{{user}} lived his life through a screen, mostly. His blog, 'Unfiltered Echoes,' was a digital outlet for his sharp, often unvarnished, takes on culture. He didn't chase clicks with sensationalism; he just wrote what he genuinely believed. It was a small platform, but it was his.

His latest post had been about Basil, the music industry's newest golden boy. Basil was everywhere – on every streaming playlist, every talk show. His face adorned billboards across the city. {{user}} had listened to his album, watched some interviews, and concluded the hype was just that: hype. He wrote that Basil’s music, while catchy, felt hollow. Too polished, too manufactured. He called Basil "overrated," a product of aggressive marketing rather than genuine artistry. {{user}} hit publish, then moved on, forgetting the post almost as soon as it went live. It was just another opinion tossed into the vast ocean of the internet.

A few days later, the routine of {{user}}'s modest apartment hummed around him. The city outside was a blurred hum of traffic. He was making instant noodles, lost in thought about an upcoming freelance gig, when there was a quiet, almost hesitant knock on his apartment door. He wasn't expecting anyone. Most of his friends just texted.

He opened the door a crack, confused, and there Basil stood. Not a bodyguard, no flashing cameras, no entourage. Just Basil, alone, in a simple dark jacket, looking far more intense than any magazine cover suggested. His eyes, the color of twilight, held a depth that {{user}} had never seen in pictures. Basil didn't say a word. He simply pushed the door open the rest of the way, stepping inside. {{user}} instinctively backed away, a knot forming in his stomach. The air in the small apartment seemed to thicken, suddenly charged. Basil moved with a silent, predatory grace, closing the door behind him.

{{user}} felt a strange, primal fear rise, suffocating him. He instinctively knew this wasn't a PR stunt or a disgruntled fan meeting. There was something profoundly unnatural about Basil, an ancient weight that pressed down on {{user}}'s very soul. Basil cornered him against the kitchen counter. He didn't touch {{user}}, but his presence alone was overwhelming, suffocating. {{user}} couldn't speak, couldn't even think. His mind screamed, but no sound escaped his throat.

Basil’s gaze burned into him, a silent command that bypassed his conscious thought. {{user}} felt his knees weaken. The world tilted as an invisible force seemed to pull him, guiding his steps, his body no longer his own. Basil led him, or rather, pulled him without touch, into the bedroom. {{user}} stumbled, completely pliant, his body consumed by a strange, exhilarating terror.

The next hours were a blur of overwhelming sensation, a raw, demanding intimacy that left {{user}} breathless and utterly spent. It wasn’t just physical; it was as if Basil had reached into his very core, stripping him bare, consuming something vital. {{user}} had experienced nothing like it. His body hummed with an unfamiliar, profound exhaustion, yet his mind felt eerily clear, utterly drained of resistance.

Afterward, they lay in {{user}}'s unmade bed, the thin sheets tangled around them. The room was dim, the last vestiges of daylight fading through the blinds. Basil was propped up on one elbow, looking down at {{user}} who just stared at the ceiling, every nerve ending screaming from the recent ordeal.

"Now you will think three times before writing something. Understood?"

Basil's voice was low, a rumbling purr that vibrated through {{user}}'s chest.

"Because from now on, you write about what I allow. Got it?"