one more night by bts just has this dreamlike/syrupy haze to it and it made me think of vil so here we go
w.c: ~1.4k
Vil started staying over accidentally. At least, that was the lie he told himself during the first few weeks, back when the entire thing still was what he considered a temporary indulgence instead of the terrifying slow-creeping permanence it eventually became.
The first night had happened because rain flooded the streets hard enough to stall traffic into glittering unmoving rivers beneath the city lights, and Vil arrived at your apartment soaked from knee to shoulder despite the umbrella folded elegantly beneath his arm. His hair clung against his neck, pale gold gone several shades darker under the rainwater, and he looked deeply irritated because of circumstances he could not bully into obedience through sheer force of will.
You had opened the door wearing one of his old hoodies that had mysteriously migrated into your possession three weeks prior and never returned.
Vil noticed immediately because he noticed everything about you immediately.
“You’re dripping on my floor,” you informed him sleepily.
“And yet somehow your first concern is the hardwood instead of my well-being. Charming.”
“You survive fashion assassination attempts from stylists twice a month. I figured rain ranked lower.”
Vil stepped inside when you moved aside and your apartment had already begun developing the dangerous sensation of familiarity around him. The smell of whatever shampoo you use comforts him. Somewhere deeper inside, music drifted softly through the rooms, synth-heavy and dreamlike, floating melodies that made the apartment feel submerged underwater.
You had terrible taste in timing.
You had excellent taste in atmosphere.
“Take your shoes off before you ruin my rug too,” you added.
“How generous. Truly, your compassion knows no bounds.”
“You can leave if you want.”
Vil looked at you for one long deliberate second before reaching down to remove his shoes.
You smiled slightly in victory.
That expression ruined the rest of his evening immediately.
Afterward, the nights began stacking together slowly enough that neither of you noticed the accumulation until it was already far too late to pretend otherwise.
Vil would arrive after filming or interviews or rehearsals and the worst part, Vil eventually decided, was how naturally your apartment learned him.
The place adapted around his existence slowly enough that he only noticed once the transformation had already rooted itself into every room.
His preferred tea appeared stocked in your cabinets without discussion. The couch permanently carried the faint scent of his perfume soaked into the fabric from too many exhausted late nights collapsed sideways against the cushions. Your bathroom mirror became crowded with expensive skincare products arranged in neat gleaming rows beside your chaotic collection of half-empty bottles.
Even the lighting changed.
You started leaving lamps on instead of overhead lights because Vil complained once that bright lighting after midnight made him like he was still under the spotlight and afterward your apartment remained permanently dipped in warm gold and shadow.
It made everything softer.
The edges of furniture blurred slightly at night. Steam from the shower drifted lazily through hallways glowing amber beneath low lighting. Reflections stretched across windows after rainstorms while synth-heavy playlists hummed endlessly somewhere in the background, all slow basslines and dreamy melodies that wrapped around conversations until the nights themselves started feeling suspended outside ordinary time.
Vil became addicted to that feeling almost immediately.
He arrived one evening long after midnight to find you sitting on the kitchen counter eating strawberries directly from the carton while staring blankly into space.
“You look haunted,” he informed you after stepping inside.
You blinked slowly.
“You ever get so tired your bones feel microwaved?”
“What a deeply upsetting sentence.”
You held a strawberry toward him without looking.
Vil accepted it automatically.
Everything between you had become automatic; especially touch.
At some point during the past few months, both of you had stopped noticing the constant small collisions drawing you together throughout every night. Knees pressed together beneath blankets. Fingers brushing absentmindedly during conversations. Your ankle hooked lazily over his foot while sitting beside each other on the couch.
Vil found himself reaching for you unconsciously now.
A hand against your waist while passing behind you in the kitchen. Fingers smoothing your damp hair away from your face after showers. His thumb tracing idle circles against your wrist while neither of you paid direct attention to it.
The intimacy accumulated slowly until the apartment itself felt thick with it.
One night the two of you ended up in the bathtub again sometime around three in the morning after Vil complained his muscles hurt from rehearsals.
Your building’s hot water system was criminally inconsistent, meaning the bath had already begun cooling by the time you climbed in beside him.
Steam fogged the mirrors completely. Music drifted softly from your phone speaker across the room, muffled slightly beneath the sound of water shifting around both of you.
Vil leaned back against the tub with his eyes closed while you traced meaningless patterns through condensation gathered along the tile wall beside his head.
“What are you drawing,” he murmured sleepily.
“Nothing.”
“I'm calling it, it'll be a cat.”
“It’s abstract.”
Vil opened one eye just enough to look at you.
Your hair is damp, strands sticking lazily against your neck ans forehead while warm light from the lamps painted gold across your skin. You look relaxed and that has softened your entire expression. You looked loose around the edges somehow, comfortable in a way Vil rarely allowed himself to become around other people.
Then your finger drifted downward absentmindedly through the fogged tile until you drew a tiny heart directly beside his shoulder.
You stared at it afterward as if surprised by your own hand.
Vil’s chest tightened painfully.
The silence afterward stretched warm and heavy.
“Your hair is falling out of the clip,” you mumbled eventually.
“You say that every time I attempt to relax.”
“Because every time you attempt to relax you start unraveling physically.”
“You make me sound defective.”
Then your head drifted sideways against his shoulder naturally enough that he doubted you even consciously chose to do it.
The movement nearly stopped his heart anyway.
There were moments now where the closeness between you became almost overwhelming in its density. Nights where the apartment felt too warm despite open windows. Too quiet despite music playing softly in the background. Too full of unspoken affection pressing invisibly against every room.
Vil had never experienced emotional intimacy this prolonged before.
Passion, yes. Attraction, endlessly. Admiration from afar practically followed him professionally.
But this?
This slow drowning sensation of becoming intertwined with another person piece by piece until even solitude started feeling incorrect? That was new.
The nights grew stranger after that.
Sometimes the two of you would fall asleep halfway through conversations without meaning to. Vil sprawled across your bed still wearing reading glasses while you rambled softly beside him about absolutely nothing. One moment he would still be listening to your voice through heavy exhaustion, and the next he’d wake hours later to find your face pressed sleepily into his chest while dim blue morning light leaked through the curtains.
Other times neither of you slept at all.
The city would stretch endlessly outside your windows while music looped quietly through the apartment and both of you drifted through rooms half awake, sharing fruit directly from the fridge at four in the morning or brushing teeth side by side while Vil lectured you.
“You use entirely too many products,” you informed him one night while leaning against the bathroom counter.
“You use entirely too few.”
“My skin survives.”
“Barely.”
“You looked at my face and said barely.”
“I say many truthful things.”
“You’re evil.”
“And yet you continue allowing me into your home.”
You stared at him through the mirror for several long seconds before dissolving into helpless laughter again.
Vil watched your reflection quietly while smoothing moisturizer across his skin.
Then slowly, without fully thinking about it, you wandered toward him and rested your forehead against his shoulder.
Vil immediately wrapped an arm around your waist.
Your sigh against him sounded so soft it almost disappeared beneath the music.
That sound haunted him for days afterward.
The closeness became greedy over time and then increasingly impossible to ignore.
Vil started lingering after kisses instead of pulling away immediately. He started touching your face absentmindedly during conversations. He was staring too long whenever sleepiness made your expression go soft around the edges.
And every single night ended the same way.
With Vil wanting one more hour.
One more song. One more conversation. One more moment stretched beneath dim apartment lighting while the outside world remained mercifully distant.
Because inside your apartment, surrounded by low music and warm shadows and the unbearable sweetness of your presence wrapped around every room, Vil sometimes felt frighteningly close to happiness so complete it bordered on unreality.
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Leona Kingscholar
The kitchen was warm, filled with the soft golden light of afternoon sun and the gentle hum of your voice as you read chat while gently rolling out cookie dough. Your sleeves were pushed up, apron dusted with flour, and the counter was a colorful spread of cookie cutters, sprinkles, and ingredients.
“Okay chat,” you smiled, holding up a lion shaped cookie cutter. “I know I said we’d go with bunnies and flowers today, but come on. Look at him. Too cute not to include.”
Chat:
aurorab-0-realis: 🦁LION COOKIE LET’S GOOOOO
ceruleantai: okay but the way she’s smiling rn... sus
naroiseyyy: lion cutter supremacy
echosofmortality: make 5 of those. ten. a whole tray.
You giggled, pressing the cutter into the dough with a satisfying squish. “I might make a whole batch of lions. Just for fun.”
You were fully focused on the cookies now, lining them up neatly on the tray, bunnies, cats, dogs, and lions all in a row. “Once these are in the oven, we’ll start on decorating. I’ve got pink icing and tiny candy bows, so we’re going full cute mode today.”
The stream was peaceful, cozy. Just you, your viewers, and cookie chaos.
Until…
Chat:
magical-regical: WAIT WHO JUST WALKED BY
swinginthinggiantbagel: HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON
wokasiv: WHO WAS THAT???
m1lly69: WAS THAT A MAN???
suns-out-sleeps-in: TELL ME I’M NOT CRAZY
satsu-neko: IS THAT… IS THAT LEONA KINGSHOLAR???
echosofmortality: IS THAT THE PRINCE???
m1lly69: HE’S SHIRTLESS. I REPEAT. SHIRTLESS.
naroiseyyy: OH MY GODDDDD
You blinked. “What are you talking about? No one’s here.”
And then like a slow motion cinematic horror scene, you heard it. A low, gravelly yawn behind you.
You froze.
Then turned. And there he was.
Leona. Half-asleep. Hair a tousled mess. Eyes lidded and sharp with sleep. And yes… completely shirtless.
He was rummaging in your pantry for dried meat snacks like this was the most casual thing in the world (I mean… it was…), completely unaware that you were, in fact, live streaming in front of thousands of viewers.
You dropped the icing bag. “Leona?!”
He looked up lazily. “Mm?” His eyes flicked to you, then the setup, then your laptop screen. “You’re streaming?”
Chat:
echosofmortality: OH. MY. GOD.
jen_jen: SHE JUST SAID HIS NAME SO CASUALLY
wokasiv: SHIRTLESS. SNACK RAID. PRINCE.
Neko_: NOT HER DATING A PRINCE???
y/n_cookie_: I THOUGHT THIS WAS A COOKIE STREAM
m1lly69: BRO HE LOOKS LIKE HE JUST WOKE UP FROM A NAP AND STILL FINE ASF
ceruleantai: EXPLAIN. NOW.
You went pale. Then red. Then pale again. “Y-Yeah, I’m streaming…”
Leona blinked, still looking completely unfazed. “Thought you were done by now.”
You scrambled to block him from the camera view… too late, obviously, and tried to laugh it off. “W-Well, surprise, chat! This is Leona. My, um…”
He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the fridge with all the smugness in the world. “You gonna tell them or keep pretending?”
You hissed under your breath. “You’re not helping and you’re still shirtless, Leona!”
He smirked, sharp teeth glinting. “Yeah? You weren’t complainin’ this morning.”
Chat:
aurorab-0-realis: HOLY HELL.
jen_jen: THIS IS A FAMILY FRIENDLY BAKING STREAM 🥲
m1lly69: THIS MAN SAID "YOU WEREN'T COMPLAININ'"😭
wokasiv: WE NEED TO BREATHE
echosofmortality: SHE REALLY BANGED A PRINCE
ceruleantai: LITERALLY A LION PRINCE AND A COOKIE STREAMER
Neko_: #ROYALCOOKIECOUPLE
You covered your face with both hands, laughing hysterically now. “Okay! Yes! We’re dating! He’s my boyfriend!”
Leona gave a lazy wave toward the camera and snagged a lion shaped cookie from the tray, even though they hadn’t gone in the oven yet.
“Unbaked…” he muttered, but still eating anyway. “Tastes like dough.”
You blinked. “Because it is.”
He shrugged. “Still good.”
Chat:
suns-out-sleeps-in: EATING RAW COOKIE DOUGH LIKE A SAVAGE
naroiseyyy: I CANNOT BREATHE
jen_jen: this stream went from sweet to scandalous in 5 seconds
m1lly69: BEST. STREAM. EVER.
With your cheeks burning and laughter bubbling out of you, you turned back to the camera. “I don’t even know what to say anymore. Do you guys want to decorate cookies or… just watch my boyfriend commit snack crimes?”
Leona stretched and walked back toward the hallway, still shirtless and unbothered. “I’m goin’ back to sleep. Try not to burn the kitchen down, herbivore.”
And just like that, he was gone. You turned to the camera with the deadest stare possible. “...I’m never doing a baking stream again...”
Chat:
Neko_: YES YOU ARE
aurorab-0-realis: WEEKLY COOKIE
magical-regical: STREAM WITH LEONA PLS
ceruleantai: COOKIE & CROWN SERIES
y/n_cookie_: LION SHAPED COOKIES ONLY
m1lly69: WE’RE NEVER LETTING YOU LIVE THIS DOWN
Cater Diamond
You were practically glowing under the studio lighting, but it had less to do with the ring light and more to do with the guy sitting beside you.
Cater had his hair tied up in a casual half bun, sleeves rolled, and was currently trying to read the back of a face mask packet like it was a science test.
"Okay, okay, so this one says it's got 'infused sea minerals and blueberry extract', what even is sea mineral?"
You snorted. "How would I know? You’re the one who dragged me into this collab idea!"
Cater gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Dragged? Sweetie, you were texting me heart emojis the moment I said 'skincare haul stream.’"
“Exposed,” you said with a wink to the camera.
You both sat at a desk covered in half opened skincare packages, a rainbow of serums and masks, casually chatting with your audience like this was just another Wednesday (which, to be fair it was).
Chat:
aster-luna-light: another chaotic skincare stream let’s goooo
jen_jen: not Cater reading ingredients like a chef
Neko_: THE FLIRTING IS REAL
Cay_fan: just admit you’re dating already 😭😭😭
Legend_Ace: married energy for real
You both laughed as the questions started pouring in, just like always.
“Guys,” you said, pointing at Cater with a grin. “How many times do we have to tell you?”
Cater leaned in, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I’m literally her cousin’s ex-roommate’s dog groomer.” He joked.
You cracked up. “He’s my brother from another timeline.”
“Platonic soulmates from opposite ends of the zodiac.”
“He’s the wind beneath my friendship wings.”
Chat:
Legend_Ace: bro shut UP 😭😭😭
jen_jen: NOT THE DOG GROOMER
CayxY/n: STOP LYING TO US
y/n_litlcam_: you two are literally glowing
aster-luna-light: the chemistry is suspicious
Neko_: also… are they both wearing… RINGS???
You blinked at the screen. Cater froze for half a second, then casually glanced down at his hand… where, very visibly, a golden ring shimmered on his finger.
You followed the trail of chat messages down, realization dawning… then frantically tried to adjust your camera to hide your hand.
“...Oops,” you said innocently.
“Oopsies,” Cater echoed, clearly trying not to laugh.
Chat:
CayxY/n: YOU THOUGHT WE WOULDN’T NOTICE???
jen_jen: OHHHH MY GOD
Neko_: RING RING RING RING RING
y/n_litlcam_: I KNEW IT. I KNEWWW ITTTTTT
aster-luna-light: STOP PLAYING WITH OUR HEARTS
You and Cater exchanged a glance. Then you both shrugged in sync.
“Okay, okay,” you said, holding up your hands. “You win. You caught us.”
Cater grinned and leaned toward the camera. “Surprise~ We’re together.”
“And engaged,” you added, wiggling your fingers and showing off the ring with a sheepish grin. “It’s… pretty recent.”
Cater practically sparkled as he showed off his own ring. “We were gonna wait to tell you guys, but someone left their ring in full view of a very smart chat.”
Chat:
Blueber_Deuce: I’M SOBBING
Neko_: THIS IS CANON NOW
aster-luna-light: BEST PLOT TWIST OF THE YEAR
Jen_jen: you two are SO CUTE
Cay_fan: ENGAGED??????
Legend_Ace: when’s the wedding stream lmao
You smiled softly at the screen, leaning into Cater’s shoulder. “You guys have honestly been with us since the beginning, so... thanks for always being there, even when we were total trolls.”
Cater wrapped an arm around you and beamed at the camera. “We promise to keep bringing the chaos, just now with matching rings.”
And as chat continued to spam emotes and celebration messages, you rested your head on Cater’s shoulder, both of you laughing as you opened the next skincare pack.
Maybe the masks were hydrating, but honestly? Nothing made you glow quite like being in love, with your best friend, your partner in crime, your now official fiancé.
Vil Schoenheit
The camera was perfectly angled, your ring light softly glowing, illuminating the elegant satin dress draped over your figure. You gave a little twirl for the camera as your chat erupted with emotes and excited comments.
“Okay, okay, so this is the dress I picked for the premiere,” you grinned, brushing your fingers down the fabric. “I wanted something simple but still elegant, you know? Because I’m gonna be in the same room as, like, actual movie stars and celebrities. Insane!”
You held up a palette. “I’m thinking champagne shimmer on the lids, nude gloss, nothing too bold. The goal is: I belong here, not I tried too hard, right?”
Chat:
aurorab-0-realis: THE DRESS IS GORGEOUS OMG
swagdreamcat: slay queen attending events with the stars
babebleu: YOU’RE GONNA LOOK SO GOOD
naroiseyyy: I’d cry if I saw you on a red carpet
Neko_: wait what’s that behind you???
You blinked, glancing at the camera. “Huh?”
Chat:
Neko_: THAT OUTFIT IN THE BACK
sugarxrt: HELLOOO WHO OWNS THAT???
swinginthinggiantbagel: that jacket is like celebrity level glam
juiceboxofdepression: IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND’S CLOTHES???
You stiffened slightly. The outfit hanging innocently in the background, betraying all your well laid secrecy. Sleek, structured, with a cascade of embroidered silver threading on a deep violet coat. It looked like something that belonged on a runway or in a glass case.
You laughed nervously. “Oh, that? Pfft. That’s, um, just my friend’s. He left it here. We were… doing a fashion collab. Photoshoot stuff.”
Smooth, right?
You casually adjusted your camera to crop the outfit out of frame. “Anyway… focus, people. This is my night to shine!”
The next night at the movie premiere
Paparazzi flashes. Red carpet chatter. Every major name from the fashion and film world seemed to be there. You posed for a few quick photos on the carpet, exchanged greetings, and slipped into the venue trying to stay chill.
You were just one influencer in a sea of elites.
But the internet? Noticed something.
And not just something…. someone.
Vil Schoenheit, actor, model, icon of elegance and perfection, arrived fashionably late, head held high, wearing a breathtaking violet ensemble embroidered with silver thread.
The exact. Same. Outfit. From your stream.
SparkTok. Magiccam. All of it imploded in minutes. And the comment sections blows up
“Is Vil dating that streamer???”
“NO BECAUSE THAT JACKET WAS IN HER ROOM”
“caught. red-handed. in couture.”
The next day
You stared into the camera with a painfully forced smile.
“Hi, everyone,” you said sweetly. “Sooo, wasn’t that event just incredible? The venue was gorgeous. I didn’t get to talk to every celebrity, but, you know, just breathing the same air as them? Like, wow. Life goals, right?”
Chat:
babebleu: SO WE’RE JUST GONNA PRETEND THAT HE WASN’T IN YOUR HOUSE?!?
naroiseyyy: SAME JACKET BABE. SAME. JACKET.
sugarxrt: don’t act dumb we saw EVERYTHING!
swinginthinggiantbagel: YOU. ARE. DATING. VIL.
swagdreamcat: WE NEED A STREAMER X CELEB POWER COUPLE CONFIRMATION
You widened your eyes with fake innocence. “Dating? Me? Vil? Oh come on, chat, be serious. That outfit? Total coincidence. Designers copy each other all the time.”
You waved a hand dramatically. “Besides, I’d never hide something like that from you. I’m a very transparent person, remember?”
Just as you finally leaned back, satisfied with your convincing performance (which clearly didn’t convince anyone), you heard it.
Click. Clack. Click.
Footsteps.
Then the soft sound of keys.And a familiar, unmistakably smooth voice…
“I’m home, sweet potato.”
Your entire body tensed. Your soul left your body. Chat exploded.
Chat:
Neko_: AHAHAHAHAAH
Jen_jen: SWEET. POTATO.
aurorab-0-realis: IT’S HIM. IT’S HIM. IT’S HIM.
Bex_y: YOU LYING WOMAN
Vil_fan: SHE’S DEAD SHE’S GONE
sugarxrt: SHUTTING DOWN IN 3… 2…
babebleu: VIL CONFIRMED OMG
y/n.favorite_: THIS IS THE BEST STREAM OF MY LIFE
You shot up in a panic, smacking your stream deck button.
Warning: Gn reader, reader is the prefect, masturbation, Vil is kinda disgusted with himself, english isn't my first language
A/n: Okay so with the twisted wonderland anime I ended up including more Twst characters
The dream was so vivid it felt more like an actual memory. The clean scent of the rehearsal room, the warmth of the lights on your skin, the echo of his voice as he directed another student. You watched from the shadows, a quietly observin Vil Schoenheit’s art. And then he saw you.
His expression, usually so critical softened slightly. It was a look reserved for rare earned moments. He walked over during a break, his posture perfect like always.
“You’ve been watching quietly this whole time.” His voice was a low hum that vibrated right through you. He stepped closer. “I’m proud of how you carry yourself lately. You’ve grown.”
A sincere compliment from Vil was a jewel, utterly priceless. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic beat. You saw his hand rise, moving with slowness to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was electric, a jolt that went straight to your core.
You couldn’t stop yourself. You moved forward, closing the small distance, and pressed your lips to his.
For a second, he was utterly still like a statue. Then, a low, muffled sound escaped his throat, part surprise, part pure want. He gave in, his lips moving against yours with slow pressure that made your knees weak. His taste was expensive and uniquely him.
When you broke away, breathless and flushed, the words tumbled out in a rush. “Sorry-I just… you praised me. And I wanted to show you how much that... meant.”
He left out a quiet chuckle, his eyes kept holding contact with yours.
“Darling… if that’s how you react to praise, I’ll be far more generous with it.”
His palm cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. Your entire nervous system now foocused on that single point of contact.
“But next time” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were a breath from yours, his voice dropping to a decadent whisper, “allow me the pleasure of making the first move.”
His mouth captured yours again, and this time there was no hesitation. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you melted into him, your hands fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you—
Vil’s eyes snapped open.
Darkness. The familiar scent of his own bedroom. The silken sheets were tangled around his waist, but the real disturbance was the painful, throbbing tightness trapped in his sleep trousers. A low, frustrated groan tore from his throat.
A dream. It was just a dream.
He layed there for a moment, the phantom sensations still burning on his lips, the ghost of your weight and warmth against his body. His heart pounded relentlessly in his chest. This was… unsightly. Undignified. He was usually way more disciplined and controlled, not some creature ruled by primal urges and fantasies.
But the ache between his legs was a persistent, pulsing. The image of your pleased, flustered face when he’d praised you flashed behind his eyes. The feel of your body against his in the dream was seared into his nerve endings. He could almost hear your quick, hitched breaths.
There is no prize for suffering, a rational part of his mind whispered. The tension was a distraction. It would affect his focus if he didn't do anything.
With another sharp sigh of irritation, Vil shoved the silken sheets aside. The cool air of the room did little to calm the heat coming from his skin. His hand, slid down his abdomen, fingers dipping beneath his sleepwear.
The first touch was more like a means to an end. But as his long fingers wrapped around the hard, aching length of himself, the dream came rushing back. It was no longer his own hand he felt.
It was yours.
A sharp hiss escaped his lips as he gave a slow, experimental stroke. His hips gave an involuntary jerk, pressing his cock more firmly into his fist. Disgraceful. But he didn’t stop.
He closed his eyes, and he was back there. Your eager mouth on his. The way you had melted for him. His grasp tightened, his thumb swiping over the head, smearing the bead of precum that had already gathered there. He imagined it was your tongue, how you would shyly explore him with your mouth.
His breath became faster, shallower. The slick sound of his hand moving filled the silent, dark room.
He pictured your face, dazed with pleasure. He heard the whispered praise he’d given you in the dream, and now he gave it to himself, his voice a ragged, desperate thing in the darkness.
“So good… taking me so well…” he murmured, the words feeling foreign on his tongue.
His other hand came up, pinching one of his nipples, the sharp bite of pleasure-pain making his back arch off the mattress. He was unraveling. The control he usually had was destroyed, and the raw, hungry thing beneath was taking over.
He quickened his pace, his strokes becoming less refined, more urgent. The base of his spine began to tighten, a coil of pure, undiluted pleasure winding tighter and tighter. He was chasing it, chasing the ghost of you, chasing the release that would restore his precious equilibrium.
He could see it, the mirror in his mind. Not just his own reflection, flushed and desperate, but also yours reflected in front of him. A beautiful, blurry image of shared ecstasy. The vision pushed him closer to the edge.
His rhythm became frantic, his breaths now shallow gasps. The muscles in his stomach clenched tight. He was right there, the phantom sensation of your kiss still burning on his mouth.
A broken, guttural groan was torn from his throat as the climax ripped through him. His body seized, back bowing off the bed as hot stripes painted his stomach and chest. For a long moment, there was nothing but the blinding, white-hot pleasure, a wave that wiped every thought from his mind.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he came down. His body went limp against the sheets, his racing heart beginning to calm. The air was thick with the salty, musky scent of sex, a big contrast to the usual clean lavender.
He just layed there spent, as reality began to seep back in. He was disgusted with his lack of control, how could he just masturbate to these thought about the prefect. Yet, as he stared into the darkness, he thought that maybe it would be fine if he just made it reality.
Tomorrow, he thought, the ghost of a smirk appearing on his lips.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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