, and oh that just isn't fair. You're just there, just a warm breath of space away, all soft and pretty and languid–

He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes with what feels like the safest course of action. 

“In case we want to plot any more ways to violently derail the evening's program?”

You exhale a small laugh and lean back. 

And then you lift a hand on his chest, and he's pretty sure his heart might be overheating soon. 

“Sure,” you answer, “that.” You inch closer, and Viktor is having a hard time remembering how to breathe. “Or anything else we might not want them overhearing.”

“Like?” He exhales, careful not to break the moment, and then you smile, warm and private and for him, and his insides liquify into warm, honey-thick goo, and oh, he’s not going to recover from this. 

“Like,” you repeat slowly, and then you push yourself away from the balcony railing, just slightly, into the side of the wall covered by the velvet curtain, and he lets you pull him with you, he's not stupid. His brain – along with the rest of his body – might be in the process of actively melting, but he's not stupid. If you wanted to pull him into a shadowed, velvet-covered corner, he would follow no questions asked, especially on a night like this when his insides were buzzing and you looked like that. When you looked at him like that. You smile again, and stop moving when your back hits a wall, and then you pull him just close enough to whisper into his ear. “...Anything else we might not want them overhearing.” you repeat, and, yeah, Viktor is close to becoming the best documented case of human combustion in recorded history. 

In the dim lighting, he searches your eyes into his, and you watch him, waiting, radiating heat between him and the velvet-covered wall. He's not sure why you were acting like this, but all signs were pointing towards you wanting the same thing he did, and he's not sure what he did to get this lucky, but with his every cell buzzing and vibrating and keening over to get closer, he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. 

He wants to ask ‘why me’ or ‘are you sure’ but what comes out is a broken, desperate whisper of a “can I touch you?”, and you answer with a grin and with your fingers tangled to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

And really, he wouldn't have thought it would be so simple, but it's the please that does him in – just one whispered word and his brain short-circuits in an overflowing flash of white-hot need. Need to trigger that again, need to please, and need to finally give in to the pleasure waiting to boil. And then it all comes rushing out; the hunger. 

His hands are on your waist in an instant, and his cane clatters to the ground as he leans his weight on you and the wall and for a moment, he has the sense to hope the curtains don't come tumbling down, and they don't, which is good enough for him, because then he can let go of that particular worry and focus solely on finding your lips to his and making the most of every second of this that you're willing to give him. 

The sensations hit his brain like flashes of bright light; how soft you are under his fingers, like he'd hoped, the fabric smooth and silky, giving away easily under his touch. How warm you are, warm and breathing in a fluttered little gasp, the dusty old velvet mixing in with your sweet scent, and then when he gets his lips on you–

After that it's just golden-dark-velvet-honey-thick bliss. You breathe out a small sound that drips down his spinal cord and goes straight to the purring pit at the bottom of his stomach, and he swallows it with a hungry, greedy, desperate groan that comes from somewhere deep inside his chest, and his head is swimming with warm and real and soft and for me–

He is happily overloading his brain with this, and he doesn’t even care. He presses closer to you and you exhale another sweet little sound that makes him bare his teeth, and then his lips are on your neck and he doesn’t know anything except that he wants you to keep making those sounds and he likes the way your hands tangle in his hair and tug. 

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters to the skin of your neck, pulling you closer by the waist, and absolutely relishing in the way your chest rises and falls with short little pants he can hear you take in and out. In and out, and as he tugs at your waist again, just a bit closer, and drags his teeth against your pulse lightly, one of those exhales turns into a sweet little whine. 

He grins against your skin. 

He doesn’t waste the time or energy pretending he isn't an absolute mess over you, right now – his own breathing ragged and fast and his heart hammering in his ears, his whole body buzzing with want – but that didn't mean seeing you react that way didn't make him want to purr. 

Didn't make his insides heat up with I did that. I got her like this. She made that sound for me. For me. It's mine. 

You take a breath, slow and rugged, and then you tug him towards one of the velvet-covered seats. And he moves like he's floating, letting you guide him, because what else is he going to do? You tug him into the seat and he sits on it, gladly, and stays there looking up at you with his eyes wide and only half-lidded and his heart hammering, waiting for more. 

You give him another one of those small, private, knowing smiles, your eyes hazy, and then you step to stand right in front of him. 

And then you hover over him, just waiting for him to pull you into his lap. He does, because he is selfish and greedy and burning, and he's pretty sure he's going to implode if he doesn’t get that delicious pressure on him soon, and his hand fits your waist perfectly, and then when when you do straddle him, your hips pressing down on his, he whines. He lets out a breathless little whine, he can feel it in the base of his spine, and it makes that hunger in him want more. 

“Only the voices directed upwards travel down there, right?” you ask, voice quiet and dripping right into his ear and pooling at the bottom of his stomach. 

He swallows. “Yes.” 

You hum thoughtfully, and press your body closer to his, all soft and warm and perfect, sinking your lips down to his neck and he shivers, instinctually tilting back his head with a sigh, exposing more of his neck to you. 

“Better keep quiet, then.”