#And I didn’t line Vil yet

[rakiah]

Here I am, losing my mind again ٩( ᐛ )و

[riddlesrose]

the string of fate

w/ riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, & malleus in part one: meeting your soulmate.

“i learnt about this in school as a kid, but didn’t know it could… cross dimensions?”

most go their entire lives with little to no hope of finding their cosmically assigned second half, but there's always a chance.

you don’t see your string until you come into physical contact with your soulmate for the first time. a red string will tie itself on your left pinky, unable to ever be removed but it feels as if its never there. the featherlight tickle of the string always reminds you that you've found the one thing a lot of people would lay down their life for.

a.n; 7.6k words total ~ 1.1k each so buckle up for a long post

riddle never really thought much on the idea of a soulmate. his mother taught him that he’d have no need for one, to push the idea out of his head. but it stuck. it stuck to him in the back of his mind, that there was someone out there, and the slim chance he had to meet them kept his hope aflame. 

riddle and his crew of cards were some of the first people you actually met in the wonderland. you took him as some sort of rule enforcing, crazy man for the first few days until you realize he really just likes making sure everything stays in order. 

headmage crowley had sent you on a few back and forth missions for him recently, which always led you to the same heartslabyul dorm each time, specifically to riddle or trey if the housewarden was busy or unavailable. 

you rap your knuckle against the large front door and are instantly greeted by ace, who happens to look like he’s in a major rush. he greets you quickly, then speeds past you like he’s tardy for something. he probably is. 

you shrug and let yourself into the dorm building, “hello?” you voice echoes off the walls of the oddly empty halls. you take the chance to look around a little more closely than before, you notice there are signs pointing to many different directions on the same stem, but they all point to places leading to walls or doors. strange. 

there are many paintings hung on the tall, red wrapped walls. some are of animals, like flamingos and hedgehogs, others are of people. you notice there are a lot of one plump lady with a small yet tall crown upon her head. must be the queen of hearts. 

someone clears his throat behind you. “i see you’ve let yourself in.” you whirl around and are met with riddle’s stern look. not quite disapproving, but you can’t quite place the look he’s attempting to flatten you with. 

“well, ace technically let me in?” you gnaw on your bottom lip, realizing how stupid that sounds. 

“right. i see you were looking at the pictures on the walls, have any caught your attention?” the housewarden lifts an eyebrow, before scanning the nearby paintings and various pieces of decoration filling the hallway. 

you turn to the large portrait of who you assume is the queen of hearts, “yeah, this one.” you take in the details, her mouth is open as if she’s commanding the various card soldiers by her side. you notice they’re all a perfect match to a deck of cards. spade, diamond, heart, and clover soldiers march together in perfect unison at the queen’s orders. 

behind her is a large castle surrounded by tall shrubs in varying shapes resembling animals and many red rose bushes. something about this painting feels vaguely familiar. 

“ah, yes. that is actually my favourite painting in this hall– the main focus of it is the queen of hearts. she was a strict ruler who ruled over her land. she kept everything in order with her army of card soldiers who followed her loyally. i believe that is because if one of them was out of line, she declared immediate beheading.” riddle looks fondly up at the painting, as if reminiscing over someone lost. 

you step closer to the painting, almost close enough you could see the brushstrokes if you squint hard enough. “she kind of… looks like she would fit in here. i think she would like the roses.” 

“you’re not wrong.” you glance at riddle, catching the small smile he’s wearing as he stares up at the old painting. riddle wipes the smile away swiftly, turning to you. “so, prefect. if i may be so curious, what brings you here today?” 

“right! right, that. headmage crowley said…” you pause, “wait, what did he say.” you mumble, turning away slightly to think. “did he…? yes, he wanted me to relay a message. for… some reason.” 

“that message is?” 

“‘tell housewarden rosehearts that we are expecting a new delivery of riding gear by next week.’ ” you mock crowley's voice to the best of your abilities, turning back to riddle, then continuing. “there’s horses here?” 

“yes, there’s multiple. i’m in the equestrian club with some other students. i could show you some time if you are interested.” riddle’s smooth, almost uninterested voice gets a little softer when he goes on, “i dare say i have a favourite, she’s quite kind.” 

you hold out your hand, offering a promising handshake. “it’s a deal, housewarden rosehearts: you show me the horses sometime.”

the redhead cracks a small smile, “please, riddle is fine.” he takes your hand, “sometime it is-”

he stops mid phrase. small red glitters start emitting from your interlaced hands, falling but not quite hitting the floor. they disappear moments after they appear. the twinkling glitters capture the light coming from the nearby window, they shine bright before dying like an oxygenless fire. 

riddle’s breath hitches in his throat, frantic eyes meeting your equally blown ones. both of you want to rip your hands away, to go back five minutes ago, but neither moves. the glittering stops moments later. you’re the first to slowly peel your hand from riddle’s, breaking eye contact, you look down to your left hand. there sits a neatly tied bow, perfectly symmetrical, perfectly placed for all to see. 

riddle copies you, examining his own left hand. a matching red bow sits tied on his pinky. despite his mind screaming at him to leave, to ignore fate, he decides to test the waters of the universe. he gently grasps your left hand with his right, when you make no move to take back control, he slowly moves your hands together. 

a light tickle is felt as the string unwinds and begins reaching towards riddle, more specifically, towards his string, which is also unwinding and reaching for its second half. your heart is hammering against your ribs as you watch fate’s cruel display of affection. 

you’re sure riddle can share the sentiment of cruelty. you’ve known riddle for a total of less than a month, and hey, has anyone mentioned that you’re not from this universe? no? maybe they should. 

your breath comes out slow and ragged, words fail to form as you attempt to say something, anything, to who was just a friend minutes ago. 

“i-i think, i uh, hear grim calling. i need to go.” 

“uh, yes, yes. i will… be in touch about the horses. if you’re still interested.” riddle’s voice trails off as his confidence wavers with each word while he watches you leave. you look back over your shoulder to riddle, to your cosmic partner.

riddle has no need for a soulmate, right?

you have no idea what you’re going to do about this.

leona never really put his hopes in a soulmate. he knew after he graduated that he’d go back to the sunset savanna and be the second prince once again. though he often milked the ‘prince’ title, he loathed the idea of falling into line with actual princely duties, like getting married. there was a sliver of hope in leona’s mind that if he ever found his soulmate that there’d be a chance he’d get to have a say in his marriage. 

in the end, he’s as hopeful for that outcome as is a sea sponge is to grow legs and walk out of water. 

you blink away the drowsiness clouding your mind, professor trein might actually bore you to death if he’s not careful. though it’s only the first weeks of classes, half of his lectures are not sticking in your brain. some would say, in one ear and out the other. 

an elbow nudges you from your left side, it’s ace. “do you get any of this?” he whispers. 

“you’re asking the wrong person.” you narrow your eyes and blink hard this time. 

a moment passes where ace is beyond confused, then he realizes that in fact he is asking the wrong person for help here. he quickly twists in his seat to his opposite neighbour, deuce to ask him the same thing. deuce shakes his head. ace’s shoulders deflate, defeated. 

some more time passes before class is over, trein assigns some work, you, ace, and deuce groan in succession but were quickly leveled with a stare from trein. the three of you swiftly made for the exit. 

it’s only an hour later that you realize your bag was unzipped and wide open as you were complaining with the heartslabyul freshmen, meaning your history notebook was left somewhere in trein’s classroom. you bashfully rub at your neck while you explain to the duo why you have to suddenly ditch them, reassuring that you’ll be as quick as you can and they don’t need to come with. 

grim stares at you before ineffectively dismissing his hench-human with a huff and a flick of his paw. (you were going to go whether grim ‘allowed’ you to or not, you need that book.) 

your speed walking caught you some funny looks as you sped past students in the halls, you didn’t want to leave your friends hanging. gods this would be so much easier with magic. 

you reach the history classroom and the door is slightly ajar. you assume either the professor was still in there or it was purposefully left open. maybe he realized there was a forgotten notebook and thought you’d come back for it. it does have your name across the top in blue pen. 

the door squeals on its hinges as it opens slowly, you cringe at the sudden noise. it goes quiet as the door fully opens. no trein in sight, nor does his desk have an addition of your notebook. okay, maybe it’s still at your seat. 

the class is empty, thankfully. you don’t have to awkwardly squeeze through strangers looking for a white notebook. a lot of people have white notebooks, but only you have your name. you reach the desk you sat at today and… no book. oh.

“okay, where is it.” you sigh to no one as you fold your arms across your chest, trying to think of anyone who would steal a freshmen history notebook. while you’re thinking, a yawn catches your attention. wait, what?

“check the floor.” the yawn turns into a phrase, making you jump. 

“what the hell?” you look around, whipping your head from the left to the right, but ultimately seeing no one. after a minute of silence, from both you and the gruff voice, you inch your way around the desks, checking the row behind. you practically jump out of your skin when you’re met with leona kingscholar sprawled out across a row of seats. 

“that can not be comfortable.” you point out the obvious as the scare wears off. 

“it’s not.” leona agrees, “but it was quiet, and empty.” he cracks an eye, leaning his head up slightly to look at you upside down. he kind of looks like he’s scowling but it’s hard to tell. 

you take a second, somewhat taken aback at his jab to your presence. “right. well, sorry?” 

“apology accepted, now get out lest you disrupt me anymore.” okay, rude. you roll your eyes before taking his previous suggestion. you squat down and check the floor for your book and-

“aha!” the notebook somehow ended up in the row behind you, it must have slipped from your bag and slid backwards. you reach under the seat leona’s got his head on, but the sleeping prince catches your arm before you can grab the book. it stuns you for a moment before you recover, “what’s your deal?” you try and back your arm from his grip but he doesn’t let go.

“you. you’re the deal. you’re yellin’ beside my head.” embarrassment rushes to your face, you did triumphantly shout when you found the missing book, that much is true. 

“okay, i’m sorry. now please let me go.” leona releases your arm, opting to run a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes as he sits up.

you scoop the notes off the ground, attempting to get out of leona’s bubble before you make enemies with the wrong person (i.e the second born prince of the sunset savanna). he reaches up and stretches his arms and back from probably the worst sleeping spot on school grounds, but something catches your attention. you suck in a breath, not wanting to make assumptions, and lift your left hand. 

there sits a perfectly tied red string, transparent yellow glitters still emanating from thin air. looking back up, leona has a matching patch of disappearing glitters that follow his stretch. scrambling to your feet, you drop the notebook you searched so diligently for and reach for leona’s arm as it falls. he opens his mouth to protest but snaps it shut at the panicked look in your eyes. he falters for a moment, hoping you explain before he asks.

the housewarden glances where you’re focused. a dainty red string is unwrapping itself from your finger and reaching towards… him? not a moment later, you’re walking as fast as your legs will take you without giving out, back to your friends who’ve hopefully not forgotten you were with them. you’ve a lot to think about. 

then again, so does leona. 

azul always humoured the idea of a soulmate. someone to always put up with him, to be by his side eternally. he’s caught himself once or twice drifting off to the idea of who it is, were they like him in any way? was it someone from the human world, the sea, or was he bound to never find this mysterious individual? azul found himself checking his pinky if he remembered. it was always bare. 

until the day it wasn’t. 

you absentmindedly kick a pebble into the slightly overgrown grass surrounding main street. large stone statues of the seven tower around the street, each with a plaque engraved with their names. something about them felt oddly comforting, like finding an old childhood toy buried deep in a box, but you couldn’t place why. 

suddenly, both your arms are taken by a matching pair of twins. one loops his arm around yours, the other lightly grabs onto your shoulder.

one second you’re shuffling around the statues of the seven, next you’re being dragged around by the freaky leech twin duo. floyd offers no explanation, jade simply says he knows what he’s doing. you’d hope so. you hope he’s got a real good explanation for abducting someone off the main street and hauling them to the mirror room, transporting them to the octavinelle dorm building. 

the sea theme catches your eye, the plants sway as if they really are underwater, and the air smells slightly salty. you take in the exterior design, how it all blends together and creates a homey feeling for the students. 

you breath in the air once again, “okay, now that we’re here, can either of you tell my why i’ve been kidnapped?” 

floyd begins cackling behind his hand, “shrimpy-napped!” air passes from your nose, ready to get annoyed with floyd before jade offers an explanation. 

“azul has requested you come visit him, this was the best way.” 

“no, it’s not? he could have come to talk to me like a normal person.” 

the octavinelle dorm opens, revealing the man of topic. “why be normal? besides, i am a very busy man, this was optimal.” optimal for you, you weren’t nabbed off the main street by a pair of eels. you close your eyes for a moment, mentally resetting. 

you realize jade and floyd are still hanging off your arms so you shake them off as azul now takes the lead, showing you to his office, where he claims is the best location to have a chat. you’re not sure what he wants from you, or why you’re actually here, but it better be good. 

azul sits, gesturing for you to take the seat across from his desk. the chair is simple, seemingly in pristine condition too. maybe it’s new. his desk, on the other hand, has definitely seen better days. there are knicks and scratches all around, marking up the beautiful detailing of the wood. you sit as you examine it.

azul clears his throat, stealing your attention from the chipped desk. “so, ramshackle prefect, are you one hundred percent sure you don’t know how you ended up here?” 

you groan as soon as the words leave his lips. this cannot be the reason he’s gotten you prefect-napped by his vice housewarden and his brother. you stand to leave, not wanting to play along with azul’s ridiculous play on your arrival. 

“wait- don’t go?” he sounds almost confused, as if he doesn’t know why you’d up and go. 

“oh come on, azul, this is like our second proper meeting and you hound me for showing up in twisted wonderland? i don’t know, okay?” you sit back down. 

he folds his hands on the desk in thought. he kisses his teeth before starting again, “alright, i’ll admit, that was low of me. how about this, i’ll offer a glimpse of my past in return for some of yours. i am very curious about you.” 

at least he admit to his wrongdoing, but why is he interested in you and your past? azul must be able to see the confusion and consideration in your face, he continues. “i cannot lie when i say i haven’t felt the same since you arrived.” his face instantly flushes, as does yours. that really sounded like some twisted love confession. 

“i-i mean there’s been this odd feeling i get when someone mentions your name, i can’t quite explain it.” 

“azul, stop while you’re ahead. you’re digging a deeper grave here.” he nods, flushed cheeks hidden behind gloved hands. 

for the next half an hour, the two of you ignore the odd confession azul accidentally spilled while you share childhood memories. it’s oddly intimate but comforting at the same time. 

sometime during an anecdote you lean your arms on the desk, fiddling with the nearest pen to keep your hands busy. a habit that azul shares. he’s flicking a pen back and forth absentmindedly while he recounts the first day he met the twins. 

azul lowers his hands, halting the pen's movements, and taps the top of your hand in a comforting attempt. “now, i hope i didn’t… make a… bad impression…” he trails off as quickly as he started. 

your eyes are glued to your balled fist where purple glitters begin emanating from thin air, materializing the fated red string. you instinctively flatten your hand to watch the string work its way around your finger. across from you, azul is equally as stunned as he almost rips his glove in attempts to remove it, watching as his own matching shimmer appears. 

you’re both stunned to silence. unsure of how to react, or what to say. until the boy across from you breaks the momentary silence, “i guess… i know why i was drawn… to you.” his voice is soft, almost scared as he speaks. 

“maybe it was a good thing i was ‘shrimpy-napped’ today.” you’re just as quiet, eyes glossy.

shrimpy-napped? you’ll have to explain that one to him later. you have nothing but time… azul hopes. 

kalim knows he can’t indulge the idea of a soulmate too much. he’s next in line to a wealthy family and carries an influential last name. despite knowing this, it’s always been a thought in his busy mind, knowing someone, somewhere is the missing piece to his mental puzzle. 

for the last week, something has been bothering kalim. neither he nor jamil can figure out what it is, he’s passing his classes (to his knowledge), he’s got a trustworthy vice housewarden and no one has tried to kill him for the past few months… kalim couldn’t put his finger on the reason his stomach felt like it was in knots. 

it got progressively worse over the week and he was afraid he was falling ill. a few tests later and he’s healthy as a horse. with a clean medical slate and nothing of real concern, the only thing kalim can do is plaster a smile on his face and go about his day, trying to ignore the sensation. 

the large door separating the lounge from the kitchen swings open with great force. “jamil, i can’t take it anymore! it feels like there’s something wrong with me!” 

“i believe i can assure you there’s nothing wrong with you, are you nervous about anything?” 

“no,” kalim sighs, dropping his head into his hands. it’s been a week of no answers, and the only time he felt any better was in his classes. maybe it was because his mind was occupied by other things, or… there’s another reason. 

you let your head fall back onto your pillow, looking over to grim. “well, weasel? am i dying, or am i dying.” the pads of grim’s paw feel across your forehead, not without shooting you a look over the nickname.

he retracts his paw, tucking it back by his side. “you feel fine? maybe you’re homesick?” grim offers a solution you hadn’t thought of. it wasn’t a non-possibility, you did get transported away from your homeland not two months ago. 

you check the phone you were given for the time, “grim, we’re going to be late!” you shoot up straight like a firework, snatching your school bag and blazer before scurrying out the door, grim hot on your trail. 

you know you’re not supposed to, but you take off running down the halls of NRC like you’re being chased. the last thing you need is to be late and get in trouble. you dodge other students who aren’t in the same rush you are, they’re probably in the right half of the school anyways. your class was on the opposite side of the school, up two flights of stairs. for someone with magic, this would be easy. no sweat. 

you’re in the middle of mentally complaining when you zone back in, you gasp as you almost bullrush the student in front of you, but his companion quickly pulls him aside. your hands just slightly brush up against one another as you pass him. without stopping, because if you do you’ll surely be extremely late, you glance over your shoulder and yell an apology. 

you catch sight of who you almost crashed into, and by the gods, you were almost dead. dead at the hands of jamil viper. you just about swept kalim al-asim straight off his feet and onto the ground, but thanks to jamil, you’re spared a swift demise. 

many halls and two flights of stairs later and you reach your class. thankfully, just as you step in the bells ring. as you take your seat, you realize you feel a lot better all of a sudden. 

a long, lazy hour later, the class finally ends. you’re freed from the grasps of boredom, but a pair of tan hands decked in golden jewellery find themselves on the top of your table, halting your attempt to leave peacefully. 

the scarabia housewarden beams as you stand, startled. how did he know what class you’re in? what is he doing here, and what does he need with you? 

a hundred questions blind you as kalim settles into the chair in front of your table. his beaming smile fell slightly into a smaller smile. you greet him, somewhat unsure of how you’re supposed to address him, as you know his title but haven’t really made friends with him yet. he dismisses it and asks to see your hands. 

your teeth find your lip, biting down lightly in curiosity. you untuck your hands from your pockets and present them towards kalim’s outstretched ones. a gasp falls from his lips when he catches sight of your hand. your left hand. 

you look down, unsure of the reason for his reaction. 

then you see it. a gasp falls from your lips this time as you bring your hand closer to your face; a little red string, tied perfectly into a bow sits on the base of your little finger. 

“when- who-... how!?” unfinished questions fall before you can think. you’ve met your soulmate without even knowing. this had to have happened today, but when? who was it? you only remember just about crashing into… kalim. 

your face falls in disbelief. without thinking, you reach towards his hand, where a matching bow sits. the closer you get, the less uniform the bows become. when they’re within a few inches they begin to unravel and wrap around the other, like a vine conjoining in the middle of a wall. 

kalim silently watches the spectacle in front of him, amazed. never in a hundred years did he think he’d ever be able to see this happen to him. growing up, he was told stories of soulmates and how they’re very unlikely to ever meet. but here he is, meeting the one the stars believed was best for him. 

as you and kalim are watching the pair of strings move like magic a voice clears his throat by the door. you had no idea he was there but jamil shoots the housewarden a look, a warning of sorts, you assume. he knows there’s going to be a lot to unwrap with this newfound information. kalim knows it too, and so do you. 

like why is your soulmate interdimensional? man… what a week. (it’s tuesday.)

vil liked the idea of a soulmate. would they be like him? or maybe the opposite. though, he didn’t actively search the lands for his soulmate, he was never opposed to the fact that the gods above, maybe even the seven, had picked someone for him. 

him and his entourage of fans who would probably collectively lose their minds if vil announced the existence of his soulmate. 

a few days ago, you were given an invitation by the pomefiore’s housewarden for a lesson on twisted wonderland etiquette. you assume crowley put him up to this, or maybe, vil wanted too. you weren’t sure, the only thing the invitation said was a date, time, and location. 

now it’s the day, 4pm and you’re standing outside of the pomefiore’s large, castle-like dorm building. the perfectly trimmed bushes and blooming flowers give the exterior a nice, inviting aroma, but the sense of dread and fear have been gnawing on your insides since you passed through the mirror. 

surely the wonderland’s etiquette can’t be so different from that of your homeland. maybe it was a ploy, or a faulty invitation. should you leave? yeah- 

the door opens gracefully as you’re about to turn on the balls of your heels and high tail it back to the mirror. you’re met with the heeled housewarden of pomefiore, the illustrious vil schoenheit greets you kindly, inviting you in. 

“thank you for uh, inviting me here.” you bow your head slightly, unsure. 

“it looks like you’ve already got some experience under your belt, good.” does he seriously take you for a baby? you have basic manners, seriously, this cannot be a good use for your time. 

but truth be told, vil solely invited you under the guise of an etiquette lesson because he’s had a feeling of lost since you appeared on the first day. something has been tugging at him since then and he had to find out what it is and how he can get rid of it. 

vil guides you through elegant hallways, passing by large windows that look out to various places. large gardens, a fountain, beautiful blooming flowers, and chatting residents. all of it is somewhat overwhelming, but you can understand the constant need to be perfect, vil is the embodiment of it. 

you trail slightly behind him as his heels tap on the flooring. you’re able to get a good look at him, his perfectly styled hair, creaseless uniform and perfect posture. you wonder how long he takes to get ready each morning. 

the tap of his heels stops but you realize too late, you’re just about to crash into his back when he spins on the toes of his shoes. “before i forget, prefect, there’s something in my room i must fetch. come.” and then he’s off again, heels clicking on the shiny tile like tap shoes. 

he swings the large detailed door to his room open, it’s decorated elegantly, like the rest of the pomefiore building. it’s something straight out of a designer competition, the sheets and curtains are silky, and expensive looking too. 

“is there an ulterior motive for having me here?” the words fall from your lips as you’re looking around before you’re able to stop them. vil spins again, facing your after rooting through a drawer on his bedside table. 

the blonde places a hand on your shoulder, gazing down through perfect eyelashes, “i believe with more practice, you won’t make a fool of yourself while you’re here.” 

your brows furrow, is that the only reason he wanted to teach you? he thinks you’re a fool? you look over to the hand on your shoulder, but notice something other than his hand, which you were ready to swat away and go back to ramshackle. 

iridescent purple glitters fall from midair, and you’re instantly filled with a sense of relief. like an ache that’s finally gone away, like you’ve found something you didn’t know you were yearning for. 

technically, you did find something. 

as you’re internally monologuing, you feel the hand on your shoulder tighten. vil has realized why he’s had an odd pull in your direction. you’re his soulmate. soul. mate. his mouth goes dry at the thought. 

the magic-less human from a different world with an unbridled familiar, hand picked by the gods for him. he has one question: why? he releases your shoulder after you wince under the pressure, floating his hand to your raised one.

vil’s lips purse into a thin line, hiding the purple lipstick fully. he watches the string reach towards the one wrapped around your finger, moving as if controlled like a marionette. each draw of breath is slow, uncalculated and scared. the star believed he’d be excited, like anyone would be, if he found his soulmate, but your situation makes this hard. 

he wants to enjoy this experience but you share the sentiment, your lips are pursed and eyes are wide. 

the strings meet between your hands, tying into a neat bow between the other string. these fate strings are seemingly very smart; they’ve got some kind of gravitational pull towards its match. vil meets your gaze with an unexplainable shine glossing his pale eyes. 

suddenly, his dorm door bursts open, revealing a disheveled rook, who’s actively attempting to smoothen the crinkles in his uniform and dust off his shoulders. he’s not in savanaclaw anymore. shocked, vil rips his hand from its place beside yours, shoving his hands under his arms as he crosses them. 

“la roi du poison- oh, et la ramshackle préfet!” rook tosses his hands up, clearly not expecting you. “i hope i’m not interrupting, but there’s a problem in the lounge!” he starts back down the hall before vil can reply, leaving him no choice but to follow. 

the housewarden apologizes quickly before only the tap and clack of his heels can be heard as he’s quick to follow his vice into whatever trouble someone’s caused. 

you, on the other hand, are left with way more questions than this morning, but have the answer to one. the lifelong question about soulmates has been answered. somewhat.

idia didn’t believe he’d ever care even if he found his supposed soulmate. he’s too awkward, socially inept, and too focused on his games most days to consider searching. if luck was on his side eventually, and the day the string appears comes, he may just change his mind. 

the first time you met idia properly, it was a complete mess. he often made appearances via floating tablet, or sent ortho in his place to meetings or gatherings. you heard from others that not many have seen the ignihyde housewarden in person for more than ten minutes total in the three years he’s been in NRC. 

others are luckier with the introvert, like azul who shares his love for board games with idia. he’ll get all riled up during the club, going off on tangents, only to zip it moments later, utterly embarrassed about his outburst. azul had grown accustomed to idia’s back and forth attitude, and is more patient with him as a result. 

you clutch the papers specifically handed to you by crowley for azul, something about a tax return for… his dorm? you didn’t quite understand what the headmage was yammering about before he ushered you out and directed you to the club, guaranteeing that you’d find the octavinelle housewarden there. 

you pause in front of the class crowley mentioned, then push the door open. “well, if it isn’t the ramshackle prefect!” azul greets you as you enter the somewhat empty room, causing others to glance your way before returning to their games, including idia. his gaze lingering for but a moment longer from the corner of his eye. ortho greets you kindly as well, floating over to you, trying to peek at the small stack of papers. 

“hello, azul. and ortho!” you smile to both. 

“say hello to my brother, too!” ortho’s sweet voice rings as idia, who you now realize is his brother, looks as if he’s shaking like a leaf, ready to fly away with the wind. 

“n-no, ortho, it’s okay.” his voice is quick, almost inaudible as he mumbles into his hood, which is doing a poor job of covering the flame-like hair that sprouts off his head. 

you shrug walk closer to the table where azul and idia’s half finished game of checkers lies forgotten. you reach out and move around a white piece, claiming victory for the white team, who you assume was idia. you turn to azul and hand him the papers, “crowley sent me to give you these. something about a tax return? whatever he meant by that.” 

azul takes the papers, tucking them under his arm. “i run a lounge open to any and all students, headmage must want his cut, i assume. you should come by some time! though, i’m surprised you didn’t know.” 

“i uh, would if i could,” you pull the empty pocket liners out of your pockets comically, “i’m completely broke, wallet went poof when i… appeared? here.” 

“ah-”

“well, azul, this was great but i’m going backtomydormnow, pleaseexcuseme.” idia’s unexpected, almost panic stricken voice breaks your conversation with azul as he stands, more like jumps, from his seat, startling not only you, but his brother and azul. 

as the older shroud brother attempts to speed walk off, ortho floats around in front of him, trying to get him to stay, claiming he never leaves a game unfinished, or a score tied. idia tries to swerve around ortho, to get out as quick as he can, he’s not even fully sure why he wants to leave, why he feels he has to leave, but an overwhelming sense of familiarity surrounded him when you walked in. he tried to ignore it but it got worse the closer you came, and when you finished his game of checkers, he almost passed out. 

he has to get out of here. back to the safety of his dorm room, to his games and favourite anime. 

idia felt as if he was trapped in a triangle between azul, ortho, and you. 

he stumbles over his own foot pathetically, causing you to reach out instinctively to hold onto his arm, hoping to steady him before he falls. idia pauses, looking scared as he brings a shaky hand close to his face. his eyes widen as you all watch a red string materialize from blue glittering stars tie itself around his pinky like magic. his face pales as you copy, bringing your left hand up to view. 

a red bow sits neatly around the base of your pinky, blue glitter quickly fading. you slowly move your hand closer to idia’s, watching as the bows unravel and reach for one another. like a pair of vines, they wrap around each other until idia returns to his senses and rips his hand away, covering the new accessory to his everyday wear with his other hand. at the loss of its pair, your string returns to your pinky. 

you stand there, utterly dumbfounded in the middle of the board game club. you came to simply deliver some papers to azul, but are now leaving with some very, very confusing new information. 

you turn to azul who’s sporting a matching dumbfounded look, and ortho seems to be the only happy one at this point. when you turn back once again, idia has disappeared, possibly quicker than any teleportation magic known to magekind. ortho waves a swift goodbye, giggling as he tails after his brother.

you look at azul again, who’s mostly regained his composure, “well…?” 

“what do you mean, ‘well’!? i could use a little more support here, azul. i just found out my soulmate isn’t even from my DIMENSION.” you drag your hands down your face, exasperated. and suddenly, very tired. “y’know what, don’t even answer that, i’m going back to ramshackle.” 

you hear azul snicker as you march out of the classroom. asshole.

malleus cast the idea of a soulmate out long ago. with his millennium long life expectancy, he was sure he’d outlive, or had outlived, any type of lover the universe has assigned him. 

the heir to briar valley was quite frustrated today. he had overheard some diasomnia students chatting about the idea of soulmates earlier in the morning and it’s been on his mind ever since. it’s well past the final class of the day, and he skipped dinner. 

i don’t quite feel hungry as of now. he waved off lilia’s attempt to join them for the meal, worrying sebek the most. lilia quite literally had to hold the first year by the collar to stop him from chasing malleus down. 

the housewarden shut himself in his room like a temperamental toddler. angry clouds crackle and pop outside, rivalling his emotions. his head felt like it was swimming in an indescribable pot of gelatin, it was heavy and sad, which troubled malleus more because he thought he was long over the idea of a little red string wrapping itself around his pinky. 

what a trivial thing to be so upset over. some things in life aren’t fair, malleus knows that better than just about everyone. time is a thief and age is a curse, the heir gets to live hundreds of lives while that of humans perish so quickly. 

sure, he’s enjoyed learning new traditions and customs that have sprouted within his lifetime, but he’s also watched the last remaining folks die in cultures, leaving their history to be forgotten over time. 

malleus isn’t sure how, but he’s managed to be so deep in thought that he wandered to the spot he used to occupy before it gained a new resident. what’s now the ramshackle dorm, was once a beaten, dusty, forgotten building beside the main building of NRC. 

the day you showed up was one he won’t forget. a human with an unruly, unkempt familiar who really has a knack for getting himself in trouble. since you’ve been living in the old building, fixing it up and going to classes alongside him and his peers, he’s stopped coming here for more than one reason. 

it would be impolite to intrude on what is now your space, especially uninvited. he’s settled with lingering in the gardens in front of ramshackle. he’s taken a liking to the purple and blue flowers that have begun to wilt with the cooler season upcoming. malleus runs a finger over one, watching it instantly gain the strength to hold itself up, blooming once again. the purple petals shimmer with the lingering magic he shares, admiring the way it almost seems to follow his hand, asking for more. 

“uh, excuse me?” a voice startles him back into focus, he clasps his hand behind his back and turns around. he’s met with a half asleep ramshackle prefect, hair messy and wrapped in a blanket. 

“i apologize, i shall be going at once.” he’s been caught, he figures it’s time to find a new place to think. 

you take a step forwards, looking the housewarden over, you’ve definitely seen him around before but he always looks either deep in thought or like he doesn’t want to be bothered, so you’ve kept your space from him. “no, wait.”

malleus falters, wait? he does just that. he doesn’t use his magic to teleport away, doesn’t walk backwards, doesn’t move. he allows you to look him over, to judge him, expecting the usual treatment. his guard remains high but he realizes how he towers over you, like he does with everyone else so he somewhat relaxes his body, trying to be smaller. 

as you’re examining the semi-stranger in the garden, you notice the singular purple flower that’s in bloom. you tilt your head, looking past malleus. “did you… do that?” 

malleus turns, suddenly remembering the flower. a small smile graces his lips as he leans down, picking the flower's stem near the middle. your brows knit together as he turns back and holds his hand out to you. the flower still shimmers from the magic he used. “i did.” 

you pluck the flower from his hold, careful not to damage the delicate plant. you bring it close, “is there a reason you’re not in your dorm and in my garden? it’s late and sounds like it’ll rain at any moment,” you look upwards, expecting the sky to be as black as paint but instead you’re greeted with many, many twinkling stars and an almost full moon. “or… not?” 

the housewarden follows your gaze, he hardly noticed the clouds have cleared. when did they do that? he swipes at his forehead, clearing his vision from the hair that sprouts around his horns.

“i suppose it is appropriate to explain my presence,” he turns back to you, bangs falling back into place. you’re still looking at the stars but you nod in agreement. “before you inhabited this building, i used to come here to think. since you’ve arrived, i’ve ceased that for clear reasons. i hope you do not mind i still roam the garden. it is quite lovely in the spring when everything begins to bloom.” 

you listen to the horned individual, lightly caressing the flower unconsciously. the soft petals felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before, especially in a flower, could that have been due to the magic embedded in it?

“i don’t mind, it’s not like you’re being creepy about it, right?” he hums, “and besides, we all need a space to think. i’m… glad my little makeshift home can be comfortable enough for you.” you look up to him, moonlight glistening across your eyes. 

you signal him to lean down, waving him towards you as you take a step closer to the not-so-stranger. his sharp eyes narrow ever so slightly, confused, but leans his head down. 

you reach up to the tall man, setting the flower against the inside of his right horn. your finger grazes the side accidentally, you find it to be smoother than you expected. when you lean back, malleus stands up fully once again, and you’re able to take in how large he actually is. for a third year, he’s very tall. must run in the family. 

suddenly, everything around goes quiet. no crickets chirp, no frogs sing, nothing. as if the world stopped breathing. the eerie feeling is felt by both you and malleus, but you catch on quicker. your eyes widen as you lock eyes with him, your eyes shoot to his left hand. lo and behold, a red string begins materializing from green shimmer as it slides itself over his pinky. you reach to grab his wrist, to examine what you seriously cannot believe is happening, but he beats you to it. 

malleus evades your grasp as he moves quicker than you can see, he’s crouched beside you before you can blink. he’s intently watching the red string he’s sure he’d never see wrap around your little finger, breathless. but you–you’re frozen. frozen to the spot as a million thoughts run through your mind. the most important one though, is why your soulmate is from a whole different dimension. that’s… not good. 

malleus’s only thought is: finally. 

then dread hits him like a freight train. he wants to be so very happy, to be excited. to tell lilia, to tell someone that he’s found his soulmate, but he knows two things. one; you’re human. two; twisted wonderland is not your home. 

malleus meets your eyes, they’re filled with an emotion he can’t place. but if this is bothering you, your face definitely shows it. he’s quick to stand, and as soon as you blink, he’s gone. 

the purple flower, seemingly frozen in time, flutters from the place malleus’s head just was. a gust of wind suddenly picks up, stealing the flower from your outstretched grasp as clouds quickly fill the sky like they did earlier. a crackle, some thunder, and they’re ready to split open and flood these lands. 

masterlist

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 (𝐕𝐢𝐥).

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; you make out with vil, cue his walk of shame back to his own dorm.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It had been a surprise when Vil had shown up at your doorstep this late in the evening, bearing some new skincare product or another and insisting that it would do wonders for your acne-prone skin.

❋ He’d gone out of his way to make the long trek over to Ramshackle, and so you’d invited him in, half-expecting him to decline since your dorm was old, dusty, and generally below his standards.

❋ You didn’t think that he’d actually agree.

❋ And you didn’t think that things would . . . Escalate.

❋ (Note to self: Vil Schoenheit apparently has a thing for your granny pyjamas. Or maybe it’s a thing for the person wearing them. Who knew?)

❋ To his credit, Vil tries to exercise some restraint at first. Just a kiss. Maybe two. But every time he tries to pull back, you’ll look up at him with unfocused eyes and a soft plea on your swollen lips, making him lean in again with a smirk and a sigh as he sinks deeper into the kiss, into you.

❋ Somewhere in the heat of things, he loses track of time entirely, and by the time he realizes he should be heading back to Pomefiore, it’s way past curfew. The haze of lust quickly clears once he catches sight of the alarm clock on your nightstand. There's no way he's making it back without attracting attention.

❋ He quickly disentangles himself from you (no matter how much you pout and beg for ‘just one more’), and turns his attention to fixing his makeup.

❋ He’s absolutely horrified once he catches a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror. Smudged lipstick, mussed hair, flushed cheeks, wrinkled shirt — how positively unbecoming! Vil Schoenheit doesn’t get caught looking disheveled.

❋ Unfortunately, there aren’t many high-end makeup products available to him in Ramshackle right now. Sighing heavily, Vil makes a mental note to start leaving some of his own products in your drawer, especially if these romantic escapades are to continue.

❋ He’s almost tempted to cast a small glamour to cover up the evidence. Almost. He’s Vil Schoenheit, after all, and the idea of concealing a makeup smudge feels both laughable and tragic to him. No, he’ll wear the consequences of your enthusiastic show of affection.

❋ He leaves with his head held high, hoping that with his usual haughty attitude and poise, no one will dare comment on his lateness . . . And more importantly, his appearance.

❋ No such luck.

❋ The first person he encounters on his way back is none other than Rook, who seems to appear out of thin air with glittering eyes and a knowing smile. “Ah, the scent of amour is unmistakable! You must have been at Ramshackle, non?”

❋ Vil can feel his cheeks pinkening as he hisses at Rook to keep it down. “Not. Another. Word. Understood?”

❋ He can’t catch a break in the dorm, either. It seems as though everyone is awake even at this god-forsaken hour, lining the hallways, pointing and staring and whispering. Vil grits his teeth and presses on, unwilling to falter when he’s almost made it to the safety of his room. Internally, he’s wishing he’d come in through the back door or, better yet, stayed hidden in Ramshackle.

❋ Finally, just when he thinks he’s in the clear, Epel catches sight of him, and opens his mouth. Vil raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, daring him to try, and Epel shuts his mouth (he does start laughing once Vil is out of earshot, though).

❋ Once he’s back in the relative safety of his expansive room, Vil tosses his coat upon his bed and heaves a sigh of relief, catching his breath before he cleans up and does his nighttime skincare routine. His eyes flicker to the smudge of your lipstick on his collar with a little smile . . . Though he’ll never admit he didn’t wash it out right away.

[solxamber]

Caught in the Crossfire || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil, partners in crime, find that the line between business and pleasure is thinner than you'd like to admit when you can’t outrun the feelings that come with sharing a life together

Or: Mafia Boss! Vil x Mafia Boss! Reader

The eggs are perfect. Light, fluffy, with just the right amount of seasoning—not too overpowering, but enough to whisper of extravagance. The coffee is dark and rich, paired with a delicate pastry that crumbles just right under the pressure of a silver fork.

It’s the kind of meal that makes a person momentarily forget the bloodstains on their cufflinks or the fact that their bank account balance looks more like the GDP of a small country than a personal savings figure.

Across from you, Vil sits with his usual effortless elegance, wearing a suit so sharp it could cut glass. His long fingers tap against the rim of his teacup as he listens to you talk about the new shipment coming in tonight—an assortment of weapons, high-grade, the kind that people don’t just buy, they invest in.

He nods along, occasionally stirring his tea with slow, deliberate movements, because of course Vil would find a way to make stirring tea look like a power move.

“Do you need backup?” he asks.

You consider it. Technically, your men have it handled, but technically, your men also said they had it handled last time, and then one of them accidentally blew up an entire warehouse because he thought a grenade pin was “more of a suggestion than a rule.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” you say, sipping your coffee.

Vil hums approvingly. “I’ll send a few of mine. Not the new ones, obviously. I refuse to be represented by incompetence.”

And honestly? You respect that.

The city outside is a hellscape of crime and corruption, an urban jungle where power is measured in blood, influence, and how well one can survive a fight.

Unfortunately, not everyone in this godforsaken city understands the rules.

The café doors slam open with a force that makes the entire room go silent. A group of unfamiliar thugs strides in, their boots scuffing against the pristine marble floor, and you can feel the collective eye twitch of the waitstaff.

These guys are new—young, eager, dressed like they learned everything they know about organized crime from bad action movies. One of them, some overconfident idiot with a stupid amount of gel in his hair, swings a gun around like a prop in a school play.

You sigh.

Vil sighs.

The staff also sighs because they’ve clearly worked here long enough to know how this is going to end.

“Alright, listen up!” the leader barks, and wow, his voice is nasally. “We’re taking over this joint, you hear me? Hand over your wallets and—”

He doesn’t get to finish.

Because by the time he utters the words hand over, you and Vil are already moving. It’s practically second nature at this point—the quiet efficiency of two seasoned professionals dealing with yet another group of morons who have no sense of self-preservation.

Vil moves with the precision of a man who has choreographed his entire life. One swift motion and his cup of scalding hot tea is in the face of the closest thug, who shrieks as if he’s been dunked into the pits of hell itself.

You, meanwhile, grab your fork—your lovely, silver, overpriced café fork—and embed it in another guy’s hand before flipping the table for cover.

The entire thing is over in five minutes.

By the end of it, the floor is littered with groaning bodies, a few broken noses, and one unfortunate soul who got knocked unconscious with a plate of eggs benedict (rest in peace, you perfect, fluffy breakfast delight).

The remaining patrons barely react. The waitstaff steps over the bodies to continue serving, because they, too, have adapted to the reality of running an establishment in a city where mafia heads hold weekly brunch meetings.

Vil fixes his sleeves with a look of mild irritation, as if the real crime here was the inconvenience. “Honestly,” he mutters. “Didn’t their mothers ever teach them basic manners?”

You shake your head, dragging your chair back into place. “I swear, the new generation has no sense of etiquette.”

And just like that, the two of you sit back down and resume your meal.

Vil’s office is immaculate, as always. A glass desk, perfectly arranged décor, the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air like it pays rent. If someone walked in without context, they’d assume they were entering the workspace of a world-renowned fashion mogul.

Which, technically, isn’t wrong.

Except instead of discussing upcoming collections or brand endorsements, the two of you are currently overseeing a money laundering operation disguised as a high-fashion venture.

And Vil is not impressed.

“This,” he says, voice dripping with disdain, as he gestures at the collection laid out before him, “is an atrocity.”

You glance at the designs, then back at him. “Vil, it’s crime. Who actually cares what it looks like?”

That was the wrong thing to say.

The glare Vil levels at you could freeze over the entire eastern seaboard. You’re not a weak person—you’ve stared down rival bosses, assassins, and law enforcement without so much as flinching—but something about the sheer disgust in Vil’s expression makes you reflexively sit up straighter.

Across the room, Epel, who had made the grave mistake of being in the vicinity, excuses himself immediately, because the last time he witnessed this level of ice-cold judgment, he had nightmares for a week.

“This—this mockery—is a crime against fashion,” Vil continues, gesturing sharply at a particularly offensive garment. “Look at this cut! Look at these fabrics! The stitching alone looks like it was done by someone having a seizure!”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Vil. We are actual criminals.”

“Yes, and even criminals should have standards,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Honestly, what’s the point of laundering money through fashion if it’s going to be this hideous? I refuse to be associated with whatever this is.”

You don’t have the energy for this argument. Not today.

“Fine,” you say, standing up. “If it bothers you that much, let’s go shopping.”

Vil’s expression flickers, then settles into something vaguely victorious. He snaps his fingers, and in seconds, his coat is draped over his shoulders like a royal mantle. “Finally, some sense,” he mutters.

You blink. “Wait, now? I meant, like, later—”

But Vil is already walking out the door, and you have no choice but to follow.

You are a mafia boss. A feared, respected individual whose name carries weight in every criminal circle. You have made decisions that have shaped the underworld itself.

And yet, here you are.

Standing in an absurdly expensive boutique, dressed in an outfit that costs more than the GDP of a small country, while Vil meticulously adjusts the buttons on your cuffs.

“How,” you say, staring at your reflection in mild disbelief, “did I get here?”

Vil doesn’t even look up as he smooths the fabric on your shoulders. “Because you had the audacity to suggest that fashion doesn’t matter while standing in my office.”

You exhale slowly. “I meant for money laundering purposes.”

“And I meant for every purpose.” Vil steps back, tilts his head slightly, then nods in approval before turning his attention back to the racks of clothing. “Now, try this one.”

You look at the garment he’s holding up. “That’s the exact same color and design as the last one.”

Vil shoots you a withering look. “It is not. The cut is completely different. Honestly, I pity you sometimes.”

This has been going on for an hour.

An hour of Vil forcing you into one designer piece after another, adjusting your collar, critiquing your posture, and making you question every life decision that led to this moment.

“I run an entire criminal empire,” you mutter under your breath as Vil hands you yet another outfit.

“Yes, and you dress like you just rolled out of a getaway car.”

That’s not even an insult. That’s just factual.

You glance at the boutique’s security cameras and briefly contemplate faking an emergency to get out of this. Maybe start a small fire. Stage a kidnapping. Something.

But then Vil fixes the lapel on your coat, his fingers brushing against your collarbone, and for a brief, dangerous second, you forget that you’re supposed to be annoyed.

“…Fine,” you grumble. “One more outfit.”

Vil smirks. “I knew you had some sense.”

There are a few unwritten rules when it comes to surviving in your organization. They’re not complicated. In fact, they can be summed up rather succinctly:

Don’t talk back to the bosses unless you’ve got a death wish.

Don’t disrespect Vil's design choices unless you really have a death wish.

Don’t, under any circumstances, assume Epel Felmier is weak.

The third rule, in particular, is the one that most fresh recruits fail to grasp. Which is why you and Vil are currently seated comfortably, sipping on expensive coffee, watching the inevitable unfold like a slow-motion car crash.

Epel is standing in the middle of the training yard, casual as ever, looking every bit like the deceptively polite farm boy he used to be. Across from him, a new recruit—one of the unfortunate ones with more bravado than brain cells—grins like he’s just won the lottery.

“Didn’t think this family let kids in,” the idiot sneers, cracking his knuckles.

Oh, you wish you could say you were surprised.

You glance at Vil. He exhales, already unimpressed, and gives a small, imperceptible nod.

And just like that, Epel moves.

It’s not an elaborate attack, nor is it the kind of long, drawn-out fight scene you’d see in a movie. No, it’s fast.

One second the recruit is standing there, cocky and smirking, and the next—CRACK.

His jaw—his entire jaw—is just gone.

You don’t even think Epel used that much force. He just twisted his wrist, landed a clean hit, and now some poor fool is lying on the ground, making the kind of wheezing sounds that definitely mean you’ll have to call a doctor (or a mortician, depending on how bad the damage is).

The yard is silent.

Some of the other new recruits shift nervously. The smarter ones make a mental note to never, ever say anything remotely condescending to Epel.

You, meanwhile, casually check your watch.

“Four minutes,” you announce.

Vil sighs, already reaching into his coat.

“You thought he’d last fifteen minutes?” you ask, grinning as he hands you his card.

“I had hope,” Vil says flatly. “Clearly, that was a mistake.”

Epel dusts off his sleeves, looking more annoyed that his knuckles got dirty than the fact that he just sent a guy to the hospital.

“Any of y’all got somethin’ else to say?” he asks, tone deceptively light.

Silence.

Smart.

You pocket Vil’s card, smirking. “Well, that was entertaining. Dinner?”

Vil nods. “Dinner.”

And with that, you leave, stepping over the still-twitching body of the idiot who learned the hard way that Epel Felmier does not take disrespect lightly.

In the world of organized crime, certain unspoken rules govern the way things operate. Territory lines must be respected. Alliances must be upheld—until they aren’t. And when the time comes to commit heinous acts of violence, one must do so with a sense of style.

But above all else, there is one sacred, immutable law:

Do not disturb dinner.

Every week, without fail, you and Vil sit down for an elegant, civilized meal. A small, fleeting moment of luxury amidst a life otherwise filled with extortion, backroom deals, and the occasional high-speed chase through the city.

It is a time to unwind, to drink expensive wine, to complain about incompetent subordinates and how—for the love of all things holy—does one completely botch a simple shipment of illegal arms?

Which is why when your phone rings—you’re already irritated.

Vil barely spares you a glance, swirling his wine in one hand, as if waiting to see whether he should be entertained or bored by what happens next.

With a long-suffering sigh, you pick up.

“Yeah?”

There’s a brief pause, the sound of someone clearing their throat, and then a voice that is clearly trying (and failing) to sound intimidating says:

“We have your man.”

You blink. “My what?”

“Your man,” the voice repeats, a little less sure of himself now.

Vil raises a perfectly sculpted brow, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“…I don’t have a man.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yes, you really do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god. Who?”

The voice hesitates. Then, like he’s dropping the ace up his sleeve, he announces:

“We have Rook Hunt.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Vil exhales slowly, lips twitching into something resembling amusement. He looks as though he wants to offer the poor idiot on the other end a moment of prayer.

You, on the other hand, have to suppress the sheer urge to cackle. Instead, you take a deep, deep breath and say, in the flattest tone imaginable:

“Oh noooooo. Not Rook.”

The guy picks up on the sarcasm, but it’s too late to back out now. “Yeah, uh—he’s terrified.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Begging for his life. Real mess.”

“Sure.”

“Crying, actually.”

You glance at Vil, who lifts his glass again, the universal sign for let’s see how long this idiot keeps digging this grave.

“Okay, listen,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Do me a favor real quick.”

“…Yeah?”

“Check who the actual hostage is.”

There’s a moment of absolute, ringing silence.

Then, far too faint to be directly into the phone, you hear:

“Wait, why does he still have a knife? Why does he still ha—OH GOD—”

And then, screaming.

Absolute, visceral, panicked screaming.

The kind of screaming that can only come from realizing, far too late, that you were not, in fact, the hunter but the very stupid, stupid prey.

The line goes dead.

You lower the phone, considering your options. Then, still grinning, you turn to Vil.

“Should I have warned them he carries extra knives?”

Vil takes a slow sip of wine and, without missing a beat, says, “They’ll figure it out soon enough.”

And oh, they do.

Because exactly thirty minutes later, Rook strolls in, positively beaming, covered in blood (that is definitely not his), and carrying a suspiciously thick folder of intelligence on who, precisely, had the brilliant idea of kidnapping him.

Vil doesn’t even look surprised. If anything, he looks slightly disappointed that Rook let them die too fast to give a proper monologue.

You, meanwhile, are just sitting there, staring at the bloodied mess of a man you call an associate, and thinking:

Yeah. They figured it out.

It was supposed to be simple.

A mission so straightforward that you almost felt insulted having to do it yourself. But no, apparently this was too delicate to leave to your subordinates, so here you were—sitting in a dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of expensive whiskey, and attempting to charm some information out of the city's most indiscreet criminals.

And in theory, this should have been easy.

You and Vil weren’t just mafia bosses; you were masters of persuasion. Your entire existence revolved around the ability to manipulate, deceive, and seduce when necessary. You could talk a man into selling his own kneecaps if you wanted to.

But there was one glaring problem this time.

Vil.

Because for some godforsaken reason, he seemed dead set on sabotaging this mission at every turn.

The moment you leaned in to flirt with a target, flashing your best smirk, Vil’s hand clamped onto your wrist, yanking you back as if you were about to throw yourself into traffic.

When some well-dressed (if mildly repulsive) businessman slid up beside you, whispering something undoubtedly sleazy in your ear, Vil scoffed so loudly that the man flinched.

You kicked him under the table. He kicked you back—harder.

And when you tried giggling—the universal signal for “yes, I’m interested, please tell me all your criminal secrets” —Vil exhaled like you had personally betrayed him.

It reached a boiling point when you were about to land the final hook—batting your lashes, trailing a hand over your target’s sleeve, just a few seconds away from getting him to spill everything—when Vil, in an act of sheer malice, suddenly pulled you into his side and drawled,

“Apologies, darling. They have an unfortunate habit of attracting the wrong sort of people.”

Your target, now looking incredibly alarmed, muttered something about needing the restroom and fled.

You closed your eyes. Counted to ten. Considered murder.

Then, with a saccharine smile that probably terrified half the bar, you grabbed Vil by the arm and dragged him into a private back room before slamming the door shut behind you.

“The hell is your problem?!” you hissed.

Vil looked utterly unbothered. “I’m looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’re blowing the mission!”

His arms folded gracefully across his chest. “You deserve a higher class of admirer. Not some low-life with a cheap watch and a bad dye job.”

You stared. Your hands twitched with the overwhelming urge to shake him senseless.

“Vil,” you said, very slowly, “I am not into that guy. This is a mission. You know, the thing we do instead of dying?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s still demeaning to—”

You shook him.

Physically grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

Vil let out a strangled sound of protest, looking utterly offended, but you didn’t care.

“I AM HERE TO MANIPULATE A MAN INTO TELLING ME WHERE THEY’RE STORING THEIR SMUGGLED GUNS,” you all but shouted. “I AM NOT HERE TO DATE HIM.”

You shoved him away, storming back out of the room with all the fury of someone whose mission had just been single-handedly ruined by the world’s worst wingman.

Vil stood there, unmoving, watching you leave.

Something bitter welled up in his chest. Something unpleasant and sharp, something he didn’t want to name.

But instead of examining it too closely, he merely smoothed down his suit, exhaled, and begrudgingly followed you back out.

You had learned, over the years, how to let things go.

You had learned that sometimes, no matter how much something tugged at your mind, demanded an answer, it was better to step back, breathe, and let time sort things out.

Which is why you didn’t press Vil about whatever the hell was going on with him.

It was easier to not acknowledge the way he kept interfering with your missions.

Easier to not question the sharp looks, the lingering stares, the way his voice would curl around your name like it was something precious when he thought no one could hear.

It was easier to not ask why his irritation felt personal.

Because you knew, if you asked, you might not like the answer.

So instead of adding to whatever storm was brewing inside Vil, you sent Rook and Epel to finish the job.

And yet—despite your best efforts—you still found yourself in front of Vil’s office door, knocking lightly before stepping inside.

It was just tea. Like always. A ritual built over time.

Except—this time, you were bruised.

Your knuckles were raw, shoulders aching from the kind of fight that couldn’t be avoided, no matter how skilled you were at maneuvering through this world. You had faced worse, of course. It was nothing.

But Vil took one look at you and his expression—once neutral, if a little distant—collapsed.

His cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor. Neither of you acknowledged it.

The next thing you knew, his hand was on your wrist, grip firm but careful, urgent.

You didn’t fight it when he dragged you to the bathroom, not saying a word, the tension in his body wound so tightly you thought he might snap in half.

He forced you to sit on the counter, hands moving automatically to pull out a first-aid kit.

“Vil,” you started.

“Be quiet.”

There was no bite to his voice, but the quiet urgency in it stopped you all the same.

You huffed. “I can just call my medic—”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and whatever he was feeling—whatever he was holding back—made your words catch in your throat.

You let him work in silence.

The press of antiseptic against raw skin, the brush of his fingers as he wrapped your wounds, the careful tilt of his head as he studied his handiwork—all of it felt unbearably tender.

Too gentle for the world you lived in.

When he finished, he exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. Then, to your shock, he leaned into you.

His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath warm against your collarbone. His hands—once poised, always careful—clutched at the fabric of your shirt like he was holding himself together.

“Never do this again.” His voice was quiet. Almost pleading.

Your stomach twisted. “Vil, I’m a mafia boss too. What do you expect me to do? Knit sweaters and run charities?”

He lifted his head then, and when his eyes met yours, you understood.

This wasn’t just frustration. Wasn’t just exasperation over your recklessness.

It was fear.

It was something far deeper, something he had never said out loud, something you had ignored every time he pulled you back at the bar, every time he scoffed at your flirting, every time he lingered just a little too long when adjusting your tie.

The realization hit you like a bullet to the ribs.

You swallowed hard. “...I’ll be a little more careful. If I can.”

His shoulders sagged, and he nodded. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he let himself lean into you again.

You didn’t stop him. You just held him, his arms around your waist, your hand cradling the back of his head, feeling the way his breath finally evened out.

And in that moment, you understood—Vil hadn’t just been acting like a jilted lover.

He felt like he was one.

The plan had been brilliant. Carefully orchestrated, every detail accounted for, every possible hitch considered.

Yet somehow, somehow, you had managed to go from one of the most feared mafia leaders in the city to someone currently hiding in a safe house with Vil fucking Schoenheit, hiding from both law enforcement and some very, very powerful enemies.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

"Explain it to me again," you sighed, pressing your head against the wall. "How exactly did everything go to hell in under three minutes?"

Across the room, Vil sat on a chair, legs crossed, looking far too composed for someone who had nearly been arrested, shot at, and insulted all in the span of an hour.

“Simple,” he said, inspecting his nails like you weren’t on the verge of losing your mind. “The deal was never going to go through. It was a setup. A trap. Which, if you’d just listened to me in the first place—”

You groaned. “Oh, please. If you knew it was a trap, why did you even agree to go with me?”

He flicked his gaze up then, sharp and assessing. “Because you have an appalling habit of running headfirst into danger, and someone needs to be there to drag you back out of it.”

You opened your mouth to argue—then promptly closed it, because, okay, fair point.

Still. It was one thing to walk into a trap, knowing it was a trap. It was another thing entirely to somehow piss off some of the most powerful figures in the city and get half the police force on your tail.

How had it all gone so wrong?

Rook and Epel had managed to escape somehow—how, you still didn’t know, but you were too exhausted to question it. The last thing they had said before vanishing was a quick assurance that they’d “fix it soon.”

Which, coming from them, could mean anything.

Great. Fantastic.

And that left you and Vil, holed up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere, waiting for things to blow over.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “This is not how I thought today would go.”

Vil hummed, stretching elegantly. “Yes, well. Adaptability is an important skill in our line of work, isn’t it?”

You shot him a flat look. “We are literally in hiding. This is not a power move.”

Vil tilted his head, giving you a slow, deliberate once-over. “It’s only hiding if you look desperate.”

You did look desperate.

There was a smear of dirt on your cheek, your shirt was torn, and you were pretty sure you had a bruise forming on your ribs from when you’d had to dive behind a car earlier.

Vil, meanwhile, looked like he had just stepped out of a high-profile photoshoot. Despite the chase, the chaos, and the very real possibility of getting arrested, he somehow managed to remain immaculate.

You hated him a little bit for it.

You groaned, slumping down onto the couch. “At this point, I’d rather get shot than deal with your attitude.”

Vil let out an amused hum. “Dramatic as ever.”

There was a beat of silence. You let your eyes close, just for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts.

Then—softly, almost too quiet to hear—Vil said, “Are you hurt?”

The question made your eyes flick open. You turned your head just enough to see him watching you, expression unreadable.

“…I’ll live,” you muttered.

He exhaled sharply, then stood and walked toward you with measured steps. Before you could protest, he reached out, fingers brushing over your jaw, tilting your face slightly to the side.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

You hadn’t even noticed.

His fingers were gentle, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

Then—he leaned in slightly, gaze flicking down to your lips for the briefest second before his expression hardened.

“Be more careful,” he said, voice softer than usual.

You swallowed. “Vil, I can take care of myself.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand lingered for a fraction of a second longer before he pulled away, stepping back.

“Of course you can,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

The safe house was nice. Too nice.

It was one of your better ones—a sleek, modern apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, a fully stocked bar, and furniture that looked like it belonged in some high-end magazine. The kind of place designed for luxury, not hiding.

And now you were stuck in it. With Vil. For two whole weeks.

You stared at Rook’s message again, rereading the words like they would magically change into something better.

It’ll take about two weeks to fix everything. Hold tight, mes amis. I’ll pick you both up soon.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of living with Vil.

Fourteen days of pretending like you didn’t know exactly how he felt about you.

Fourteen days of not thinking about how you felt about him.

You dragged a hand down your face, exhaling slowly.

This is fine.

You were a professional. A leader. You had spent years navigating crime syndicates, surviving betrayals, outplaying enemies who wanted you dead.

You could handle this.

Vil sighed dramatically from across the room, pulling your attention back to him. “If we’re going to be trapped here for two weeks, we’re going to need ground rules.”

You raised a brow. “Ground rules?”

He folded his arms. “Yes. Firstly, you will not track dirt into the house. Secondly, if you insist on ruining your diet with instant ramen at ungodly hours, do not expect me to partake. Thirdly—”

You tuned him out.

Two weeks.

You were so screwed.

You should have expected this.

The moment you stepped into the bedroom, you knew. There was only one bed.

You stood there, staring at it like it had personally wronged you. Vil, standing beside you, let out the longest sigh of his life.

“Of course.”

“Why is there only one bed?” you asked, because surely if you kept asking, reality itself would shift and reveal a second one hidden somewhere.

Vil pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Perhaps because this is a safe house, not a five-star resort?”

You scowled. “Still. You’d think there’d be at least a couch—”

“I am not sleeping on the floor.”

You crossed your arms. “Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

A tense silence.

A battle of wills.

Finally, a compromise.

The bed was big enough. You could share. You would be adults about this. You would put a pillow barrier between you, and that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t the end of it.

The first time you woke up was because you felt something warm in the crook of your neck. You blinked blearily, still half-asleep—only to realize Vil had somehow migrated across the bed, an arm draped around your waist, his face tucked against your throat.

He was softer like this, relaxed in a way you’d never seen before.

You could feel his steady breaths against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looked peaceful, like for once in his life, he had let go of everything. The weight of expectations, of appearances, of the cold ruthlessness that came with being a mafia leader—it was all gone.

You could wake him up.

You should wake him up.

But you didn’t have the heart to move.

You just lay there, staring at the ceiling till you fell asleep again.

The second time you woke up, it was different.

It was the feeling of wetness against your collarbone.

Vil was crying.

Silent, broken tears, his body trembling against yours. His fingers curled slightly into your shirt, barely holding on, like he wasn’t fully aware of it himself.

Your chest ached.

You had never seen Vil cry. Not once.

Should you wake him? Should you just hold him and hope it chased the nightmare away?

But then, before you could decide, he suddenly jerked awake with a sharp breath. His hands shot up, covering his face as he turned away from you, shoulders rigid.

You hesitated only for a moment before you moved, shifting across the bed to sit closer to him.

“Vil.”

“Go back to sleep.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You ignored him, reaching out to rub slow, soothing circles on his thigh. You could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles were taut like he was barely holding himself together.

Finally, after a long moment, he let out a shaky breath and met your eyes.

“…Promise me something,” he murmured.

You frowned. “What?”

“Hire a bodyguard.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “Stop throwing yourself into fights. Just… just run your turf without brawling, please.”

Your instinct was to protest. To remind him that this was just how things worked. You were a mafia boss, you couldn’t just sit on the sidelines—

But then you saw the way he looked at you.

Wrecked.

Like he had already lost you a thousand times in his nightmares.

The words died in your throat.

“…Okay,” you said instead. “I’ll try.”

He exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath, and slowly leaned into you. You shifted slightly, letting him rest against you, arms wrapping around him without a second thought.

He fell back asleep like that, curled up in your hold, like you were the only safe thing in his world.

And you—

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long you were both going to pretend you felt nothing.

Morning came, sluggish and unkind, dragging in the weight of everything unspoken.

Vil was seated at the dining table with his usual elegance, flipping through the morning paper as though nothing had changed. His hair was sleek, not a single strand out of place, his makeup flawless even in the early hours. If not for the faint redness around his eyes, you might have thought you had hallucinated last night entirely.

But you hadn’t.

You could still feel it—the ghost of his weight slumped against you, the quiet tremor in his fingers, the way his voice had cracked when he begged you to stop getting into fights.

Meanwhile, you looked like you had crawled out of a shallow grave.

The bags under your eyes were so deep they should’ve been classified as emotional baggage, and you felt like you had spent the entire night being run over by the concept of feelings.

Vil was ignoring it.

You could see it in the way he didn’t so much as glance at you, the way he casually sipped his tea as if the two of you hadn’t shared something unbearably raw just hours ago.

Fine. If this was how he wanted to play it, you’d let him.

But you were going to make him break first.

The first move was subtle. Elegant. A test of control.

Vil had just finished cutting his breakfast into perfect, bite-sized pieces, his every movement effortlessly precise. You watched as he lifted a forkful of omelet to his lips, gaze still fixated on his newspaper, when you struck.

“Can I have a bite?” you asked.

He barely looked at you. “Then take one.”

And so you did.

Only instead of reaching for your own fork like a normal human being, you leaned over and took a bite straight from his.

Vil froze.

You chewed slowly, deliberately, your eyes locking with his over the rim of his teacup.

“Not bad,” you mused, as if you hadn’t just committed the equivalent of social treason.

There was a long, painful silence.

Then, very, very carefully, Vil set down his teacup.

“Do not step into my personal space.” His voice was calm, measured, betraying only the faintest trace of strain.

You hummed, tapping your fork against the table. “Didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

His fingers tightened around his utensils.

You smiled.

Point, you.

The second move was bolder. Personal.

Vil was seated on the couch, a book resting delicately in his hands. The warm afternoon light spilled through the windows, painting golden edges along his profile, catching on the fine lines of his perfectly manicured fingers.

Without hesitation, you walked over and collapsed onto the couch, resting your head directly in his lap.

Vil stiffened.

You tilted your head up, looking at him with a lazy grin. “Comfy.”

He stared at you, utterly still, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, contemplating whether to jump or push you off first.

The moment stretched, long and uncertain, and for a second you thought maybe he’d shove you away.

Then—slowly, painstakingly—he inhaled.

And turned a page.

Didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t say a word.

But he didn’t move you.

You grinned.

Point, you.

The third move was cheating, really.

Vil was cooking dinner, standing at the stove with an almost infuriating level of grace. Even in exile, even in a safe house, he carried himself like a king in his palace—untouchable, unreachable.

So naturally, you did what any sane person would do.

You walked right up behind him, wrapped your arms around his waist, and leaned into him completely.

Vil jerked.

You felt the sharp inhale he took, the way his shoulders went taut as you pressed against him.

Then, with the ease of someone who had made a career out of pushing buttons, you tilted your head so your chin rested on his shoulder.

“Smells good,” you murmured, voice warm with amusement.

Vil did not breathe.

Then, with painstaking care, he raised his spatula and flicked it back toward your face.

You dodged it, laughing. “What, no taste test?”

“What is wrong with you today?” His voice was sharp, an edge of something dangerously close to exasperation.

You blinked up at him innocently. “What do you mean?”

Vil turned, and finally—you saw it.

The tightness in his jaw, the flicker of something raw in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly where they gripped the spatula.

For one, breathless second, you thought—

But then he let out a slow breath, stepping away from your hold.

His voice was cool, measured. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Your fingers twitched.

So close. So close.

You stepped back, watching as he turned back to the stove, his grip on the spatula tighter than necessary.

Fine. You could wait.

But Vil was going to break.

And when he did—

You weren’t going to let him run.

Somehow this was his breaking point.

Not the stolen bites of food, not the way you laid your head in his lap, not the way you pressed against him while he cooked. No, it wasn’t any of those things that made Vil finally shatter.

It was this.

The moment was so casual, so simple, that for a split second you thought you had gotten away with it.

You had leaned over, plucked his juice from his hands, and taken a slow, deliberate sip from his straw—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time in days, Vil did not react with cold, cutting silence.

No, he reacted violently.

Before you could even lower the glass, he was on you.

A sharp inhale. The scrape of a chair against the floor. Then suddenly, you were caged against the wall, his arms bracketing you in, his breath warm against your cheek as he loomed over you.

His usual icy composure was gone.

And in its place—

Raw, unfiltered emotion.

“Are you having fun?” His voice was low, rough, his usual clipped elegance ruined by the way his words trembled with frustration.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering, lips still parted from your sip. “Vil—”

“No.” His hands slammed against the wall beside you, cutting off your escape. His whole body was tense, vibrating with barely restrained emotion. “Answer me.” His voice cracked, his breath uneven. “Are you enjoying this? Playing with my feelings? Toying with me like I—”

You stilled.

He wasn’t just mad.

He was hurting.

You opened your mouth, a thousand things on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak, his expression twisted into something desperate, something almost—broken.

“Do you think this is a game?” His voice was sharper now, his hands clenching into fists against the wall. “Do you enjoy making me hope? Every time you throw yourself into danger—every time you let me hold you, let me want you—you make me believe that maybe—”

His breath hitched.

Then he tore his gaze away, his jaw tightening like he was swallowing something down.

“Why do you do this?” he whispered, raw and vulnerable. “Why do you make me hope when I know you’re going to leave? This is unbearably cruel, even for you.”

The words slammed into you like a gut punch.

“Vil—”

“I know how you are.” His voice was unsteady, his fists trembling. “You live for chaos. For danger. You chase after thrills like you can’t survive without them, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I can’t—I won’t be left behind.” His voice cracked. “Not by you.”

Something inside you wrenched at the sheer grief in his voice.

He had been holding this in for so, so long.

And you had pushed him too far.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out.

Your hands found his face, fingers brushing over his cheekbones, tracing the fine tremble in his jaw. He flinched—once, like he was afraid to believe in your touch—but then he melted into it, the fight in his shoulders loosening just slightly.

“Vil,” you whispered, letting your thumb stroke against his cheek. “I’m not playing with you.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, uncertain, vulnerable.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” Your voice was steady, sure. “Who else could match me like you do?”

Vil swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You leaned in, so close that your breaths mingled.

“I don’t intend to run,” you murmured. “You’re stuck with me for life, you know.”

He broke.

A shattered breath—then his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was messy, desperate, perfect.

His hands dug into your back, pulling you impossibly close, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. Your fingers tangled into his hair, anchoring him, grounding him, whispering without words: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breath ragged. His eyes searched yours, like he needed to confirm it, to believe it.

And then, with a rough, shuddering exhale, he grabbed your wrist—

And pulled you toward the bedroom.

You didn’t resist.

Because some things weren’t meant to be said.

Some things were meant to be shown.

The moment Rook and Epel stepped into the safe house, Epel froze.

It was comical, really—the way his eyes widened, the way his mouth fell open, the way he looked at you like he had just witnessed a crime far worse than anything you’d ever committed.

Because, well.

No coat could hide the marks Vil had left on your neck.

They weren’t subtle.

Not in the slightest.

Epel’s expression was caught between horrified and deeply impressed. His lips moved, but no words came out, and you could see the moment his brain short-circuited.

So naturally, you grinned at him and winked.

Epel made a noise that could only be described as distress.

Meanwhile, Rook—oh, Rook—

He was delighted.

His eyes sparkled, his entire face alight with unrestrained joy, as if the mere confirmation of your relationship was the greatest artistic masterpiece he had ever laid eyes upon.

“Ah, l’amour! The greatest conquest of all!” Rook clasped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Such passion, such fervor! I knew this would come to pass—what is fate, if not an arrow that flies true to its mark?”

Vil, to his credit, only sighed, adjusting his sunglasses as if they could somehow shield him from Rook’s theatrics.

You, on the other hand, laughed.

And maybe it was because you were happy.

Because for once in your life, you weren’t running.

The drive back to Vil’s base was filled with Rook waxing poetic about the beauty of love, Epel staring out the window as if trying to erase the past ten minutes from his memory, and you, leaning against Vil with a smile that you couldn’t quite hide.

When you arrived, when the car door closed behind you, when the others left to give you both a moment—Vil turned to you.

His gaze was steady, unreadable.

And then—softly, carefully—

“Would you consider moving in with me?”

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t just an invitation.

A silent plea that meant stay.

Stay with me.

Stay, even though you have every reason to run.

Stay, even though we’re both tangled in this life of chaos, of crime, of things we can’t undo.

Stay, because I love you.

And you—

You laughed.

Because it was so Vil to ask something like that with all the grace and poise of someone discussing a business deal, despite the warmth in his voice, despite the way his fingers lingered against yours.

You laced your hand with his, squeezing gently.

“Of course,” you murmured. “You’re stuck with me forever now. Crimes and all.”

Vil exhaled—relief, affection, something deeper.

And then, just before pulling you in—before pressing his lips to yours, before kissing you like he meant it, like he had no intention of letting you go—

He smiled.

Masterlist

[yanderecrazysie]

Oh you can write for Neige! I Imagine a reverse scenario with him where if Neige kept stealing roles that Vil wanted, Vil unknowingly stole Neige's crush from him. Like maybe him and reader are both actors and she's like the perfect princess in his eyes especially with her heroine roles! Until reader watched some of Vil's villain roles and fell in love with his characters. So much so that she started talking to Neige about how cool he is and how fun being a villain character seems to be. Even going as far as to try auditioning for villainess roles because now she wants some of that action.

Cuz lets face it, villains are more often geeked out about more than the heroes.

Title: Stolen Spotlight

Pairings: Yandere! Neige LeBlanche x F! Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Description: Why would you want Vil when Prince Charming is right here?

Note: I genuinely would love to make a part 2 to this, what do y’all think?

“Vil is so amazing, isn’t he?”

Neige sank a little deeper into his chair, hiding his irritation. Vil finished his lines for the scene and the director yelled, “Cut! Perfect as always, Schoenheit!”

“Wow!” you squealed, “I got the chills, didn’t you, Neige?”

The dark-haired boy gave you a closed-eyed grin, “Of course!” As Vil walked by, he could sense the jealousy seeping through at the sight of Neige in his “Prince Charming” outfit and makeup. 

It was ironic, he thought, for Vil to be so envious of him, when his hard feelings couldn’t compare to the storm inside of Neige himself. Sure, he could have any protagonist’s role, if only he were to ask, but Vil owned something far more precious…

Your affection.

It didn’t make any sense! You and Neige were always Prince and Princess in the movies and plays you both auditioned for, while Vil was just a villain. You spent more quality time with Neige and never said a word to Vil.

Yet, here he was, friendzoned. All while you pined for someone that could never be the hero of anyone’s story. 

Vil was a cold, calculating villain that was cast aside by the end of the story. He was doomed to be outshone by the prince or hero- by Neige.

So why? Why did you look at Vil like he hung the stars in the sky? Why did you hang on to his every word, prewritten or not?

Neige swallowed the bitterness creeping up his throat. He should be happy for you. You were his closest friend, after all. 

But when you gushed, “I’d love to play as a villainess just once. Can you imagine that? I would be standing beside Vil, then!” Neige could barely stand it.

His nails dug into his palm, leaving crescent moon nail markings. That wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

Neige forced a laugh, “Oh? But wouldn’t that ruin your image? Fans might not like seeing you as the villain.”

Your eyes filled with doubt and disappointment.

Good.

“Besides,” he continued sweetly, “Playing a villain means you’d have to go against me. Are you sure you want that?”

He knew you loved him- even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted. He was your best friend, your co-star, your Prince Charming… He had spent years on screen perfecting your chemistry on screen.

Yet, Vil stole your love right from under him.

So, Neige smiled, sickly sweet, “You don’t need to change, you know,” he murmured, “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

You seemed to consider his words, but you still looked at Vil, who was getting his makeup touched up, with longing.

Neige had spent years beside you, matching your every step in dance scenes, cradling you in his arms, even kissing you once or twice. And yet, you’d throw all that away to be with someone everyone clearly thought fit a villainous role.

“You were born to be a heroine,” Neige said as warmly as possible, “Strong and loved by all the fans,” he took your hand in his and squeezed gently, “Not some scheming nobody, second place to the villain.”

Your brow crumpled, “But… it’s not about that. It’s about-”

“Don’t you like things the way they are,” Neige interrupted before you could think your way out of this, “We are the perfect pair. Our fans love us together. Why change something that works so well?”

Your eyes cast down to look at your hands in your lap. Neige nearly sighed in relief.

This was how it should be. 

He squeezed your hand gently, ready to land the finishing blow, “I don’t want to see you end up in a role that doesn’t suit you or get stuck with someone who doesn’t care for you as much as I do.”

Your eyes widened, your cheeks darkening a little.

Neige let himself bask in the way he flattened your resolve without lifting a finger. But just as quickly, your expression turned determined.

“But that’s exactly the problem,” you said, pulling your hand away, “I don’t want to do what everyone expects me to do. I want to try something different!”

His stomach dropped, his perfect mask nearly cracking down the middle.

You smiled, but it wasn’t the cute, innocent one he loved, but one steeled with resolve.

“I’m going to audition for the villainess role,” you declared determinedly, “And I think I can make it!”

With that, you skipped off to your rehearsal, smiling widely, leaving Neige sitting alone, fists clenched at his sides.

Fine. If he had to be the villain to get you to himself, then he would be the villain.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hi hi hope I'm not too late to request something. If I am feel free to just delete this

Anyway can I ask for headcannons with a gender neutral reader with Sebek, Vil, Idia, and Leona with a s/o who loves to use cheesy pick up lines on them after they've started dating? Like they're already dating and their partner comes up to them like "Do you have a name or can I just call you mine" lol

Idia Shroud:

Some cheesy lines just get Idia to roll his eyes, knowing you’re purposely trying to get a reaction out of him, but some do manage to get exactly what you want. Hearing a genuine declaration of love, a confirmation that your souls are tired, and you compared him to an angel (your angel, specifically), he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He normally spiraled from embarrassment after, trying to hide the pink tips of his hair before you waved the victory flag right in his face, rejecting the fact that such normie pick-up lines could be super effective on someone like him.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona wants to know what he did to you to subject him to the horror of pick-up lines when you already had to get through the hurdles all couples had at the beginning of a relationship. He could be surprisingly smooth himself when he wanted to, delivering the lines straight back at you as if it were a competition. He wanted to out-woo you and if that didn’t work; he wasn’t above fighting dirty. He knew the exact glint you got in your eyes when you were about to drop a new line and he acted first, smothering your lips with his own to successfully wipe your mind of anything but responding to his touch.

Sebek Zigvolt:

You have a 50/50 chance of it going right over Sebek’s head, or it piercing his heart like an arrow when he fully understood the meaning of your honeyed words. Pick-up lines weren’t effective for wooing him but they did provide you with a source of entertainment, especially when Sebek responded with genuine concern as to what must be wrong with your eyesight or if you had really injured yourself looking for him. He seemed a little frazzled when you stated you were just flirting with him, wondering why you felt the need to steal his heart when he had already offered it to you without pretense.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil would show respect for a well-crafted yet still cheesy pick-up line, as long as it met his expectations. He judged based on word choice and confidence in your delivery, giving you a rating for each line in hopes of you finding a line to truly sweep him off his feet. He is still hopelessly endeared by your silly behavior, his heart nearly skipping a beat when you explained your reasoning for this to him. People were naturally too intimidated by Vil to flirt properly, so you thought he deserved the normalcy of, even if for only a short amount of time (and from someone he was already romantically involved with).

[it-happened-one-fic]

Twisted Weddings: - Introduction

Author Notes: This is the first part of my 800 Followers celebration event for the Twisted Wonderland fandom. This is just going to be the introduction section for the story itself (which is going to be 9 sections in total). I chose the wedding theme on a whim based on a fic I read a long time ago on AO3 that has long sense gone missing, but no one is actually going to be getting married. Reader is going to be female for the sake of my own ease for this series. I hope everyone enjoys!

Type: Female reader/ sfw/ 800 Followers Event/ Series/ fluff/ featuring Crewel (Note for sake of avoiding confusion: This is not x Crewel)

Twisted Weddings Series Masterlist

Word count: 775

I frowned slightly at Crewel as he sat down across from me, a stack of papers in his hands that he slowly laid out. One sheet at a time.

“I’ve recently finished designing a line of wedding dresses and suits,” He spoke as he fanned the sheets out across the table. Each page had a sketched-out design of a wedding gown that had me blinking slightly in surprise.

Of course I’d known that Crewel was a designer. As if his fashionable nature wasn’t enough to tip me off, then Vil talking about his clothing line would have been. I hadn’t realized that he designed bridal clothes, though. And I certainly didn’t know what these clothes had to do with me or why he’d called me in to look at them.

I slowly glanced back up at my instructor as he continued, utterly calm despite my wary confusion, “I’m wanting to market each of these dresses differently than I usually would though. You see, this is my first line of bridal designs.”

I nodded, shifting slightly in my seat as Crewel eyed me, “I’ve decided that, along with the runaway models, I would do an advertising campaign where I have just one woman model all the gowns with varying different grooms.”

I blinked, already seeing where this was heading but not quite able to keep myself from staring at him in surprise in a way that had him smiling at me, “Of course I’ll pay you for modeling all eight gowns.”

I glanced down at the page in front of me, a picture of a classic wedding dress. Pristine white with a veil and looking like it was directly out of a fairytale. But as I glanced back up at Crewel, I shook my head slightly in blatant disbelief, “But I’m not a model…..”

“That’s what will make these ads more unique. You aren’t a model of any sort, and yet you will be the bride for this marketing campaign and will be far more relatable to prospective brides looking for a dress.”

I had to hand it to him; he’d come prepared. And I couldn’t deny that earning some money was attractive when I considered the state Ramshackle dorm was in.

There was no telling how many repairs I’d be able to manage with whatever Crewel was willing to pay me.

“The campaign will consist of seven pictures for magazines and billboards and one video for television advertising. For each dress, you will be paired with a different groom,” He continued calmly. Clearly explaining his plan for the marketing campaign even as I weigh my options.

“Are the models of the groom’s suits going to be professional?” I tilted my head when I spoke, and he hummed in response before shaking his head. 

How he avoided sending any of his black hair into the white half of his head or vice versa was beyond me, but I didn’t question it as he responded, “Only one. As I said, there’s going to be a different model for the grooms in each image. I thought it would be more interesting to use other fresh faces for this campaign for the grooms.”

I felt my eyebrows arch, “But wouldn't it make more sense to just use one model for the suits since you’re just going to be using one for the gowns?”

Crewel frowned, a flicker of annoyance going through his gaze as his eyes met mine, and I tilted my head slightly, “That was the plan, but the candidates for modeling being how they were made things difficult.”

“And who are the candidates?” I couldn’t help the wariness that slipped into my tone, and Crewel sighed slightly before handing me a stack of pictures that was filled with familiar faces.

“They ended up being the winners. Whether they entered themselves or were entered by someone else,” As he spoke, I sifted through the pictures.

Trey, Ruggie, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Sebek, and Leona.

“Winners?” I echoed him amusedly, and Crewel shook his head. 

There was a perfectly annoyed expression on his face as he frowned down at the pictures in my hands, “Suffice to say they all turned it into a competition.”

I almost wanted to ask exactly how this supposed ‘competition’ went down, but thought better of it as I took a secondary glance at Crewel’s expression.

I shrugged lightly, laying the pictures down on top of the wedding sketches, “Well, I can’t really think of any reason to say no to modeling for you…”

I trailed off and Crewel nodded, back to business as usual as he collected all the papers, “Then we’ll start tomorrow.”

If you would like to read more

Next

[forgwater]

Bleeding Hearts

~Bleeding Hearts Masterlist~

Vil x (gn)Reader

Warnings: This story contains yandere themes and behaviors.

a/n: I now realize how ironic it is that the randomizer choose Vil for the second fic of the series oof-

The last thing you expected today was to be invited to Pomefiore to provide Vil your help for his artistic pursuits. He’s promised you a reward worthy of your efforts, so how could you refuse such an offer?

Once you pass through the magic mirror, you head towards the ancient apple trees. Majestic green crowns cover you from the Suns prying rays. Their red, richly colored fruits beckon you pick them.

But you must resist.

‘Take a bite’ they say ‘you know you want to’ comes their bewitching remark. It’s enough to leave your cheeks feeling as hot as they are red.

Just-

“There you are.” Vils voice snaps you out of your trance and embarrassment covers you whole. You must’ve taken a while since he came here to find you himself.

“I’m sorry, I-“ but you are interrupted.

“No need for excuses.” He speaks firmly. “I wasn’t fully expecting you to find the pathway I told you about. It’s a bit too hidden for that.”

“Oh…” well, now you feel silly.

“Then, dear prefect, how about you accompany me to our designated meeting place? You are late after all.” The blond sends you a subtle smirk, accompanied only by a quiet chuckle.

“Right. Let’s.” that’s all Vil needed to start walking towards the secret little nook he chose as your meeting spot.

A pathway to the right, a sharp left. Pass this tree and then that tree. Don’t trip on that rock! Really, potato, you need to be more careful.

“Here, hold my hand, that way I can make sure you don’t fall.” You hesitate.

“….Is this really necessary? I’m fine.” Vil didn’t seem to like that very much, if his raised eyebrow is anything to go by.

“I offered.” He takes hold of your hand in a secure yet comfortable hold. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy.” The blond teases. “And only from this little too…”

“Hey!” you fight back. Your dignity’s on the line here!

“A fighting cry from someone flustered by hand holding.” He’s enjoying this a little too much.

Fortunately for him, you’re too preoccupied with his little flirty jabs to tell just how loud and fast his own heart is beating. You haven’t noticed any of that! Have you?!

“This is so unfair.” Oh, you haven’t. Good.

“Oh? Is it? I don’t think it is.~” he plays.

Before you can speak your indignations further, you are met with brick walls. Then a magnificent vine covered entrance. Vil leads you inward and you can tell this used to be a room of some kind, that knowledge now lost to time.

“This is it.” the blond announces. “I picked this place because it will work well for the scene.”

“The scene?” you question.

“We’ll be reciting lines from a script and acting some scenes together.” Vil pauses and then continues quickly “I thought acting together might help my performance a bit… you don’t have to be perfect; you just need to be here. So, don’t think too much of it.” he tries to reassure you. You don’t seem very reassured so he continues his attempts:

“Try to relax. I won’t judge your acting… too harshly.” At the end of his sentence he faces you fully, his hands now on your arms, he slightly smooths over your clothing. “Very well, let us go sit down.”

The grey stone bench fits both of you as you take your places. After you take a deep breath, you are met with a few papers.

“Your lines are highlighted. I want you to read them out loud to me.”

“Shouldn’t I read them silently first?”

“No. I want to hear your intonation as you read the text for the first time.” He insists.

You’ve come this far; you’ve got no choice but to comply. So you begin:

“-You’ve worked so hard… and done so much-…. for us…-” you shift uncomfortably.

“Don’t stop.” Vil commands, his scrutinizing gaze bores deeply into your very being.

“Vil- Is this… are the characters supposed to be in love?”

No answer. The blonds jaw visibly flexes at your inquiry… or maybe at your refusal to continue reading. Quite disobedient, aren’t you?

With his arms crossed, he tells you again:

“Keep reading.” It does not feel like a request.

“No.” you refuse him once again.

“What? Are you afraid of a little text about one’s characters love for another?” he mocks “I thought you agreed to this little rehearsal? Have you changed your mind? Are you backing out?” he barrages you with questions he does not expect an answer to.

“…No. I haven’t.” you bite your tongue.

“Then, read this line.” He tells you simply, pointing further down on the page. You swallow thickly. Vil taps the line impatiently and you can’t look him in the eyes as you try your best to read.

“-…Your qualities, your beauty… seen and unseen-… have made me. Fall in love with… you…-“ your cheeks feel warm and you want the ground to swallow you whole. The air hangs heavy and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“There. It wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Vil takes this moment to redirect your gaze to his own with nothing but his index finger and thumb on your chin. “I can excuse the insincerity. For now.”

What is he talking about?!

You glare, questions obvious on your expression. But, before you can talk, he fixates you with his stare, reducing you to silence.

“You will have to recite it again and again until you can confess sincerely.”

“Confess?!” you splutter.

“Yes. Is that too much to ask of the one I adore?” he accuses more than asks. “I could confess to you myself, but that would break the curse.”

…Curse…?....

“Oh, you didn’t think I’d take chances with this kind of thing, now did you?” Vil closes the distance between the two of you as he whispers in your ear: “Letting you leave me would be my most grave mistake.

He breathes deeply, truly pleased with his accomplishment.

“You are mine.”

[anyxis]

Pomefiore Mafia

Vil is publicly known as the Fairest Queen. After all, someone with as much beauty and perfection as him doesn’t deserve any other title. What people don’t know, however, is that everything needs a balance and, for all his perfection on the outside, he is the most disgusting person on the inside. Everyone who knows him personally wouldn’t refer to him as anything other than an unfortunately Beautiful Tyrant. His behaviour comes from his father. Don’t be mistaken, Eric Schoenheit is not a monster by any means, but he is indeed rich and Vil is his only child. After his wife passed away giving birth to his son, Eric dedicated his life to give his precious boy the world. Everything he desired, he would have. This did not do him any favours as he never outgrew it. Now, Vil is nothing short of a diva and, if he doesn’t get what he wants the exact way he wants it, you’re as good as dead. Vil never had to work for anything in his life. Like I said, his father would have given him the moon had he asked for it. In the exact same manner, when Vil wanted to take his father’s place as the leader of Pomefiore, he accepted immediately. However, this doesn’t mean that Vil was an idiot. Don’t ever mistake him for an incompetent because you will face a fate worse than death. No, Vil still grew watching his father working and he learned quite easily how to manipulate people into giving him what he wants. This combination made him unstoppable. If you didn’t fall to his silver lined words, you would to his silver lined bullets.

Rook is one of the things Vil wanted. He saw him work for Leona one day and decided he just had to have him. And so, he started to flirt with him, trying to get him to reveal his current situation in order to convince him more easily. He learned that Rook was part of a very big and very rich family. That he loved the thrill of the hunt and, because of this, had very little time for himself. These informations, however, weren’t coaxed out of him, as Vil thought. What Rook didn’t tell the pretty blonde was that he also tended to become very obsessive with things he liked. Had Vil not approached him, the chances of Rook kidnapping him to do whatever he wished to the pretty boy would have been extremely high. And so, it wasn’t hard at all to get Rook to leave Leona for Vil. Not that Leona minded. He had to admit he was quite freaked out by him and believed it to be good riddance. When he joined Pomefiore, he immediately became Vil’s right hand man, but, before that could happen, he needed a makeover. Vil refused to be seen in public with what might as well had been an animal. After helping make the new Rook, he ordered him to start taking time in making himself better, to which Rook had no problem obeying. After all, anything for his Queen. Following that, they were inseparable. They were always seen together to the point people started to speculate what might be going on between these two. However, no one ever dared question it, which was very wise. Had anyone tried, they would have quickly disappeared without so much as a trace.

Epel was yet another thing Vil wanted. However, he had also caught Rook’s eye way back before he joined Pomefiore. Indeed, Epel has tried to appeal to Leona, but he had never been given his chance due to his appearance. Pretty boy like him wouldn’t survive a week in the savanna. Or so they said. So, because of his petite stature and delicate features, Rook immediately took a liking to him. He kept following him around after Leona had turned him down. When Rook and Vil met for the first time and Vil decided to speak to him, he was actually planning on kidnapping Epel. So, one day, after joining Pomefiore, Rook asked Vil if they could get him. He had done everything his Queen had ever asked of him, surely he could ask one measly thing in return. Vil, at first, wasn’t too happy about it and even thought of killing the boy. He didn’t like the idea of sharing his hunter after all. But, after Rook told him everything he knew of Epel and showed all the pictures, Vil also took a liking to him. He wanted to take the poor little boy under his wing and show him the world. But, why would Epel attract Vil’s attention, you might ask? After all, what would a diva want with poor farmer boy with a bad mouth like him? Well, Vil wanted him for the exact same reason Leona didn’t. His appearance. He had learned early that the way you looked could change everything and that boy had the potential to become a menace. His little poisoned apple. When Epel was approached by Rook, he recognised him immediately and thought Leona had changed his mind. No need to say he was quite dejected when he found out he was being asked by Pomefiore instead. The pansy fancy pants did not interest him by any means, but money was money and he needed it. His grandma had fallen sick and he was struggling to take care of the farm on his own. Because of that, he had been trying to get the necessary funds to pay for the medical bills any other way and, having learned of the offer Leona had made Jack, he had wanted in on the deal. And so, he said he would only join if he was paid big numbers. He wouldn’t tie himself down to something dead when he needed money and fast. Money was, however, no object for Vil and Rook and, when they found out that was the only objection he had, they accepted with a blank check. He just had to choose the number and they would deliver. Anything for their sweet little boy. They also took it upon themselves to cover anything else that would be necessary to take care of his grandma and hired the necessary workers to keep the farm going even without Epel or his grandma. Needless to say, it was a deal set in gold.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

TWST As Lines I've Written/Said

Content Warning: Shitpost, suggestiveness(idk?) & swearing

Author's Note: These are either things I've said, or things that I've written down but haven't used... yet, might use them in the future, might not. Feel free to guess which is which.

Let the shenanigans begin!

Yuu, upon entering TWST

Yuu: “I’m motivated by spite and getting the fuck out of this damned place!” 

Crowley: “This damned place just so happens to be my school!” 

Yuu: “Yeah? Well, guess what Mr. Mystery Man, I fucking hate it here!” 

Crowley: “Rude.”

Typical Ace Behaviour

Yuu: “Behave, my friends are coming over.” 

Ace: “Weird. I didn’t know you were capable of having those.” 

Yuu: “You know what? You can go out and wait on the fire escape until they leave if you want to act like that.”

Capitalism Isn't Attractive

Deuce: “Do not fall for the pretty man with the fancy clothes!” 

Yuu: “Why not? He’s hot as fuck.” 

Deuce: “... He’s a capitalist.” 

Yuu: “THAT WHORE!”

Pissy Kitty

Leona: “Great, you again.” 

Yuu: “I’m thrilled to see you too, asshole.”

Floyd, just Floyd

Floyd: “Why not?” 

Yuu: “Unlike you, I don’t want to die!” 

Floyd: “Boo, you’re lame.”

Yuu Needs a Raise

Yuu: “My therapist will be thrilled to hear about this revelation.” 

Everyone: “What’s a therapist?”

Why Are You Like This?

Vil: “You are a blithering buffoon.” 

Yuu: “Takes one to know one.” 

Vil: “...Listen here you little piece of -”

Cryptid Hours

Yuu: *walks into room to find Idia sitting in the dark, facing the corner* “Did the voices win today?”

Idia: “Undecided.”

Yuu: “Okay then, let me know if that changes. Since I would like a headstart before you go all *insert demon noises* on me.”

After Any Overblot

Yuu: "I feel like a baked potato." *passes out*

The Adventures of Malleus

Malleus: “Tell me, Child of Man; do humans typically court through the acquiring and displaying of fish?”

Yuu: “Why?”

Malleus: *has been secretly using your phone for research and found himself on Tinder* “Just curious is all.”

Yuu: “... No, it’s not typical.”

Malleus: “Alright then, noted.”

Dear Professor Vargas, I regret to inform you that your attempts to woo a potential mate through your acquiring of fish may not be successful. And does the "DILF" shorts mean, "Darling, I Love Fish?" ... Asking for a friend. Sincerely, Malleus Draconia

Octopus Eyesight

Yuu: “Do you have astigmatism?”

Azul: “Do I have what?”

Yuu: “Astigmatism, like when you look at lights at night do you see lines? Since you have weird ass pupils.”

Azul: “...wait, that isn’t normal?”

Should I Be Nervous?

Yuu: “Have you ever been overcome with the lust for broccoli?”

Trey: ". . ."

Yuu: *squints, thinking* “Break glass in case of sudden lust for broccoli...”

Trey: "Should I leave?"

A Question to Ponder

Yuu: “Why do fictional men slap so hard? Like damn.”

Riddle: “Because they are not real and do not come with any of the negative consequences that often come with real men, also you can better idealize them… And anime, ‘Makes you go brrrrr,’ as you put it.”

College Life

Rollo: “I am running off 3 hours of sleep and a single croissant, do not test me.”

Baby Talk

Rook: “Ah, bonjour chatton!" *proceeds to babytalk to the cat in French*

Yuu's Type

Yuu: “I have 4 types; wet cat, malewife, girlboss, and whore." tag yourself

Crewel: "... You need to focus on your grades, not on some mutts."

What Do You Have?

Jamil: "What's that?"

Kalim: *hiding a cat that he stole from outside* "Uhhh, my love for you?"

Jamil: *annoyed* "Put it back outside, Kalim."

Kalim: *puts the cat in his face* "BUT LOOK AT THEM!! THEY BABEY!!!!"

[tzuyusluv]

❥ Kisses With Pomefiore

genre -> fluff

pairing(s) -> pomefiore dorm x reader

warnings -> bullying/teasing in epel’s, nothing much tbh

word count -> tba

summary -> kisses with the pomefiore dorm

Vil Schoenheit | A Kiss During A Scene

“Alright! Time to shoot the kiss scene and then we’re done for the day!” Walking up to the set where Vil stood was intimidating, knowing that in a few moments you would have to kiss him. It made your heart beat out of your chest. “Alright action!” Saying your lines that would eventually push Vil’s character to kiss you. When you finish, you wait patiently for Vil’s actions. He leans forward and connects your lips gently. Pressing down hard but not forcefully. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected your lips. “Cut! That was perfect!” The director shouts, snapping you out of your thoughts. The assistants take you to your trailer where you get ready for bed. Vil on the other hand was thinking about how perfect of an actor you were and he wouldn’t mind playing the villain if it meant he got to kiss you.

Rook Hunt | A Forehead Kiss

“Mon Amour!” You jump in surprise when Rook appears out of nowhere and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Oh Mon Amour how I’ve missed you!” He exclaims with a hand on his chest. “Rook, we were just in class. I just sat two people away from you.” You stare at him with a fond smile. “Oh Mon Amour, if it was up to me, I would have you in my arms all day.”

Epel Felmier | A Kiss To Prove A Point

You could faintly hear some students tease Epel around the corner. You didn’t want to interrupt and give them even more teasing material. “I’ll prove it too you! I will!” You could hear the angry in Epel’s voice. “Hey! Come here!” Epel calls you over and your eyes widen in surprise before you quickly make your way over there. You stand beside him and wait for what you were needed for. Epel got closer and closer before he eventually just pressed his lips to yours harshly yet loving. You just barely melt into it before he pulls away. “There! I proved it!” He proudly exclaimed to the other students. They just grumbled before leaving. “Sorry about that, I just need to prove something to them.” Epel explains sheepishly. It’s silent for a moment before he breaks it again. “Y’know, I think I have to prove something else.” His cheeks are getting redder and redder. “I need to prove to you that I actually love you and I didn’t just kiss you to get them away from me.”

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Snowcone Comfort (Neige x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Mild angst, hurt/comfort, mild stalking, predatory behavior from unnamed minor character, harassment, celebrities being taken advantage of, mentions of past abuse and victim blaming (if I missed any let me know)

Note: This is over 5k words, I don't know what possessed me. I guess it was my feelings on the behavior of certain fans of celebrities that got me going. I also just really, really like what I did with Neige's banner. I hope you do as well!

You leisurely strolled past the various stores and eateries, briefly peeking into each window. Every other second someone passed you by, whether it be a single person or an entire family, on their own merry way to somewhere you didn’t know. A few entered one of the many buildings lining the sidewalk, while others disappeared around corners of the little township. Little, yes, but no less expensive and elaborate. Most of the objects and treats that were advertised in every shop window cost way more than you could afford. Honestly, you’d be lucky to find something in your budget. Purchasing something wasn’t your reason for coming here, however.

Earlier that morning, you and Ace made a bet: If you beat him at air hockey, he would watch Grim for the rest of the day so you could relax. If he won, you’d have to do his homework for a whole week when you returned to the college. Guess who won out? Ace was shocked, to say the least, as was your audience, Deuce and Grim. Lucky for you, Ace was the type to get real cocky when he thought he was going to win. That attitude had been prominent since you began your game; it was fairly easy to use it to your advantage. So now here you were, taking a much needed break from babysitting your monster cat. 

You saw this little township on the bus ride into the resort when you and your fellow classmates arrived at the beach. Again, you had little money in your pocket, but it was just nice to get out and look around. See what could be seen in the quaint little tourist trap. You briefly wondered if Azul had struck up any business during the trip; if a certain fox and cat duo you’d met a little while ago had swindled a rich tourist or two when he’d possibly made port here. Your smile twitched up a little more as you saw the familiar face of Vil on a poster advertising a certain fragrance in a shop window. That must be where Vil stopped in to pick up that cologne for Rook and Epel. While the latter hadn’t been too keen on the (forced) gift, both men now smelled rather nice - nicer than usual, anyway. 

Just as you were about to turn a corner, in a direction where you remembered Malleus mentioning there being a really nice ice cream shoppe, you were nearly sent backward. Someone smacked into you, which made you both stumble and gasp out. Your hand reached out and held onto the closet windowsill to stabilize yourself. When you looked up, you recognized the face of the person who ran into you: Neige LeBlanche. The man Vil hated (a bit of a strong word, but what other term was there for the man’s feelings towards the celebrity?) with all of his being. The last time you saw the young man - at least in person - was during the VDC, smiling away as he congratulated your friends for their performance. Now, though, his expression was troubled, almost frightened. 

It wavered for a brief moment as he stared at you. “You…you’re [Name], right? One of Vil’s friends?” 

Well, you weren’t sure if you were friends, per say, but… “Y-Yeah,” you replied. 

Neige glanced behind him, that look of paranoia fresh in his eyes again. He turned back to you and grasped your hand, words hushed and urgent. “Please, help me hide! There’s a man after me and he - he’s not very nice.” 

You couldn’t see behind Neige, his body blocking your view. Even so, you could feel the atmosphere change around you as you heard someone call out for the celebrity. It was friendly, but wrong at the same time. Without a word, you gently, yet firmly held Neige’s hand as you turned around and bolted down the sidewalk. You led Neige back the way you’d come; your head turned this way and that as you tried to find a place to hide him. You hadn’t entered any of the businesses yet - you weren’t sure if they were good places to hide. The shrubbery and other plant life around weren’t very good options, either. 

“Hey!” You and Neige quickly glanced back to see a man hurriedly walk after you both. He was dressed sharply, in the fashion that was common for the locals here. You got the sense he wasn’t a local, however - maybe just a guy trying to fit in. The vibe from him wasn’t good, either. The smile he wore…it sent a chill down your spine. Neige shivered so strongly you could feel it trail down to his hand.

“Where’re you going, Mr. LeBlanche?” He held out his arms as though he wanted a hug. “I just wanted an autograph.” 

Neige didn’t have to ask you to hurry - you tugged him forward again, this time in a sprint. You frantically searched for a place to hide, just until the guy was out of sight. As you turned another corner, exiting the town, you found yourself at the edge of the beach. Golden sand spread out before you, the blue waves crashing onto shore a mile away. Suddenly, you had an idea. Your gaze landed on the small snack stand Sam had set up for the trip. “C’mon!” you whispered yelled to Neige behind you as you pulled him towards the little building. 

The pale boy followed you without question, scared eyes peering behind him every other second to see if the man had found you both. As you reached the snack stand, you quickly threw up the little door that separated the counter from the store space. You rushed Neige inside before you shut it behind you both. You then directed Neige to sit below the counter, just out of sight. You followed close behind him, legs crossed and back flushed against the wall. Neige was in a similar position, the only difference being his knees were tucked up under his chin. 

“Unless you two are looking for a summer job, I’m going to ask you to leave.” The two of you looked up at Sam, who now stood in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was stern, yet the quirk of his brow showed his confusion about your sudden appearance. “As I know your status, Mr. LeBlanche, I know you are not strapped for cash. As for you, little imp-” 

“We’re hiding from this creep,” you interrupted. “He won’t leave Neige alone.” You glimpsed Neige nodding his head in agreement, too afraid to speak. It seemed what you’d garnered from the situation was correct. 

Sam’s gaze fleeted upwards and over the counter. Without breaking his gaze from the outside world, he asked, “Who? The one with the brown hair and last year’s bootlegged designer sandals?” 

Sam could tell what designs were forgeries? Of course he could. Why did you even think otherwise? “Yes.” 

The shopkeep was silent for a few seconds as he examined the man. He must be approaching the snack stand - Neige let out the faintest whimper. You reached how to hold his hand again and gave it a squeeze to try and comfort him. To your surprise and relief, the boy returned it. Finally, Sam spoke in a hush whisper of his own. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll take care of this.” 

Before either of you could express your thanks, you heard someone approach the counter. You didn’t think Neige’s complexion could get any paler…poor guy. He scarcely breathed as Sam addressed the man - neither did you. “Hello there! Welcome to my little snack shop. What can I get for you?” 

Your assailant didn’t respond at first. His shadow stretched over the counter and onto the floor in front of you; you thanked whatever god there was that you and Neige’s shadows were obscured by the counter. “Have you seen two kids running around?” the man asked, completely ignoring Sam’s question. “You know Neige LeBlanche, right?” 

“Who doesn’t?” Sam answered rhetorically. 

“I was supposed to get a picture with him, but he disappeared before I could get my phone out. You wouldn’t have happened to see him come by?” 

“Hm…can’t say I have.” Sam’s lie was flawless, amplified by the little shrug of his shoulders. “Last time I saw him, he was on TV. He’s here at the resort? Huh, news to me.” Sam leaned forward. “How much does he charge for pictures, anyhow? I figure it must cost a pretty good few madol.” 

The man’s snicker made your stomach churn. “I’ve got a few ways around that. I rarely get a no with my face, y’know?~” Gross. 

“Well, I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen him.” You barely glimpsed Sam gesture with his thumb towards the small town where you and Neige had come from. “Though…I did see someone kinda like him get into a cab just now. It looked like it was turning towards the city.” 

The creep hummed in thought, satisfied by his answer. “Thanks for the tip,” he said. He then placed something down onto the counter. “For your trouble.” 

“Much appreciated~” Sam gave the man his signature salesman wink and smile. “Come by next time you’re craving something cool and sweet. I’ve got everything you need.” The man said something in return, but the two of you couldn’t make it out. For several long minutes, not another word was spoken - the only sounds to be heard were the wirring or the large freezers, fridges, and other kitchen contraptions situated about the floor. Finally, Sam took a step back and peeked down at you two. “Alright, the coast is clear now. Guy won’t be back for a while.” 

Neige breathed out a long sigh of relief. He brought his hand up to slip the black sun hat he’d been wearing off his head, the red ribbon adding a pop of color to the accessory. Aside from the hat, he was almost dressed like a sailor boy. “I like your outfit,” you commented, trying to lighten the mood. “It looks really good on you.” 

Neige, despite still looking a tad shaken, gave you a smile. “Th-Thank you. I bought it shortly before myself and the rest of my classmates came here to the beach. I thought it’d be better suited for the hot weather.” 

“Well, no sense in getting it dirty then.” You crawled out from under the counter and stood up before offering a hand out to Neige. Your smile was encouraging, despite the previous situation. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Where were you heading before, uh…he came?” 

Neige followed your lead and got out from under the counter. Even after he stood up, however, he didn’t let go of your hand. Perhaps it provided comfort for him. “I was heading back to the resort - the one beside on the other side of town, I mean, not the one you’re staying in. I promised Che’nya I would meet up with him to go swimming. I just stopped in town to pick up a bottle of the perfume that Vil was talking about on his Magicam.” 

“Really? Were you interested in the scent?” 

“That’s part of the reason, yes, but I really just wanted to support Vil. He seemed so happy about the sponsor.”

‘That’s fucking adorable’, you thought. 

“I’ll have to get some later.” He timidly glanced out towards town, where the guy had surely disappeared off to. “I…I don’t want to go back in there right now.” 

“Just so you know, he took a cab out to the city.” Sam shot you two a grin as he sorted through a large freezer under the left counter of the store. “Pretty good lie, huh?”

“It’s not good to lie,” Neige gifted the shopkeeper a tiny, shy smile, “but I do appreciate you doing that for us. Thank you, Mr…?” 

“Sam’s fine,” Sam chuckled. 

Neige nodded. “Thank you, Sam. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Sam seemed to think the prospect over for a minute as he shuffled around a few white paper cones. His answer was not what you expected. “Nah, it’s alright. No favors needed - I was just doing what’s right.” He scooped some shaved ice into two paper cones he held in his other hand. “Though, if you’d like, I can get you that perfume.” 

“Really?” Neige’s pupils were as big as saucers. “You can do that?” 

“Mhm.” Sam placed the cones into two circular plastic holders in front of several colorful pumps. He then reached behind his back - when he brought his gloved hand back out, he was holding a small, luxurious pink paper bag. “Anything to please a customer~” 

Now Neige’s eyes were almost bugged out of his head. “That’s-! How did you-?”

“I have my ways.” Sam offered Neige the bag - the celebrity delicately took it. He looked into the bag in wonderment. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek yourself; sure enough, there was the bottled fragrance you’d seen in that advertisement earlier. It was really pretty, its body a crystal dark purple bottle with a small black, glass cork. Very much a product Vil would be associated with. “For the trouble you went through today, I’ll even give you a discount,” Sam offered. 

‘Damn, why can’t he be this generous all the time?’ you wondered. 

“Thank you so much!” Neige beamed. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight…man, no special effects needed for this man. “How much do I owe you?” 

“With the discount, it’ll be 30,000 madol.” 

You almost choked on your own spit. Holy shit that was a lot of money! And he gave Neige a discount? How much was it full price?! Did you even want to know? Without a second thought, Neige reached into his pocket and retrieved a cute wallet, its dark blue leather decorated with embroidered blue birds. Man, Neige’s aesthetic was pretty consistent, huh? 

In the next instant, the exact amount was in Sam’s outstretched hand - and there was still a good bit left in Neige’s wallet. Seven, you wondered if you’d have half that much if Crowley actually paid you for all the things you did for him. As Neige zipped the little pouch back up, Sam briefly counted the bills before folding them and putting them in his pocket. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. LeBlanche~” He then swiftly turned around back to the cones filled with shaved ice. “What flavors do you two prefer?” 

“Um…strawberries and cream are always a delight for me, but I also like any other kind of fruit.” Neige replied. 

“[Favorite flavor(s)]” you answered. 

Without a flourish of fast hands, Sam pumped colorful flavored syrups onto the small domes of shaved ice. In no time, there were two snowcones in his hands, one held out for each of you to take. “On the house,” he said. “For many, sweets are just the thing to cheer someone up after something so scary.” 

While you eyed the frozen treat was suspicion, Neige took it without complaint. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sam! You’re too kind!” 

“...what are you getting out of this from me?” you asked. How many times have you accepted something for “free” and it backfired on you later? 

“No tricks or schemes here, little imp,” Sam promised. His smile wasn’t deceiving, nor did his eyes hold any devious plan. The shopkeep looked genuine - proud, even. “Take it as a reward for such a selfless act, saving Mr. LeBlanche the way you did.” 

You hesitated for a moment longer, then finally took the snowcone. As you expected, it was your favorite flavor, just as you’d said. For once, a good deed of yours had led to a prize - with no strings attached. 

“Now, you two run along.” Sam strode past you two and opened the little door you’d entered a little while before. “No doubt you two have other things to do. That, and I’ve got my shop to run.” He shot you two another playful wink as he added, “Don’t eat those two fast, now.”

“We won’t,” Neige giggled. He held up his hand and waved as he and you began to walk away from the snack stand. “Thank you again, Mr. Sam. Have a good rest of your day!” 

“You as well, little imps.” 

Before you both could wander too far though, Sam’s voice suddenly echoed in your head. “Get your friend home safe, little imp. Don’t worry about the guy; remember, I’m taking care of it.” You could only imagine what that meant. Despite the ominous implications, you did agree with the shopkeeper: You needed to make sure Neige got home safe. 

“Let me walk you back,” you offered. “I don’t want something else like that to happen.” 

Neige’s expression was timid again, guilty even. “You really don’t mind?” 

You shook your head and smiled. “Not at all! I’d want someone to do the same for me if I’d been in that situation.” 

“I’m sure your friends would jump at the chance to do that for you.” 

‘Yeah, I hope so too,’ you thought. 

As the two of you walked back to the resort, munching your snowcones along the way, you couldn’t help but ask the question that’d been on your mind. “Who was that guy, anyway? Do you know him?” 

You almost regretted the inquiry the moment it passed your lips. Neige’s face fell, head tilted downwards as he stared down at his feet. “I…don’t know. I never got his name, actually. He said he was a fan and asked for a picture - I was happy to oblige! I don’t mind whenever someone asks for a picture of me. But,” he stalled for a moment to take a deep breath - when he exhaled, he continued, “But I could tell he wanted more than a picture.

“He kept asking where I was staying, if I was doing anything that night, if I came to the resort alone…and he wouldn’t stop touching me.” Neige mildly gestured to his waist and chest, though was careful to not jostle the small bag clasped between his fingers too much. “I-In intimate ways, I mean.” 

You hadn’t noticed how much you’d been neglecting your snowcone until you felt the cold, syrupy water drip down your fingers. You hastily lapped up the tiny streams before you spoke, eye contact solely focused on Neige’s big brown doe eyes - which, you noticed, were now slightly darkened by that fear you’d seen earlier. “He had no right to touch you like that.” 

“I know!” Neige seemed almost relieved to be validated. “I’ve always been told that by Headmaster Ambrose, and my other teachers…and yet there are others who disagree. That man isn’t the first to handle me in such a manner. Thankfully he wasn’t the most forceful; there have been others who have told me I owe them such attention because of how much they support me. Pay to see my movies, buy products I endorse - things like that.” Neige looked like he was about to cry, and you felt like you were about to join him with what he said next.

“Even some people I’ve worked with - past managers, photographers, etc - have even said I’m selfish for denying my fans what they want.” 

“And they’re all wrong.” Your words were so matter-of-fact that the boy almost appeared surprised. You stopped in your tracks, feet away from the entry gates of the resort where you knew Neige and other RSA students were residing for their trip. As if in tune with your steps, Neige stalled in turn. “Just because they support you and do all that stuff doesn’t mean they have the right to do that. They don’t own you. You’re not their property.” 

You briefly threw your hands in the air. “I don’t know where people get that kind of audacity, entitlement, but they’ve gotta be batshit cra-!” You gasped as the flavored snow to atop your paper cone went crashing to the concrete path below. A hushed ‘aww man!’ breathed past your lips as you glared down at the colored frozen heap quickly melted from the heat of the asphalt. When your gaze flicked back to Neige, you saw he was equally as shocked and disappointed. You must look like two kids who just dropped their ice cream…that’s exactly what it was, really. You wouldn’t call yourself or Neige kids, however. 

“Anyways,” you said, under a sigh of frustration at your blunder. So much for your only free treat of the trip. “Never, ever feel like you have to sit there and take what horrible things someone dishes out. You can walk away at any time - if someone faults you for that, fuck ‘em!” You watched as Neige’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, dainty bag crinkling in his hold. Oh yeah, Neige didn’t really curse, did he? Not that you knew of, at least. 

“Sorry, sorry! I shouldn’t have cursed like that. Guess I’ve been around the guys too long.” 

“N-No, it’s alright.” What you didn’t expect to hear was the smallest, most adorable giggle erupt from the young man’s throat. “You would be surprised how many of my classmates curse. Che’nya nearly outdoes them all! He just keeps it down around our professors.” Well, you seemed to cheer him up from his previous depression; that was good. “That isn’t what I’m laughing about, though.” 

“What’re you laughing about, then?” you asked, genuinely curious. 

“Well…you reminded me of Vil when you said all those things. We don’t talk very much (though I wish we would talk more often), but I have heard him give such a speech to others in the past. Beginning actors, mostly, but sometimes stage hands, assistants - many people he comes into contact with. He’s such a strong, inspiring person - one I wish to be one day.” Neige’s smile was so kind, so pure, you suddenly understood why Rook held such a fondness for the actor. The fact it was directed at you, not a fan or camera or something, gave you butterflies. “And now, I wish to be as strong and brave as you, [Name].”

You quickly grew flustered under the man’s adoring gaze. A blush crept its way up to your cheeks as you fumbled with your empty snowcone. “I mean, I’m not that brave.” 

“Untrue!” Neige’s protest was so cute you couldn’t help but smile a little. “Che’nya told me that Trey told him how you helped Riddle come out of his overblot. That takes a lot of courage! I could never dream of facing such a thing!”

“It is pretty scary,” you admitted. “There were points in time I thought I was going to die, or at least get hurt. Sometimes I did get hurt…but I had friends to help me get out of those troubles.” While that blush stubbornly remained on your face, you met Neige eye-to-eye once more. “And that’s why you should tell a friend whenever that happens. Never be afraid to call out for help. Whether a celebrity or just a student, everyone needs it at some point.”

Your smile quirked up into a smirk. “If someone thinks otherwise,” you balled your free hand up into a fist and held it in front of you, “fuck ‘em.”

“Yeah!” Neige cheered, more enthusiastically than you thought he might. “Fuck ‘em!” The moment the naughty phrase left his lips, Neige let out a squeak and covered it again. His eyes darted in every direction, looking to see if anyone heard him. For once, to your luck, no one was about. As relief washed over the RSA second year, he went into another fit of giggles.

“Sorry!” he laughed. “I got too carried away.”

You shrugged away his apology. “Fine by me.” You shot him a wink as you pressed a finger to your lips. “I’ll never tell a soul~” 

Neige tittered so sweetly you almost thought you heard it wrong. “I very much appreciate it.” The pretty boy glanced down at the wet patch of concrete where your icy treat once lay. “I’m sorry about your snowcone…” 

You were also sorry, very disappointed, but you didn’t want to add another worry to the poor guy’s mind. So, you shrugged again and said, “Eh, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a snowcone - not like I can’t get another.” Partly a lie, as you didn’t know whether or not you could afford one with your extra tight budget. Maybe you could manage to convince a friend or professor to get you one in the future…

A little flinch jolted your body as a snowcone was thrust into your face. “Here,” Neige’s eyes practically glittered with determination, “take mine.” 

You shook your head and put your hands out in front of you, one still partially clasping your now crumpled paper cone. “N-No, you don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Neige’s frowny pout morphed into yet another angelic smile. “Like you said, there will be more opportunities to get a snowcone. Che’nya talked about us and some of our friends getting some later - so, I want you to have mine.” Something popped into the boy’s mind, which caused him to falter in his resolve, but just a tad. “I-I hope you like strawberries and cream. That’s the flavor. It’s artificially flavored-”

“How can you tell it’s artificially flavored?” you asked, actually curious. 

“My tastebuds are a little sensitive. Artificial strawberry tastes a bit different than actual strawberries do.” 

Huh, cool talent. Whether or not you enjoyed the taste of either the fruit or the cream didn’t matter at the moment; Neige’s gesture was too sweet to pass up. That, and how many times would you receive such a selfless act? At Night Raven College, likely as slim a chance as you not encountering another overblot in the next month or so. You took the snowcone from the boy’s fingers - which were very soft to the touch, you now noticed - as your smile widened in gratitude. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Neige’s nod was so endearing you were starting to feel how Rook might have felt when he came face to face with his idol months ago. You were also beginning to see why Vil envied the man so much. He was irresistible! Neige folded his hands in front of his naval, fingers fidgeting with the handles of the pink bag as he spoke again. “Well, I best be going. Che’nya will grow worried if I don’t show up to the pool at the time we set.” 

“You’re the punctual type?” 

“Yes, very much. I wouldn’t want to be rude.” 

“I don’t know,” you mused. “I think a little rebellion would look cute on you.” Well where in Wonderland did that come from? Since when were you a smooth operator? You watched as Neige’s pale face took on a pink tinge around his cheeks and nose, and a little at the tips of his ears. Did he…like that? For the way his voice came out a little shy, he must have. 

“W-Well, I might have to take lessons from you on how to be rebellious later. I’ve never really thought about it…” 

“Che’nya hasn’t dragged you into trouble yet? It seems to be a habit of his at Heartslabyul.” 

“It is, yes. I could ask him, but I wouldn’t want to get into trouble at school, nor would I want to make Glynda angry-”

“Who’s Glynda?” 

“My current manager.” 

Ah. 

“Although…” Neige peeked up at you again, an equally timid smile across his face. “I don’t have much scheduled for June. School will not be in session then; maybe, when we’re out for the summer, you could teach me a bit then?”

Wait…was he…? Nah, couldn’t be. THE Neige LeBlanche would not ask you on a date. With a cheery lint under your tone, you replied, “Yeah, sure! Just send me a te-” You thought about your dinosaur age, crap phone Crowley had graciously given you over winter break. You decided against your previous suggestion. 

“Actually, just send me a letter or something. My phone’s…broken.” 

“I’ll be sure to do so the moment the time comes.” Neige took a few steps back, about to take his leave. He lifted his hand and gave a little wave. “Well, goodbye, [Name]. Thank you for helping me. I hope we can spend more time together soon.” 

“Yeah, I hope so too.” 

In minutes, the man was gone, disappearing through the glass doors and into the hotel lobby. You stared after him for a few seconds more before you turned toward the front gates, making your way back to your own resort. It’d be quite the walk - you couldn’t afford a cab or bus, or whatever transport they had in the area. By the time you’d get back to your hotel, it’d be close to dinner time. No need to have someone send a search party out for you. So, you took a bit of a speedy pace as you walked out the open gates and down the road. 

All the way back, you thought about the promise you made to Neige. You two hadn’t really talked before then; now, it seemed, you two were forming a friendship. To think your first hang out would be you teaching the good boy how to rebel! Just what would you teach him, you wondered. Maybe you could get Ruggie to teach you how to pick a lock…that would be a good start, right? And it’d be useful in sticky situations the young man might run into one day. The beauty couldn’t always rely on someone to come and save them!

Beauty…yeah, yeah Neige was really pretty. Your heart fluttered as you recalled how those big brown orbs beheld you as though you were the most wonderful thing in existence. Your own pupils trailed down to the snowcone in your hand. The icy crystals, bright red mixed with pale cream, twinkled in the sunlight. Little bites had been taken out of the treat by Neige earlier; to eat the shaved ice that’d graced the celebrity’s lips would almost be like giving him an indirect… With a heavy heart and a pang of guilt, you tossed the snowcone into the nearest garbage can. You just couldn’t do it - it felt too intimate for a boy you barely knew. 

For now, at least. 

[hibiskissess]

Je t’aime, Je t’aime

༊*·˚

fem!Vil Schoenheit x fem!Reader (established relationship)

A purple seat cushioned your seated form as your girlfriend tested yet another shade of lipstick. The color was precisely lined across the gentle curve of her lips, showing just how intentional she was even in private moments. Your gaze focused on Vil’s face, her concentrated expression bringing a flush to your cheeks.

She closed the tube, turning to face you instead. A gentle smile stretched across her features as her soft hands cupped your face.

Vil leaned in closer, tilting your head upwards to press a delicate kiss to your temple. Your face was already littered in an array of kisses from previously tested tints, and it was clear there was no end in sight until Vil found the perfect one.

She pulled back, taking a moment to both see how the shade looked and how adorable you appeared showered in her love. You were hers and hers alone.

“What do you think about that shade, dear?” Vil angled your face at the mirror, grinning at her work. “Too warm, don’t you think? I’m looking for something with a cooler tone.” She grabbed a wipe, using it to remove the lasting remnants of the lipstick. “I suppose we will have to keep on looking.”

Vil placed the wipe onto the table, turning her attention to you instead. Her hand curved against your cheek, stroking it as if you were a precious jewel she would forever cherish.

“I think this shade would suit you better, darling.” Vil admitted, smiling with that forever-devoted look on her face. You lifted a weight off of her chest, reminding her that she could still take time for herself and enjoy it with you despite her busy schedule and lifestyle. In private, she was for your eyes only. Not the thousands that judged and critiqued every action she made, just your adoring gaze that loved her no matter what.

She grabbed a roseate lipstick, taking the lid off before pressing it to your lips. Started by the sudden shift, you questioned her actions. “Vil? What’re you doing?”

Her intense gaze met yours as she responded. “Don’t talk. It’ll smear against your face.”

You knew better than to object, so you stayed quiet until she was done applying it.

Vil’s focused expression softened as she saw the color on you, a reserved smile painted on her face. She leaned in closer, beckoning your affection.

You pressed your lips against her cheek, leaving a mark on Vil’s pristine skin. Despite the imperfect mark left on her, it did not cause frustration. Far from it; having your infatuation like this, in such a jaw and genuine way, made everything worth it.

“Your may continue. No need to stop.” She cooed, a hand coming to your nape and running itself through your hair.

You continued to trail more kisses against Vil’s face, the intensity of the marks fading as you went on. However, that didn’t mean they didn’t make a lasting mark, forever embedding themselves to her heart as a memory of your fidelity.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

This works with boy Vil too but I like girls so I wanted this instead. I hope you guys liked it ^^

[hannahhook7744]

I Was a Kid but I Wasn’t Clueless (Part 1);

Overall Summary: Instead of taking the children of Cruella de Vil, Maleficent, Jafar, and The Evil Queen off of the isle, soon to be King Ben takes the advice of the girl from his dreams and instead invites a group known as 'the Badun Detective Agency' to Auradon in their steed. This agency consists of: 8 year old, Prince Hayden 'Hadie' Prometheus Athanasiou of the Underworld. Son of Hades and Persephone. 12 year old, Hermione 'Hermie ' Leona Bing. Daughter of the Ringmaster and Miss Atlantis. 13 year old, Edmund 'Eddie' Sereiah Balthazar. Son of Sarah Brown and Edgar Balthazar. 13 year old, Reza Vizer of Agrabah. Adoptive son of Sadira of Agrabah and Mozenrath. Biological son of the former Royal Astronomer of Agrabah. 15 year old, Jason 'Jace' Nelson Badun. Son of Katrina Stronghold the strong woman and Jasper Badun. 16 year old, Harold 'Harry' Everett Badun. Son of Horace Badun and Helga Sinclair. 15 year old, Yzla Sorcerer of Enchancia. Daughter of Yzma of Groove and Cedric the Sorcerer of Enchancia. And a turtle with nun chucks. All of which are going to be fostered by people from their parents' stories. What could possibly go wrong? And what could possibly go right?

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Chapter 1: The Dream That Changed Everything.

Chapter 1 Summary: Ben's proclamation gets some tweaking. Trigger warnings: implied inhumane conditions, implied child abuse/endangerment/neglect, implied abuse of power (on Ben's parents' part), trust issues, etc.

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She was beautiful in the same way a forest fire was.

Beautiful but destructive. 

Yet Ben just couldn’t stay away from her—the girl with purple hair who visited him in his dreams and refused to give her name.

The two of them had been dreaming of each other for months now and their conversations stretched longer and longer each time they met—causing his crush on her to expand into something more. Something he couldn’t afford while he was still with Audrey.

He couldn’t hurt his childhood friend like that. Even if they weren’t going to be together for much longer. 

She meant far too much to him for him to pursue the feelings he currently had while they were still together. But at the same time Ben couldn’t just abandon the mysterious girl with purple hair who actually saw him and asked what he wanted instead of just reminding him of his duties (that he had never asked for). 

The thought of just turning his back on her completely like the rest of Auradon had didn’t sit right with him.

So Ben crafted his proclamation, deciding that he wanted her (and the other isle kids) happy even if he could never be with her. 

He just needed to run the idea by her—which is what brought him here. On a rooftop of an unremarkable building on a dirty little island in his dream, with the purple haired girl next to him. Her feet and his both dangled over the edge.

She was in tattered purple pajamas that had blue and green little flames on them, Her skin was unnaturally pale, and her eyes… her eyes were cold, dead, and glowing green.

He tried not to think too hard about who her parents could be and cut to the chase. 

“Would you ever like to come to Auradon? If you could , I mean?” 

He wasn’t going to make any promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

The girl stared off, kicking her legs back and forth absentmindedly. Thinking. Biting her lip so hard that blood started to trickle down her chin. Not that she noticed. 

Ben winced and fought back the urge to reach out and wipe it away, knowing that he’d be crossing several lines with several different people if he did so. 

Finally, dream girl spoke.

“Well, it depends…”

Ben perked up, giving her his full attention—trying his best not to make it too obvious while doing so. “On what?

The girl sighed. Sounding so, so tired.

“Well, for one, I would not leave without my squad. I’m their leader and it’s my job to protect them, so if I were to leave they’d have to come with me. You know?”

He nodded because it made sense. He wouldn’t want to go to a foreign place by himself either—especially not if it meant leaving his own friends behind. 

The purplette tilted her head at him, staring at him again. As if she was staring right into his very soul.

Ben wondered if she could, in fact , do that. But he didn’t ask nor did he flinch. He just stared right back, awkwardly. Waiting to see if she had more to say.

She did.

“And before I even considered going, my little brother would have to be there—”

Little brother?

She had never mentioned a little brother before.

‘That’s because she didn’t trust you, before’ a small voice in the back of his head that sounded strangely like a mix of Lonnie, Audrey, Jane, Mrs. Potts, and his mother.

He knew that the voice was right but still couldn’t help but feel ever so slightly hurt. Even if he decided not to show it.

“—Because it’s not safe here, Dreamer.” Her voice cracked ever so slightly as she used her special nickname for him, since she refused to allow him to tell her his name either .

“What?” Ben asked—startled, confused, and the tiniest bit horrified because his parents had built the isle.Had come up with the idea for the isle. Had left the children there. If it wasn’t safe—

“It’s not safe here!” the girl snapped, almost… growling… with frustration. “It’s… the isle of the lost is not a good place. Horrible things happen here. Horrible things that a little boy has no business seeing. Which is why I can never leave here if my brother wasn’t out of here first.”

She ran a hand through her hair, breathing heavily. Looking pained. 

It broke his heart.

“I’m not sure if it would be Auradon I’d go to if I had the chance of getting out of here with my friends, but I would willingly leave here if and only if Hadie wasn’t here—”

Hadie must have been her little brother. 

Ben did his best to memorize the name, knowing that the girl wouldn’t repeat it if he asked.

Because she had let it slip without meaning too after months of sharing the barest info with him in their little meetings.

Because she had been hurt and let down too many times to trust him with even her name and so had her brother who she referred to as a ‘little’ boy, most likely.

Just what had his parents done?

“—But that doesn’t matter because it’s not like anyone over there in Auradon would even consider letting any of us out of here.”

The world around them started to fade out of view like it always did as Ben’s resolve to see his proclamation through strengthened. 

He’d get the isle kids off the isle and into Auradon even if it killed him—starting with Hadie and his friends.

[solxamber]

A valentines request 💕 (the influx of requests after book 7’s update must be overwhelming haha, please take your time!!)

Vil, romantic, “If it’s make believe, why does it feel like a vow we’ll both uphold somehow? What if he’s written ‘mine’ on my upper thigh only in my mind?” (Guilty As Sin - Taylor Swift)

Link : https://youtu.be/OOYlWF6V8t8?si=su5K_CNvS_W2G5jN

Showmance || Vil Schoenheit

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 820

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Costars to lovers, showmance, Mutual pining

The first time you met Vil, it was under the glare of stage lights and the scrutiny of a dozen casting directors. The chemistry was instant, electric in a way that made the producers exchange delighted glances.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would mark the beginning of something far more complicated than just playing pretend lovers.

The romance drama you both starred in had captivated audiences, a story dripping in tension, longing gazes, and kisses stolen in the rain. Every scene, every carefully rehearsed embrace, every whispered confession felt real—maybe too real.

Late-night rehearsals blurred into early mornings. You knew how Vil liked his eggs—soft, just barely runny, seasoned with a pinch of pink salt. He memorized your coffee order, down to the precise ratio of milk to espresso. It wasn’t just acting anymore; it was instinct.

But you weren’t the only one suffering under the weight of blurred lines. Vil, composed and refined, carried himself with a grace untouchable by most. Yet, even he wasn’t immune.

He was always the perfect co-star, always professional—until the cameras stopped rolling, and his touch lingered just a second too long. Until his eyes, sharp and piercing, softened in ways they shouldn’t when he looked at you.

Still, you played your roles.

Hand in hand, you navigated through paparazzi, his presence a shield against the blinding flashes. On red carpets, he stood close, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as he murmured, “Tilt your chin slightly. The lighting will flatter you more.”

In interviews, he praised your talent, spoke of you with a reverence that made your chest ache. The way he gazed at you—steady, unwavering—left audiences convinced.

"They’re so in love," the headlines declared.

If only they knew.

Vil dreamed of you. He dreamed of untying the ribbons of your outfit, tracing the dips and curves of your silhouette like an artist memorizing their masterpiece. He dreamed of calling you his, not for the cameras, not for the show, but in a way that would make the entire world understand that you belonged to him.

You dreamed of him too. Of his hands, his voice, the way he could undo you with nothing but a single glance. You dreamed of his name against your lips, of him writing "mine" on your skin, branding you with devotion.

But they were only dreams.

The script for the final episode was spread between you, its pages crinkled from hours of flipping back and forth. The last scene was a confession, the culmination of everything your characters had fought against, every moment of tension reaching its inevitable breaking point.

You were curled into Vil’s couch, script in hand, reading the lines under your breath.

"I never wanted to fall for you. I tried to stop it, I really did."

You turned to Vil, expecting his usual measured advice on how to deliver the words. Instead, you found him already watching you. The golden glow of the lamp cast shadows across his features, his lips parted as if caught mid-thought.

“Vil?”

He inhaled sharply. “Say it again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“The line.”

You cleared your throat. "I never wanted to fall for you. I tried to stop it, I really did."

His jaw clenched. “And yet?”

You hesitated. “And yet, I couldn’t help myself.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy, suffocating. You felt it like a storm rolling in, inevitable, inescapable.

Vil moved before you could process it, his fingers threading into your hair, his other hand tilting your chin. His breath fanned against your lips, and for the first time since you met him, he wasn’t composed. He wasn’t refined.

He was desperate.

The script slipped from your fingers, landing in a forgotten heap on the floor. Then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of wine and unspoken promises.

Your fingers found purchase against his chest, gripping the silk of his shirt as you pulled him closer. He made a noise—a low, aching sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands traced the shape of your jaw, your throat, as if memorizing you in ways he hadn’t been allowed to before. He kissed you like you were the most exquisite sin he’d ever commit, like he was willing to bear the guilt if it meant he could have you.

When you finally parted, breathless and dazed, his forehead rested against yours. “Tell me this isn’t just a dream,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You cupped his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your thumb. “If it is, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Vil smiled then—soft, real, breathtaking.

The next time you sat in an interview, fingers intertwined beneath the table, the answer was no longer a lie.

Because this time, when Vil looked at you like you were his entire world, it wasn’t for the cameras.

It was simply the truth.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[thelamentknight]

The Glass Princess

Episode 8: Caras Cremaschi

“…so as it turns out, Crowley’s failures as a Headmaster were leaked to the Chairman. The Overblots, all the kidnappings, the school conditions, everything. So the Chairman decided that NRC needed a new Headmaster. Idia immediately went digging and found out that our new Headmaster will be Caras Cremaschi, a dragon fae from Briar Valley. He has apparently been Headmaster for a different school before, and was a knight in the war between Faes and Humans.”

Carmen listened quietly to Vil’s rambling gossip, her face in shock. It’s been 17 minutes into this hour and 45 minute drive, yet she was already hit with a news bomb. Crowley was getting replaced?! So much has happened in the past couple of days. First Carmen was leaving, then Lilia, and now Crowley?!

Vil took a sip of his apple juiced filled glass. “Honestly, it’s for the best. Considering the lack of care he has for us, it won’t be hard for Mr. Cremaschi to pass our nonexistent expectations.”

Carmen looked at the cup of pumpkin spice latte she had in her hands. (Every time she look at her cup of coffee, she remembered what Cater said about Basic White Girls and Pumpkin Spiced Latte). She took a sip as she looked out the window, admire the view of the busy fashionable streets.

“By the way, Sweet Potato…” Vil began “Lilia will be a having a farewell party tomorrow night. You can buy something for him when we arrive at Fairest City.”

Carmen looked back at Vil “…H-he is…?”

Vil nodded. “I’ll think of what to buy him as well. Unfortunately, I don’t know him personally, but I will try to find a gift that suits him well. He does like gothic, cute fashion…”

Carmen began silently brainstorming too. What would she buy for Lilia?

Vil pulled out his phone “Liebling, do you mind if we watch Gossip Girl on the TV?”

Carmen shook her head, signifying that she didn’t mind. Did she like Gossip Girl? Not really (though she did like some of the outfits in the show). But this was Vil’s secret comfort show, and it made him happy, so she didn’t mind watching it. Besides, he watched her favorite show, Princess Jellyfish, with her the last time they binged watched a show. It was only fair that Carmen watched his favorite show.

As Vil was screen sharing his phone with the TV, Carmen quietly observed the stylish black interior of the limo. Both the back and left side had soft, black cushioned, wide chairs. On the right side (aka in front of Carmen and Vil) was the bar, glasses neatly lined up, and a wide fridge of drinks below the bar. Above the bar were the windows and the tv. If Carmen wasn’t mistaken, this interior was similar to that of a luxury wedding limousine.

As Vil scrolled to pick an episode of Gossip Girl, Carmen continued to brainstorm gifts for Lilia as she watched the show.

~~~

“Aww, you got me Silent Hill? Why thank you, Carmen. How did you know?”

“S-Silver mentioned that y-you wanted t-to buy it…” Carmen quietly answered. She handed him the game, and he politely took it.

“Well, I again thank you for the gift~!” Lilia said cheerfully. “Oh! And by the way…”

Lilia magically summoned a gift wrapped in Diasomnia’s Black and Green colors. He handed it to Carmen.

“This is for you. Malleus told me that you were leaving soon, so I’ll give you my gift here. But don’t open it until you make it to the Academy, alright?”

Carmen nodded her head as she slowly took the gift.

The party in the Diasomnia party was…unique to say the least. “Party Rock Anthem” was playing, as Lilia said the song was a must have for parties. The food was amazing, as it was cooked by Trey and some Diasomnia students who were amazing cooks and bakers. The lights were a bit dim, but one could still see just fine. There were the typical party decorations: a couple of banners, balloons, and some other Diasomnia themed decorations. And of course, there was a dance floor in the middle with students dancing like crazy. Everything was all fine.

Until all the lights went out and the music stopped.

It was complete darkness. The room was filled with confused mumblings, people searching around. The sound of whirling wind began to fill the air, making people get a bit more panicked. Carmen looked around confusingly, until she heard two voices.

“…eet Potato? Oh Sweet Potato, where are you?”

“Ngh-! Stay where you are, Henchman! I’m coming!”

It was Vil and Grim.

“I-I’m right here…!” Carmen tried to raise her voice enough so the two could hear her. She heard footsteps coming her way. Vil got to her first.

“Sweet Potato, is that you?” Vil asked as he stood in front of her, barely able to see that she was standing there.

“…Y-yes…” She answered. Vil immediately hugged her protectively, causing her to squeak.

“Oh thank goodness-Carmen, you stay close to me, understand?” Even when Vil let go of the hug, he still had his arm protectively around her waist.

“O-okay…” She said. She squeaked again when she felt something hug her leg.

It was Grim.

“I got you, Henchman! If someone tries to hurt ya, they’ll have to get past me first!”

She blinked in shock.

“…T-thank you…” She whispered.

The wind in the room became stronger and louder. Vil’s grip on her waist was now a bit firmer, and Grim hugged her leg a bit tighter as he growled. Suddenly, dark blue fog began to whirl around one of Diasomnia’s window. The fog swirled, and a tornado of dark blue magic caught everyone’s attention.

Lightening struck from outside. The magic bursting into royal blue and purple sparkles.

The lights suddenly came on, but they remained dim.

Where the tornado of magic once was now stood a man.

The man was very pale. He was quite tall, had dark black hair and dragon horns. He wore an elegant, fancy attire, one with dark blues and dark purples, and was adorned in silver jewelry. It looked like attire someone of higher class in Briar Valley would wear. He stood straight, his presence demanding respect, his sharp dark eyes scanning the room.

Friends huddled closer. Many pulled out their pens, ready to protect each other.

Vil’s grip on Carmen’s waist was a bit tighter, bringer her close. He pulled out his spellbook, ready to attack.

Grim stood in front of Carmen, snarling as puffs of fire came from his mouth.

Silver and Sebek stood in front of Lilia and Malleus, their swords ready. Malleus was behind Lilia, his own pen out and ready.

Malleus looked at the man. Something about him seemed familiar, but he didn’t know what exactly.

But Lilia instantly recognized the man.

“Caras?”

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