#yandere vil schoenheit x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

globalrebrand · 1 month ago

Note

i love all ur depictions of vil and i’m so happy u took a liking to lyney who’s also my fav ❤️ ur toxic vil in particular haunts my brain, lives in my floorboards and echoes in the halls of my mind at night….so may i humbly please request “forcing them to divulge past traumas or secrets” with vil? 🥹

Warnings: Dead dove, do not eat. Mentions of past sexual assault, nonconsensual age gap relationship.

Vil had been quiet since you'd left the party.

This wasn't unlike him. At the end of a long night of socializing, he generally preferred to hold your hand or, even better, sit with you tucked against his side in the back of his car while his driver navigated you both to his penthouse.

But tonight, the gap between the middle seat felt like an unbridgeable canyon stretched between the two of you.

It was his father's 50th birthday celebration held at the family home. The Shaftlands elite came out in droves to celebrate the beloved Eric Venue.

The night started well enough. Vil was more than happy to introduce you to his wider circle of famous friends and loved ones. As an up-and-coming model with a promising career (even more so with Vil proudly claiming you as his), your agent wouldn't let you forget how this was a rare opportunity to expand your network, but you weren't here for any of that. Tonight, all you wanted to do was support your boyfriend and his father at this critical milestone.

Vil made the rounds with you, introducing you to well known actors, actresses, veteran supermodels, producers and directors all gathered to celebrate his father.

You and Vil were in fragile territory as a couple. If you were able to successfully demonstrate that you could be one of them, an elite, a star, then you and Vil were looking at a future as one of the foremost power couples in the industry.

Thankfully, things were going splendidly; you spoke at the correct times and came off as appropriately humble and down to earth as an outsider in such an elite group. You took great pride in how Vil beamed as he watched you gracefully interact with these other celebrities, your natural charisma on full display. It was hard to get any higher off the fumes of his affection, then he paused, observing you with a tender look and petting the apple of your cheek with a smooth thumb before quietly admitting, "I'm so happy I have you."

That was until you ran into him.

"There's one more person I want you to meet," Vil said warmly, urging you away from your current conversation to meet a distinguished-looking white-haired gentleman.

"Uncle Valle, this is my girlfriend." Vil beamed but the director had a sickening look on his face, ignoring his nephew and addressing you with far too much familiarity.

"Long time no see." You froze. Valle Mensing is a world-famous director and a man you'd desperately hoped never to see again.

"Uh- I think you're mistaken. It's nice to meet you." You avoided eye contact, suddenly finding your shoes interesting, was you felt Vil bore daggers into the side of your head.

The older man raises an eyebrow in slight disbelief.

"Hmmm, you're right my mistake." Thankfully Valle just patted Vil on the back mentioning, "lovely girl you got there, take good care of her."

Vil grabbed your hand and tugged you close to whisper in your ear.

"What was that?" You wouldn't do this now, couldn't.

"Vil, I feel a little sick. I'm going to step out into the garden. If you'll excuse me," you excused yourself, leaving Vil absolutely baffled and more than definitely ensuring that he was suspicious of your interaction with his beloved uncle.

You had no idea they were so close, and now you were scared. You prayed Vil would just let it alone, as unlikely as it would be, but you didn't want to make him choose. Rather, you didn't want to be rejected by him in favor of his dastardly uncle.

You both left shortly after. Vil's mood was considerably soured, and a paranoid expression became etched into your features.

Now, it has been about 20 minutes of driving, and still, no word has passed between you.

Uncertain of what to anticipate, you needed to at least confirm where Vil would be dropping you off tonight. You had a sinking suspicion that your behavior tonight didn't earn you the privilege to share his bed.

"Are you dropping me off or-" You're quickly interrupted.

"What relationship do you have with my uncle?" Vil turned to look at you, his eyes already brimming with judgment.

The impulse to lie was so strong. You'd done it for so long. You knew Vil would likely see right through it, but you had to try. Try to protect yourself and him from the truth. It was only when you were with Vil that you felt as if you had any worth. If he knew your past, what had actually transpired between you and his uncle, you're certain he would no longer want you.

And then, who would you be?

"I don't have any-" You started, but as you suspect, you were cut off almost immediately.

"Why did he say 'long time no see?'" Vil questioned, leering over you with a raised brow. "Don't play dumb. It's unbecoming." He scolded, a coldness in his eyes but an unmistakable look of morbid curiosity. Vil likely already suspected what you would reveal to him, but he wanted to hear it from your lips and force you to bear the most vulnerable parts of yourself to him.

"Vil I-"

"I saw you speak to him in the garden. What were you speaking about."

"It was a long time ago." Your face was hot, and your voice pinched and weary. Tears threatening to spill at any moment.

Vil sighed, exasperated and desperate for the truth. It was obvious he was done waiting for you to confess in earnest.

"Did you fuck him?" The words struck you like a blade to the chest.

"Please, I-" You wanted to retreat and hide, but there was no cover from Vil's relentless barrage of questions and accusations in the backseat.

"Did you or did you not. If you don't tell me now, we're finished."

A long silence passed between you as you tried to form the words in your mouth.

"Yes." The words come out cracked and dry. A horrible truth you didn't want to deny. The tears had started falling now, hysterical sobs wracking your entire body. You prayed the driver had the decency not to spare you a glance.

"Did he force you?" Vil questioned. Less angry, but not even remotely comforting.

"It doesn't matter, please. I just want to live in the now with you!"

"He did, didn't he. He raped you?" You tried to verbalize to say yes, he did...many times, but all you could do was nod wordlessly.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened tonight."

"H-he asked me why I didn't tell you about our relationship. And I said because it's not something I'm proud of." Calming yourself with stuttering breaths, you admit, "Vil, I'm not lying when I say it is my greatest shame."

"Why don't people know about this?" He's angry. Hurt.

"Because...I wasn't exactly of age at the time." Vil startles, like you've smacked him.

Quietly, as asked, "How old were you?"

"15."

He curses in his native tongue, looking angry and disgusted.

"My agency lied about my age to get me into the country." You went on to explain.

I didn't want to, but they said the connection would benefit my career, and I didn't know any better.

"I've never told anyone."

At that Vil perked up. A pitying look on his face as he embraced you for the first time since you left the party.

"You should not have been subjected to anything so horrible."

We'll go to my home. I wouldn't want you to be alone after having to face that awful man.

"You won't say anything, right?" You plead. Vil tsks.

‘My love, he can't be allowed to go free.” He leans closer, whispering in your ear.

“Think about all of the other women- No. Girls. He's hurt because of your silence.”

The tears that stopped only moments prior, resume their unbidden cascade.

“You were very courageous in telling me,” vil continues, “but I cannot allow you to be silent about this any longer."

He sits up, posture as regal as ever as he observes your tear stained face in the flicker of passing street lamps.

“Don't worry, darling. No one who hurts you will ever be allowed to go unpunished.”

You nodded and clung to your boyfriend, grateful that, at least, he didn't seem like he would leave you, but somehow, you weren't comforted by his assertion.

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inkblot22 · 7 months ago

Text

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream?

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together.

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you.

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open.

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t…

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears.

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves.

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage.

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?”

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together.

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say.

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you.

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today,

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff.

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does.

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw.

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily.

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you.

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

256 notes · View notes

forgwater · 11 months ago

Text

Bleeding Hearts

~Bleeding Hearts Masterlist~

Vil x (gn)Reader

Warnings: This story contains yandere themes and behaviors.

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

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

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

But you must resist.

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

Just-

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

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

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

“Oh…” well, now you feel silly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The scene?” you question.

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t I read them silently first?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

With his arms crossed, he tells you again:

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

“No.” you refuse him once again.

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

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

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

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

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

What is he talking about?!

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

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

“Confess?!” you splutter.

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

…Curse…?....

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

He breathes deeply, truly pleased with his accomplishment.

“You are mine.”

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merakiui · 2 years ago

Note

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•♡♡•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~Hello!

•I'd love to have a bouquet of flowers from the Miscellaneous Menu, custard donuts from the Midnight Menu for my mighty Vils, and the Leech twins (separately please) and Fem Reader!•

♡Thank you~♡ ~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•♡♡•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

yandere!vil schoenheit, jade leech, floyd leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, baby-trapping/forced pregnancy, intoxication for vil’s part, brainwashing for jade’s part, stockholm syndrome & brief mentions of violence for floyd’s part note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ᴠɪʟ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴇɴʜᴇɪᴛ

The film screening for Vil’s new movie had been good—so good that you couldn’t deny the champagne that was opened and offered hours after midnight in celebration of a year’s worth of hard work. Vil makes it a rule to only drink in moderation during a celebration, as too much of anything, whether alcoholic or not, can ruin the beautiful physique he has worked so hard to cultivate over years of dedicated efforts. His glass isn’t even half-empty; if anything, he’s taking the smallest of sips while he watches you chat with the production members across the room.

You’ve been his makeup artist for three years now. By his standards, that’s plenty of time to have formed a worthwhile bond. Vil often wondered if you see in him the same beauty everyone sees: untouchable, refined, and worthy of envy and admiration alike. Though the nature of your job has you meeting all sorts of celebrities, you’ve remained humble over the course of your profession. Perhaps you see him as a regular person rather than the striking silhouette he casts. Maybe his fame and fortune mean nothing to you because you’re your own version of successful.

Sometimes Vil dislikes the fame that weighs heavy on his shoulders like a velvet cape soaked through with rainfall. He tries not to let his status dictate his life, but he can’t deny that it largely influences how he chooses to act. If he were to help you out of this room, he’s certain the paparazzi would never let him live it down. They’d think the two of you were a couple. They’d think he was sleeping around with his makeup artist. All manner of tales will be spun for the tabloids. Not that such meaningless stories will put his career in the ground. He stands on a pedestal so high that no amount of filthy gossip could ever knock him off.

And perhaps he ought to let them think those things, if only to be able to claim for a short time that you are his.

No one questions it when he offers to accompany you back to the hotel (for safety reasons, of course). After all, he’s known to care immensely for his team. You hang off of him like a luxury handbag, your arm hooked around his while you stumble out of the car. Vil nods to his driver, who rolls off and out of sight without another word. You’re muttering drunken nonsense as the both of you ride the elevator up to your room, and Vil has to dig through your purse to find the keycard.

Once the both of you are inside and he’s shrugged his trench coat, sunglasses, scarf, and hat off, you’re peering at him with an intensity that has him smiling. So perhaps you really do see more in him when you’re intoxicated. Had he known such valuable information sooner, he would have had you under him many months ago.

Time seems to slow and speed up all at once when the lustful spark catches and ignites, and you lean in to press your lips to his. It’s a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss and you smell terribly of liquor, but the inside of your mouth is warm and wet and tinged with faint, fizzy notes of strawberry champagne. Vil could liken you to this exact flavor: sweetly effervescent. It’s an addictive taste he’s only just had the pleasure of partaking in, having been forced to admire you from the sidelines, dutifully playing the role of the flawless star while your skillful hands helped him shine.

Those same hands are making quick work of his clothes, hastily undressing him as he guides you towards the bedroom. It’s moderately sized; certainly nowhere near as luxurious as the suite he’s staying in, but it will do. You fall back onto the plush mattress with a tiny gasp, and you watch through unfocused eyes as he unbuckles his belt, holding your smoldering gaze the entire time.

“I’ve often pictured this very moment,” he tells you, smiling to himself like the admission is a vile secret. And perhaps it is, for he’s thought of having you in the filthiest of ways. “To think you were just within my reach and yet always so...untouchable.”

Graceful fingers aid in freeing you from your sparkling dress, framing your body in all the right ways. It’s an expensive thing, as is all of the finery he’s just shucked, and he drapes it over the nearby chair before falling into your embrace, his lips connecting with yours. And for the first time in forever, Vil feels as though he’s just plucked a rare star from the sky, cradling it in his capable palms as if it’s particularly fragile.

“I love you...” you whisper, and his heart soars and sinks in one beat, for the name you utter is not his.

He stares at you, gripping your hips so tightly his manicured fingernails leave crescents in your pretty skin. His emotionless expression may have startled you if you were sober, but instead you just tug him into another kiss. Vil wonders if he should carve his name into your skin—if he should ruin it so that no one but he could possibly see beauty in you. But then he catches sight of his reflection in the wide mirror, and it occurs to him that he ought to show you who he really is.

Your back is pressed against his chest, and you watch your reflection through blurry eyes. Vil’s fingers are pumping in and out of your pussy, slick with your fluids, and you’re coming undone against him, grabbing at his wrist to brace yourself. His other hand grips your chin, forcing you to watch as the mirror shows you everything he’s doing to you, every touch and kiss. Every bite and lick. You cum with a shaky whine, your head lolling against his shoulder, and Vil tuts at you.

“Surely you’re not already tired,” he whispers, warm breath tickling your ear. “Keep your eyes fixed on the mirror, darling. It can’t possibly shape me as that fool you seem so intent on loving.”

You mumble something, but it’s lost on him when he slides his fingers out and lifts you up, lowering you onto his cock inch by inch. You suck in a breath, crying out in slurred delight, and Vil exhales a low, blissful breath as he slots himself completely inside. As expected, it’s a perfect, snug fit. Perhaps you were molded to be his from the very moment you were brought into this world. Perhaps this night has been strung up in the stars for years and now it’s finally happening. Vil knows it’s not wise to hope for miracles, but for once he can appreciate fate because he’s worked hard enough to earn this.

The mirror reflects a salacious portrait, with you speared on Vil’s cock. His hand presses against your belly, petting it fondly. You’re moving your hips without much rhythm, lazily working yourself towards orgasm, and he’s content to let you do all of the work while his other hand traces slow circles against your clit.

Vil rests his chin on your shoulder, and it occurs to him that you might not remember this precious moment. The flame of lust will have been extinguished come morning and he will wake from this wondrous dream, empty and unloved.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you think he’s someone else, for the gift he will impart takes nine months to come to fruition, and by then there will be no one else in your life. No one else but Vil. Only Vil.

Vil wraps his arms around you, caging you against him, and thrusts up deeply, hitting that special, spongy spot inside you that has your entire body shuddering through another orgasm. His hand grasps your chin, moving your face towards his for a kiss of tongue and teeth. He swallows your moans, groaning against your lips when he cums, and your pussy tightens around him so deliciously.

“You might not think so right now,” he whispers into your mouth, tracing patterns along your waist, “but you will be a wonderful mother to our child.”

The mirror will reflect this promise as the months pass, unable to tell a single lie. Sworn to truth, but never to secrecy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ᴊᴀᴅᴇ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

In the months leading up to your wedding day, Jade has done well to present the concept of family in a domestic light. He chooses to watch films and TV shows that depict happy families with smiling children. He’s gathered books on parenting and child care, leafing through them when he knows you’re watching. He’s compiled safe, healthy recipes for baby formulas and meals for pregnant mothers, leaving them out on the kitchen table along with magazines marked with circles and symbols around all the necessities. “An honest mistake,” he called his meticulous carelessness when you questioned it. He’s just curious about how land dwellers raise their children. In the sea, it’s much different. You can’t blame him because Jade Leech is, by the very definition of the word, a creature consumed by curiosity.

He had broached the subject over dinner while fully knowing where you stood. Yet, when he had casually mentioned how his coworkers boast wallet photos of their bright, beautiful children or how he’s met expecting mothers while grocery shopping and they’ve voiced their excitement to him, you find yourself hesitating. For the longest time you were against children. The concept of raising a human being felt daunting and frightening—like a particularly impossible mountain you just couldn’t dream of scaling—and Jade had respected that. But hearing those stories and seeing films with parents holding their newborns, cradling them as if they’re the entire world, and occasionally stealing quick glances through the catalogues Jade’s kept has you considering the idea.

Considering. Not agreeing. It lurks in a shadowed corner of your mind. You never give it much thought unless Jade’s prompted it with his inquisitive nature, or he makes a show of slipping a condom on each time the two of you fuck, making precisely sure you’re observing him so that you know he’s wearing protection—so you’re reminded that, if you really wanted it, he could do away with the condom and give you a child. Sometimes the primal part of you considers asking for it raw, but the sensible part of you is grateful for his conscientiousness.

You can only stay strong for so long, though.

Like your husband, your wedding is perfectly organized. Your families get along well, with the Leeches having taken transformation potions to attend the ceremony. Floyd is all over you during the reception, twirling you on the dance floor while Jade engages in friendly chatter with his and your parents. You overhear them mention pregnancy; you know it’s not a random conversation topic. You know Jade has smoothly eased them into that discussion. Floyd’s pace is dizzying; he’s nearly yanking you into an arrhythmic waltz and you struggle to keep up with both him and the conversation you’re eavesdropping on. It might be the wine and the congratulatory encouragements from family and friends that twist your senses, but in that moment you think a child wouldn’t be a terrible addition to your life.

The ski village is as lively as it is quaint. Winter honeymoons are unheard of in the Coral Sea. The ice makes it difficult to navigate frigid waters, and so for that reason many merfolk prefer warmer climates for their romantic trysts. “Spring and summer are the best seasons for mating,” Jade conveniently adds, as if that line was absolutely necessary. His hand splays across your stomach while he sits beside you in the café, a pleasant smile brightening his handsome features. You peer at the wedding band on his finger. The two of you are bound for life, connected like stars in the sky.

We could connect in other ways, a tiny voice mutters in the back of your mind.

The cabin you’re staying at is situated within a forest of pines blanketed by heavy snowfall. There’s something intimate about spending your honeymoon in isolation, where it’s just you and Jade tucked away in a sliver of the world. Perhaps you’re living in a dream, for when you shut your phone off after browsing articles written by mothers-to-be to welcome Jade into bed you finally ask a question that’s been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now.

“Can we...” You avert your eyes, suddenly embarrassed. “Can we make a baby?”

Jade’s hand interlaces with yours. His fingers curl under your chin, guiding you to his mismatched eyes. This dream must be particularly vivid because the tender fondness he wears surely isn’t a mask for victory. Right?

“Of course we can,” he whispers, lithe fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “We can make as many as you’d like.”

Jade adores all positions, but this time he has you folded into missionary while he takes an annoyingly lengthy time prepping you, his head buried between your thighs while his slender fingers tease your clit with fleeting touches. He’s making a show of his win; you’re sure of it. And this time, rather than a condom, you watch him squirt lube into his hand to run up the thick length of his cock. He smirks as he looms over you, pressing a kiss to your lips as he slides in. You lace your arms around his neck and hook your legs around his waist to feel him deeper, all the while moaning so sweetly.

“How precious,” he coos, aiming a particularly rough thrust at your cervix. You throw your head back, digging your nails into his back. “You fall apart so easily, my dear.”

Even if baby fever hadn’t overwhelmed you, the sewing needles Jade’s packed are sharp enough to poke through the complimentary condoms. You’re already shackled to him by way of wedding vows; a child is just the final piece in Jade’s perfect puzzle.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ꜰʟᴏʏᴅ ʟᴇᴇᴄʜ

Floyd is in a foul mood. You can tell because every inch of him is all taut, rippled muscle, his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder how it hasn’t shattered yet. His hands curl around the steering wheel as if it’s a person's neck, knuckles blanching with the sheer pressure of his grip. You sit beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly in your lap, while he speeds down the dark, desolate road, illuminated only by the new headlights on his sports car. He had to get them fixed after a certain...accident, which Jade had been so kind to fund (otherwise Floyd would have let them stay broken).

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, running your thumb over the top of your hand.

“S’not Shrimpy’s fault.”

And you know it’s not. He’d brought you out of the house to attend an underground gathering after his father had pestered him to go because, according to Floyd, he had to “put himself in the lamprey pit” if he was to smoothly take his father’s place as head of the family business in the coming years. The consolation had been that you would be coming along for the ride, which meant Floyd would be in a considerably brighter disposition with you at his side. But then some filthy remarks had been thrown your way a few hours in and it had set Floyd off, who nearly tore through the offender in his wrathful fury.

“Do your hands hurt? I’ll bandage them when we get home.”

Floyd doesn’t answer; his eyes remain glued to the lonesome street ahead. You’re not sure how much farther he drives before he’s pulling over, slamming his foot upon the brake so that the car comes screeching to a halt. The forest closes in on his side, branches nearly touching the hood of the car with how close he’s aligned it in the space between road and forest. You stare at him, well-accustomed to his mercurial temperament, while he puts the car in park.

Floyd turns to you, his features soft in the moonlight. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

You’re past the point of fright. How can you possibly shrink away from him when he’s only ever been good to you in the months following your kidnapping? Perhaps you’ve learned to live with him, razored edges and all, or perhaps you’re just happy to know that he’d never turn his frustrations on you.

“I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared you’d hurt yourself.”

“Those small fry bastards couldn’t hurt me even if they wanted to.” His face contorts into a scowl. “Really pissed me off, though, sayin’ those gross things about my shrimpy...”

“I... I can make it up to you...to make you feel better.”

I’ll cook him his favorite, you think, hoping there are enough ingredients at home.

Floyd stares at you, half of his face shadowed by the trees that tower over the windshield. And then a wide, toothy grin spreads on his lips.

“Aah? Shrimpy’s gonna make me feel better?”

He tilts his head curiously, leaning in until you’re practically breathing him in. You realize now that his idea of “feeling better” differs greatly from yours, but you go along with it anyway, too shaken from the past hour to truly think of much other than how close to death you’d come—how close you’d seen Floyd get to that edge, baring his teeth out of the animalistic instinct to protect.

He’s fond of you; that much is very obvious. Perhaps he’s owed a reward for his undying devotion.

The passenger seat is slid as far back as it can possibly go, with Floyd leaning into the cushiony leather to admire how you sit awkwardly in his lap, his cock nestled deep inside slick, gummy walls. You exhale a series of shaky breaths as you adjust to his size, all while he watches with rapt adoration, his hands cradling your breasts. He’s draped his suit jacket over your bare shoulders—he said something about making you smell more like him—and slid the flowing, ruffled fabric of your mermaid dress to the side to rip your panties from your skin.

Despite how long you’ve been in his care, this is the second time he’s fucked you. The first was against the counter in the kitchen, when you’d been preparing a lazy breakfast in one of his oversized shirts, and he’d slid his leaking cock between your thighs, caging you in against the counter with strong, sturdy arms. If you wanted to be technical about it, this is the first time he’s inside you—truly fucking you, connecting as one—but you doubt the distinction matters much.

“Been thinkin’ lately,” Floyd mumbles absentmindedly as he toys with your puffy nipples, pinching and pulling just to watch your lip quiver with barely subdued whines. You roll your hips experimentally, gasping through shuddered breaths. He’s big, filling you entirely, but despite his size he handles you so gently. “Shrimpy’d look awfully cute with lotsa baby shrimpys.”

Your lust-lidded eyes meet his. “A...” You swallow your moans and attempt to sound composed despite his teasing thrusts, his hips meeting your ass halfway each time. Wet squelching fills the car, and the scent of sex mixed with Floyd’s sandalwood cologne blankets the cramped space that confines you. “A baby is a little...”

“It’d show all those bastards that you’re mine,” he says, grinding his thumb into your clit. You sigh blissfully, bracing yourself against his broad chest. He laughs, high and nasally, as if this topic is particularly silly and not at all life-changing, and adds in a casually delighted tone, “C’mon, Shrimpy. Lemme fill ya up nice and good. I wanna see how big you’ll get. You think I could give you three in one go?”

He laughs again, this time with more determination, and seizes your hips to guide you at his preferred pace: fast and sloppy. You collapse against him, digging your nails into his shoulders, and any protests you might have had are quickly snuffed with a series of sinful wails. Your rationality melts away when he thrusts up and hits a spongy spot within you. You curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, and reach your climax with a pleasured sob. Floyd’s nearing his end, his groans filling your ears like the sweetest song, and he slams your hips down to keep you pinned on his cock when he empties his spend deep inside.

His lips press against the crinkle in your eye, tongue slipping out to gather your tears. “Let’s go two more rounds! One for each baby shrimpy, ‘kay?”

You don’t have the heart to refuse him.

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birdie-writ3s · 2 years ago

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Longing

Prompt: Yandere Self Aware Vil au - Vil is aware that we are the player/god, while the others are not, because of the strong connection that the player has with him.

Author’s Note: Hi Birb here! This is my first post here on Tumblr! I wrote something quick just in time for Vil’s birthday! This is a special gift for my Vil lover friend <3 Have a nice day/night darlings/fledglings~!

CW: Yandere and Delusional

Word Count: 958

“Rook I have a question for you”, Vil asked his vice housewarden while they were walking towards their first subject for the day.

“What is it that has been bothering you, Roi de Poison?” Rook replied.

“Have you ever thought that Twisted Wonderland is fake?”, Vil asked.

“What?”,Rook stopped walking and turned to face Vil eye-to-eye.

“What if everything is just a simulation and nothing here is re-?!”, Vil looked at Rook’s eye only to stopped when he saw Rook’s glitching face.

ẁ̶̫͓͖̝͙͓̗͍̟̜̉̏̈h̸̹̜̀̄̒̾̓̏͋̔̎��̀͘a̸̜̽̅̅͑̃̓̄̆̓͌̿͂̽̕̚t̵̨̛̹̻͛̅̆̊͗̽͋̾̒͗ ̴̯̟̩̘͚̤̟̈́̈́ḍ̶̡̢̗̖͂̂̍̎̉̾̊ỏ̸̧̲̩̮̞̉̀͛̂͜͜ ̵̨͒̐̎̆y̵͎͋͜ǫ̴̬̭̺͙͙̬̝̮̺͉̥͉̓̈́̏̆͋̓̍̌̓̏̑͊u̶̧̢̠͙̫̩̓̂̾̊̔͗͒̌̐͗̏̌̍͜͜ ̴͔̟̙̦̤̳̤̪̞̙̭̝͌̅̊̐͋̕m̶͙̲̩̥̻̝̜̪̅̅̋̆̓́̒͠͝é̵̢̢̖͚̪̩̭͉̹͔̟̤̣̞̓̀͋͐̈̄̀̃̂͜͝ä̵͔͚͎͉̥̣̤̍̈́̋͊̈̄̒̔̇̀̇͘̕n̸̡̪̺̪͓̯͍͎͉̔́̎̇̆͊̑́̈́̕ ̵̢̢̛̮̪̗̦̺̓̇̈́͊̑͆̆̒Ŕ̴̗̖̗̖̪̘͔̫͔̙̰͇̯̬̉̍̑̂̏̃́͘͜͝͝o̸̢̡͕̣̦̯̲̪͔̓̀̆́̀͌̓̿̍̅̚͠i̷̙̪͔̜̬̩̥̪͆̃̇̇͜ ̶̣̫̥͒̋́̌̀̀̑̈̀̈́͝d̶̨̞̭̗͔̤̤͚̠͚͖͓̐͆̾̔̈́͑̅̀̌e̵̛̦̘͎̯͐͐̐̀ ̷͓̞͕͕̘̖͑́̑̓P̸̛͖̠̅́͑̒̃̄̊͑͌͌̉̚͝o̶̡̘̟̣̩̪̠̖̅́̅͊̒̊ḭ̸̛̖̗͚͌̒̐̀͂̀́̔̈́̑̋́̕s̷̡̺̞̫͎̥͋̇̒̌͌́o̷͓͓̟̟̠̱̮͙̭̰̎͜͜ņ̴̥̫͎͓̝͔͕̬̙̲̟͚̫͍͂̚?̵̣̰͇̂͛̾̎̒̆̀̇̽̍͋͋̃͒ ̴̨̛͖͙̲͖͖̪̳̠͔͕̎̀̽̃̓̎͛̐̒̽͘͜͝A̷̡̨̢̤̠̜͍̟̾ͅr̸̨͕̫̝͖͈̹̪͉̦͎̯͍̋̈́͒͊ȩ̶̣̲̰̳̩̬͙̰̱̺̻̩̘̅̎̋n̵̡̯̣͚͓̉̎̑̊́͌̈́̔̇͝'̵͖̙̈̀͂̈́́̆́̉͘͝t̷̨͑͌̽̿̓̆̇̅̕ ̷̨̩͕͇̮͚̭͈̲̯̤͍̖̝̔̉̋̇͋̽̽̒̂́͘̚͝͝w̸̧̧̳͈̦͎͕̹͓̩͈̘͒͗̐̚ͅe̷̼͔̒͌̋̒͂̃̌́̅͐̓̕̕͘͝ ̵̤̘̻̻̟̼̺͎̥̝̂̏̕͝L̶͓̬͇̝͍̜͍̜̤̯͛͌͒͐̇͋̆̽̆̌I̵̡̡̪̱̫̦̥̲͕͍͓̯͒̀͋̈́ͅṼ̷̡̘̩̮̪͙͒̉̄̏̀͒̀͜Ĭ̶̳̠̌̚̕Ņ̷̛̳͓̲̆̾́̅̐̕G̷͎͎̗̬̠̹͙͕̩͎̠̿̋̿͑͊̽̑̽͆̓̇͐̓̅͜ ̶̛̦͚̂̀̉̌͂̀̉̌̎Í̸̡̢̨̪̦̜̣͍͔͈͎͕̣ͅŅ̸̗̲̱̀ ̵̰͇̬̫̹̟̤͍̼͂͐̓́̊̎͛̋̕͜͜͝R̴̡̢͙͎̺͇̺͖̱͂̀̿͜É̸̙͗͛̕̚Ǻ̴̢͕̱͙͎̱͓̃́̔̋̈́̑ͅͅͅĻ̸̧̨̨̫͙̗̖͚̩̯̬̅̌͌̐͜Ǐ̷̛̭͙̭̰̥̱̜͎͕͙̖͐̌͑͋̊̈́͒̍̓̽͝͝T̵̡̛͉̺̣͚̺̠̫̙̅̏͑͋Y̷̳̣̘̺̫͍̦̱͍̬̝͇͚͗̃͆̀̈́͊̌͆̋͛̀̅͊͜?̵͉̔̾̀̈͛̐̽́̉̾!̴̡͖͕̱̺̞͙̰̻̯̥͖͍̪̄͂̃͌̔͛͜

Rook said in an incoherent mess.

It was Vil’s turn to run and he went to the only place that brought him more comfort in this fake simulation world.

The Ramshackle.

…

“I always desire for your touch.

I yearned for the warmth you give me.

I feel empty and lonely without you, my sweet potato

I cannot help but be captivated with my devotion for you.”

…

“I have always loved you, (name)”

Vil was last seen walking down the path to Ramshackle. Nobody knows the intentions behind the housewarden’s actions.

“No one in this twisted game knows how much I loved you, my sweet potato”

…

It has not always been like this.

I used to live thinking that everything around me was real.

When I first laid my eyes upon the vessel during the orientation, I did not feel anything, nor did I find it weird for someone to have such lifeless eyes.

It only started during the time when the rehearsals for the VDC had taken place.

My untimely overblot ultimately proved my assumptions about the identity of the vessel. For the first time, I was able to see the real world.

When I realized that all of my pain was really a plot device for this simulation, something inside of me cracked.

A part of me resented that fact so much.

But when I saw God… no, their name is (name)... and they are the fairest person that I had ever laid my eyes upon.

I want their beauty…

I want them

I̴͍̋̋͜ ̴̠̯̈́w̴̛̯̤̍A̴͈̋ṋ̷͎͝͝Ṫ̵̫̬ ̶͎̀t̷̹͔̏Ḫ̵͂́e̸̩̳͝M̷̟̎ ̴͓͊̒f̸̗͗Ŏ̴̖r̶̙̅̐ ̸͚̘̒͠M̴̹̕e̶̢͉͑

̷̘̋̽

̵̥̲̆̀G̸͔̊I̵͔̿V̷̮̔̃E̴̱̦̋͘ ̴̢̗̓̿T̸͙̬͌͒H̸͕̐̄Ę̵́̈Ḿ̴̰͎ ̸͉͊̈́T̴̬̈́͛O̷̹͝ ̶̝͔͛M̸͎̑͋È̶͔͝

Alas, something sinister has started to bloom inside of me.

…

“I long to hear you chuckle

That exquisite treasure, yearn for

The sparkle in the corners of your eyes.

I adore hearing your voice,

It is obvious that I'm infatuated with you.”

…

As time went on, Vil’s infatuation with (name) grew into an overwhelming obsession. He would track down (name)’s playing schedule, watching their every move, and finding excuses to be near the vessel. Vil would spend hours searching through hundreds of magical books to learn how to travel through different worlds and dimensions.

It did not take too long for someone as powerful as Vil to learn the “code” behind the game and to start manipulating the game itself.

When Vil, their favourite character, started saying lines that were obviously out of character with what they were used to hearing, (Name) began to find it unsettling.

Lines such as,

“(Name), you would never leave me right? You and I had been made for each other”

And

“DARLING WHERE WERE YOU? Oh come on, I cannot believe that you will leave me for a few days after all of the things I had done for you? I have sacrificed so much for YOU and this is how you will repay me?!”

The player was too flabbergasted to even think about how it was possible for a game character to say this. Is this a new update? Perhaps increasing the character’s rank in a card has some special effects such as this? Probably…

…

“I envision both of us lying together side by side,

In each other's embrace, there is nowhere to escape.

My love for you has taken over my soul,

I am so obsessed with you, it is simply beyond my control.”

...

A few days after hearing that line, everything went back to normal, at least that was what the player thought. When they were not looking, Vil could be seen working on something.

After months of research about dimensional traveling, his labor has finally come to fruition.

Vil finally found a way to permanently make you his.

To permanently make you stay for good in this dark and twisted wonderland.

…

“I will follow you to the ends of this twisted world,

Just to be worthy of your love, I would give you everything.

I cannot resist this burning desire inside of me,

The devotion the lit my heart on fire, making me even more obsessed with you”

…

Vil's obsession with the player took over his life. He lost interest in his hobbies, neglected his friendships and housewarden responsibilities, and became fixated solely on getting the player to this perfectly simulated world. He would spend hours daydreaming about their imaginary future together, planning their perfect life as a couple in his mind.

“It was only a matter of time… just a little bit more”

“Please, my sweet potato, do not reject my love,

For in your absence, I cannot see the light of my ever so tiring days.

I am beyond salvation from this obsessive love,

Let us spend the rest of our days together and F O R E V E R, my sweet potato.”

…

The evening before his graduation, Vil finally finished all the preparations to make his beloved potato join him in this perfectly simulated world. It is only a matter of time before everything will be set in place.

“I swear to the Great Seven, no matter how long it takes, I WILL make YOU come home to ME”

T̷̮͆͊̌̂͛͋͂̎̾̿͗̀̄̏̋h̷̨̘̦̪̮̻̻̩̭̘̀̄͊̉͋̋͑̐͆̾̍͗͆͛͠ȩ̴̡̟̣̥͕̩͖̭̱̥̬̟̻̲̓͂͐͊͒̇̈́͘͜͝ͅ ̵̨̳͉͓̥͇̱͔͓̜̬͍̙̱͖̪͂̀̋͊̽̐͛͒͛̎͋̌͘̚̚͠e̴͚̭͚̪̬̼̗̖̖̅͑̄͊̀̽̈́͐͊̅̂̕̕͜͝ņ̸̨̛̯̘͕̘͈̝͓͉̩͚̱̹̝̤̰̏̓̒͊͐̐̍͐͐̿̉̈́̎̕͜ḋ̷̨͓̭̲̟͙̠̺̟̩̗̜̲̝̲̭͎͐͋̌ͅ?̴̢̡̨͇̥̘̞͖̫̊̓̊̈́́̆̐͆͒͒̚͜͠ͅ

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twstgarden · 1 year ago

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✰ ❝ 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗿𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗺𝗲? ❞

━ yan! malleus draconia, yan! vil schoenheit x gn! reader (reader can either be yuu or an oc/twstsona) ━ it seems you have caught the eye of a certain dorm leader(s) in night raven college, but it doesn't seem like he'll let you run off and not be his. you have no choice but to marry him, and you have no choice but to be his perfect lover.

cw: (including but not limited to) yandere themes, mentions of kidnapping, slight dollification, non-consensual drug use, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships, mentions of forced marriage

requested by: anonymous request type: oneshot requester’s message: Hello mina!! Can i please request a yandere vil or malleus one-shot any pronouns is good hehe and i really really LOVE your dévouement like when there's an update to the main story i always thought your story first tbh im more excited to your story than the main hehe that's all sorry for the rant thank you po have a great day!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡ florist’s note: hello po, dévouement reader! <3 i'm really glad you love the book! i have dropped an update on that a few days ago~ as for your request, i'll do both vil and malleus, thank you for your request!

might include spoilers for chp 6 and 7! f/n means first name. do not steal or translate without my permission.

— 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙖 —

the silence was deafening in this godforsaken room. you were not even certain if you are locked up in the main castle of the dormitory or in the other area connected to it on the right side of diasomnia's map. you have been here for days, or was it weeks? months? you do not know.

all you knew is you missed a lot of classes now and you have no idea if your friends are searching for you at this very moment.

it has been way too quiet for a while now, it was starting to drive you mad.

you want to be free from this room, you want to speak to another living being, you want to take in the scent of fresh air, you want to be away from him.

everything was fine at the start, or so you thought. you had no idea what you did wrong for him to kidnap you in your sleep and lock you up in this room. you had no chains or ropes tied to your wrists and ankles. in fact, you were not even tied to anything at all! you can freely jump off the window to escape if you wish to.

oh, please. of course, you have tried that. and where did you end up? still in this room. it seems like he used some sort of magic in this room to make it hard for you to escape.

it was a huge disadvantage that you had to be kidnapped by one of the most powerful mages in the world.

'click.'

a noise.

finally. the silence was starting to drive you mad already. your eyes widened as you watched the door slightly open ajar before a tall figure entered the room, closing the door behind him as he approached you. he sat on the corner of the bed and smiled gently at you as if he did not just abduct you and lock you up in this room.

"my dear..."

his voice was deep and tender, clearly lovestruck by you as he caressed your cheek gently with the back of his hands. however, your eyes remained on the door, thinking of ways to escape and run away from here.

he seemed to have noticed your lingering gaze on the exit door, which made him frown as he placed his finger under your chin and pulled your face up to look at him.

and once your eyes met his pained gaze, his finger stroked your cheek as he whispered, "please don't look at the door. i don't want to feel like you're trying to run away from me."

"then set me free."

you demanded softly, wanting to keep that slightly peaceful conversation going, not wanting to piss him off as you still wish to go to sleep with all four limbs intact. his pained gaze turned even sadder as he sat closer to you, "but why? i give you everything you could possibly need. we are to be wed soon, my love. you'll have all the riches you need, you'll have the finest jewellery and clothes in the world, you'll live in my palace and be royalty..."

it might sound like a dream, but it isn't what you desire. you don't even see him in a romantic way either. you wanted to tear up as you imagined your future the moment he mentions marriage, "...i don't want those. i want to go back... i want to see my friends... i don't want to get married, i don't want to become a royal consort with no freedom..."

your words seemed to make him upset. who would reject his offer? he's giving you everything that he thinks would make you happy! his eyes narrowed as he looked at you and huffed, "why would you choose that? all they do is take you away from me."

"i was never yours to begin with!" you argued as tears started to prickle at the corner of your eyes, growing desperate to be free and be away from him and anyone associated with him.

after your little outburst, it was uncomfortably silent in the room, only your soft sniffles and breathing were heard as he sat before you with an unreadable expression, but you knew he was pissed as hell now.

he suddenly stood up and turned his back on you, walking away from the bed and heading to the door. the last thing you heard from him before he left your room and locked the door made you want to sob even more.

"we are getting married whether you like it or not. you do not have a choice."

— 𝙫𝙞𝙡 𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙣𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙩 —

the lights of pomefiore's bedrooms normally appear aesthetically pleasing to you, but right now, it served as a frustrating reminder that you have been in the same room for more than 24 hours now, staring at the same objects over and over again, unable to move your limbs to run away from this wretched room.

the brush tickling your cheeks, as it applied a red hue to them, felt like thorns brushing and scratching your skin despite its softness. it was unbearable. you have been sitting on this vanity chair for far too long now, not even sure of how you look like with how you've been tickled and dabbed with makeup brushes and sponges all day long.

a pair of amethyst eyes carefully watched as his hands did all the work on dolling up your face. once he was satisfied, he turned the vanity chair around to make you face the mirror.

you look like a fashion doll.

at least it was better than looking like a clown caked with makeup.

you had to admit, his skills were good. the makeup suits you perfectly and the outfit he made you wear looks gorgeous on you, but it would have been better if he did not paralyze you in the first place with his unique magic by cursing your drink.

you could not respond. you could not even move your hand to touch your face, but he seemed very pleased with himself as he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand.

"you look perfect."

perfect.

you were nothing but perfect in his eyes right after he dolls you up every time. you felt like you were just a mannequin for him to beautify and show off to everyone, claiming you were his darling lover, that you would forever be the love of his life.

even if you were paralyzed, your eyes filled up with tears. you wanted nothing more than to run away from this place and hide. vil clicked his tongue at the sight of your tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

"if you dare mess up my work with your tears, i'm cursing your drink again and i'll redo everything."

you wished you could stop, but his threats sent your heart throbbing with fear as you could not hold it in anymore. tears started to roll down your cheeks as the fear in your heart grew, wishing you could just disappear in the blink of an eye, but alas, you were not blessed with magic, unlike everyone else in this prestigious academy.

vil groaned and harshly held your face by your cheeks, messing up the makeup with your tears and making you look at the mirror as he glared at your reflection, "look what you've done."

and as if the gods have heard your plea, you can suddenly move again. it has been past the time limit of when his unique magic's conditions are met, and once you regained your mobility, you held onto his wrist and tried to pull his hand away from your face.

"please, stop! i'm sorry, i'll fix it!" you pleaded, sobbing even more as vil pulled his hand away from your face and landed a slap on your cheek before making you look at him again. "fix? you're not even good enough to apply makeup on your own," hissed the man harshly as he glared at you.

he sighed as he stood straight, closing his eyes and placing his fingers on his temple to show how stressed he was. the pomefiore dorm leader looked at you with a glare before grabbing your cup on his bedside table, refilling it with your drink of choice and casting his unique magic on it.

this time, his conditions included a longer time limit than earlier.

vil stood before you with the cursed or drugged drink and held your face with one hand to try and pry your mouth open. he brought the glass to your lips, forcing you to drink the beverage as you started hitting his arm and struggling, hoping he would stop forcing the cursed drink down your throat, but his strength was overwhelming. his grip on your cheeks made it feel like your face was about to break if he gripped you a little harder.

you struggled to push him away as he forced the drink down your throat, and once he was finished, he placed the cup on his desk and made you sit properly, leaving you paralyzed in that same position once again.

tears continued to stream down your cheeks as you sobbed and pleaded for him to stop. at least this time, his conditions did not include taking away your ability to speak. vil leaned down to look at you right into your fearful eyes as he whispered, "stop looking so frightened when i'm around."

vil gave you a small smile before placing a tender kiss on your forehead. it felt patronising, as if he was taking any ounce of authority you have left in you and taking full control of your life. he leaned his cheek on your head as you both looked into your reflections in the mirror, seeing his endearing smile after doing something drastic to you made you sick to your stomach.

how could he smile after treating you so harshly?

"i'm only doing this out of love, my darling. you have to look perfect before we go out for dinner, no?"

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married-to-google-translater · 6 months ago

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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

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plumipal · 4 months ago

Text

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-

If you wanna read the whole 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

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 7 months ago

Note

omgg yess plz part two of the overblotts

Overblot Universe (2) | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Part 1 • 3 • 4 • 5

“I’d be wrong not to speak my peace when both parties so clearly have withstanding debts with me.”

Both of you turn behind to look at the newcomer

Smiling wide he’s holding up a golden glowing contract

Idia sucks his teeth moving to summon Ortho to attack

The blotted version does attempt to attack the overblotted Azul before being launched back after touching the golden shield that flashes around him

“You seem to have forgotten that my all-powerful contracts don’t allow for your retaliation!”

“Ahhhh!!!”

Overblotted Azul holds the contract up which sends an electric shock to Idia

He’s wailing like a baby completely missing the inky tentacle that grabs you by the waist

Pulling you towards him, you have no choice but to lean against him

“Good to see you, traitorous pearl. We have so much to discuss.”

Two of his tentacles squeeze along your sides as he lets his lips linger near your ear

“S-s-S–T-O P it!!!”

The pitiful wail comes from the blotted Idia who is doing his best to fight the constant beam of electrocution

The octopus-mer glares at him before letting that twisted smile spread back on his face

“As a small currency back to me we’ll be using your technology to take our exit. Us two will be very busy with our own marriage contracts.”

“nO!”

His cries are ignored as you feel the familiar tingle of Idia’s teleportation working

When you are able to open your eyes again you find Azul expertly drifting in clouded water filled with ink

Barely able to make anything out you can begin to recognize the familiar office to the one in the Monstro Lounge

“To think he’d put you in such restraints when he’s bold enough to use his words. He just can’t stand being civil like us, right (Y/n).”

Azul easily slips a slither of his tentacle past your binds

getting ahold of the metal before he parts bending and then breaking it

In no time at all of your metal cuffs are on the floor bent and torn threw floating near your feet

It makes you especially vigilant when you feel the stray but exploring touches of the suctions on his tentacles

“Now that we’re alone, the subject of your contract is well over due.”

“But I haven’t signed anything with you.”

“I took the liberty of doing everything for you, I just need a bit more confirmation.”

You begin to struggle when you feel your arms bein pulled in the direction of a golden contract that’s still being written by a quill that writes on it’s own

“All that’s left to seal our union will be these special pearls of mine. Something I’ve crafted from the moment you sent me to this dystopian wasteland.”

Shivers go down your back at the further distortion in his voice

Only able to cowe away as his tentacles bring you closer to his string of pearls that have a similar golden glow

Looking at the contract in the corner you can’t help but tremble in fear

it’s much longer than a simple paper and the quill is writing even faster now

Nonetheless you are coming close to the smiling overblot of Azul with no signs of stopping

Until he wheezes and falls over

His tentacles loosen allowing you to wiggle free

The golden contract stops crumpling in on itself and the quill blips away

You also begin to cough as something dark wisps in the water-like-space around you

You fall over as well attempting to keep your eyes open as long as you can before seeing a silhouette reaching out to you

“You have been a thorn in my side for far too long.”

Hearing the twisted voice above you almost doesn’t make you want to open your eyes

But the nudging of something at your lips makes you snap your eyes open

It’s an overblotted Vil glaring regally at you as he continues to urge some inky substance into your mouth

Turning your head you find it weighs so much heavier than your used to

The same could be said for your for your arms

Looking down finding jewels tied around the arms of a chair

More accurately a throne

Looking confused at the overblotted Vil silently asking the question you had

“Do not be so cold. Your queen only wishes to ease the pain.”

“W-what pain?”

“Do not mumble. Those meant for the mirror should never mumble.”

You only tilted your head in confusion as he backed a bit away from you

Motioning his hand toward a silver mirror similar to the one back home

Holding his hand out a black and purple shine made the mirror’s black center begin to twist and turn like ink being dipped into

Before it can do anything overblotted Vil’s hands hold your face

Tensing as if decided to prick his metal claws into your skin and caressing them with fondness

Your own eyes meeting stormy purples before your lips are captured by black lips

The kiss is incredibly deep and purposeful

As though it was practiced a thousand times before

When he did pull away you faintly taste something unknown down your throat and the strength leaving your body like oxygen

“We both will have to wait until after the battle. Any good Queen knows their King is their most valuable asset.”

Gaining your bearings you try to speak only to feel your voice die in your throat as something cools over your skin

Looking down the ink crawling up your skin is reaching from the mirror

The ink is cool and you can feel it pulling you from the throne you were on the binds snapping

You begin to scream as you feel an uncomfortable tug at your heart

You barely register the hands cupping the back of your head and the pinprick of another kiss on your forehead

“Hush hush. Your time in the mirror will be short, your Queen plans to make quick work of all those…pests.”

Relentinig to the pull you stopped fighting the pulling ink

Curling up in the somehow not so wet expanse of the mirror you barely caught the possessive smile of the over blotted Vil as he adjusted the mirror to stand in some unknown room.

“Sleep well.”

You do

It feels nice to release your body of the tense feeling of constantly being alert

You blame whatever Vil had given you

Dreaming vaguely of what his plans would be when he returned

The crown still on your head might have been the beginning of what they were

No matter

All that you could do was rest

And sleep….

And stay….

“Do not tell me? This is where you have been hiding?”

“I told you he’d do something like this.”

“Well Viper. A deals a deal. Shall we take them home?”

Part 3

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yan-lorkai · 4 months ago

Text

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Just a little something I've written at work bcs I finished everything already aaaa

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, poisoning, gn!reader

Yandere!Vil who, everytime you go out with your friends or go on a date with an undeserving, ugly boy, makes you a smoothie. It's the best smoothie you ever had. And while you love to drink and would love to ask for a seconds, Vil denies you. Because isn't healthy or something like that.

Yandere!Vil who puts a little something on the smoothies you so willing drink. Sometimes it's laxative, sometimes a harmless poison. Either way, by association, everytime you go out with your friends you feel sick. Your whole body shudders, your stomach hurts, there's a cold sweat clinging to your skin as your vision start to blur. And your friends only think you're lying about because you don't want to hang out with them anymore, so they just don't invite you anymore.

Yandere!Vil who wipes your tears because you don't know why you're getting sick so often and because of how frustrating it is that your so called friends started to ghost you with no reason. Also yandere!Vil who tells you that if they're ghosting you just because of this they aren't truly your friends.

Yandere!Vil who offers you another smoothie with a antidote. So whenever you are with him, you don't feel sick, in fact, you are healthier than ever, your skin is glowing, your hair is shiny, nothing hurts. And so you think it's because Vil is your safe haven, the one who shields you from everything and everyone. And you are so far from the truth, it's kind of adorable to him.

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rendy-a · 1 year ago

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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.

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