#Yandere rook hunt x reader

[sagekiosk]

🐍🐙🏹

Jamil, Azul, Rook x Reader — Yandere — Angst — TWST

You guys ; NOOOO SAGE,, ANGST AGAIN!?!?

Me ; you eat whats on your plate >:(( Hope this will feed you guys for the time being while I’m making the other fics, this is just a silly gift for @plumipal !! hope you enjoy plumi.

FOR THOSE WHO ARE CONFUSED ON WHATS THE PROMPT!! Check out Plumipals' yan twst tattoo au. Then this could probably more sense!

Also probably OOC??

TW;; Aww angst :((, pfft no I’m not biased w jamil, DEESSPPERATE BOYS, Jamil crying, Sad Azul, Emotionless(?) Rook, all of them hating on the tattoo, Bad grammar?, Rook watching you sleep, Rook's part is a bit short maybe.

JAMIL VIPER 🐍

That damn tattoo.. that stupid tattoo. He hates it so much, he hates it so so bad. Why? Why did you have to put that stupid thing on you?

And what’s even worse is that it’s because of HIS overblot. It’s because of him that you got that horrible mark on your wrist.

It’s all he can think about, all he can think about is that tattoo. He feels like he’s going crazy, like he’s about to overblot.

again.

He just can’t take it, he can’t! It’s always on his mind. You looked so happy, smiling, when you confirmed that you had that tattoo. You even showed it to him as if it was the greatest decision you made..

He just wishes that oh so beautiful smile was engraved in his brain. And not that horrible tattoo.

Poor Jamil, he can’t sleep at all. His eye bags are so visible under his eyes. He couldn't eat properly either, he couldn't bring himself to stand up and get fresh air. Whats even more annoying is that Kalim has been questioning if he's fine

Jamil just simply scoffed and told him he was fine. But really he wasn’t, you probably hate him don’t you? You probably despise him to the point where you don’t wanna see him.

Well actually, you don’t, he just can’t bear to see you. Whenever he does all he can focus on is the tattoo on your wrist. It pains him so bad for being the reason of it.

Seeing you would just make him cry right on the spot, he feels so worthless and horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore, so he started to avoid you. Like that was a good idea..

It just only made things worse than they were before, Jamil also came to a realization that he can’t live another day without seeing you.

Yes, he does hate the fact that he’s the reason you got the tattoo. But he also hates the fact of not being able to be with you. He wants to spend every second of his life with you.

Literally like a week later you were met face to face with a Jamil who looked so close to crying. He looked like a wreck, unlike the usual stoic and independent Jamil you’re used to seeing.

"Y/n.." he called out to you his eyes stuck on the ground.

"Jamil.." You answered him. How did it get this bad? You put your hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? I haven't seen you all week.. and now you suddenly appear in front of me looking like a mess.. no offense.”

Jamil balled up his fists, the hand that you put on his shoulder was the same hand where the tattoo was in. He hated it. He shut his eyes tightly wanting the image of that tattoo out of his brain.

"Jamil?" you called out for him once more.

Opening his eyes, now staring at you directly into your eyes. You could see the tears threatening to fall.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Y/n." he stammered "Please don't hate me."

"Jamil- why would I-"

"That tattoo.. it was because of me, its my fault isn't it? You despise me don't you." sniffling he grabs your other hand gently pushing the other one off of his shoulder.

He pulls your hand up to his face, your palm cupping his cheek. "I need you Y/n, I need you to love me as much as I do. I'm not second to those two right?" he continued tears slowly falling down his cheeks a smile creeping up his face.

It wasn’t because of happiness though.

"I'll be better, I promise, I'll make sure I change- anything you want from me, its yours. Just please.. please choose me."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO 🐙

When he first heard about the tattoo he couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it! You surely haven't marked yourself with those' idiots symbols, right?

You wouldn't.. yeah! Those rumours are just rumours. Theres a big chance they aren't true anyway. He would only believe them if he see's it for himself!

So for the first few days he was fine.. still overthinking. But he's just being paranoid! It's just a thing that.. will simply pass.

That was until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to silence those thoughts, they were so noisy. He invites you into Mostro Lounge's VIP room.

He asks about the tattoo and you confirm the rumours were true. You even had the audacity to roll up your sleeve and show it off proudly.

Fucking ouch, he felt his heart shatter at that point. He wishes that he just let those voices in his head be.

"I- I see, good to know you have.. such amazing friends." he spoke bitterly with a smile. shit- he stuttered.. hope you didn't notice it..

He clears his throat, are tears forming in his eyes? He has to hold it in.. He can't look like a loser. Not in front of you..

He asks you to leave.. which he rarely does. His excuse being that he has a lot of work to do. But actually, he just wants to lock himself up and never go out again.

When you leave the tears start flowing. His elbow on his desk, while his fingers massage his temple. The papers on his desk were getting soggy, but he doesn’t care.

He could recover those papers but it would probably take so much for you to remove those stupid tattoos. Do you hate him? He thought that you and him already made up from his overblot..

He's been stuck in his office for such a long time. He's put Jade in charge for now. He needs time for himself…

The longer hes stuck in there the more he thinks about that horrid tattoo. It's stuck in his mind, and it’s torturing him. He can't let anyone else see this. He can't allow anyone to see him as a stupid little crybaby.

He just wants to sink back into his octopot..

But then an idea pops in his head.. he should think of ways to maybe, earn your favor and get his own tattoo too. Thats the perfect idea!

He tries to make up a contract but all of his ideas go to the trash. They're all so horrible! No way you'd sign these..

They're just not perfect enough for you! Most of them seem childish.. and probably stupid. If he gave one of these to you then you'd probably see him as an idiot!

"No.. no.. no..! None of these contracts are good enough!" he crumpled up the contract he was holding it and threw it into the pile across the room.

How isn't he enough for you!? Why did you have to choose those two! He's- He's your friend too right? He'll do anything for you!

So why.. why did you just have to get a tattoo of them?

He starts crying again, how many times has he cried? He's not sure. He continues to sob covering his face with his eyes.

"Prefect would never love a stupid octopus like me.."

ROOK HUNT 🏹

He stares down at your sleeping figure, your tattooed wrist exposed right in front of him. What is that, mon amour? A tattoo?

Oh! how beautiful, why hasn't he heard you talking about it though?

Oh well, at least hes the first one to see it. He bends down smiling inspecting the tattoo closer.

It reminds him of something.. no actually, someone- hold on, Deuce and Ace?

..Did you seriously get a tattoo of them? W-well, its beautiful! The beauty of friendship is truly amazing. Your bond between Ace and Deuce is truly something!

But why did you have to mark your skin with those symbols though? Couldn't it be something better? Like his name, or maybe something that reminds you of him..

He's your friend too isn't he? So why didnt you get a tattoo for him too?.. He's done so much to make you happy!

He's always tried to keep you safe too.. And to always give you gifts and appreciate for the things you have done when nobody did.

So why didn't you get a tattoo of him too?

Yes he knows! Ace and Deuce have been there longer than him.. But he could treat you better than they ever could..

...

he isn't sure how to feel about this.

So for that night he leaves early going back to pomefiore.

For the next few weeks you notice that Rook has been really silent. You dont feel like anyone's watching you either.

You haven't heard Rook's praises about love in a while either.. so something must be wrong with him. You invite him to Ramshackle so you could help him cheer up.

Rook is oh so grateful, he would be singing praises about your generosity if he wasn't so down at the moment. Rook needs you. Rook wants you to like him to the point you'd get him a tattoo of him also.

Rook finds himself laying his head on your lap his arms wrapped around your waist while kneeling on the ground. You gently run your fingers through his soft silky blonde hair.

Rook sniffled and looked up at you, and you could see a single tear form in his eye.

"My heart yearns for your favor, mon amour. I wish to be as loved as much as you love Monsieur Heart and Monsieur Spade. But It seems that you haven't noticed that yet." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You tilted your head to the side slightly. You didn’t hear him clearly and ask him to repeat what he said.

He would’ve, but he just doesn’t feel like answering so he looked away from your eyes. You understood and went back to patting him gently.

He takes a deep breath in burry his head back into your stomach. "You’re so cruel, yet I still love you. The things I do for love." The things he does for you. He would do anything for you.

"I've never let anyone see me in this vulnerable state.” You’re so cruel, but he will still love you. No matter what, he will wait for you to love him back.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

BAM DONE. I had a little fun writing this honestly, silly little break. Thanks for reading up to this point. Sorry for the grammatical errors..

[plumipal]

The Tattoo (part two)

After scarabias overblot, and seeing what ace and Deuce were willikg to do for you, you were so touched that you decided ro get them tattooed on your body as a small heart and a spade. After that chaos ensues-

I'd you wanna read the while prolouge, then it's here

Floyd feels a lot. He feels betrayed and enraged over the tattoo, feeling the urge to fight those two damn guppies you call friends. How dare you betray your mate like this, you were meant to be! Atleast he will show you that he will fight for his mate, if that's good or bad that's for you to decide...

He hates the tattoo, yet as much as he hates it he can't really put the anger onto you. It's that damn mackerel and crabs fault! They must have forced you into it! Don't worry, like the good mate he is he will mark over their dumb marks, showing who's boss. He hates hurting you but he needs to do what has to be done to show that you're his...

Jade is... off. As soon as he hears about the tattoo his composure just, shatters. He cant understand why you would play him like this, you're quite cruel aren't you? Playing him like this, making him lose his composure... you want him to kill to show how much he cares? Because he will- in fact, he will use any dirty tricks in the book to make sure he wins, magic or not..

If magic won't work, he will result to desperately trying to insert himself into your life more than he already has. You'll have a personal butler at this point, one begging for your attention and affection,, to think all this started because of a harmless tattoo...

Azul is about to throw up. The world is spinning, he feels like he is about to throw up. This can't be happening, right?? You, you really hate him don't you? Why else would you get those two troublemakers a tattoo but not him...

The desperation gets worse, the longer he thinks about it. He cant stop crying, having to lock himself in the vip lounge so nobody sees how this issue has reduced him to a sobbing little crybaby. The desperation turns somewhat into determination, the urge to write up the best contract ever to make you happy, maybe throw in a little condition where you need to get a matching tattoo with him..

Jamil is about to have another overblot. He, he is the reason? His overblot? He can't, he cant take it. Being the main reason for the tattoo makes him lose his mind. He avoids you for a week, nor being able to look at you without losing his composure and crying on the spot.

Desperation grows, turing ugly. He cant control himself, searching you out after a week of not seeing you. He begs for forgiveness, for you to not hate him, please, he begs you... He needs you, he needs you in his life, he needs you to love and cherish him, to be your number one.

Kalim feels off. This is one of the few times where he doesn't get what he wants. It's an unknown feeling, a hated feeling. He could be fine with anything else, bur a tattoo of your friends? Isn't he your friend too?? Is it because of the overblot that happened at his dorm? He will get you anything if it means that you'll forgive him! Please, he is begging you..

The jealousy grows, turning into an ugly mess. He cant help but hate on the Adeuce duo, hating them for taking you from him. He tries to endlessly gift you anything you look at for more than a second, trying to get you to spend countless hours at scarabia with several parties a week that always end in a romantic carpet ride. He tries really hard, okay? Just let him show you he is the best choise...

Epel is enraged, how dare you? The emotions get too intense, and he storms off. He cant believe you, picking favourites in your group? They may have been there before you but he loves you way more than they could ever love you!

He is in constant state of dissaray the first day, his anger rising the more he thinks about it. The anger stops being directed towards you and instead those two dumbasses, Ace and Deuce. He cant stand their asses! Going straight to battle living shit out of them.

Only, that isn't how it goes for him. He gets his ass kicked with everyone he tries to fight, getting so beat up he can barely stand up straight. Oh well, he can atleast leech off of you to nurse him back to health. You have to, please, he is begging for some alone time with you...

Also please someone help him with getting a new blazer, his old one is currently torn to shreds. The fights he got into wasn't really that good for him, since he is trying to fight people twice his size. Only for you, he would only go so far for you...

Rook feels... nothing. He can't bring himself to feel emotions currently, too stuck up on the tattoo. Sure, it's such a beautiful thing you care enough for someone that you would permanently etch that into your body. But why? Why couldn't it have been him? He is your friend too (he wish he was more to you, but that can wait, he will wait eons for you, only you)...

You feel bad for the man, wondering why he was so down all of the sudden. You still care about him (you care for everyone, they're you're friends after all), deciding to let him stay the night at ramshackle. He is forever grateful for your endless kindness, swearing to get into your good graces just so he can one day also get a tattoo..

Vil is desperate, he is emotional. The pain of not only comming second, but THIRD in your heart, it feels like you are stabbing him over and over again in the heart. He cant breathe, he cant stop the tears wellinh up in his eyes, he cant stop the emotions overflowimg his poor body. Why would you do something so heinous to this poor actor, he only wanted your love...

He has been acting since he was a little kid, yet this time he cant control his emotions, the stakes are too high. Your love is on the line! He can't stand to look himself in the mirror, feeling way too ugly for his emotions, his outbursts, his feelings. He wants to be enough for you, and he will do anything to achieve that..

THERES PART TWO DONE!!! The literal biggest thank you to @artdolliewishes for helping so much and expanding on the au with me!! It means so much to me that someone cares about a project I've done as much as I do :,)

Also I'm very sorry for being so delayed on posting, I went to the ER and all, I swear the students of nrc was trying to kill me lmao

[azulsluver]

Ur bully au is so good I could slurp it up but it got me wondering

How would all the students react to the reader just. trying to kill themselves because of the endless torment? would they keep harassing? would they say something about it? or would they tone it down? I must know because If I was in that situation i know damn well unaliving myself would be the first option

There’s more than one asking but ima just get this over with

tw. yandere, attempted suicide, suicide, cutting, bully!characters, mentioned torture, humiliation, blood, slight gore, neglection, fucked up reader (deadass).

Here are some thoughts and reactions bellow!

When asking, what role does this character do in this so called ‘bully!au’? You have to look at a deeper perspective of how each person behaves, what the intention is, and how it’s done.

So when the subject of suicide is involved it can get confusing depending on what caused it. Self worth is hinted in the reader, insecurities are brought and laughed at because it needs to hit a spot. Because YOU have feelings, watching it be stripped by people in far greater power than you, people with money, influence, and within number. Standing up to a bully is difficult, the struggles you go through should’ve been realistic.

When push comes to shove, they’re not all coming for you. If you enjoy the idea of every character ruining your life— that’s fine— but, it’s usually one or three. I think it’s childish, when I first made this AU, some sort of amusement in finding hurt but comfort when writing, they’re not trying to kill you, you know. You just catch their eye, more than they could like. Rejection is one thing, but another is a fair game of a sadistic approach. Whether they verbally or physically abuse you is up to place bets on what kills you.

For NRC years, yes, they constantly nagged and followed you around. But the times they would actively seek you out would be less than you think, the focus on bullying would be isolation. They don’t have to hurt you everyday. Some time for yourself to heal and think over your situation. What would you eat? Would they play nice and ignore you for tonight? Did your look piss off someone from afar? Let them cheat off you! Don’t be such a bore, it’ll all go back to just you and Grim.

If you picked up self harming, it’s noticeable. Hiding it is nearly impossible. They grab and bite at you already so what makes you think hiding was a good idea? It’s nasty and unplanned, miss them? Miss their touch that you havta recreate it? It’s horrible to mention, but caring really depends on who calls you out.

I can say you like it. Or you fucking hate it. You hate, hateee, how they treat you. You crawl on all fours for them to laugh and pat your head, do a dare and lick off from their hand but money is involved.

What did you do, was it simple, messy, perfect headshot if you will. If your need to die was to simply hurt them in any way— it might work. Poor them, they can’t imagine being away from you for too long. Some are more uninterested than the others. Who gives a shit you died? Whoever had the luck of finding you, dead or in the act, serves a purpose of letting you live or die. Cruel as they may be, you tug at a couple of heart strings.

Let’s say it was an attempt:

Sprang into action, either holding you down or taking whatever object you’re using to harm yourself. They’re gonna make sure this doesn’t happen again, you gave them quite the spook. Have fun being watched 24/7, and if they couldn’t, everything will be baby proofed for your safety, isn’t that nice, they care. Thrash all you want, screaming and crying won’t get you anywhere, but they’ll bite their tongue once and a while to prevent this from happening.

Trey, Riddle, Azul, Vil, Jack, Deuce, Sebek,

Oohh…he’s so sorry. Please forgive him, crying on his knees and rubbing his head against your chest. It doesn’t matter if the blood stains his clothes, you nearly died and he feels awful. He promises so many times for harm to look the other way, twisted, yet unavoidable. Trapped in a tight, monitored schedule were his scent and voice is all you’ll ever need. But at least there’s a change of heart, your health is improving and that’s all that matters to him, but speak to him, he wants to hear you.

Silver, Malleus, Kalim

Should he have stopped you, but what good will it do for him? Frozen in the moment, their bodies do the thinking, rational, to prevent you from escaping them. You’re funny, reaaal funny, got good jokes at time. But, he’s not really laughing. A little, but it’s hysterically funny and scary. Because he’s still so rough, even when he apologizes yet calls you stupid, his fingers hurt you more than whatever you had planned, gripping, as if you really died.

Jamil, Ace, Cater, Ruggie, Leona, Idia, Floyd, Epel

Does it hurt? Did you find your ulna? Was the rope too tight? It feels like he’s only here to see the end credits, the finale. The sick fuck is smiling too, gross. Giving up just leaves you with him by your side, pressing it deeper to help you get the job done…just kidding! That was quite a show you put on, this is why he likes you. Being responsible of another’s cause of death isn’t ideal, so he’ll try to watch you as of now.

Lilia, Rook, Jade

From that list alone you can guess who’s to mourn, and who savors what is left. Death is inevitable. Everyone dies one way.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Wait could you do something for Yandere!Rook when he stays over at Ramshackle with the SDC crew? I feel like if you showed him affection he'd take a mile. Like if you sheepishly told him you liked him; the next morning he's broken into your room and happily cuddling you (his prey) in your bed. I just want to see how a lovesick Rook would behave at Ramshackle during the VDC. (How long can he keep paying Grim off with tuna?)

Congratulations! You've acquired a second shadow.

The Devotion of the Rook | Yandere Rook Hunt

He absolutely would but you don’t need to be especially nice

All it takes is just one compliment

He’s so used to the sarcastic and teasing of typical NRC

But then there’s you smiling without any other intention then just being happy

“I love your hat!”

“Why thank you, beau filou! Now what can I help with!”

Thus begins a whole new extensive photo album of all things you

He was probably already curious because of your entrance to NRC but now he’s officially obsessed

It feels like fate when Crowley and Vil dedicate you to help with the SDC crew 

Now he has access to you so much easier

So when you do return to your room during a dance break and he’s in there

You shouldn’t mind him, he only misplaced a feather from his hat

Or how he can eagerly offer to do your laundry with the liberty of taking whatever the dirtiest object in there is without alerting you 

And the pictures

Oh the pictures

he screws up his sleep schedule and risks scolding by Vil because he’s having a hard time limiting himself

And he’ll find that’s how it always is with you

“Oh Rook if you’ll excuse I’ve got to get past to the bathroom.”

“Ah~<3”

“Uh are you okay?”

“Oui! I just was surprised by how soft your touch was.”

“Hey don’t be weird.”

It only worsens after you survive Vil’s overblot with him

So brave!

You joined him when you sensed Vil’s killed intent

So oblivious!

You just casually called possibly the most dangerous creature alive by a cute nickname and got him to smile

So supportive!

The way you cheered them on despite your little twitch everytime one of them messed up

It’s invigorating

Almost more than he has with Neige

But it’d be wrong to quantify his love for the beauties in his life

Hence why he won’t keep track of how many times he ends up following you more than he does Vil

Or how the ceiling he’d reserved for Neige is filled with pictures of you

Or how often he ends up shooting arrows in the direction of troublesome students who can’t seem to stay away from you

Or how he’s willing to continue spending his allowance to pay for tuna that keeps Grim from telling you of his growing scent in the Ramshackle dorm

“Wow thanks for helping me out Rook, I didn’t know you were into building stuff.”

“I’m happy to help you mon filou! Besides seeing you work up a sweat really does something for me. I love to help you and Grim rest in beautiful luxury.”

“Aw thanks! Ace and Deuce said they’d help too but something came up.”

“I see. A shame they’re missing all the fun probably wondering how they got locked in a room with Floyd. You can trust I’ll always come when you call! In truth one may even say I am your biggest fan!”

[married-to-google-translater]

Could you do something where after the sdc yandere vil and yandere Rook find out darling has an amazing singing voice? Like they're cleaning Ramshackle and singing when they thought everyone left, not knowing that the yanderes were still around

Yandere Rook Hunt

Oh dear~~~

You might think you're alone in your dorm…

But really, you'd almost never be alone.

Rook would often be nearby.

He would watch you to learn your routine.

Leaving romantic gifts and letters in your room would thus be easier.

It wouldn't be such a big risk to get caught :3

However, this time Rook would learn something new about you.

He would learn that you would be a great singer.

Rook would really love your singing voice.

One more reason why Rook would find you beautiful.

Rook thinks you are the epitome of beauty.

He could praise your singing voice for hours.

And believe it or not he would.

You would find a fifteen-page letter on your desk the next day.

If Rook was in a creepy mood he might record your song…

(And usually he would be in that mood.)

It would make a good alarm clock.

If you ever sang to him, Rook might explode with happiness.

Yandere Vil Schoenheit

It would be a perfectly normal day.

You had to clean and you thought about singing at the same time…

Because you can.

No other reason was needed.

Little did you know that your "boyfriend" was coming for a surprise visit.

Vil wouldn't immediately recognize that you are the one singing.

He would never have heard you sing before.

Vil would be shocked at how beautifully you sing.

Why hadn't you sung before?

This is definitely a gift given to you.

You should take advantage of it.

Vil would make this very clear to you.

He could give you personal singing lessons.

Vil would just like an excuse to spend more time with you.

Of course, your singing lessons would be an excuse to get you to spend less time with the "pests" who are trying to keep you from reaching your potential.

You call "pests" friends XD

[dotster001]

When You Escape Him; Pomefiore

Summary: Yandere pomefiore boys x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: yandere, S/N =son's name, implied past drugging, present drugging, blood, obligatory rook Hunt chasing you through the woods fic, spoilers for Epel's Unique Magic, implied previous injury, one of these parts has a second antagonist

Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Ignihyde Diasomnia Non NRC Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

The boy being placed in your arms was one of your first clear memories since Vil had opted to…make life easier for you. A beautiful boy, truly. Of course he would be beautiful; despite having zero blood relation, he was blessed to look like Vil Schoenheit. But with your eyes. Eyes that made him human.

As Vil weaned you off the potions he'd placed you under, fully believing that with a child, you wouldn't need them anymore, you held onto those eyes. And they gave you the strength to run.

You took precautions. While you were under, Vil had made you a social media presence so that the world would forever know who you were, and who you belonged to. That first year was horrible. The second you were out of the house, out of his reach, Vil mobilized his entire fanbase to find you. All it took was a teary eyed video of how you were kidnapped, but if they found you, please be gentle! You'd undergone trauma, and probably wouldn't be acting right! Once you were back home, he could get you help!

To his fans, he came off with grace and compassion. But you knew better. There was a reason he preferred to keep you drugged up on love potions

It took a year for things to calm down, even then, you would often get the stray side eye on the street, despite having dyed your hair, colored contacts, and always wearing a mask.

But it got worse. Because you'd forgotten that your son looked like a movie star.

You did your best, but a child has to go in public sometimes. And it was that that took you down.

You thought an hour at the playground would be fine. Then you noticed the phones. Various parents whispered to each other as their phones pointed at your boy. It got worse when you caught one slowly pan to you. You stood up, ran to your son, and rushed out of the park. You had to move. And fast.

He was confused as you tossed basics into a suitcase; a few snacks, a couple clothes, a pair of shoes, and some of the money you saved. You weren't even sure if you had a whole outfit packed, but you knew you didn't have time. You had to go.

You grabbed your boy by the hand, grabbed the suitcase, then ran down the apartment stairs. You rushed out the front door-

-and straight into a crowd of paparazzi.

Lights flashed in your face, blinding the both of you. You were quickly overwhelmed by shouts and loud questions, your boy clinging to you in absolute terror. You made a small attempt to push through the crowd, but it was no use.  After what felt like eternity, the crowd parted slightly, as two men you didn't recognize pushed paparazzi out of the way. 

And behind them as elegant as ever, despite the artistic tears streaming down his face, was Vil Schoenheit.

He made his way to you quickly, grabbing your face and kissing you, to thunderous applause. It was a passionate kiss, and it was the one thing you believed about the performance he was putting on for the crowd. He slowly pulled away, staring deeply into your eyes as though he couldn't believe he had you again.

Then his eyes shifted to the boy, and he wrapped him in a hug, to even greater applause. Your son, overwhelmed by the cold crowd, the loud noise, and the flashing lights, didn't fight as Vil picked him up. Instead, he clung to him, burying his face in his chest.

Vil raised a hand, which silenced the questions immediately.

“I want to thank those of you who made this possible. You have returned my family to me. I am,” he choked, looking at you with adoration. An act. You knew this routine. He turned back to the crowd, his voice full of tears, “I am truly grateful.”

He then took your hand, and made the walk through the crowd, ignoring questions as he passed. There was his limo, and one of his new bodyguards opened the door for the three of you. With zero hesitation, you entered the vehicle, Vil close behind you.

He continued to hold your son as the vehicle moved, staring into his face with affection you actually believed. Then he sighed, and turned his head to you, his gaze full of disappointment.

He kissed your son's forehead, then set him in the seat next to him. He pulled out a bottle of champagne, and poured one glass, then handed it to you without a word.

Ah. Not champagne.

He stared at you, a challenge in his gaze. You stared at the glass, unable to meet the challenge, then brought it to your lips with a trembling hand. You took a sip. Even if you only remembered taking it the first time, this flavor was burned into your memories.

Your brain began to get fuzzy, as Vil slowly crawled up next to you, and laid his head in your lap. Your last clear memory was your hand moving involuntarily to stroke his hair, as he gave a contented, lovesick, sigh.

You were stupid. That had to be it. You were a stupid idiot with 0 brains in your head. 

Rook would never forget to lock the door.

But you were an idiot. A fool. A complete moron. So when you'd seen the door unlocked, you'd grabbed your son, who you'd only known for a month, but still had taken in as your own, and strapped the infant to your chest. Then you'd run.

You ran for what felt like forever, then paused to catch your breath. A voice echoed through the forest.

“I hope your head start was sufficient, Mon Trickster, because I am starting whether you are ready or not!” 

This was followed up by an excited laugh. He couldn't be…close. He always “played fair”, even if you didn't know you were even playing a game. But his voice was right there…

So you kept running. Of course the door was unlocked. He'd gotten bored, and he wanted to play with his favorite prey. 

But the stakes were higher than they had ever been before he'd locked you in his cabin. Now you had a child strapped to your chest. 

You took stock. Running would do no good. He'd hear you, and be there in seconds. So you had to hide. And then pray you'd learned enough about covering your tracks to trick him into running past your hiding spot, so that you could escape.

You found a hollowed out tree, and squeezed you both inside. Your heart beat erratically, but you dared not even breathe. You heard a branch break, and held back a whimper. It was a test.  He expected you to react if you were there. He'd never accidentally reveal his presence.

You covered your mouth with your hand as you watched the arrow slam through the tree into the spot right next to you. A second one was let loose in the exact same spot, splitting the previous arrow in half. The second one woke the baby. He started wailing, and in seconds Rook had destroyed your hiding spot, and scooped the boy into his arms, cooing and shushing the boy back to sleep.

He shifted the boy to one arm, then grabbed your hand with his free one, smiling brightly as he dragged you back to the cabin. You were just grateful he'd been entertained enough not to shoot you.

He'd done it before.

It'd felt like hours when you'd been running. Now as he brought you back to the cabin, you realized it must have only been ten minutes to a half hour. You were pulled over the threshold, and gently pushed inside. He locked the door, before going to your son's room, laying him in his crib as you stood stiffly in the entryway.

He reentered the room, a pleased smile on his face as he walked towards you. Even though you knew how excited a chase made him, you couldn't help but back up in fear, until you found your back to the wall, his hands on either side of your head, as his nose pressed to your neck.

“Now, what should I take as my prize?”

Ever since you watched him smash the mirror with his bare hands, an unhinged smile on his face, you'd been terrified of Epel. He'd snickered as he licked the blood off his fist, musing, “Now you have no choice but to stay with me.”

Flash forward several years, and when you'd had a window, you took a gamble. You told Vil your situation and pleaded with him for his help. He was appalled by what you and your son had been through, shocked that Epel could ever act like that. You'd always seemed happy together, Epel had always assured him you'd been happy, and had chosen to remain in Twisted Wonderland. Vil was more disgusted with himself for not knowing what you were dealing with, than with Epel for doing what he'd done.

Vil didn't have the power to send you home, but he offered you a place to live, and a job. Epel would inevitably come to Vil for help finding you. Considering how difficult it would be to get you registered as someone who even existed in this world, Vil would need time before he could offer anything more substantial, and Epel would never suspect you to be living with Vil. No matter what help he could offer, you were ready to accept it.

And that's how you became Vil’s estate secretary. You wouldn't be in public, but you would help him at his home, and would know everything happening within his estate. You'd give him his schedule before he left, made sure he had what he needed, and sent him off with a smile. 

Epel had visited the mansion several times, with Vil allowing it to keep up appearances until he could assure your safety. He never stayed longer than an hour or two, and you hid in your room with your son, so there was nothing to worry about. Or there shouldn't have been, but you were still petrified, even knowing he was asking about you a floor below you.

Vil had arranged for your son to be homeschooled by someone who knew how to keep their mouth shut. He was coming out to be a good kid, even if some days you looked at him, and were reminded of his “father's” rage.

It was another day where Epel was visiting. Your son, now six, was impatient about waiting in your room. You couldn't just tell him why he had to sit still and color his pictures, but you also couldn't let him roam. Epel would know who he was immediately.

But Vil had assured you that soon, he would be able to do something more proactive, then you would be free.

After explaining for the three hundredth time that no, your son couldn't go play outside, your phone vibrated.

Can you please come see me? 

You texted back

Yeah lemme just drop S/N with Brigita

Bring him

You perked up a little at that. If Vil wanted both of you, that meant good news, right?

You made your way to Vil's office, entering without knocking. You were greeted with your worst nightmare.

Time slowed down as you saw an unmoving arm stretched past the edge of the desk, as though reaching for the pen that st a foot out of reach. You slowly panned up to Epel, covered in blood, and flicking his pen with a soft mutter, before you felt the familiar sensation of falling asleep as you were trapped in a coffin.

“Mornin, baby,” you heard in your ear, as a soft kiss was pressed to your temple.

You attempted to move, or at the very least open your eyes, but the most you felt was a tingling in the tips of your fingers. Your breathing began to get heavy as panic overtook you.

“Ah shit, must have given ya too much,” Epel muttered. “Sorry about that. I just need you to stay calm for a while.”

You groaned, and you felt his hand move to caress your cheek. 

“I was gonna punish you, but I think this is punishment enough,” he laughed. “Not being able to move while I touch ya, and monologue about how I'm bonding with the son you tried to steal from me.”

Another groan, which prompted a giggle from him.

“You should have seen meemaw when I told her you both got out. She might have killed you if she found you. You'd think it was her divine right to have a great grandson. Can you believe I had to calm her down?”

"S/N,” you groaned, and Epel cooed at you softly.

“Don't worry, he's fine. We played together for a couple of hours before  he decided it was nap time. I'll give you this, you raised him pretty good. Even if he does stink like Schoenheit.”

“Vil-”

“Don't. I don't want to hear his name. Not after what he was gonna pull.”

“He tried to save me,” you croaked out, even though it felt like you would choke on your own tongue.

He groaned, and you felt the bed you were laying on dip as he snuggled in next to you, resting his head on your chest.

“This is why you need me! You're so naive that you can't see the danger right in front of you!”

“Like you?”

He sighed heavily. “I'll admit, I haven't always been the best boyfriend, or husband. And I probably wouldn't have been a great papa. But I've had six years to sort it out.”

You gave an attempt at a snort. He sighed in frustration.

“Ya know how I figured out you were there? Cause he told me.”

“Liar.”

He huffed, and you felt him sit up.

“Y/N. Think about it. If Vil Schoenheit really wanted to help you become a citizen, or do something about me, or help you start living an independent, peaceful life, do you think anything could have stopped him?”

The thought has never occured to you. But, no, Vil would never!

“No-”

“Believe what you want. But if Vil recovers from the hit he took, and starts hunting for you, don't pout at me.”

You felt him move again, then had to fight off a panic attack as you felt his lips press hungrily against yours. You felt him move, and could feel his breath against his lips.

“Don't worry though, I'll protect you. I'll prove to you that I'm better.”

[veliana]

Hi!! I love your work and this is my first time requesting.

If you can, can you do yandere Rook (TWST) with an S/O who thinks they’re really ugly?

Either way I hope you have a good day/night :3

A/n: Thank you for the request, I was very inspired <3. You didn't specify the format, so I did it in the form of headcanons, I hope that's okay Tw : Low self-esteem, yandere behavior, possessiveness and obsessive behavior, surveillance and control, social isolation, veiled threats, manipulation, disturbing behavior, excessive jealousy, self-doubt, themes of coercion and control, toxic relationships, use of a translator Reader : Gn

You have always had low self-esteem, convinced that you are truly ugly. The comments of others and your own reflection in the mirror only reinforce this feeling.

Despite this, you have caught the attention of Rook Hunt, the mysterious and charismatic hunter of Pomefiore. Rook has fallen deeply in love with you, fascinated by your inner beauty that you yourself do not see.

However, his love for you has taken a dark and possessive turn. Rook began to compliment you almost excessively, his poetic and enchanting words trying to convince you of your beauty. "Ah, my dear, you are like a rough diamond, dazzling despite yourself," he would often say.

He watches your movements from afar, protecting you from the slightest criticism or mockery. Anyone who dares to speak ill of you mysteriously finds themselves excluded or sidelined, sometimes even disappearing.

Rook often leaves small gifts and admiring notes, poems, and flowers in your locker or on your desk. He hopes this will make you see how special you are in his eyes.

Rook becomes increasingly possessive, ensuring that you spend as much time as possible with him. He invites you to secret dates, getaways in nature where he can admire you without interruption.

He has a way of subtly manipulating others to ensure you have no close friends. You start to notice that people are distancing themselves from you for no apparent reason, except for Rook, always there to console you.

His language becomes more intense and a bit frightening at times: "I will not let anyone tarnish your beauty, no one understands how precious you are to me."

You have difficulty accepting his compliments, thinking that he is mocking you or that he is blinded by something you do not see. "You say that, but I know you can't really mean it," you often murmur in response.

Rook begins to gently isolate you, surrounding you with his love and obsession. He tells you that he is the only one who sees the real beauty in you, that others are blinded by superficial standards.

You begin to doubt your own perception. Maybe Rook is right? Maybe you are beautiful in his way? Rook does not hesitate to use veiled threats against those who might potentially harm you or come between the two of you. "No one loves you like I do, and I will do anything to protect you," he says, his eyes shining with a worrying intensity.

His fits of jealousy become more frequent. He follows you, ensuring that no one gets too close to you. It becomes increasingly difficult to find a moment of solitude.

Despite everything, he continues to adore you, repeating how magnificent you are, hoping that you will eventually believe his words and accept his unconditional love, even if it is tinged with madness.

You are trapped in a whirlwind of his excessive attentions, his sweet but suffocating words, and his possessive desire. Rook is determined to keep you by his side, to prove that you are much more than you think.

No matter the means, Rook will do everything to make you see what he sees: a person of unparalleled beauty, worthy of his consuming and delusional love. And he will let no one, not even you, stand in his way.

[yan-lorkai]

pleasee yan! Rook x tomboy! reader

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: This got quite small but I hope you like it, darling!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Rook is, first and foremost, an admirer of beauty and your beauty got him mesmerized the moment he saw it. He is fiercely protective of you, admiring your independent and adventurous spirit, and going to great lengths to keep you safe and sound. Though he also struggles with conflicting emotions, feeling adoration for your tomboyish charm, yet battling with his own jealousy, especially since others are drawn to your unique style and captivating personality.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He likes staring at you, imagining you in all sorts of clothes, colors and styles, giggling to himself as he draws you on his sketchbook. Rook likes to buys you clothes and accessories that suits you, taking into account your personal tastes. He likes to show you off plus having you being so excited and happy to see what he got you this time, even if you don't like to have him spending so much money in you, fuel his ego a little bit. And he can always shower you on compliments.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You often finds yourself under Rook's watchful eye as he likes being near you. And if you let him, Rook is more than happy to do your hair and make-up, humming to himself while he turns you into a masterpiece - not that you particularly need it, he loves you just as much as when you're without makeup and all messy. You're perfect, either way.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Rook may resort to manipulation to keep you close to him, sometimes subtly encouraging you to focus on your hobbies and studies or using emotional tactics to ensure you'll remain by his side. The hunter doesn't like to share his prey at all.

[kikyan]

Humiliation

CW: Smut, 18+ Content, Vil/Rook/Reader, Slight bondage, not really yandere-like, nasty rook, dom vil, honestly idk what else to tag. . .

A/N: Take these crumbs while I finish a Leona fic -

It was after the VDC, Neige and his group at Royal Sword Academy took the win leaving Vil and the others at NRC with a staggering defeat. They had nobody else but Rook to blame. Leaving them with a look of shame on their faces, everybody made haste to their dorms.

Vil sat on a cushioned seat with [Reader] sitting on his lap. Though they were sitting, their back was leaned against Vil’s chest, and their neck was exposed. He held their thighs, spreading their legs and exposing their sex. Across from them, was Rook on his knees and his arms bound in a leather rope. Vil’s hand trailed down to [Reader’s] sex and began to lightly tease their sensitive spots. 

“V-vil!?” 

Soft moans left their mouth, and Vil merely chuckled. Rook was desperate, blushing profusely and slight drool left his mouth. Though he was bound, his legs were free to move but he remained on his knees like Vil instructed. True, while Rook was physically stronger than Vil, it was the thought of being dominated that got him off. Rook was desperately rutting into the carpet that decorated Vil’s room. 

Rook’s loud and breathy moans echoed throughout the room. Vil didn’t stop pleasuring [Reader] but he managed to lift one of his legs so that his heel rested on Rook’s forehead. 

“And just WHO gave you permission to come?”

“N-No one. . .b-beautiful V-Vil !!” 

Adding slight pressure, Vil lightly pushed against his forehead causing Rook’s back to arch a bit. Vil’s heels trailed down to Rook’s boner. His cock was rock hard and the added pressure wasn’t helping. 

Rook let out a whimper, his eyes trailing to [Reader]. Vil’s fingers never stopped, fingering their hole skillfully and finding their soft spot quickly. Granted the added stimulation to their sensitive bits worked miracles. Rook’s eyes trailed over to [Reader’s] expression. Their heavy breathing, the way their eyes would flutter softly, their eyes rolling back in utter bliss, and their muscles twitching They were beautiful, nothing more fascinating than watching someone he loved come undone by his other lover's hands. 

“V-Vil gonna-gonna come-!” 

A whine left their mouth as they came, their cum coating Vil’s fingers. 

“You did wonderful, my love. Now. . should we forgive Rook already? After all. . .he did betray us. . .What do you want to do, Rook?” 

“I want to see mon amour’s face in pure bliss, I want to watch them come undone over and over. I want to give them that feeling of fulfillment, I want to be inside them-!” 

Vil pushed down on his boner. Rook let out a painful groan, it was too much to bear. 

“I believe you have to earn that right, wouldn’t you agree, [Reader].” 

“Y-yeah. . .I worked hard. . .” 

“That’s right, they worked hard as our manager, and all their hard work went to waste because Rook had someone else in his mind. . .” 

Vil undid his trousers, revealing his hard cock. Giving it some light pumps to spread his pre-cum over his dick. Lining it perfectly against [Reader’s] hole, pushing it in until he bottomed out. A sigh of relief left Vil the moment he noticed their walls tightening on his dick. Starting off with deep and sensual thursts, Vil looked at Rook who looked all the more intrigued. Seeing Vil, beautiful Vil fuck someone he loved, god was it hot. 

“Rook. . .w-why don’t you come here. . .” 

Rook crawled on all fours to where Vil sat, getting closer to [Reader’s] exposed sex and Vil’s cock thrusting inside them. 

“You see the type to enjoy pleasing them while they’re getting fucked, so why not lick?” 

A heavy groan left his mouth and he began to do just that. Rook’s tongue skillfully went over [Reader’s] sensitive bits, licking, sucking, and teasing. Not to mention sometimes he’d go down to give Vil some treatment as well. Fondling his balls and giving kitten licks to dick mid-thrust. Though he mostly focused on [Reader]. Their hand trailed down to Rook’s hair and grabbed a fistful. Pushing Rook forward and up against their sex, he inhaled deeply before continuing his job. It wasn’t long before Vil’s thrusts became sloppy, audible sounds being heard. His speed was increasing as Rook’s teasing was getting harsher. At some point, Rook began to use Vil’s leg as a way to get himself off as well. 

“F-Fuck!F-Feel so fucking g-good! V-Vil right there!! Rook. . .k-keep going!ngh!” 

[Reader] let out a powerful orgasm, coating Vil’s pretty dick in cum. Rook managed to come as well, staining his clothes and leaving a wet spot on Vil’s pants. Vil pulled out just in time, his cock resting on Rook’s face and his cum dirting Rook’s face. Rook stuck his tongue out and licked the cum off. 

“How humiliating. . have you learned your punishment, Rook?” 

Rook’s flushed face smiled at both Vil and [Reader] who looked exhausted but peered down to hear his answer. How could a punishment be so rewarding? 

“Oui. I can’t wait for my second punishment~”

[merakiui]

11:11 — sugar dew sewn anew.

yandere!rook hunt x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, violence, murder/death of reader, description of blood/injuries, rook is rather morbid and creepy in this fic note - this fic is the result of a character fic poll, in which rook was the winner.

“You wear a very forlorn face when you paint, mon cher.”

You swivel on the stool, legs unfolding at the ankles, to properly peer past the easel at the man who sits in a gold-and-white satin chair, backdropped by various animal heads. They’re mounted with such care, each one organized according to where it lies on the food chain. They almost form a pyramid when you look at them from where you’re seated. From a dusky brown house mouse to a pitch-black crow, the heads range in species and size, all arranged on a vermillion wall. 

The biggest one, sitting in the very center of the display, right above your client’s head, is a chestnut-colored buck with a pair of magnificent antlers curling from its scalp. From where Rook sits, it almost looks like those horns are sprouting from his head. Contemplating the discrepancies between man and buck, you swirl your brush through a muddy cup of water and survey the rest of the aureate placards until you reach the top.

There’s a mount lacking a head. 

It was the first thing you took notice of after stepping through the halls of this quaint cabin to reach the sitting room. Although, after spending hours enclosed in cedarwood walls, it feels more like a trophy room—a place meant to showcase the spoils of every hunt rather than welcome people with disarming decorations. 

Rook crosses one leg over the other and, resting his elbows upon his knee, steeples his hands. You peer at the antlers, noting the valiant curvature, before meeting his verdant stare. A grin slowly sprawls on his lips once he realizes you’ve caught his gaze. 

“I concentrate on my source,” you explain with a shrug, still twirling the brush through the water. “Steady focus makes a steady hand…or something along those lines.”

“And yet you never smile, even when working so diligently to bring your masterpiece to completion.”

“If I viewed it as such, then I would have reason to smile.” Your contemptuous scowl slides to the canvas, where you’ve painted two dull green eyes set into a freckle-speckled face. The beginnings of a smile trace the portrait’s plush lips, withholding secrets no one will ever know. “I’ve yet to create a masterpiece. Therefore I can’t smile.”

“Oh, you’re much too critical of your art!” Unclasping his hands, Rook places one upon his chest, as if he must calm his heart after hearing your response. “I’ve studied your work, both through a screen and in person, and as your devout follower I can wholeheartedly say it is beautiful in every way, even down to the miniscule flaws other critics often spot with sharp, perceptive eyes!”

“You speak as if I lead a cult,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m just painting the things I find interesting.”

“For a reason, I assume?”

“Usually it’s to find inspiration for what I hope will be my first masterpiece. I’d like to finally feel proud of my work.” The brush peruses the colorful selection on your palette, settling into the green you’ve mixed from yellow and blue. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I just can’t find it in me to love what I produce.”

“But you enjoy creating, yes?”

“Of course. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. Painting allows me to understand the world and its inhabitants through my own lens.” You put brush to canvas in a series of small, significant strokes. “So when I’m painting… Well, I guess I just want to try to love the things I put on my canvases, even if it’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Then I’m beyond flattered you would ever consider using me as your most beloved muse!” He tilts his head, suddenly more animated than when he first sat down to pose for you, and adds, “I love you, too. Very much, my little artiste.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll paint you handsomely?”

“Why, I would never say anything that would influence or persuade your process! Just as I love sweetly and solemnly, I also love monstrously and mercilessly. The primal facets of humankind are not exempt from my loving eyes. Even the most dirty and deceitful corners of this world—I love those just as fiercely. So should you choose to depict me as a fiend, I will adore your representation regardless of its harsh implications. After all, there’s beauty in tragedy.”

“And would that make life the greatest tragedy?” You hum as you add a sadistic glimmer to the eyes on the canvas. They pierce you with their unblinking stare, hollowing your soul until they reach unfathomable depths. “Or maybe it’s the ability to love with such a big heart?”

“Are you suggesting love is a tragedy? I suppose, in some sad sense, it is. Unrequited feelings, shattered hearts, lovers separated by way of death or divorce, and even the type of love that curdles like spoiled milk—oh, the misfortune! Each is a tragic tale spun from a mixture of melancholy or the intensity of hatred and all-consuming loneliness. But even so, no matter how horrendous it may seem, I hold each in my heart. They’re beautiful because they have the unique ability to shape a person into someone new—for better or for worse.” 

You lower your arm, hesitating while the excuses rise to the surface, before turning to look at him. “I’ve never known real love, Mr. Hunt, which is why I’m trying to capture it while I paint. I suspect I’ll be able to smile at my work because it will be something I’ve fallen in love with. Only then can I consider it a true masterpiece.”

“Your way of thinking is simply très bien!” He drums his fingers along his knee, humming his contemplation. “I’d love to unscrew your skull and poke through your brain. I wonder what memories have shriveled your ability to love…”

“It’s not that it’s shriveled. It’s just…” You shrug, losing your previous statement. “The words ‘I love you’ are just that—words. I have no use for meaningless sentiments. If I force myself to love, it feels wrong. I can like people and things, but loving them is too much. I can’t cross that line. If I did, I’d be a liar.” 

“Ah, so it’s like that…” Rook chuckles, but none of what you said was remotely humorous. His voice lowers to a whisper, ghostly and haunting, as if wrapping around your head and settling into the very folds of your brain. “I find it charming that you’re unable to love and I love too much. We possess many differences, and yet at the very center of it all we’re merely human beings composed of flesh and blood. It’s a beauty more stunning than the most radiant sunset!”

You pretend to have not heard him, resigning yourself to your work as you spend an absurd amount of time trying to illustrate the peculiar glaze in his eyes. They’re always so bright, but here you’ve painted them as soulless, viridescent sockets—a dark, dense forest having lost its vivid greenery with winter’s frost. But then there is not an ounce of ice within Rook’s eyes. They are always smoldering with many things: enthusiasm, intellect, new opinions just waiting to be shared regardless of whether or not you wish to hear them. It’s a genuine warmth, but something feels strange. Out of place. Much like the headless mount poised right above Rook to form the tip of the pyramid. 

Why is that mount lacking a head?

Without realizing it, you’ve abandoned your task with fixing his eyes to start on the antlers poking from a head of canary-hued hair. 

“You live up to your surname, sir.”

“Please, you’re much too formal with your fan. You need only call me Rook, should it suit your fancy.” He giggles when you pin him with a dubious glare. “Is it so wrong to label myself as such? I go to great lengths out of admiration and support of your work. Wouldn’t that, by definition, make me your fan?”

“I’m not very famous.”

“In my eyes, you are the famed sun and I am merely the moon who hopelessly pursues.” 

“Really? Well, I wasn’t aware I had an eloquent hunter for a fan.”

“Do you find my hobby eccentric?”

“No. It’s normal to enjoy all sorts of pastimes. Hunting is as much of a hobby as it is a sustainable sport. In older times, most people would hunt for the sake of survival.”

Rook nods, his gaze flicking towards the heads on the wall. You dip your brush in brown paint to add more color to the antlers. “It takes immaculate patience to be a hunter. Most hunts are not always successful.”

“Is there a reason you hunt?”

“It’s in a human’s nature to obtain the unobtainable, and I seek beauty in its most visceral forms.”

“I see…”

“Do you?” Rook crosses his legs again, but this time his posture is stiffly statuesque. “Is obsession not the most flattering form of dedication?”

“It’s not exactly how I’d go about defining dedication… But then I suppose everyone has their reasons.” You steal a peek at the headless mount. “Do these heads mean anything to you?”

“Why, of course! They are the beautiful animals I have pierced with my arrow, whether or not I intended to. Often, when you trek through the territory of beasts, you might need to release a mortally wounded animal from its suffering.”

“So a mercy kill.” Your eyes return to the painting, where you set to work adding tiny blossoms along the curved antlers. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

“So goes the cycle of life, I’m afraid. I would be a daring fool to interfere with the balance of the world.”

“Have you ever lost any of your hunts?”

Rook hums, tapping out a rhythm against the top of his hand. The pads of his fingers fall in rapid succession: tick, tick, tick, tick. “As a matter of fact, I have! Just last week, after your departure, I lost the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for years now.”

“Years? Shouldn’t you give up?”

“Not until I feel that mouse’s heart beat within my enclosed fist.” He smiles wide, flashing flawless rows of pearly whites. Under the dim lighting, they appear sharp and predatory. “I suspect I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“How can you be sure? Mice are difficult to catch with bare hands. You’ll need a trap.”

“Mon cher, you wound me! I would never make such an amateur error.” He chuckles to himself, relishing in the cruelty of a joke that doesn’t quite land. “When I set my sights on something, it’s a guarantee I will catch it, even if I must play a dreadful waiting game.”

“My apologies. I was only passing on a helpful tip.”

You pull away from the canvas to inspect the strands of white dahlias curled around the man’s antlers. Frowning, you raise your arm, intending to slash through the portrait with a streak of black paint, when it occurs to you that you need only add red. 

But before carmine, you return to nature reflected in wide greens.

“Has my dear artiste ever hunted before?”

“No, not really. I seek inspiration all the time, but I wouldn’t call that a hunt.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“There are stakes in a hunt. Life and death. Danger. A battle of wits between predator and prey. Looking for inspiration is just a matter of searching and exploring. It might lead some down scary paths, but for me it’s a matter of reading more books or taking a stroll through the town. I don’t like dangerous things, so I tend to avoid them.”

“It pays to be cautious, no?”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be the same, Rook? As a hunter, don’t you worry about what might happen if you aren’t careful?”

“Of course there are worries! That comes with every profession and hobby.” He gestures to the plastic tarps plastered to the floor and walls. “You worried you’d sully my floors, and to ease such a fear I put these protective plastics up. My worries for hunting may be different, but they are worries all the same.”

“I guess that’s true… Well, what do you worry about?”

“Whether I’ll be fast enough to catch my prey when they’re unarmed and unaware.”

“O-Oh… That’s a little…”

Rook laughs a guttural laugh—a sound that comes right from the depths of his chest. “Imagine something you’ve always wanted. Picture it slipping through your fingers, just out of your reach, and now you’ve lost the chance to seize it. Is that not worth a worry or two?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never tried to chase after things I knew I wouldn’t be able to have.”

“Mon cher, you must learn to take risks. How else will you live?”

“I live perfectly fine without the need to step out of my comfort zone.”

Rook hums. “I think you’d change your tune if you found yourself in a risky situation.”

“Define risky.”

“Life and death.”

You pause, your brush poised at the pupil in his eye. “Everyone wants to survive. It’s in our nature as animals. A very basic instinct.” 

“And despite our most dedicated efforts to stall the inevitable, death catches us all—some sooner than most.”

“This is getting kinda…morbid.” 

“Haven’t you wondered,” he asks, and you don’t hear the wood creak under approaching feet, “what someone might do if they found your corpse?” 

He’s behind you. Five steps away in this cubic space. The man with antlers has crawled out of the canvas that once confined him, and he’s behind you. 

The mount on the wall lacks a head. 

The man in the chair lacks antlers. 

The creature in the portrait lacks humanity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a voice recorder tucked away beneath the chair. 

You swallow thickly, your heart in your throat. “I… I’m not sure. I’d hope they’d give me a proper, respectful burial if I died of natural causes.” 

And if it wasn’t natural causes? 

You don’t hear him verbalize the question, but somehow you catch it amidst the smothering silence.

“If it wasn’t natural causes…” You force a laugh, but it’s flat and misplaced just like the headless mount. “That would be murder, right?”

His shadow looms behind you, cast ominously dark over the earthly colored canvas. Slowly, so slowly, your free hand lowers to the pocket in your artist’s apron, where a dozen palette knives rest. Trembling fingers peruse the selection, locating the one with the sharpest point, and it’s the heaviest burden you’ve ever secured in your fist. You remain sitting horribly still on the stool, listening only to the frantic, slick sound of blood rushing in your ears. 

Steeling your frayed nerves, you whirl just as he descends. 

There’s a pause, a stumbled heartbeat, and then raw fear coagulates into confusion when you find him sitting primly in his chair, his verdant stare striking through you as if it’s an arrow he’s just loosed. It hits its mark, for it leaves you pinned in perplexity. 

He was behind me.

“And… And what about you?” you ask, your tongue heavy and thick in your mouth. “If someone… If I found your corpse, what would you want me to do with it?”

He was behind me. I’m sure of it.

“That wouldn’t happen.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile, and he angles his head curiously. “Normally it’s the other way around.”

You see it, then. The silver glint of a sharpened meat cleaver. It lies in his lap, where his fingers curl around the wooden handle, and all while holding eye contact he continues to smile. His teeth are refined cutlery in the light: artfully honed, yet not quite serrated, they’re tough enough to bite and tear and chew. Like a deer trapped in the hauntingly hypnotic glow of oncoming headlights, you don’t dare move. Perspiration wets your brow, slides down your back between your shoulder blades. You lick your lips. Anticipation claws through your intestines, nestling in the very pit of your stomach. Bile creeps its way up your throat like acidic fingers.

What’s happening?

“Come now, ma souris, don’t give me such a sullen face! I’ve shown you my hand. Isn’t that a miracle more beautiful than life itself?”

Your hold on the little palette knife tightens. “One person’s going to leave this room,” you say, your eyes sliding to the recording device, “and it’s not going to be me. Isn’t that right, Rook?”

“I can’t possibly say,” he affirms, dulcet and smooth like rivers of blood running ruby-red from a broken nose. His finger drums a rhythm against the flat side of the cleaver. “But I can certainly guess.”

Carefully, you rise from the stool. His eyes track you, so full of the vitality of the color green. More than that, they’re bright with bloodlust and you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of his cutting gaze. He peers at your unfinished painting and chuckles.

“Even your interpretation of me is beautiful! It’s an honor to be your fan, ma souris. Truly, I’m quite happy.”

You brandish the palette knife as if that will do anything to protect you from him. He stands from his seat, a monster adorned in gloomy garb. Like a stain against the red wall of heads, he no longer fits into the picture you once thought he did. Rather, he is blight in human form, a sinister omen housed within a skeleton encased in friendly skin. 

And he’s walking right towards you, putting one foot in front of the other, in no hurry to rush. The cleaver taps against his hip as he approaches, each bump mirroring every one of your heartbeats with startling accuracy. 

“Are… Are you unhappy with my portrayal?” you ask, not particularly interested in his reply, but desperate to keep him talking at arm’s length. 

For every step he takes, you take two backwards. 

“Not at all! In fact, I’m flattered.” Rook narrows his eyes at you, sickly entertained. “You’ve made prey out of a predator. Not many are capable of such a generous feat.” 

Your back connects with the door. Swallowing thickly, you search for the door knob. “Do you really see yourself as one? You don’t have to be one. Y-You can be neither. You’re only human.”

“Ah, but humans are the worst kind of predator.”

“What makes you say that?” Your fingers wrap around the metal door knob.

“Humans are afforded choices. We think through decisions. We make merry with our enemies and then hurt them after they’ve properly settled. We are complex in a way that differs from other animals. Predators are bound by survival, always trapped in high-stakes life or death, unable to truly make a decision that ventures beyond whether they wish to live another day or become sustenance for those who sit a rung above on the food chain. You see, we are not simple predators.” He raises the cleaver and points it at you. “As for humans, we can decide if we want to feel something when we hurt and kill. We can communicate in languages simple predators can’t use. Oh, the beauty of words!” He chuckles, elated. “To pluck a phrase from my vast lexicon: I’m going to take your life for myself, ma souris. Stow it within the depths of my very soul so that I may be the only one to treasure your rarity.”

The confession guts you quicker than his knife ever could. 

Wrenching the door open, you turn on your heel and step through, ready to break into a sprint, when heavy footfalls make their way towards you from behind. He covers the meager distance in seconds, wrapping a muscled arm around your torso and yanking you back into the room. You scream, words and sounds mixing into something incoherent, and elbow him in the ribs with as much force as you can muster. He releases you and you, fueled with panic and adrenaline, drop to your knees just as he swings, your hand closing around the palette knife you had previously lost. 

Somehow you manage to get back on your feet when he descends again, this time intentionally missing your shoulder when he brings the cleaver down. It cuts through the sliver of space between empty air and your own body, narrowly missing you by a hair. You throw yourself against the wall, entangled in a plastic tarp that comes loose from its hooks. They fall around you in noisy pitter-patters, something akin to metallic rainfall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thump.

And all the while, the mounts continue to peer at you with glass eyes.

“There’s no need to fall over yourself in a frantic haste. You’ll waste all of your energy, and even then adrenaline won’t be enough to fuel you. I’ll catch you if you aren’t careful…” He smiles at you from where he stands, green eyes cold with calculation. “Let’s take a moment to chat, shall we? I’d like to regale you with the five stages of the delightful thing known as prey drive. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“No, of course not,” you spit, vitriol lacing every syllable. Your pupils flit about the room, tracing the cleaver in his hand and then flickering towards the chair. The recording device sits in shadow, just within your reach. If you can stand up, take two steps forward, and drop down when he moves to intercept, you might be able to retrieve it. “Enlighten me since you seem so eager to run your mouth.”

Rook chuckles and enunciates his every step with a whistle. He reaches the chair in three steps and kicks the recording device out from under it. You watch it skid across the floor towards you, settling mere inches from your feet. You glance at it; it’s still recording, seconds stapled into it with every tick of your heart.

“A dog searches.” His back is turned to you, and he gazes at the mounts on the wall. You lower just enough to swipe the device from the ground. It’s not heavy in your palm; rather, it’s palm-sized and it slips into your pocket like a silent knife through butter. “And when it finds, it stalks. Have you caught the pattern yet?”

His neck is right there. All you need to do is rush up to him, grab him from behind, and drive the palette knife so far into the side of his neck that it’ll surely cause some sort of distress. Or you could turn and run. You have evidence. You have his address. You have your car. You can escape. You can drive far away from this horrifying cabin in the woods and never return. You can live. 

You can run.

“And from there…” 

So you do.

He whirls just as you dart through the door, over the threshold into the hall, and you miss the crazed twinkle reflected in wild, untamed green eyes. Rook’s laughter follows you, airy and light like a comforting breeze. He’s alive with murderous delight, and you’re nearly dead with fright. 

“Ensues the chase!” he calls out, so close in the cramped confines of the hall that his voice nearly grazes you. 

You swallow your sobs, pressing onwards with hardened resolve, and follow the length of the hall until it spits you out into another room. It’s undeniably a kitchen, what with the refrigerator and microwave pushed into a corner, but it’s furnished more like a lab. Nearly every appliance is metallic and the floors are tiled, constructed with surfaces that are perfect for washing away pesky fluids. A drain is built into the very center of the floor, sticking out like the nastiest bruise. You spy meat hooks hanging in place of where spatulas and whisks ought to be—both of which are innocent culinary tools meant to assist in food preparation rather than something killer. 

Spinning on your feet, you locate the door opposite of where you stand in the small kitchen-lab and take a momentous step towards it, hoping it leads you closer to an exit and further from your hunter, when a cold hand seizes your wrist, spidery digits curling into your skin. A shrill scream rips from the depths of your throat, surely shredding your vocal chords into bloody ribbons. You struggle, yanking your arm in vain, for his hold is impossibly strong. He tugs you towards him, his feet moving in time with the shuffling of yours. It’s a stiff stalemate of a waltz. You pull away and he pursues, his hand creeping up your arm in an attempt to pin it to the nearest surface. With another helpless shriek, you tear yourself free, staggering backwards against the metal table, which rolls further away on well-oiled wheels. Your horrified reflection blinks back at you in the shine, and with a sunken heart you realize it’s a dissection table. 

“Mon cher, I must say, you wear disarray so naturally. It’s far too forbidden for my simple eyes to behold.” 

“Why… Why are you doing this?” Your voice is thick with terror, sore from screaming, and you wipe furiously at your glossy eyes. “Please stop… You’ve had your fun. Now… Now let me go. I… I promise I won’t come back here again. Y-You can keep all of the supplies and the canvas. Just let me go…”

A secretive smile stretches slowly across his lips. “Oh, how Fortuna graces me with the benevolent opportunity to admire these special sides of yours. To be able to witness the rawness of pure horror after cornering the most dangerous animal of all…” He pricks his finger on the tip of the blade and adds in a breathy whisper, “Beauté.”

A disgusted shiver claws its way up your spine. You glare at him. “So it’s the thrill you enjoy, yeah? It doesn’t faze you that you’re going to kill an innocent person?!” 

He tilts his head. “Rather than snuffing your light, I intend to give new life to your excellence. In many ways, aren’t I also an artist?” 

“Like hell! You’re crazy!” You take a step back when he advances, moving towards you like a graceful panther stalking its prey. Your grip on the palette knife tightens. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?” 

“Nothing, mon amour.”

“N-Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing!” he reaffirms, rather conversationally, and the frustration-riddled tension in your body deflates all at once. 

“But… But I thought—” You shake your head, hopelessly searching for a means of convincing him otherwise in his pursuit, and say, “I thought you… You said you loved me! Can you really hurt someone you love?”

Rook hesitates, his feet shuffling to a halt, and he peers blankly at you, all emotions veiled in a stoic mask. “While it’s true that I will always cherish you in life, I must also come to love you in death. If I’m unable to accept even the rotting and decaying sides of everlasting love that most shy away from, then I’m simply undeserving of my title as a hunter. If I seek the wonders of life, it’s only fair I seek the wonders of death all the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No! In what world would I ever understand that logic?!” You point the palette knife at him. “You don’t have to kill me. You really don’t have to…”

“I suppose, if I’m to apologize for anything, I should ask that you forgive my greedy behavior. I’m hopelessly infatuated with your work, so allow me to thank you for all that you have shown me tonight. I promise to repay your tenderness tenfold.”

He smiles, stepping aside to allow you passage through the door, and foolishly you take the bait. It’s a run through tar—something you’d only ever experience in a dream, in which outrunning a villain is an impossible task. You make it through the door and out into the hall, and from there your only goal is to mindlessly flee towards safety. Tears obscure your vision, clinging to your lashes like fragile sugar dew. 

You think you see the outline of a faraway door, but perhaps it’s just the illusion brought on by mournful tears. 

You think you’ll make it to freedom, but perhaps it’s just the animalistic desire to survive that ignites your nerves. 

You think you can escape the horrors of encroaching affection, but it slips into your hand, tight and reassuring. 

Tugged into the kitchen-lab, your back collides with Rook’s chest. His grip is bone-crushing, and you don’t hear anything he’s saying—is he humming or waxing poetry?—but you feel the warmth of spreading blood as it soaks through your shirt and stains your artist’s apron. The palette knife slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. You peer down at your abdomen, where the cleaver is snugly nestled in your stomach. 

The cleaver. 

It’s in your stomach. 

He’s stabbed you. 

The cleaver. 

It’s in your stomach. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not at first. The shock snuffs the agony. He twists it gingerly, once or twice, before he yanks it out. Sticky strings of torn flesh and blood cling to the blade, connecting it to the injury he’s inflicted. Then you feel the rush of torturous, agonizing pain, and it stings more than anything you've ever experienced before. Red-hot, thick trails of blood trickle through your fingers when you shakily place your hand upon the wound, hoping to stop the flow. Rook clicks his tongue and guides you towards the dissection table, your feet dragging bonelessly upon the floor as you’re led along. You try to fight him, but everything’s so painful, and so all you can manage is a slight shake of the shoulders. Your world spins, and your mind reels as it struggles to process the dangerous gash. 

“After the chase,” he says, lowering you onto the table despite your blubbery protests, “the dog grabs its prey in a sharp-toothed bite and then it kills.” 

“S-Stop… You…” Your fingers curl into shredded skin, and you press down with as much strength as your shuddering body can muster. Blood continues to seep through the cracks between your fingers. “You… You’ll kill me…”

“Well, that’s the point, no?” Rook pets your cheek, fondness glittering in his green eyes. 

You peer up at him through bleary eyes, reaching for his face with a trembling hand. “Please… I’m begging you… It h-hurts… Please…” A helpless sob wracks through your frail form. “Please, Rook…”

For a while—whether an eternity or merely a few seconds, it’s hard to discern—he watches you fade in and out of consciousness, your groans a haunting melody in the discomforting quiet. Eventually, his hand finds yours on the table, limp and twitching, and envelops it in a firm hold.

Blissfully ignorant to your wheezing gasps, he begins to murmur: “‘Out—out are the lights—out all. And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, ‘Man.’” He looms over you like a ghastly shadow, lips arranged in a gleeful grin. “‘And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.’”

The time is 11:11 at night when you finally fall into Death’s frigid embrace, never to wake again. 

11:11 - the mystical time at which the universe tugs celestial cotton from its ears and listens to wishes and woes alike. it is not a promise that all wishes will be granted and all woes will be soothed at this hour.

The time is 11:11 in the morning, and sweet, twittering birdsong flutters into the trophy room through a window left ajar. 

The sun has long since risen, casting radiant beams through the thinning slices between the trees. Rook Hunt hums as he works, deft fingers perusing various cosmetics arranged on a metal tray. Eyeshadow is applied to delicate, paper-thin eyelids, each one pinned open in the permanence of preservation. Glass marbles are set into hollow sockets, colored in memory of the eyes that were once attached to a brain via optic nerves. He matches foundation to the skin tone, which works well to hide meticulous stitching and mottled flesh. He’s humming in tune with the birds, the nearby rushing stream, and the swaying foliage caught up in a wind gust, relishing in nature’s symphony. 

“You claimed you’d finally smile after you’ve learned to love,” Rook observes, petting the top of the head, feeling human hair beneath his rough, calloused palm. “And now you beam brighter than the sun outside! Perhaps it’s because of me? You’ve always been so honest with your heart. It’s a facet I most adore.”

His gaze slides towards the unfinished painting propped against the wall, where an antlered man smiles at his viewer, his green eyes filled with a mysterious forest. 

“Have you always thought me to be prey?” Rook pauses, awaiting an answer, and snatches a lipstick from the selection. “Or maybe this is an artist’s ideal vision… Perhaps it’s a fantasy you’ve wished to see or a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Escapism is most magnificent when it’s comforting.” He opens the lipstick and surveys the color with his observant greens. He inhales deeply and catches notes of the cedarwood cabin walls and the floral perfume he spritzed on his dear artiste. “Though it may not be your masterpiece, it’s one that will forever fascinate.”

Red blooms on dry lips that can no longer scream or protest. He cups a cheek stuffed with the finest wood wool, palming an area that was once bruised and broken. The grisly mark has been painted over, and now it is out of sight and, as far as the hunter is concerned, out of mind. As the saying goes, before one can broach beauty, one must suffer some degree of destruction. 

Rook steps down from the ladder and sets the tray of cosmetics on the gold-and-white satin chair. He lifts his hands, fingers forming the borders of a rectangle to frame you in his own portrait. At long last, the headless mount has its head and the pyramid of trophies is complete. There’s a crooked smile sewn into features expertly stitched to finalize beguiling taxidermy. 

With a covert grin, Rook peers through his fingers at your head situated at the very tip of a tragic triangle.

“After all, prey are the prettiest when they’re dyed scarlet.”

[rendy-a]

Hello can i request a yandere Vil and Rook with a reader who's disguised as a male? Probably the magic mirror had a slip up and chose not just a magicless student but also a female.

AAAAA HERE A PEACE OFFERING, I LOVED READING THAT POST ABOUT THE YANDERE EPEL AND ROOK.

HOPE YOU LIKE IT, MADE IT SPECIFICALLY FOR THIS.

This is the first piece of fan art I’ve gotten.  I feel so special!  Thank you for the gift.  In turn, I hope you enjoy this piece.  I wanted to keep it gender neutral, so I made it into a rumor that the Prefect might be a girl.  You can decide for yourself if the rumor is true or not!

All over school, there was a new rumor being spread.  Students everywhere were asking, “Have you heard?  The Prefect of Ramshackle is a girl!”  Of course, various friends of the Prefect were quick to shut down such rumors.  As such, it had never been proven or disproven; merely speculated.  Even in their own hearts though, the question lingered.  Was the Prefect a girl?

Secrets.  Just the word made Vil’s stomach turn.  And there you were, his precious Sweet Potato, talking to your first-year friends.  And keeping secrets from him.  Vil pushes his lunch away with such force it nearly flies off the table.  Rook looks over with a sharp smile, “Why Roi du Poison, what has caused you such ire?”  Rook’s tilted head and inquiring gesture seem to say, ‘tell me what bothers you’ but his eyes, narrowed in delight, seem to remind Vil that he already knows.  Vil pushes away from the table and struts from the lunchroom.  This situation was beneath him, so he’d just leave it behind.  The only thing he couldn’t leave behind was you.  Something had to be done about you and your secrets.

---

“Are we not close, Prefect?” Vil asked you softly.  Although it was spoken kindly, the question put a chill down your spine.  “Of course we are, Vil,” you replied hesitantly.  It had been a strange week for you.  All around school, students had started treating you subtly different.  Plus, there were so many leading questions.  We’re friends, aren’t we?  You know I can keep a secret, right?  Is there anything you want to tell me?  All of it was rather strange and you just had no idea what to do about it. 

“Hmm,” a considering hum from Vil pulls you out of your reverie, “These garments don’t really suit you, do they?”  You looked down at the old dingy school uniform Crowely had dug up for you from somewhere.  “I don’t think this particular uniform suits anyone,” you truthfully replied.  “Everyone deserves an outfit that suits them,” Vil replied dryly, “and you…” He trailed off before finishing and when you looked up at him, he had an unexpectedly fond look in his eye.  “Come with me, Prefect.  I have just the thing for you.  Since we are so close and all.”

Vil has such a magnetic personality that when he said ‘come with me’ you had never considered not obeying.  As such, you found yourself escorted to Pomefiore and sat on a lovely chaise lounge at the foot of the Housewarden’s bed.  Then Vil retreated into a large walk-in closet after bidding you to not touch anything.  You wondered vaguely if he kept anything dangerous in his room.  Pomefiore students were known for their proficiency with poisons, after all.  You looked at the multitude of bottles that sat on desks and shelf space and played a game with yourself; was that bottled liquid a perfume or a poison?

The sound of the closet door opening brought your attention back to Vil, who had emerged with a pile of purple fabric in his arms.  He shook it out and you found it to be a Pomefiore dorm uniform.  “Do you keep extras in there?” you asked confused.  “No,” Vil replied evenly, “this one is mine.  Now go put it on.”  You blanched at his statement, “YOUR uniform?  Oh no, I could never.” Vil cut you off, “Don’t argue with me Potato, just go get it done,” then he smiles at you wickedly, “unless you need help?”  You let out a small yelp, grab the uniform and dash off to the closet to change. 

You managed to get it on but you couldn’t say it fit particularly well; after all, Vil had the proportions of a model and you were just…you.  You entered the room and gave Vil a shrug, “Well, that’s that.”  He sighs at you, “Have you never heard of tailoring, Potato?  Now stand on this stool.  I need to take your measurements.”  You did as directed, standing on a small stool while Vil gathered measuring tape.   “You aren’t actually going to give me your dorm unform, are you?”  He gives you a withering look, “Potato, you can’t expect me to wear last season’s robe all year long, can you?”  Maybe it was the plush feeling of the velvet-soft robe against your skin instead of the threadbare uniform from Crowley, but you decided to accept that explanation. 

“Ok, just tell me what to do,” you say and give Vil a grateful look.  “Hold out your arms, I’m going to take some measurements.”  He begins with your arms and then the shoulders.  You meet his eye then and suddenly you feel nervous, like a warning stirs deep within.  Your instincts shout that you’ve been lured into a trap of some kind, but you are unable to see the snare.  Finally, Vil breaks eye contact first, “Now I’m going to measure around the chest.”  He leans in until his chest lays against your own and reaches behind you to grab the end of the measuring tape and bring it back to the front to read the measurement.  By the time he’s taken the measurement, a satisfied smile graces his lips.  You scold yourself quietly for overreacting; nothing overly strange had happened.

“One more, just to be sure,” Vil says to you softly.  You tilt your head in question and Vil elaborates, “I mean there is one last measurement I’d like to take; the inseam.”  Underneath the heavy outer robe was a black inner garment consisting of a shirt and pant.  You open the robe enough to allow Vil to measure the pant.  Before he leans in, he assures you, “Nothing to worry about, Prefect, I’m a professional.”  You look at him with skepticism, “Are you?”  He looks at you with humor, “of course, it’s a secret of mine,” then his look gets far more serious, “I wonder what secrets you might have, Prefect.” 

You twitter at him, “Oh nothing big.  I’m a spy, I’m attending school as a secret mission, and I also have a spouse and 7 children.  You know, the usual.”  He gives you a narrow-eyed look, “Is that so?  Well, if you DID happen to have a secret, I just want you to know it would be safe to tell me.”  You only give him a smile and raised eyebrow in response.  When no further secrets were found to be forthcoming, Vil smiled and replied, “Right, we’ll just do it like this then.”  Then he takes the measuring tape and slides it up the inseam, taking the measurement.  You turn your face away, embarrassed at the closeness of his hand to your intimate area but remind yourself firmly that he is only taking measurements. 

Finally, when finished, Vil pulls back with a secretive smile.  You supposed that he was satisfied at having all the measurements he required.  Or maybe he noticed the slight belly bulge you had from eating double desserts at lunch.  Perhaps you should have just confessed at the beginning?  No, you assure yourself, it was never wise to confess to overindulgence in front of Vil Schoenheit.  But whatever the reason, Vil was happy to release you to change out of his former uniform and back into your ramshackle one.  He smiled at you very sweetly before telling you that he’d have it altered by the end of the week.

His estimate was accurate.  It was only Friday when Vil came knocking at the door of Ramshackle and presented you with a garment box containing the finished uniform.  You smiled as you ran your hands over the soft fabric; this was yours now!  Vil also seems pleased with your interest in it and asks, “So, where do you plan to wear this, Potato?”  You laugh happily back, “Oh, it would be strange to wear it around campus, so I think I’ll just save it to wear to bed.  It’s got to be the softest and warmest thing I own.” 

“To bed?” Vil says with a start.  Then a coy expression comes across his face as he says, “Yes, Sweet Potato, do that.  And when you do, I give you permission to dream of me.”  You manage to not let any strange expressions cross your face at this unusual response and simply remark, “Perhaps I will.  It can be our little secret.”  At those words, you earn a dazzling smile from the beautiful Vil, “Yes Potato, as many secrets as you’d like.  I’ll keep them all for you.”

Surprise was one of life’s great rewards.  It takes something familiar and expected and changes it into something new and exciting.  When that thing is also the object of your fascination, the effect is exquisite.  At least that is the opinion of Rook when he first hears an interesting rumor about the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm.  To think, all this time, his beloved Trickster could still have mysteries left to uncover, c’est magnifique!  He feels some sympathy for the poor Prefect and their lack of privacy, but he can hardly blame the interested students; not when the possibilities have set his own hunter’s instincts aflame.

---

Any time Coach Vargas announces a special event for PE, all the students of NRC shudder.  “Have you ever heard the inspiring story of the Sword in the Stone?” began the innocent enough class.  “Legend told of a sword magically embedded in a stone that could only be drawn by the true ruler of the land.  Many attempted to remove it and failed until one young prince drew it forth,” Vargas continued with a grin, “Some said it was destiny while others complained of dark magic, but I know in my heart what was the deciding factor…BICEPS!”  Vargus finishes off this explanation with a pose showcasing his own overlarge arms. 

The class cringed collectively, feeling an unpleasant task approaching.  “In honor of this fine achievement in physical prowess, the staff has hidden three symbolic swords in the NRC school forest.  The assignment this week will be to hike into the forest and seek out these swords.  The grade that collects the first sword will have bragging rights over the others!”  Someone raises a hand and asks, “And what if we don’t find a sword in time?”  Vargus looks disturbed for a short moment before he covers by shouting, “Why then you’re all wimps!  So go out there and find one!  Class dismissed!”

“Bonjour!” comes a greeting from behind.  You break from your inspection of the tree line to see Rook standing beside you.  “Hello Rook.  Are you setting off to hunt for the swords too?”  He smiles at you in a mysterious way, “Non, I merely came to speak to you, Trickster.”  You tilt your head, “Oh?”  Rook’s smile deepens, “Have you heard the rumor?”  You give a start; you had noticed students treating you oddly lately, was there a rumor going around about you?  “No, I haven’t.  Are you going to tell me?”  With a nod, Rook continues, “Oui.  You see…last year one of the swords wasn’t found.  Rumor has it that the sword is still hidden somewhere in the woods.  To find such a query would be merveilleux!”

So, it wasn’t about you after all.  Still, it was an interesting rumor.  “So, what happens if someone finds the missing sword, I wonder?” you say offhandedly.  Rook smiles his mysterious smile, “Coach Vargas was quite alarmed when it couldn’t be found.  He hunted for it himself a great deal.  I think he’d be most impressed if it was discovered.”  A challenge not even Vargas with his stamina and drive could conquer, yes, he’d be impressed.  Then you smile and offer to walk with Rook to class. After all, the first years had plenty of time to find a sword.  It was only Monday.

“And that’s how I found the last sword!” said a third year from Diasomnia in an arrogant tone causing a cheer to go up among the Diasomnia lunch tables.  Epel looked at you quietly and then said, “That was the last one and the first years didn’t find any.  What do you think is going to happen to us now?”  You shake your head sadly at Epel and respond, “I think we are sunk.”  You hear an interested hum come from further down the Pomefiore table you sit at, “Sunk, are you Trickster?  Then you’d better swim, non?”  You smile ruefully back at Rook, “Sadly, I’m not dressed for swimming today.”  He smiles in a satisfied tone and says mischievously, “Why Trickster, then you’ll just have to go au naturel.”  You feel your face begin to heat, “Like skinny dipping?  No way, I’d never do that!”  Rook laughs good naturedly, “Don’t be so quick to dismiss it, Trickster.  You’d be faster without clothing, and it wouldn’t drag you down.  Plus, it is so much easier to dry when your clothes remain on shore.”  You look at Rook in amazement and start to ask him if he has had a lot of experience with the topic when you decide, no, you’d rather not know.

You turn back to Epel and remind him, “Well, there is always the rumored fourth sword out there.”  He looks at you like you are crazy, “What fourth sword?”  You turn your head towards the other end of the table to ask Rook to tell the story again but see that he and Vil have already departed the table.  You shrug your shoulders and say, “Never mind.”  Maybe you’d go look for it yourself just in case the rumor was true.  Plus, it was pleasant weather this time of year, so hiking in the woods wasn’t a bad way to spend your free time.

You set off hiking on a trail Rook had recommended.  You hadn’t specifically mentioned the sword hunt, just that you were looking for a nice off-the-beaten-path hike.  Rook spent copious amounts of time in the woods keeping his hunting skills sharp.  You knew he could recommend an interesting place.  Plus, the third years had found the first sword quickly.  Most of the rest of the students had taken that easy win to slack off the rest of the week.  You figured that meant many of Rook’s paths might not have been traveled.  Maybe, if you were very lucky, you’d find that fourth sword and pull off a miracle for the first years.  Your PE grades could certainly use one, considering Grim was in charge of flight classes for your pair.  With that dismal thought, you set off.

The path Rook recommended was a steep climb to begin but, after you reached the initial summit, it was a lovely trail.  The trees rustled gently, and the sound of a stream could be heard in the distance.  The only thing bothering you was a slight feeling of unsettledness that you couldn’t shake.  NRC was a safe school but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a dangerous wild animal in the forest.  You hadn’t seen any yet but there was a certain feeling of watchfulness that you felt in the deep wood.  Or maybe you were just creeped out by being alone out here.

You were troubled by the sensation until you reached the stream, there, the tree line gave way to the meandering water and the sunlight shone down gently.  You smiled at the open sky, grateful for the change in tone.  You’d had enough of a creepy wood but a sunlight riverwalk sounded downright pleasant.  You made better time in the light and soon found yourself at a branching fork in the road.  One path led along the stream the way you’d been going; the other path was across a makeshift bridge made of a fallen log.  You could tell the stream fork continued in both directions but the path across the river would be harder to walk as it was more of a wild game trail than a proper path. 

You considered the options and started along the easy path because, why not?  Only, then you paused and considered your real reason for being out here.  If the fourth sword did exist, would it be on an easy to hike path?  You returned to the fork, gazing across the river.  You felt a certain sort of tension in the air, as though the forest itself was waiting with bated breath to see if you’d cross the path.  And so, you did.  You followed the trail past several forks, each time taking the more difficult looking path in stubborn pride, until you heard a change in the sound of the stream.  You turned a bend to see the stream tumble down a small waterfall into a woodland lake.  It was quite beautiful but this sight that took your breath away was the gleam of metal on an island in the center.  It couldn’t be and yet, it was.  You’d found the rumored fourth sword.

The new issue was the island was quite a distance into the lake.  You knew it was unlikely you’d make it to the center by wading and you were not about to go swimming in your hiking clothes.  You felt like screaming; you’d come all this way and found the damn sword only to be foiled at the end for such a stupid reason.  Then, like inspiration from above, you remembered Rook’s silly comment about skinny dipping.  It was ridiculous and yet, you were so far into the woods, who’d even see?  So, feeling like you were doing something dangerous and forbidden, you stripped down into your underwear and swam across the lake to the island.  There, you laughed and wept to see the gleam was, in fact, one of the swords used in Vargas’ challenge.  You’d really done it. 

You swam back and stood, admiring the sword for several minutes to give yourself a chance to dry a bit before putting back on your clothes.  Then you’d reversed direction and headed back to campus.  At each fork, the trail became easier and easier.  By the time you were back on campus, you were practically running to show your prize to your first year friends, the trials of the forest long forgotten.

Your friends had been excited and Vargas downright astounded, especially after hearing about where you found the sword.  He accepted the item and left muttering about checking every area at least four dozen times if this ever happens again.  The person most enthusiastic to hear your story though was Rook.  He gave every pause and twist you told him dramatic flair with his gestures and gasps.  You could tell he was hamming it up a bit for your sake, but you appreciated the support. 

“You know, I owe it all to you and your advice on that trail,” you shyly thank him.  He smiles back at you with that sharp and mysterious smile of his, “Oh, no need to thank me Trickster.  It is I who should be thanking you.  Why, it’s like I accompanied you all the way there.  And to be there, in the end.”  You laugh way too loud and forced at that, thinking, ‘I’m certainly glad you weren’t there to see that particular end!’ to yourself.  Rook continues pensively, almost to himself, “To catch the most valuable prey, you need the rarest bait.  I’ll miss my treasure, but I’ve found something more valuable.”  You frown at him slightly, “You…you weren’t actually in the woods…were you?”  He laughs, “Ah Trickster, what happens in the woods, stays in the woods,” and then departs with you staring nervously after him.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Vampires of a Feather | Yandere Pomefiore

Think about modern life no magic

And you own an apartment with your loving and adoring boyfriend Rook

Unbeknownst to you 

On one of his oh so familiar nature strolls Rook found himself poking around an abandoned mansion

He won’t bother to say anything about the lovely boy he finds resting in there almost certain a dead body

Such luscious pale skin, such dark lipstick

He feels such beauty deserves a kiss even if their beyond the grave

But he won’t tell you that 

He’ll return home and kiss you as deeply as he does every time he sees you

You two will go on eventually settling down to have dinner 

When you hear something bang against the door

“Uh don’t worry babe, I’ll get it!”

“Be back soon beau trésor!”

Thinking it’s a failed knock you head for the door to open it 

Something small but sturdy whizzes past you 

Ricochetting off the walls and into some boxes you hadn’t unpacked

“Oh my Gosh Rook!”

“Oh my!”

“Ah Rook don’t go over there I think it’s a bat!”

“Oh how cute!”

“Not cute they have rabies!”

Despite your protests he’s forging on with you worriedly at his back

Come to find it’s that fellow from the abandoned mansion

And his name is Epel

“Oi what’s this weird place and why am I around a bunch of humans?”

“It’s a man!”

“Si magnifique! The joli monsieur from the house!”

“From the house?!” 

After explaining himself Epel explains how he a vampire found himself skyrockettng into your home

He unfortunately mistook the pheromone that would have led him to his pod for Rook’s scent

Thus he ended up here

“Vampires travel in pods?”

“Yes that’s how-”

“Like dolphins?”

“I guess…”

“That’s kind of cute!”

“No it’s not!”

“I agree mon chéri!” 

“IT IS NOT CUTE!”

From then on you and Rook help Epel blend in to the modern world

“Come on Epel no need to freak out!”

“No! Keep that terrible creation away from me!”

“It’s only a camera!”

“Come Pomme de poison! It’s a glorious tool (Y/n) and I are intimately close with!”

Slowly getting to a comfortable place where you both share your blood with him within reason

“Mmm Epel?”

“Yes (Y/n)?”

“Do you really need to lick my neck so many times? I’m ready for you to just get it over with.”

“Shhh let me enjoy this! Let me take my time.”

“Well okay…but does Rook have to sit so closely?”

“Don’t mind me, my Love! I’m only enjoying the enticing dance of life happening on your lovely neck!”

It’s only until a while of the domestic life along side him that you come to a sad realization

“Rook…he can’t stay with us.”

“Where is this coming from, mon chéri?”

“I was thinking…Epel’s going to outlive us.”

“Darling.”

“Then he’ll be all alone.”

“(Y/n).”

“We have to help him find his pod.”

Rook’s face drops every time you give him that look

Spending your free time devoting to properties his pod might own 

Your acutely aware that he’s not as enthusiastic 

But this isn’t about him 

This is about Epel

Who in the mean time doesn’t mind finding his pod 

But he doesn’t really care

“I’ve found two humans I like quite a lot. Besides I don’t really care about my pod especially since they’e a bunch of stuffy snobs. But it (Y/n) wants to find them I don’t mind.”

By the time Rook actually gets this from Epel you’ve already sent a letter to the one you’ve tracked down

“(Y/n)--!”

“--We have something to tell you!”

“Oh! Welcome home you two! You’re just in time to meet the vampire I found that's from your pod!”

“Oh no!”

“Wow!”

“Hello again Epel, I’ve come to take you home.”

It’s Vil Schoenheit a reclusive idol that’s supposed to be an old decrepit man you were sending letters with 

But alas he was a vampire 

And a very powerful one at that

He immediately begins critiquing Epel and subsequently Rook

“But at the very least you’ve found some decent hosts…for humans at least.”

“Hey! Don’t talk down to my humans!”

“Your anger is just as unbecoming on you as it was all those centuries ago.”

Ultimately it’s decided by Vil that Epel will be going with him 

To the country he quietly runs, where hundreds of lesser vampires serve him loyally

“I-I’m not going without Rook and (Y/n)!”

“Wait what–”

“C'est mieux que de te traquer!”

“Ugh I understand (Y/n) but this other one I’m not sure.”

Vil since he received your letter had been intrigued

A mere human who was so straight-forward with something many would call conspiracy 

Not to mention he’s absolutely enamored with ‘fixing’ you before properly elevating your status

To a vampire of course

He’ll find out he likes Rook too

but that's later

Until then he’ll just drag him along until Epel looses interest

With a snap of his finger tons of other vampires arrive taking your stuff and loading it in trucks

“Wait hold on! What are you doing?!”

“Do you have problems listening (Y/n)? You are coming with us.”

“But we can’t–We’d never live as long as you, it’s just not right!”

“As humans you won’t but once you’re a vampire that will change.”

“But I don’t want to be–”

“Hush. Rook if you’re good for anything you’ll help (Y/n) pack their bags.”

“Yes my Queen!”

“Rook!!”

No sooner than you could register 

You’re unofficially decided as one of the newest members of their pod

You’d like to think you weren’t alone in this confusion

But Rook doesn’t seem to have any of the same concerns you have

“Oh Epel isn’t this perfect! We’ll become members of your pod with the Queen!”

“Ugh! Not you too! I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t ruin you and (Y/n) completely.”

[married-to-google-translater]

Could I have a yandere Rook request please? Like his darling who looks very androgynous is actually a girl who’s trying to pass off looking like a boy? How long would it take him? Pls pls?

Yandere Rook Hunt

Ahahahahhaahaaa

You are in danger.

Rook noticed from the beginning that there was something different about you.

That was a big reason why you caught his attention.

Rook wanted to find out why you were special.

It wouldn't take that long.

Rook is a professional stalker ;3

And he's also frighteningly good at it.

Rook would also be frighteningly dedicated to his "hobby".

It would take at most a month to find out your secret.

At first, Rook keeps his discovery a secret.

He would have to take a lot of pictures of you.

Without you being aware of it, of course.

But Rook would begin to hint at this point.

Rook would like to tease you a little.

He would also believe that thanks to this it would be easier to control you.

Of course, Rook wouldn't share your secret with others.

But you wouldn't know that.

[snakegorl212006]

The “little things” they do  (Pomefiore)

--------------Epel--------------------------------------------- “Uug i can’t stand him” epel groans as he aggressively carves another apple “always nagging like he’s my mom or something.” he huffs as he finishes the final details “why do you stay with a man like that” epel mumbles. He and vil got into a heated argument again. Only god knows what they’re on about this time but it was way too early for any of that. “Well..maybe he’s just looking after us” i stated “sure sure, ‘taking care of us’. Do you truly believe that” he asked “well he has made sure i’ve eaten and have a healthy-ish sleep schedule” i replied “i wouldn't blame you for you thinking such things though” i mumbled as i leaned back on the apple tree. “Why do you always defend him… have you forgotten what has happened here” epel asked. His expression saddened “I’m not defending him entirely-. How about this? How about i ask him to lay off” i suggested “by yourself” epel asked “no it’s fine. You shouldn't” epel said as he picks up another apple “why. Don’t you want him to get off your back” I asked “yes but i don’t want you to go by yourself with him” epel replied “why not. Vil hasen’t-” “i don’t want you to die again ok gosh” he huffs angrily “epel.. Did you have a nightmare or something” i asked with a slight sigh “you don’t….I guess you can say it’s a nightmare” epel mumbled “do you want to tell me about it” i asked “.....you were hurt really bad.blood was everywhere and-” epel paused “I don’t want to talk about it anymore” he said. “Just don’t trust vil with anything. Don’t even dare.not even rook alright. Trust me. It’s for the best” epel said as he looked at me dead in my eyes “ok.. I won’t…. How about we made some dessert over with trey. I think he can make some apple pie.” i offered, which made him smile “gosh you’r the best. Always know how to make lil ole me happy” epel said as he grabs my hand “lets go then” epel adds as he drags me up and away to heartslabyul. Must be one nasty nightmare for him to act like that.

----------Rook--------------------------------------------------- “Bonsoir, mon cher” a voice spoke behind me, shocking me out of my skin “oop. Sorry i never meant to scare you” rook said “it’s fine just don’t do that again. Anyways what brings you here” i asked “I enjoy visiting the gardens in,the now, Savanaclaw wing. It brings me much nostalgic memories” he smiles “say may I be of aid. I also do enjoy a little garden work” Rook asked “well leona isn't going to do it so might as well. “Parfait! Je vous remercie, mon cher” he replied, kissing my hand before warding off somewhere else. I can never get used to his eccentricness. While planting some new plants that came in i came across something hard.I digged deeper to see something white…my stomach turns praying to anyone that this isen’t what i think it is “i suppose i made that one too shallow” Rook spoke which made me jump, tripping on the water hose making me fall. Rook grabbed that white thing and to my horror. It was a human femur “you know this place was the original garden Vil and i use to bury our victims to sustain the plants. We kinda stolen this from Roi de Fort and his crime schemes” rook said as he examines the bone “Don’t worry. You weren’t buried here. But if you desire it mon cher-” Rook stated as he look down at me “nonononononono. I'm fine. Just put that back i i need to go-” i replied then he laughs “you have that same reaction too~ ma parole, is this what you call daja vu. Not to worry. I’ll finish this from here” Rook reasured as he picks up the shovel and buries back the bone. I left for him to continue hiding that….”how many bodies are even on this property”

------------Vil------------------------------------------ “Vil, are you here” I asked as I entered the wing. Apparently he hasn't been himself lately even got epel concerned. Rook asked me to go have a chat with him. Make him feel better I suppose. “vil.Are you alright” I asked, waiting for some signs. When there was no answer I pulled out the necklace from my shirt and followed the vibrations. This leads me to his room. I knocked “vil. Is something wrong” i asked. The door opened to see vil looking less than himself. His hair all shriveled, eyeliner running down from his eyes overall he looks pitiful. “Is there anything i could do” i asked and he sighed “just….sit down” he said sounding more irritated. Did epel and him get into another argument? I entered his room to see a mess. But I ignored it and sat on the bed. Vil walks to the vanity and starts his nightly routine in silence. “You know. You look like someone i knew” Vil said as he brushed out his hair “you know i feel like this’ll be a common occurrence” i replied which made him smile a little “what were they like” i asked “Schön…” he smiled as he finished up. “What happened to them” I asked “oh, it was an accident…” he replied rather quickly “that’s all you need to know.” he said as he turns off the lights “if you wouldn't mind. Can you stay here tonight? I’ve been having trouble sleeping as of late. Perhaps you can keep me company.afterall you did come here to make me feel better” he asked. I thought about it and nod “nothing funny ok” I replied. He grabs my hand and lays down next to me. I took off my shoes and slept next to him.  I was awakened by a shift on the bed. I couldn't open my eyes or even move but all i heard was soft sobs as tears on my chest “i'm sorry... I’m so sorry…” I heard vil say “this won’t happen. Not again” he adds as he holds me tight “I promise.I will obtain that happily ever after you so desire. Things will return to normal….I promise” Vil mumbles more as I feel his grip tighten “I’m not letting you relive that nightmare...Not again…”

[thelonelyme]

♧𝐓𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞♧

.

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞: ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド[Twisted Wonderland]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐨/𝐢: Rook Hunt, mc.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: A letter for you♡ [mc x Yanderish Rook Hunt]

𝐀𝐕𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐄: GN. Reader., this writing will contain themes vaguely yandere, stalking explicit, gore descriptions, mild anguish towards the end, implicit mentions of murder, slightly suggestive themes. I also wanted to take a few seconds to apologize for my prolonged absence. I lost my motivation to write, and my schedule quadrupled. I just wanted to say that I love you all♡.

"To my dear dove,

the purest and most majestic of all, who with your white feathers cradles my eyes at their close with the wonder of your angelic face.

Whenever I find myself passing by the lion’s little hiding place I find myself comparing- nay, no, no flower could be put on a par with your presence, no bewitching smell could be compared to yours, No petal could even be compared to your eyes, no pistil could be as yellow and bright as your smile, which illuminates the room every time you enter.

Whenever my sight catches your figure, my heart beats racing against my chest, as if it wanted to come out tearing the weak and thin skin to pulsate before your sight, to make you understand how much I suffer from love.

My breath gets thin, I feel like I’m dying every time I see you talking to your silly friends, I hear my pupils widen and my ears shriek when I hear the recognizable sound of your steps, the breath increases as well as the promodial hunger I feel at the sight of your juicy neck uncovered by the blouse, so tempting and inviting that every part of my being boils to taste even a piece of you.

I’d like you to invite me.

I feel the sweat forming and the heat accumulating under the surface of my gloves every time I see the position in which you sleep, how you move in your sleep and how you whisper gently while you dream sweet dreams.

A creature so vulnerable and so attached I could have slipped into your room so many times, but I didn’t.

I would tear out my every single vocal string just to show how they would still be able to sing the endless hatreds I wrote for you, I would take and gouge out my eyes so that you could put them down as a trophy, so I can continue to admire you endlessly, I’d like to give you my arms, legs, body, mind and essence.

You deserve it all.

I see and feel as the fingertips become clearer every time you hold your dear friend’s arms every time he is about to take flight during lessons with Vargas; and, like you, I also feel my fingers clenching against each other, sometimes creating small crescents on my palm scratched by scars, and the slight pain only increases the expectation of your divine attentions.

Hands shaking as I hang up photos so intimate and deprived of you, of your most personal moments.

What a heart, what magnanimity!

What an honor mine is!

To be able to capture you in such carefree moments and so bare you just so that I can imprint those moments in immortal photos!

Letting a humble man like me have the privilege of watching you constantly, letting me free you from the various burdens you didn’t even know you had- but don’t worry, I will always solve everything, you will never have to worry as long as I watch over you, my angel.

Although sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to feel my patience in any way. Letting the filthy hands of those parasites touch your perfect skin in its imperfections, how naughty you are, love.

But I bear no grudge, I could never! It would be sacrilege, blasphemy!

I’ve always wondered what’s going on in your pretty little head, and I’m desperate for the way you cry alone in your room, and I almost want to break through that thin glass barrier to distract you from what hurt you so much, so that I can make you understand that for you I will always be there and anyway, to console you, to drink from your tears and take responsibility for an act as low as those I have always done.

For you I’ll be yours.

And for a while, you even made me think you might be a hallucination, you know?

Every part of you screams to perfection, to sweetness and to a beauty that not even Vil could reach.

The way your breathing is so slow and calm unlike mine makes me feverish and terribly desperate.

Ah, how I wish your sweet hands could learn my body as I would with yours.. Angelic hands that would explore my every vulnerability, learning to know me like I know you, with the love that only two lovers can feel.

The way you eat, the scars you try to avoid showing, your fears, your dislikes, pleasures, desires! Everything about you makes me tremble as I write!

And your voice.. don’t even get me started!

Is it a sweet call from heaven? Or is it a poisonous trap covered with thick and sweet honey?

I hope this letter finds you in excellent-"

The pen stopped suddenly, the black ink that was dripping from the tip of the pen creating small spots on the parchment end. The man scribbled, erasing those last words.

It wasn’t a worthy enough way to end his hatreds, and he wanted to keep writing until the ink was finished, until every page in his room had been used.

"No, it doesn’t work. Maybe I should write more." He muttered, getting out of his chair. "Ah, but I could write pages, books about their magnificence!" He walked towards the wall, taking between his fingers the thin and fragile surface of the wallpaper, showing hand-to-hand photos.

Photos of you, who had taken with trembling and feeble hands, who had collected with the love of a lover, who retraced your every step.

He chuckled at the thought of you snorting at the sight of photos that, in your mind, would be ugly and too silly.

But to him they were not foolish at all.

Every single photo showed a small fraction, a slight but different nuance of your personality that emerged when you were alone.

All those giggles while you were shaking your social media, from those moments of play and recreation with that cat, to those heartbreaking ones, where you were crying about your situation.

The sweet but bitter tears that fell from your eyes clouded and veiled by a suffering that no one would want to feel with their soul, the trembling lip as you vent with the sleeping cat, making enough silence not to wake him in the middle of the night.

Only he knew this side of you, that most hidden and recondite part of you.

And he thanked you for that.

He took one of the photos, sliding his hand over it and then approaching it to himself. He put a chaste kiss on his forehead as he closed his eyes.

"For now all these letters will be our little secret, even if one-sided."

[veliana]

𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮!𝓥𝓲𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮!𝓡𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓼/𝓸

Tw: Yandere characters, unhealthy behaviors A/n: I do not condone the acts cited, this is pure fiction!!! Type : Yandere , angst ?

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

In the tumultuous world of Twisted Wonderland, Vil Schoenheit, known for his grace and aristocratic demeanor, hides a dark side that is only revealed to one person: you, whose enchanting beauty irresistibly captures his attention.

In the bustling halls of Night Raven College, Vil always appears distant and reserved, but in reality, he watches you attentively, captivated by every movement, every smile, every expression on your face.

Over time, Vil begins to nurture an unhealthy obsession with you, unable to resist your magnetic charm. He discreetly collects memories of you: a stray lock of hair, an object you've touched, photos sneakily taken during moments of tenderness.

Beneath his mask of arrogance and perfection, Vil harbors a deep loneliness and a burning desire to be understood and loved. He convinces himself that you are the only one capable of filling this void in his heart.

Gradually, Vil becomes possessive, jealous of any interaction you might have with other students or professors. He watches you from afar, ready to intervene at the slightest perceived threat to your relationship.His jealousy transforms into an obsessive need to protect you at all costs, even if it means resorting to extreme measures. He devises elaborate plans to distance you from anything that could pose a threat, even manipulating and intimidating those who might stand in his way.

Despite his unsettling behavior, Vil is convinced that his love for you is pure and absolute. He doesn't see his actions as manipulation, but rather as desperate acts of affection to preserve what he considers his most precious treasure: your heart.

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

In the vibrant world of Twisted Wonderland, Rook Hunt, with his quick wit and boundless energy, harbors an obsessive fondness for only one person: you, whose charm and beauty captivate his attention from the very first glance.

In the lively corridors of Night Raven College, Rook stands out with his infectious enthusiasm and irresistible humor. Yet, behind his antics, he can't help but notice you, following you with his eyes through the crowd, seeking every opportunity to be close to you.

As time passes, Rook becomes increasingly drawn to you, finding in your presence a comfort and energy he can't find anywhere else. He treasures memories of you: a ticket stub from a show you dropped, a doodle you scribbled on a loose sheet of paper, anecdotes you shared with him.

Beneath his exuberant exterior, Rook conceals emotional vulnerability, desperately seeking to fill a void in his heart. He firmly believes that you are the person who can bring him this completeness, who can illuminate his life like no other.

Rook becomes increasingly protective of you, showing jealousy towards any attention you give to others. He goes to great lengths to make you laugh, to entertain you, to be the one you can rely on in all circumstances.Despite his efforts to charm you, Rook remains vulnerable to your every gesture and word.

He becomes determined to protect you at all costs, ready to face any obstacle to ensure your happiness and safety.For Rook, his love for you is an indomitable force, a flame that burns ever brighter with each moment spent by your side. He is willing to give everything for you, convinced that you are the key to his happiness and fulfillment in the turbulent world of Twisted Wonderland.