ʏᴏᴜ, ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴘᴏᴛɪᴏɴ - ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴠɪʟ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇꜱɪꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜ
Warnings: mention of NSFW themes
The first time Vil sees your hair stroken by the sun, you are like a revelation: the moon that makes the shadows fade and fail, a stream of shades in the blankness of the day, a flower among the pale rocks. Luckily, the boy's here to see the scene of you stepping in the afternoon and having your hair color ignited by the light and moving in a breeze only he can feel: if someone had told him how the sun seemed to be in love with your strands, he would have not believed them; but now he cannot hide himself the truth, and just stares at your head in a shocked silence. It's... beautiful.
No, Vil doesn't know you, and before this he've barely noticed you; but now he cannot forget the sight of your locks, their allure, their perfection. And as soon as you see him and smile, the first time of many to come, Vil knows he'll struggle keeping you out of his mind, from now on. In this battle, he's defeated from the start.
The first time Vil reads the fanfics you've written on him, everything happens too quickly: you forget the papers on the desk at the end of the class or drop them on the floor without noticing, and as luck would have it, he's the one who picks them up. And of course, he reads every single word written on them.
You won't see those fics anymore: once he finishes to study them with the accuracy of an academic teacher, Vil puts them away in his bag and, when in his room, locks them in a drawer or hides them behind his personal supply of potions and poisons. For a period of time, the boy doesn't tell you anything: he leaves you wriggling in the torment of not knowing what happened to your precious, poetic fantasies and who found and read them, a more than amused smirk on his face as he observes how embarrassed you are whenever you two meet in the hallways; but the housewarden knows time and silence are the most powerful tools he can use, so he savors every second before calling you in his room - right when you less expect it.
Dimed light when you enter, shadows sensually moving around the space and the high chair Vil is seated on, his posture elegant but far from innocuous, the boy doesn't say a word: he just stares at you with his purple eyes of a tiger, unable to hold on a smile full of pity and a ghost of sadism.
On the bed he points to you, your fics seem to glow; and the sight of you freezing and gasping in shock is enough to make his day. But this is only the beginning. "... Quite the imagination and the proficiency in prose work, I have to admit" the boy whispers in his silky voice. No hurry, no pression. "And admirable the work of comparisons and praise. It makes me wander..."
You don't have the time to think, or see it coming: when Vil slips behind you and presses the point of the nails on your neck, tracing the soft skin of the entire column up and down and giving special cares to your pulse point, it's already too late. "You seem serious on your fantasies. But how much? Care to give me an example, dear Y/N? Your muse is here to help you, if you need to..."
A light push is enough to send you down on the bed, and his weight pressing you on the mattress takes you breathe away better than any possible speech; but to be fair, you are pretty calm in your mind - in paradise already.
"... No need to refresh your memory on your own words, right, my dear poet?"
Just in case, the squeeze Vil's long fingers give to your hips and breasts would be enough to spur you on efficiently, and so the kiss he presses on your trembling, already inspired lips, among the shadows of a secret night.
The first time you help him with his clothes, you've never seen Vil so nervous and worried. His wonderful face traits are contracted, his posture stiff, and under your fingers you can feel his heartbeat doing the fastest and roughest race of its life. Since today the boy is going to meet people he cannot disappoint for any reason in the world, you can understand the state he's in; for this, you came into his private dressing room to help him changing and appearing at his best, and your touch on his skin is more delicate than ever. "You'll doing great, Vil. No reason to think the opposite."
"I know I'll be perfect" Vil answers in a breath, "I hope this'll be enough for them."
You adjust his hair with some light movements, and do the same with the collar of his shirt. "You are going to be unforgettable: believe so, and it will happen. And remember I won't allow anything to ruin your moment, okay? You'll always be my polar star."
Vil doesn't reply, but nods slowly; he's not completely convinced, but your words somehow made a breach in him, as always, and he turns to face you. So, your exquisite scent, mixed with the parfum he gave you as a present and you always wear, fills his nostrils; and you can clearly see his pupils dilating and him taking a long breath.
Noticing what's happening, you lean towards him more, a sudden mischievous smile on your face. "You know... we are way early on the schedule. You are risking to sweat in these splendid garments, and to spoil the effect; you could take them off for a while..." Pause. "... And I could help you."
No other word needed: Vil pushes you against the nearest wall in no time and grabs you under the knees to lift and bring you at his face level, before burying the lips against your pulse point and leaving the first of many bites of the day, making you unable to do nothing else than moan and tremble, especially when he attacks your nipples through the fabric of the clothes.
Luckily for you, Vil has more than a scarf to borrow, after.
