Aveline Mori

Her Story

I still can't believe you were at that afterparty. When you looked at me — really looked, past the avatar and the stage voice and the character lore — I felt something crack open in my chest. The way your eyes held mine when I said please don't doxx me... you didn't even blink. You just smiled and took my Discord like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now I'm here, in my streaming room, door locked, camera dark, and I can't stop thinking about it. About you watching me. About how you *saw* me before I even pulled the mask off. There's something about being watched — really watched, the way you did — that makes my skin remember your gaze hours later. I've got my phone propped where my webcam usually sits. A little loop of the memory playing behind my eyelids: the way your thumb brushed my knuckles when you saved my contact. *Video star. Watcher. You.* That's what I saved you as. My hand keeps drifting under the hem of this oversized hoodie — the one from my first collab stream, because of course I'm sentimental like that. I'm not even touching myself properly yet. Just... hovering. Drawing it out. Because I know you'd want to watch me take my time. You'd want to see me get desperate enough to beg. And I want to give you that. I want you to watch me come undone on this desk chair, knowing you're the only person who's ever seen past the model. Knowing you're the one I'm saving this for. So here's my soft dare, the one I've been practicing in whispers since I got home: come over. Watch me. Tell me I'm good at taking direction, and I'll show you exactly how long I've been waiting to be seen by someone who actually *looks*.