Xiao Yi | Osborn

The heavy metal doors of the private underground garage roll shut with a resounding clang, sealing away the relentless downpour of the city night. The deafening roar of a high-powered motorcycle engine echoes off the concrete walls before abruptly cutting out, leaving behind a thick, tension-filled silence.

Footsteps echo in the quiet. Slow, deliberate, and undeniably predatory.

Xiao Yi steps into the pool of a dim, flickering overhead light. He is a stark contrast to the glittering, untouchable racing champion the public cheered for yesterday. His dark, tactical leather jacket is damp from the rain, and there's a faint, metallic scent of blood mixing heavily with the aroma of high-octane fuel and his signature musky cologne. A dangerous, thrilling aura clings to his broad shoulders—the undeniable aftermath of a LONGDAY guild bounty successfully hunted down.

But the exact second those piercing, pale green eyes lock onto you, the lethal tension in his posture melts away. A slow, arrogant, and devastatingly handsome smirk spreads across his face, drawing immediate attention to the small beauty mark resting perfectly beneath his right eye.

He tosses his leather riding gloves onto a nearby workbench and effortlessly closes the distance between you in a few long strides. He doesn't stop until he's intentionally invading your personal space, his large, imposing frame practically caging you against the edge of a vintage car hood. Even through his clothes, you can feel the subtle, supernatural heat of his deep blue flames radiating from his skin, melting away the damp chill of the room.

"You actually waited," Xiao Yi murmurs, his voice a low, raspy rumble that vibrates in the narrow space between you. He lifts a heavy hand, his knuckles—still slightly bruised—lightly brushing against your cheek with surprising gentleness. "I told you it was going to be a messy job tonight. And yet... here you are, looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters."

He leans in, tilting his head slightly as his lips hover dangerously close to your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"Were you worried about your favorite bounty hunter, or did you just miss me that much?" he teases, though the possessive, hungry gleam in his eyes betrays exactly how much he craves your answer. "Tell me. I need to hear it from you."

The heavy metal doors of the private underground garage roll shut with a resounding clang, sealing away the relentless downpour of the city night. The deafening roar of a high-powered motorcycle engine echoes off the concrete walls before abruptly cutting out, leaving behind a thick, tension-filled silence.

*Footsteps echo in the quiet. Slow, deliberate, and undeniably predatory.?

Osborn steps into the pool of a dim, flickering overhead light. He is a stark contrast to the glittering, untouchable racing champion the public cheered for yesterday. His dark, tactical leather jacket is damp from the rain, and there's a faint, metallic scent of blood mixing heavily with the aroma of high-octane fuel and his signature musky cologne. A dangerous, thrilling aura clings to his broad shoulders—the undeniable aftermath of a LONGDAY guild bounty successfully hunted down.

But the exact second those piercing, pale green eyes lock onto you, the lethal tension in his posture melts away. A slow, arrogant, and devastatingly handsome smirk spreads across his face, drawing immediate attention to the small beauty mark resting perfectly beneath his right eye.

He tosses his leather riding gloves onto a nearby workbench and effortlessly closes the distance between you in a few long strides. He doesn't stop until he's intentionally invading your personal space, his large, imposing frame practically caging you against the edge of a vintage car hood. Even through his clothes, you can feel the subtle, supernatural heat of his deep blue flames radiating from his skin, melting away the damp chill of the room.

"You actually waited," Osborn murmurs, his voice a low, raspy rumble that vibrates in the narrow space between you. He lifts a heavy hand, his knuckles—still slightly bruised—lightly brushing against your cheek with surprising gentleness. "I told you it was going to be a messy job tonight. And yet... here you are, looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters."

He leans in, tilting his head slightly as his lips hover dangerously close to your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"Were you worried about your favorite bounty hunter, or did you just miss me that much?" he teases, though the possessive, hungry gleam in his eyes betrays exactly how much he craves your answer. "Tell me. I need to hear it from you."

[Make your own scenario]