#vil schoenheit x oc

[dilatorywriting]

Truth Potion

Vil Schoenheit x OC x Rook Hunt Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: Truth Potions should be banned from the proximity of any and all far-too-attractive people for all time. Least of all when dating one of them who would be far to keen to use said lack-of-filter to his advantage.

[OC Archive]

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content! WARNING for References to a Character's Previous Death

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

The potion exploding in her face was nothing unusual. Saya had been cursed with cat ears, and fluffy tails, and all sorts of strange ailments at this point. It was like there was a target on her back that the universe had put there saying ‘hey! You! Don’t let this poor idiot escape a single potions lesson unscathed!’

What wasn’t familiar was the strange, staticky lull all throughout her mouth. Making her tongue feel light as a feather.

“That didn’t taste very bad,” she mumbled to herself, and then wondered why she’d muttered anything at all. “But I guess a lot of things don’t taste as bad as I was expecting them to.”

“Oh?” Deuce coughed, good-natured despite his own singed eyebrows. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “Cum.”

And then immediately screamed into her hands like she was being murdered point blank. She gasped against her palms in horror. Because she did not just say that. Out loud. In public.

“I didn’t mean to say that!” she wailed. “I haven’t even told Vil that! And he’s the one who’d actually want to know!”

She clamped her fingers over her mouth again and screamed louder.

“Oh my god,” Ace chirped, like this was the greatest gift God could have ever gifted him and all of mankind. “You got truth dosed.”

Ro blinked in worry from his place at the desk nearby. “Is she going to be alright?”

“No!” Saya wailed.

“Quick!” Ace beamed, dashing forward like a hound after a hare. “Ask her everything you’ve always wanted to know! Before it wears off!”

“Or before she kills us,” Jack scowled under his breath.

“I would never kill you,” Saya said, serious. “I don’t think I could. You’re too beefy. But you’re too nice too. The best. Right behind Deuce.”

“Oh,” Jack rumbled, gold eyes going wide and then quickly shooting away.

“This seems a bit like we’re taking advantage…” Robyn mumbled, looking guilty.

“Thank you,” Saya huffed. “Because—”

“Do you like me, yes or no?” the redhead blurted as fast as he could, and then immediately looked terribly chagrinned about it.

“If anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I wish you were actually my brother so I could finally have something good in my stupid genetic pool.” The words tumbled out like the shrapnel from a bomb—wild, and uncontrolled, and loud. Saya squawked in indignation. “Robyn Starling!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I just—I needed to know!”

“Fuck you!”

“Out of everyone in this room, who would you wanna fuck the most?” Ace piped in, like a rabid little demon.

“Jamil!” Saya blurted, and immediately covered her mouth in horror. Said Vice-Warden’s head popped up from his place hovering over his own cauldron, and he immediately looked like he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear from their entire plane of existence. But then, like some kind of absolutely malicious trick of fate, the words just kept coming. “Or Professor Crewel.”

“Someone go get Schoenheit,” the man in question groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Quickly.”

.

.

“A truth potion?” Vil muttered, rubbing his thumbs along a dot of blue smeared high along her cheekbone. “That’s all?”

“That I can tell,” Professor Crewel sighed.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Saya grouched, and then seemed to reconsider. “Actually, that was probably when I killed myself the first time around. But this is pretty up there.” Another pause. “Worst day of my life so far.”

Vil fought the urge to dig his fingers into his temples. He could already feel the stress headache forming. The last thing he needed was the add new wrinkles on top of that.

“How long until it wears off?”

“Hopefully no more than a day,” Crewel hummed, considering. “Perhaps sooner, if you can get her cleaned up quickly enough.”

“He can never clean me quick enough,” Saya complained past the shield of her fingers. “He always ends up fucking me in the bath, which is entirely counterproductive. Especially when he’s the one complaining about tight schedules. Like, sir, it’s your own fault you’re late. You didn’t have to spend half an hour with your tongue up my—”

Vil clamped a hand over her mouth and Saya looked grateful beyond measure.

“Please just get her out of public,” Crewel sighed, looking like he’d aged ten years over the course of the afternoon. “Before I have an aneurism.”

Saya said something else against Vil’s palm, but thankfully it came out too garbled and flat to comprehend.

“Of course, sir.”

The House Warden dragged his miserable, red-faced girlfriend out the office doors and down a back hallway—determined to skulk away to Pomefiore as stealthily as he could possibly manage.  

“God, what I wouldn’t give to be in the center of a Schoenheit-Crewel sandwich,” she sighed once his palm was off her lips, and then immediately paled from head to toe, like a ghost. “I might actually kill myself again.”

“Do not even joke about that,” he snapped.

“Can it be a joke if I’m under a truth spell?”

“You know,” Vil smiled, poisonously poised and vicious, “Perhaps I should go back and let you make your offer in person, hmm? I’m on decent enough terms with the Professor. Perhaps we can make an arrangement, if you’re being so truthful in the moment.”

Saya tucked both hands over her mouth and allowed herself to be herded back towards the elaborate, Pomefiore dorms in silence.

.

.

The bath that followed was entirely unsexy, and Saya nearly bit through her bottom lip in an effort to keep her bubbling complaints under wraps. Vil practically dunked her like a rag against a washboard, and she couldn’t help but think that he always got a bit like this—a bit too upset, a bit too mean—whenever her untimely demise was brought up all over again. Which, on one hand, she couldn’t blame him. Whenever Robyn talked about his own death, it made her stomach fall and her hair stand on end. And if Vil had done what she had—Well. She’d be upset too. So she sat politely and quietly in her towel until the stupid potion got the better of her. 

“I just don’t get it,” she said into his glacial sneer. “It’s not like it matters.”

“The fact that we’re having this argument yet again when you can’t even physically lie about it tells me you need more therapy than there exists on this godforsaken planet.”

“I am a little broken,” she shrugged, and something in the model’s amethyst eyes went so terribly sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I meant it. But I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t like upsetting you.”

Vil sighed and reached out to dry her hair, gentler now. Scrubbing the soft towel over her short, blonde, waves in little circles.

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll reward your valiant efforts by not pushing all of the things I would so love to use this opportunity to push.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she hummed, leaning into his kneading. “Not if it’s you. Not really, at least. Even if it is embarrassing.” She paused, and he watched her try to physically swallow down the words in her mouth before they came tumbling out anyways. “Your cum tastes good, by the way. Well, not good. Not like, I don’t know, candy or whatever. But like, not bad at all. I thought you should know. Because I said it earlier, but you weren’t around. And now you are. And now I also need to throw myself out the nearest window.”

The startled laugh that ripped out of his throat was entirely less dignified than he would have liked.

“Is that so?” he trilled, beyond amused. “I suppose I’m glad my healthy diet has been useful for… other unexpected benefits, as well.”

Her face screwed up like he’d forced her to drink rotten milk and he couldn’t help himself from feeling hopelessly fond at this miserable, sopping wet, little wreck of a person.  

“Anything else you’d like to confess?” he grinned. “While I have your full attention?”

More nose scrunching. “What do you want to know?”

It sounded like the question had to be pried out of her mouth with pliers. Vil’s smile went a little wicked. He dropped the towel to his bedroom floor so that he could dig his fingers into her damp hair.  

“What’s your favorite part? Of all the things I’ve done to you?”

“That you’ve loved me,” she said instantly, and that teasing mew melted off his face in a heartbeat. Saya looked positively stricken. “Oh my god, please. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I love you,” he chirped, mocking, and she made a gagging noise. “But as touched as I am by your sentimentality, I had meant on the more physical side of things. It’s so hard to get your honest feedback.”

“I thought you liked that,” she said, a bit mulish. “The whole ‘stubborn’ thing. Having to pin me down.”

Saya watched the round, black circles of his pupils jump and dilate. The twist of his mouth went smug and warm—familiar. In all the best and worst possible ways. 

“Is that why you do it?” he cooed, a dangerous lilt to his voice that had goosebumps dancing down her spine.

“Not completely,” she mumbled, gaze slipping away and cheeks going pink. “I think some of it is just—just me, too,” she gulped as his nose trailed down her neck. “That’s really distracting.”

“Is it?” he drawled.

“I just said it was!”

“You’re so lovely to me, do you know? Working so hard to try and meet my tastes,” he said against her collarbone, and she shivered. “What else could I do for you, I wonder?”

“You do more than enough.”

Vil couldn’t help but feel flattered at the ringing truth in that proclamation, but he pushed forward nonetheless. This was a golden opportunity not to be diminished—not even by the charming warmth of their sentimentality.

“But I could always do more. Tell me—I’m always open with the things I’d like to do to you. What’s something that you’ve always wanted to try.”

“DP,” she burst out, and then immediately ducked her head to shriek against his shoulder. “Oh my god, please forget I just said that. Well, don’t forget it. Because it would be—really, really—I just. Oh my god!”

“You weren’t kidding then,” he tutted, warm and calm, dragging a soothing palm against her lower back, “when you mentioned the professor and I earlier.”

“I mean, only a little. I’d never be able to look Crewel in the eye again. It wouldn’t be worth it. Especially when I think he’s just starting to like me.”

Vil huffed. “He adores you.”

“Yeah, more like he’d like to hit me with a-door.”

“I can see this isn’t the time to address your self-worth issues,” he droned, and then worked to shift back into the direction he’d been so carefully coaxing. “But either way. You were saying? Something about being taken by—"

“I know it’s not practical!” she immediately squeaked. “Like, I am fully aware you only have one dick. And also, like, I love you. I don’t have any desire to like, go around fucking some other random person just to, I don’t know, satisfy some weird fantasy. Everyone has their like, Thing that they’re like ‘wow. That’d be super hot. Will never happen. But damn.’ And that’s just—I don’t know. Mine.” A pause, to take her breath. “Also, like, it takes two to tango. Or, well, three in this case. And I’m still reeling over the fact that I’ve managed to trick one person into sleeping with me, let alone two.” 

Vil couldn’t hold back his snort. “I’m certain you could find more than double that on this campus alone who would be more than willing to step in to fill the role at a moment’s notice.”

She crinkled her nose. “Even if that was true, I still love you most. I don’t want other people.”

“And if I found someone suitable to partake in this? Someone who has perhaps displayed a keen interest in the past and who I trust enough to involve? Someone who’s already proven more than enthusiastic about the topic?” Vil asked, and he watched her eyebrows jump up in startled confusion. “Would that be amenable then? If you had that on top of my fullhearted approval and support?”

Her brow furrowed, clearly taken aback. “Who the fuck are you talking to about screwing me?”

Vil snorted another laugh.

“My, you’re feeling crude today.”

“It’s this stupid potion and you know it!” He watched that tight little tick in her brow grow deeper as she dove into the depths of her thoughts, searching and searching for an answer he was sure she’d find. All of a sudden she choked. “Are you talking about Rook?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually, kitten.”

“But he—” she gaped. “He doesn’t—I haven’t—” she spluttered. “He doesn’t even like me. I bet he’d hang my head over his fireplace if he got the chance.”

Vil barked out a laugh. “That would certainly be the highest of compliments.”

At her continued fretting, he leaned closer to tug her in tight and go back to running his fingers up and down her spine. “Naturally it’s your choice, but I can assure you, I’ve heard more than my fair share of soliloquies about the wonders of your bountiful bosom to know he’d be more than thrilled to assist.”

“They’re not even that big,” she grouched under her breath. “But that’s… Even if he was okay with it, what about you?” she asked, nervous.

Vil grinned, sharp and seductive. “Darling, who hasn’t shared something so private with their closest friend, hmm?”

“Uhm, me?” she gaped. “If you ever catch me in a three-way with Ro, please just shoot me in the face—"

“You’re moving away from the point,” he accused, snagging her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now. Tell me—would that be a situation you’d be amenable to?”

She chewed at her lower lip hesitantly and looked up at him through her lashes. “I trust you enough that if you think it would—it would be a good idea, then…”

“This isn’t about me,” he tutted.

“Everything in my life is about you,” she corrected sharply, and then immediately went beet red. “Fucking just—gag me or something. Please.”

Vil laughed. “That can be arranged. But first,” he grinned, moving to slip lithely to his feet. “I do believe I need to have a conversation with my Vice Warden.”

.

.

 “Shouldn’t we at least wait until the potion wears off?” Saya asked, hoping she didn’t sound nearly as panicked as she felt. “And, I mean,” she spluttered. “This all probably feels a bit sudden, right? Like, I know if someone knocked at my door one minute to—to—"

Rook’s answering grin had a shiver running down her spine and Vil reached out to tweak her cheek like an unruly child.

“Nonsense. How else will we know if you’re being honest about the experience, hmm?”

“That’s fair. I do lie about how I’m feeling a lot,” she said, and then instantly bit into her lip with a scowl. Fucking— “But that still doesn’t answer the,” she waved her hand around her head. “The other bit.”

“Ahh, but what predator could ever turn down such an opportunity to pounce when a feast is presented to him, hmm?” Rook cooed, hand over his heart as if he was about to start delivering a grand poem. “Particularly when it is a meal I’ve most looked forward to. And I can promise that I have thought on it long and often, mon chaton,” he smirked—a strange, dark, twisty thing that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. “It is so hard to look away when so much fluttering beauty twines itself so frequently beneath a shared roof.”

Dutifully ignoring the implications of that little statement, she frowned and said, “But you like pretty things.”

Vil frowned right back, but before he could launch into another one of his irritable spiels about self-value, and ‘in the eye of the beholder, blablabla,’ Rook ducked in and scooped her hands up between his.

“There is loveliness in delicacy,” the hunter agreed easily, smoothly. “But there is also beauty in a storm, in destruction. Qu'est-ce que la vie sans la mort? Qu'est-ce que l'amour sans l'horreur? And you, petite tentatrice,” he grinned, “are the loveliest storm of all.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “I’m sorry, but did you just French your way into saying that me being an unruly bitch is hot?”

“Ahh,” he crooned, lifting a hand as if he was about to swoon, “you’ve found me out!” And then that grin was back, sending all kinds of nervous goosebumps racing down her arms. “An easy hunt may speak to one’s skill well enough, but sometimes I can’t help but hope for a chase.”

“You’re unsettling her,” Vil warned, reaching out to twine an arm around her waist and rub soothing circles into the divots of her hips. “I told you not to overdo it.”

“Ah, pardonne moi, pardonne moi!” he lamented. “But I could hardly help myself.”

Vil’s amethyst eyes narrowed, a silent reprimand and threat all in one. You will help yourself, that glare warned. And while the Vice Warden certainly didn’t outright cow to that sneer, he dipped his chin in easy submittance nonetheless.

“Of course, mon reine,” he chirped. “This is a gift! And I will do my best to cherish it so.”

He reached forward and brushed a wayward strand of honey-hued hair from Saya’s eyes—fingers landing neatly on her cheek after to rub at the spreading flush there.

“How could I not? Especially after you’ve trained her so wonderfully.”

Saya gasped in indignation, that nervous blush staining plum red with rage instead.

“I’m not a fucking dog!” She snapped. “And he hasn’t—I haven’t been—”

“We’re working on it,” Vil droned, and Saya started spluttering all over again.

“We are not!”

“Well, we aren’t,” the ethereal beauty sighed, as if terribly put upon. “That is my job, after all. And you don’t make it easy, darling.”

The snarky retort twisted off her tongue with the taste of popping bubbles and lingering herbs, and instead, what came out was a pouty, “I thought that was the point.”

She cursed colorfully under her breath and Rook burst into gleeful laughter.

“Oh, she is just merveilleuse, mon reine. Je suis honoré que vous souhaitiez partager une telle merveille avec votre humble serviteur.”

Vil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Perhaps if you were so humble as you’d like me to believe, you wouldn’t have been so bold in your spying these past months.”

Rook held up his hands with another snicker, as if to say ‘you caught me!’

“But it worked, did it not?” he beamed, and then leaned forward to nuzzle along the underside of Saya’s jaw. His teeth skimmed the delicate, pale skin there and she pressed back against Vil with a squeak.

Vil rolled his eyes yet again and shifted so that Saya could tuck herself up against him in one, long lean line. Like a cat arching away from the wandering hands of an overenthusiastic guest and towards the familiar warmth of its owner. But all that being said, proper socialization was all in the name of the game. And he would be terribly bereft to go lax in his diligent efforts now of all times. 

“Gently,” he reprimanded. “She startles easily.”

“I’m not a—” she squeaked again, and Rook ducked forward with another sharp nip. “It’s not weird to be jumpy. I’d never done anything like this before I met you.”

“Ah, comme c'est chéri,” Rook cooed, as he burrowed in closer and latched his mouth against the hollow beneath her throat, sucking an angry, purple bruise against the pale skin there. “Did you know,” he trilled, popping back with a preening little smirk to observe his handiwork, “that our dearest queen does have quite the love of, ah, how did you describe it?” Rook mused. “Un amour de la corruption?”

“Rook,” Vil sneered, lip curling in warning.

“Not like that’s anything I didn’t already know,” Saya scoffed under her breath, and then squawked when familiar, painted nails dug into her hips.

“What was that, kitten?”

“I—I just meant,” she gulped, cursing that stupid potion with every fiber of her being. “It was—you got excited. When I said I was—that I had never—and you—I—” she trailed off with a nervous incoherence.

Vil hummed against her neck and she shivered.

“This is quite the difference,” he mused, a note of interest curling over his words. “To ask for an answer and to receive one rather than some stuttering, biting attempt at maintaining your dignity. I can’t say I’m opposed.” His hands trailed lower. “Perhaps not forever, but as an anomaly—as a treat,” he smirked. “For all my hard work.” She could feel the blunt, rounded edges of his nails trailing back and forth at the inseam of her thighs. “I do enjoy the ensuing correction far too much to want this new sweetness of yours to become a permanent fixture in our lives, but for the time being…”  

Saya gulped, and she could see Rook’s eyes trace the movement like a fox watching a rabbit’s hole.

“Tell me, won’t you” Vil demanded, head going high once more and some of that haughty, put-upon superiority lighting his eyes. Saya knew that expression, and it meant literally nothing good for her hips or spine for the upcoming days. “What makes this so appealing to you?” He grinned against her hair, sharp. “Wanting to be taken so thoroughly.”

“I—” she spluttered, feeling those awful, terrible remnants of magic dancing around her mouth. “It just—I—” and then that arcana popped with a focus and she was babbling all over again. “It just seems—seems nice. To be wanted that badly to be shared like, like something special. And—being between—the, the warmth of it seems—I…” She was going to die. Melt into a puddle and stain his stupid carpet with her untimely end. “I like to be squished, and held. And being that full seems nice.”

“Tellement poétique!” Rook crooned, looking nearly sparkly-eyed with wonder.

‘I hate this,’ she tried to spit, but instead, “I don’t mind this.”

Vil snorted a laugh into her hair.

“Yes, darling. I could tell.”

His hand dipped past the edge of the towel and brushed pointedly between her legs. He pulled back when she squeaked and held his fingers up with the same air as a teacher offering a demonstration. The wetness on them caught the light overhead—shining and slippery—and Saya tried to bury her face in her hands.

“You’re not particularly subtle,” he hummed, amused. And Saya felt like her blood was about to boil straight out of her veins.

And then, because apparently the love of her stupid life was actively trying to send her into cardiac arrest, she watched through her fingers as Vil stretched forward and offered his hand for Rook’s inspection. The hunter’s gaze tracked the slow, sticky drip of her and his emerald eyes pointedly flickered down to the space between her thighs, still artfully hidden beneath the fringe of the bath towel. And then those too-bright eyes slipped back up to meet hers and he leaned forward to lick a long stripe up Vil’s palm.

“No need for embarrassment,” Rook promised, licking his lips pleasantly. “Neither of us can lay claim to the notion of subtly either, favori.”

“Oh my God,” she choked.

“Ah, ah,” Vil tutted, twisting his other hand forward to pinch at her thigh. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Vil,” she gasped, a bit too close to a petulant whine.

“Better,” he smirked, and then reached up to loose the folds of her little towel, sending it fluttering to the mattress beneath them. Saya shivered at the rush of cold air, and then again when she caught the strange, predatory gleam in their guest’s green eyes. His gaze was like a tangible thing, running over every bit of exposed skin like the edge of a blade dipping along her shaking limbs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she snipped, embarrassed.

“Oh, not to worry!” he chirped. “I’ve taken several!”

“What—"

Vil twined his fingers through the shorter hair at the base of her skull and tugged. “Focus, kitten.”

“I’m always focused on you,” she snapped, potion bubbling off her tongue. And Vil rewarded her honesty with another sharp tug and a dip into a deep kiss. He pressed her down until she was dizzy, and when he finally pulled back with a contented hum and a flickering, wine-warm smirk, Saya felt like she was ready to melt into the bed.

“How do you always look so stupidly put together during sex?” she complained, unbidden. “And I always wind up looking like I’ve been railed halfway to Sunday.”

Vil snorted in amusement. “Perhaps that’s the point.”

His purple irises jumped past her shoulder and then the bed was dipping again. Saya blinked, not even having realized that Rook had stepped away. But then the hunter was back and she squeaked as a pair of deceptively well-muscled arms hauled her up against an unfamiliar and very naked chest. Vil nodded, as if in satisfaction with the state of things, and then eased himself back towards solid ground to also begin the process of divesting himself of his ridiculously intricate House Robes.

A pair of unfamiliar fingers snagged her chin and Saya found herself turned to face a smile that would not look out of place on a shark.

“There you are, chérie,” Rook purred, like a big cat hulking down over its kill, and then ducked forward to press his mouth against hers in a kiss that was like a whirlwind. While Vil kissed like an artform—a perfected, poised, creation that pushed as soft or as hard as he felt suited the moment, Rook kissed like he meant to eat her alive. He nipped at her lips until Saya was tasting copper, and the self-satisfied groan that rumbled from his throat had her nearly vibrating out of her skin.

The bed was dipping again and she felt another set of far more familiar hands work their way around her waist—pushing the leach away and dragging her back across the sheets to sprawl along a lean lap. Rook laughed, pleasantly amused, and pointedly reached up to wipe a speck of blood off his chin.

“Poor thing,” Vil sighed, brushing a thumb along the smear of crimson at the corner of Saya’s own abused mouth.

The poisonous beauty leaned forward to press his lips back against hers. He laved his tongue across the fresh cut there, easing the sting and sharpening it all at once.

“He’s just terrible to you, isn’t he?” he cooed, all mocking softness. “I suppose you’ll never be able to complain about my own methods again, once this is over. I’m not nearly that mean, am I, kitten?”  

“I like it when you’re a little mean to me,” she admitted, eyes darting away in mulish embarrassment.

Vil chuckled against her throat—a warm, satisfied thing. “You’re providing me with far too my ammunition this evening, darling.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “I’m literally never going to live this down.”

“Ah,” Rook trilled, slipping forward to tuck himself up against the skin of her back. And Jesus, she’d known the two of them were pretty substantially taller than her, but being wedged between them like this was a stark reminder of just how teeny she was. “But is it not better to be open and true with the one you love, hmm?”

“It’s not my fault I’m emotionally constipated,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” the hunter mused. “If you provide me with a list of the ones who are suitably responsible then, I would be more than happy to ensure that such a strain upon your person would never occur again.”

“Uhm,” Saya spluttered. “Appreciated, but… I mean, they’re all back in my old world anyways.”

“Ah,” he hummed, ducking over her shoulder to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Quel malheur.”

There were too many hands at her waist, and the pull of it was a bit disorientating. Saya swayed into one kiss and then another, neck craning back and forth—left to right, left to right.

“How would you prefer us?” Vil asked, with all the casual nuance of someone inquiring after the weather. It was going to drive her insane. And holy fuck, holy shit, they were—

“—actually doing this,” she choked, feeling lightheaded and far, far too warm.

“Of course,” Vil smirked, amusement playing across his face. “Unless you want us to stop.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” she squawked, and then buried her face in his shoulder in humiliation. Rook laughed, chiming and musical against her collarbone.

Vil reached around to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her rump and squeeze. “Well? You haven’t answered me.”

“…You in front?” she asked, tentative. “So I can…”

“So you can?” he pressed, dragging her back and forth between them in a horrible, torturous grind.

“So I can kiss you,” she mumbled, pink from the tip of her chin to the roots of her hair.

That upright, royal smugness melted from his face for a moment in a wave of golden fondness, and he ducked in to press a sweet, soft kiss to her lips—his hands coming up to cup her cheeks and run gently through her mused hair. She could hear Rook let out the most besotted little sigh, like he was watching a favorite scene from one of Neige’s romcoms.

“Ah, l'amour vrai,” he breathed, leaning forward to hook his chin over her shoulder. “I never will tire of the sight.” 

“Mmm,” Vil hummed, pulling away from her mouth with a lingering nip and a long, deep drag of his tongue along hers. “I suppose not, if I have any say in it.”

Saya blinked—dizzy, and warm, and jaw still hanging slack—and Rook laughed at the startled look on her face.

“Meaning he’d like to keep you forever, mon coeur,” he chirped. “So such a treat on the eyes will never have an expiry date.”

“Oh,” she whispered, still far too dazed and only falling further into that horrible, hot spiral when Vil’s fingers shifted back down to her waist to pull her back into that slow, smooth, grind between them. It was awful, and wet. And surely she was making a hideous mess of the sheets. And their thighs. And all of it. But neither of them seemed to mind, only groaned low against her skin as the blonde beauty rocked her and back and forth, and back and forth, and back and—

“Still alright, kitten?” he laughed, leaning forward to suck another dark mark against her throat.

“I want that,” she blurted, and it came out shivery and far too high. “Being—” Son of a—No! No! She had some dignity left! And stupid fucking truth potion or otherwise, she wasn’t going to let him tease her into saying— “Being yours forever.”

Another kiss, so deep and strong it had her collapsing back against Rook’s chest with the push of it. She whined against painted lips and she felt the hunter’s pleased rumble along her spine in return.

“Si réactif,” he sighed, dipping down to the other side of her throat to lave a matching mark to one Vil had only just bitten into her skin.

Vil hummed again, deep in his chest—lips trailing from her mouth, down her chin, and all the way to her collarbones. “Isn’t she?”

“Okay, okay,” Saya squawked, fighting a shiver when Rook’s hands curled around her front to cup at her chest. “Can we stop talking out how stupidly squeaky I am and just—just get on with—"

Two of Vil’s fingers curled up into her in one, sharp thrust and she gasped.

“What was that, kitten?” he cooed. “I couldn’t hear you—” another brutal thump thump thump, another strangled exhale, “over whatever—” gasping, and gasping, “you were trying,” Saya squealed, hands coming down to tug fruitlessly at Vil’s wrist as he drilled up into her over, and over, and over—“to say?”

She bucked against his grip and then Rook’s palm was slipping forward to press down hard just below her naval. And she could practically feel the tips of Vil’s fingers grinding up against the hand at her abdomen. Full, and tight, and so, so—

The hunter’s other hand dipped low between her legs to rub tight, focused circles against her clit and the winding, spring of heat in her gut just about snapped. Hard, and fast, and sudden. And then it was gone. Those crafty, wet fingers slipping away to stroke along her flank instead. Saya threw her head back against Rook’s shoulder with a whimpering gasp. She bit into her lip and pressed her fingers over her mouth in a bid to trap some of the horrible, embarrassing noises trying to sneak off her tongue. To trap the complaint, that she could feel bubbling up along with those awful, terrible mews. Because if she ever, in all her life, let a whiny, little ‘why did you stop?’ pass her lips, Rook Hunt would never let her live it down. Ever.

She breathed through her nose, counting slow and steady as she tried to drag her head back out of the clouds. And just when she thought she was settling that horrible, heat addled, fog into something manageable, the grinding started again and she squeaked.

“Wh-What are you—” she choked, twisting down against a third finger. A fourth.

“I know that normally you prefer a bit of a sting,” Vil said, and Saya was nodding along with the bubbles of that godawful potion before she could help herself. There was a twitch in Rook’s fingers along the dip of her spine, and she could feel his nails dig into the skin there like he couldn’t help himself. “But this is something new, darling. So it’s better safe than sorry, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t be sorry,” she blurted, and then cursed under her breath. “Probably.”

Vil chuckled, indulgent, against her cheek, and then curved his fingers in a way that had her seeing stars.

“Another time, perhaps,” he trilled, soft, and went back to scissoring back and forth. A steady, slippery grind to ease their way.

There was a curious hum at her shoulder and then Rook’s fingers were dancing back around to tap at Vil’s steadily rocking wrist.

“May I?”

Those heavily lined eyes narrowed for a moment, considering, and then he slowly shifted his hand to make room for Rook’s own, slipping two fingers aside to leave a soft, warm space between them.

“Carefully,” he warned, firm.

“Bien sûr, bien sûr!” Rook trilled, delving forward too fast, and too quick, and not in line with his sweet, little reassurance at all. Saya squeaked and clenched her thighs shut around his hand. Hips stuttering on the rapid thump, thump, thump of his knuckles meeting her folds. She arched away with a gasp, toes twisting in the sheets and head tossing back and forth in a tight, strangled little mewl.

“Slower,” Vil snapped, and Rook sighed like an unrepentant child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Yes, yes. As you say, mon reine.”

The brutal pace grew more tempered, more constrained, and Saya’s muscles slowly eased out of their rigid arch. Vil hummed, approving, and deftly began to twist his own fingers again in time with Rook’s enthusiastic exploration.

“Angle yourself a bit more towards the front. And a touch to the right,” he coached, and then there was familiar pressure against a tight, far too sensitive part of her that had Saya keening. “Ah. That’s it then.”

“Merci, merci, Roi de Poison,” Rook beamed, “for your marvelous guidance, as always.”

“Please, just—” she begged, twisting and bucking against the mess of hands between her legs. Because she couldn’t—it was all—there was so much—and— “It’s fine. I’m ready. Please. Can you just—”

There was a sharp pinch at her hip that had her whining and flinching away.

“Don’t rush me, kitten,” Vil chastised. “You know the rules.”

“Of course I do,” Saya snapped, more of those same, terrible truths popping along her tongue like fizz off a soft drink. “And breaking them is the only thing that gets you to actually fuck me nine out of ten times. So of course I—"

Another wicked sting at the inside of her thigh, and Saya yelped.

“My, you are an unruly, little thing aren’t you, favori?” Rook cooed, nails raking up and down her pale skin like he wanted to etch those stark, red lines into her flesh like a tattoo. “Your darling Queen adores you so much, and this is how you repay him?” There was a near-feral, hungry spark in those emerald eyes that had her trembling. And suddenly Saya felt very much like a rabbit trapped between the jaws of a cackling fox. A feisty, smirking predator who just wanted any excuse to chase, and pounce, and bite—

“Enough, Rook.”

 Another sigh, long and lamenting. And Saya shivered against a fresh wave of goosebumps.

Vil hooked a finger beneath her chin and pulled her forward into a slow, syrupy kiss. His tongue traced steadily along hers, lining her teeth, pricking her canines, twining round and round until she was easing back against him with a soft sigh.

“There you are, kitten” he hummed, pulling back with a thin, sticky trail of saliva—keeping close enough that it didn’t have quite enough stretch to snap and break between them. He cupped her cheeks between his palms and Saya did her best to ignore the stripe of thick, slippery wetness that rubbed along her skin. “I think we’ve teased you enough for one night, don’t you?”

She nodded, still a bit too shivery and teary-eyed. Trembling like a leaf in the wind. And Vil leaned forward with a sweet coo to offer her another kiss.

“Do you still want this, darling?”

Another nod. One that she probably would have offered even without a Truth Potion coursing through her veins. Because, yes. It was a lot. But—but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? And Rook was still a bit, well, himself. And Saya still felt like he was two steps away from sinking his teeth into her throat and never letting go. But she trusted Vil to stay the Hunter’s hand—to keep them both in line. So she twisted her fingers through his own, finely manicured ones and leaned forward to press a soft, tremulous kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“There’s my good girl,” Vil hummed, an indulgent, little smile curling his red lips. “Now, how to best go about this…”

Manicured fingers rose to clasp firmly along the line of her shoulders, and then Vil was easing her back flat against the mattress. Her head landed with a soft ‘thump’ against Rook’s thighs, and immediately the hunter’s hands were curling into the loose waves of her hair, raking his nails along her scalp until she was shivering all over again. Vil slid his palms down along her sides to cup under her rear and raise her hips off the pooling, silk sheets. One curved further along her lower back to keep her aloft, and the other ran down her legs one at a time, hooking one calf around his waist and then the other.

He shifted forward on his knees until he was looming over her and ducked down to press another deep, breath-stealing kiss into her lips. And then he was rocking forward and slipping in slow and smooth. Saya whined against his mouth and he nipped softly at lower her lip in reprimand.

“Relax, kitten.”

She whined again and tried to shift her hips to better accommodate the familiar stretch, but Vil dug his fingers into her side to keep her firmly in place, tapping one, painted nail against the dip in her waist like a reprimand. She stilled under that firm grip all at once and Rook trilled something enthusiastic and saccharine sweet in her ear.

“Si bien entraîné,” he cooed, peppering kisses all along the curve of her jaw, up her cheek, along the bridge of her nose. “Si adorable,” another wave of pecks along her forehead. “Tu le prends si bien, favori.”

Saya scrunched her nose beneath the endless press of fluttering lips, ticklish, and Rook laughed—bright and fond. He leaned in closer to run the broad flat of his tongue along her lips instead and Saya fought a complaint, because that would just open her mouth up to the rest of him. And going by the spark darkening that emerald leer of his, that was exactly what he was hoping for.

Vil shooed the hunter away with an exasperated wave of his hand and shifted his palms back along the dip in her spine.

“Up, darling.”

He rolled back onto his knees and Saya shifted obediently alongside him—letting herself be swooped up from the long, lean sprawl and into his lap. She wobbled a bit and dug her teeth into her lip to focus on keeping her balance. It was an odd sort of position. Normally when Vil settled her in his lap, she was flush with his thighs. Pressed core to core so that he could grind her down along his length and whisper terrible things into her ear that made her melt. Now, she was situated far further up—sticky clit bumping against the firm muscles of his stomach and thighs shivering into an arch. Like trying to hold a rising trot on a horse.  

Vil ran a soothing hand up and down her trembling sides.

“Good girl, doing so lovely for us” he hummed, pressing her closer and encouraging her to grind low, slow circles against his abdomen. Saya fought a shiver and bit her lip harder. “Stay just like this, hmm?”

She nodded, jittery but determined, and he smiled indulgently against her throat.

Amethyst eyes flashed towards their guest and Vil dipped his chin—an order. And then Rook was draping himself along her back once more, hands curling around to knead and pinch along her chest like he couldn’t help himself. Squeezing handfuls of soft, squishy flesh between his palms, rolling pink peaks between his fingers in sharp, overenthusiastic twists, and panting near-indiscernible obscenities into her neck all the while. Vil shuffled them around until they were situated to his liking, smacking at Rook’s limbs whenever the hunter tried to readjust himself or slip too close too soon. Two sets of hands dug themselves into her hips, and Saya could feel the hot, blunt press of Rook at her back like a brand. He sighed, whimsical, against her shoulders and rutted short, aborted thrusts against her rear—leaving smears of tacky, warm precum in his wake like a signature. Saya could feel it cooling in sticky trails all along her skin, but Rook seemed more than merry with the idea of letting it pool there, thick and messy, until they were stuck together at the hip from it.

She was still pressed up at that awkward angle, still rubbing those soft, wet, maddening circles right where Vil had told her to. And even though her thighs were really starting to ache, Saya realized oh. Like this, Rook could drive right up into her, couldn’t he? They both could. And then, after she was wrapped up between them like a lock and key, they would be able to pass her back and forth so easily, and—

Vil rocked up into her in one quick, sharp thrust and Saya’s attention was immediately snapping back to him on a high-pitched keen.   

“Focus, kitten,” he chastised. “Just for this part, at the very least. So that we can make sure everything’s going the way it should. And,” he pressed, flicking at her nose, “because you will be telling us if anything hurts. Understood?”

The potion popped in her mouth with a vengeance, and she found herself pouting, “But I like when it—"

Vil nipped at her lips to stop the words in their tracks, but Rook was already gasping delightedly in her ear.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he chuffed, amused.

The House Warden propped his chin against her shoulder to press a wet, lingering kiss beneath her ear. And with his teeth still scraping against her skin, he canted his head back to shoot Rook the coldest, sharpest look she’d ever seen him level at the hunter in their bed.

“She’s small,” Vil said, like a warning. But there was something else there too, underlying. Something curling, and dark, and possessive that Saya wasn’t really sure what to make of. “So you need to be careful.”

She couldn’t see Rook’s reaction from over her shoulder, but whatever stare down they were locked in felt like it dragged on for an age. And then, finally, Vil was relaxing against her with a nod and drawing the both of them back into the little cradle of limbs he’d so deftly constructed.  

“Go on then,” he ordered, in the same, haughty tone he might use for making demands of an unruly student. “She’s waiting.”

“A crime I shall never be able to repent for,” Rook crooned, and then dug his fingers along Saya’s hips until she was carefully arching away from Vil’s with a soft hiss.

It was a bit of an awkward balancing act at first—trying to keep herself from tipping too far forward or too far back. To keep Vil between her legs without slipping off entirely while also bowing her spine enough to give Rook the access he needed. He panted along her shoulder, biting and licking as he went in a way that made her think of rabbits and predators all over again. She could feel the steady, blunt pressure of him as he rocked forward bit by bit. Careful, just like Vil had demanded he be. Saya shifted against the strain in her legs and gave a tentative swivel of her hips, trying to coax him into seating himself deeper. And, naturally, Vil was there in an instant to nip admonishingly at her throat and tighten his grip until she kept herself still once more.

“Be patient, kitten.”

I am being patient, she wanted to whine back, but in that moment, Rook hit a point where the resistance seemed to give way all at once, and she was sliding all the way down against the both of them with a noise like the air had been knocked straight out of her lungs.

Vil groaned, low and punched out, against her neck, and Rook hissed from behind his teeth.

“Si serrée,” he gasped, hips rabbiting up fast—once, twice—like he couldn’t help himself, and Vil snapped something under his breath that Saya was too out of her wits to make sense of. Because it was so, so much. So tight, and hot, and the pressure was just, so, so—

She panted around them and dug her nails into Vil’s shoulders hard, hard, hard. He didn’t even flinch.

“Alright?” he asked after a moment, mouthing gently at the hollow below her collarbone as he glanced up at her from beneath heavy lashes.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, jerkily, dizzily.

“Nothing painful?” he coaxed, and Saya shook her head until her hair was flying around her cheeks. The pressure and the tight, tight, tight, tight of it was almost too much to bear. Teetering precariously along that ledge of ‘too much.’ But it was also so, so good—

“It feels—”

“Go on,” Rook teased, voice a bit tremulous and breathy, and she could feel the words slither along the shell of her ear. Vil shushed him sharply and then pressed another encouraging kiss to her throat.

“Don’t mind him, darling. When you’re ready.”

“It’s nice?” she managed to choke out, when Vil shifted a bit at her front and it sent a tidal wave of all sorts of unfamiliar pressure through the rest of her. Lovely, and full, and different, and—

“Ah, avez-vous entendu que, mon reine?” the hunter tutted. “We are but ‘nice.’ That doesn’t sound like much of a resounding success, no?”

“No,” Vil hummed on a wry sort of agreement that sounded like nothing but trouble. He shifted again, giving an experimental rut of his hips as he did so that had all three of them shivering on a moan. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. How unfortunate.”

“Very nice?” Saya spluttered out frantically.

“Oh, come now!” Rook mewed, and she could feel his fingers reaching around to dig into her hips and gently begin to pull her down. “Surely we can do better than that, mon reine.”

“Surely,” he echoed, gaze flitting pointedly over her shoulder to whatever expression was curling over their guest’s face. Vil’s eyes narrowed again, but that swimming, dark something from before was absent. Now, it just looked like a challenge. Saya could feel Rook’s smile widen against her cheek. “Keep to my rhythm,” Vil demanded, giving another sharp, deep, push that had Saya dipping back on a gasp. Rook chirped in delight.

“I will, as always, endeavor to follow your lead in all things, mon reine,” he trilled, letting his own hips jump forward in response. It was too hard, too quick, and Saya yelped when the force of it nearly toppled her out of both of their laps.

“Rook.”

“Apologies, apologies,” the hunter cooed, giving another, gentler thrust. “I was too eager, I’m afraid.”

Vil huffed under his breath and then started up his own, measured grind. He twined his fingers along Saya’s hips and pulled her down at each upward press. Meeting his thrusts in time so that they struck long, and deep, and hard along all the familiar, sensitive places that he knew far too well. It took a moment for Rook to match it—to push in as Vil eased out. To rut just hard enough to have her whining and gasping but not squeaking in discomfort. And Saya was dying. The press of the two of them was so, so much. She felt out of her skin—like her pulse was a match to the pressures in her belly and those alone. She raked her nails down Vil’s back until he was hissing with it and Rook trilled in delight.

“Next time,” he sighed, dreamy, and stuttered on a thrust. “Ah, la merveille de sentir tes griffes dans ma peau,” he crooned. He bit at her throat, hard, and Saya choked on a squeak. “What I wouldn’t give—”

“Focus, Rook,” Vil snorted, reaching a hand down between them to rub tight circles against Saya’s clit until she was shivering.

“Ah, désolé, désolé,” the Vice Warden chirped, and then drove up hard enough to nearly send her sprawling all over again. But this time he kept his fingers firm around her waist, hauling her down against the pair of them just as sharply. And Saya keened.

Vil didn’t even bother to chastise him this time, his own head falling back on a startled grunt at the tight, tight heat—his hips catching on the slick drag of it and nearly tugging him under. He dug his fingers in alongside Rook’s and pulled her down harsher. Until Saya was hiccupping on every thrust and panting desperate, whiny sentiments against his shoulder. That curling, clawing warmth in her gut spiraled higher, and Vil’s eyes caught on hers like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“Almost there, kitten?” he breathed against her cheek, wet and fast. “We do have an audience this, time, don’t we?” he cooed, pupils pulsing so wide and blown that they nearly swallowed the amethyst there in its entirety. “So we’re going to have to make it count.”

And then his fingers were working over her clit in earnest and Saya squealed.

“Vil—”

“Louder.”

She gulped, nearly choking on air, and that potion bubbled in her veins like a promise.

“Vil.”

“Can’t hear you, darling.” Which was absolutely rich, coming for the man currently pushing words past his throat like he trying not to gasp for breath. Like every other sound coming out of him wasn’t some airy, punched-out groan.

“Vil—"

“You can do better than that, kitten.”

Saya’s very rightful complaint broke into a squawk when Rook drove up harder. When the two of them met in the middle in perfect sync—in a perfect, terrible pressure that was far too much. And she wanted to scream, and scream, and—

“That’s it, darling.”

Saya wailed, tucking herself tight against Vil’s chest like she could crawl inside him if she pushed hard enough. That she could live there forever alongside the staccato thump thump thump of his heart at her front, and Rook’s at her back, and—

The spring snapped and Saya was tumbling over the edge all at once. Rook moaned, low and long, from over her shoulder and Vil cursed under his breath. Both sets of hips stuttered at the tight, tight clench and then, as she was still trembling, and panting, and seeing stars, Vil groaned and released deep inside her in a familiar, wet, wave of heat. Rook followed not a moment after, sighing, and gasping, and pushing forward as far as he could go.

It took a long, long time for her to come down. And even after that, Saya was still shaking, and shivery, and far too oversensitive. Rook shifted at her back—still tucked up as deep inside as he could manage. Still wet, and warm, and heavy—and she winced at the tender sting of it. Vil’s lips traced a soft, sweet pattern against her temple, murmuring reassurances that she still wasn’t quite in the right mind to make sense of, and then he was gently easing her off the both of them and back down towards the sheets. Carefully, carefully. Saya’s thighs throbbed, and then the rest of her gave an answering, sore flinch. All the way down to the core of her. She was sticky, and aching, and there was a pool of white, tacky, wetness cooling between her legs that she could feel trailing down, down, down. She shifted with another flinch, hoping to take some of the pressure off her hips, and Vil’s hands reached down to slot a pillow beneath her lower back.

“There you are, darling,” Vil hummed, tucking her gently between the pair of them so she could curl up into his side, mess be damned. Rook draped himself delicately along her back, rubbing circles into the bruises by her hips and cooing soft, low sentiments into her hair. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

Saya grumbled something drunkenly incoherent into his chest and Vil chuffed in amusement against her flushed cheeks.

“Une prestation magistrale,” Rook encouraged, still a bit warbly, a bit breathless, and licked a long, lazy line over the sweat beading along her skin. “Truly, I have never witnessed such perfection in human form, mon coeur.”

Saya’s head lolled forward on another, soft hiccup and she snuggled in tighter—embarrassed. Limbs loose and shivering.

Vil’s hand trailed up and down her arm in slow, measured strokes.

“Too much?” he coaxed, concerned, and Saya managed to shake her head until he was laughing at her under his breath. “Ah. Just enough then, I suppose.”

She took a moment to just breathe—to take in the familiar scents of Vil’s lingering cologne, the soft, floral breeze of his shampoo, the lavender musk that was just him. And overlaid amidst all that cozy comfort was the smell of cypress and pine. Of ozone, and leather, and sprawling forests. Saya scrunched her nose nervously against Vil’s collarbone for a moment, taking in another few, deep breaths to steady herself. And then she turned back onto her side, wincing all the while. The hands at her hips faltered, and with careful, cautious movements, she managed to flop all the way over without squeaking even once.

Saya peeked up at Rook from beneath her golden lashes, nervous. And then slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Uhm…” she spluttered, quickly averting her gaze and ears going pink in chagrin. Despite how innocent it was in comparison to all the things that they’d just done—what they’d done to her. “…Thank you.”

And then she was ducking back into the safety of Vil’s arms far too quickly, wheezing in discomfort when it tugged at muscles she didn’t even know could ache. She burrowed back into his chest with a sniffly little whine that was far too teary for her pride to admit, and Vil was immediately back to cooing and carding his fingers through her hair.

The House Warden smiled into her mused locks for a moment longer before letting his sharp gaze dart back to the hunter sprawled out beside them.

Rook had a hand delicately raised to his cheek, as if he could trace the imprint of Saya’s kiss with his fingertips alone. His green eyes had gone wide with surprise, and there was a strange, curling, spark blooming in them that Vil knew far too well.

“Oh,” Rook whispered, sounding choked. Like his heart had grown enough to swell past the cage of his chest, to press hard and welcoming against his airway like it couldn’t help itself. Ready to steal the last breath it could. Ready to take it willingly.  

Vil snorted into Saya’s hair and let her press herself in an exhausted puddle along his side, right where she was always meant to be. He closed his eyes, feeling the pleasant, sore twinges in his own muscles as he settled back against the pillows. A moment passed in silence, and then another. And then, predictably, Vil could hear the soft shft of Rook slipping closer along the mattress—feel the dip along Saya’s hips as the hunter draped himself over her back like a cloak.

Saya stiffened for a moment in surprise, but then was slipping back into sleep between one, soft breath and the next. Vil tucked himself against her nape and felt the brush of Rook’s hands as he reached forward to clutch at the teeny, shivering blonde between them like a lifeline. Vil sighed again and let himself be lulled into a dreamless doze alongside her.

They could discuss the future another time. 

.

.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x OC #Vil Schoenheit x OC #Vil x OC #Rook Hunt x OC #Vil x Rook x OC #vil schoenheit #Rook Hunt #My Writing

[reirei404]

I had a dream while microsleeping that Vil was gonna get married to a girl and then she suddenly cut off the wedding, made Vil very sad and then (assumingly) months (or years) later he found a girlfriend who he loves very much (and is really down bad for) and started kissing her in public.

It then became a full blown make out session. Then I woke up and the dream ended there.

I was merely the viewer. I don't know how to feel about this but to the x reader or x oc writers/artists do what you will with this information. I am simply the provider.

#twst #twisted wonderland #reirei speaks #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x oc #oc x canon #seriously idk what to feel about this dream #also the first girl vil was supposed to marry had long dark purple locks about the length of her hips #the other had brown hair and she had it up in a bun #it was so cute seeing vil down bad for the second girl tho #like bro fr finally found the actual love of his life #and to see him so down bad #(and a lil ooc) #was quite amusing to see

[jasmariswonderland]

🤍⛓️‍💥 📢 SHip CHain 🤍⛓️‍💥 📢

Post your oc + a canon and let your followers make up headcanons about them

((No pressure, just play along if you'd like! Forward on to three folks and share the fun!))

I SWEAR THIS BLOG HAS NOT TRANSFORMED INTO A VILDANI ONLY BLOG 😭😅😭😅

But seriously, for a ship so close to my heart, I actually don't talk much about them, so I'm curious what headcanons people would have for them. 👑🦢💙

#jas answers #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #pomefiore oc #twst vil #vil schoenheit x oc #vil x oc #oc x canon #oc: danica

[offorestsongs]

THE ORANGE PEEL THEORY, BUT WITH MY OC X CANON'S

summary; literary just the "would you peel an orange for me?" thing but with my oc x canon ships (feat. Rook, Floyd, Vil & Riddle). that's all that's it

author's note; this is so very self indulgent forgive me. ALSO if there's any mistakes pretend there aren't its like 5am for me rn

LILYARROW

♡ “Uh, hey, would you peel this for me?”

♡ Lysander feels a bit silly asking for this; he knows Rook would bring him a piece of heaven if he just asked, there is no need for silly tests. But Cater had mentioned the idea a few days ago, and for one reason or another, it had stuck with Lysander.

♡ It’s just for fun, he tells himself, no harm in that.

♡ Rook smiles softly as he takes the orange out of Lysander’s hands.

♡ “But of course, mon fleur. Let’s give your pretty hands a rest, shall we?”

♡ It’s kind of stupid, Lysander thinks, how watching his boyfriend peel an orange for him makes him feel like basking in the sun. Maybe there is a point to this whole thing after all - it is still sweet to have such tangible proof that somebody cares. 

♡ If Rook knows he's being put to a test (and he most probably knows, let's be real) he doesn't show it in any way. 

♡ He treats the orange peeling with the seriousness of a military order. And he even takes off the gross white parts that Lysander hates!

♡ “Mhm. Now open your mouth~”

♡ Lysander blushes, a vivid pink on his pale cheeks. “You- You really don’t have to! It’s fine!”

♡ “Oh, but I do. It’s an honor, really.”

♡ Lysander never had much of a strong will, not when it came to Rook, anyway. He puts his embarrassment aside and lets Rook hand feed him the orange, piece by piece.

BLUEGLASS

♡ There’s no point in testing their relationships because they’re very much not in a relationship. A few (a lot) make out sessions in the dark corners of the school’s hallways do not a relationship make.

♡ And yet there Kalle is, in the Octavinelle Lounge, when it’s just them and Floyd, that stupid orange in hand.

♡ They know it’s a bad idea before they even ask.

♡ “Wanna peel this for me?”

♡ Floyd (the audacity!) laughs.

♡ “Nice try, fishie,” he says, still looking smug and amused, and annoying (so — like usual). “You don't think I'm stupid, don't ya?”

♡ “It's just an orange, Leech. It's not like you have anything to do anyways.”

♡ Floyd gives them a long look. “Yea, no. I don't think I feel like it.”

♡ Well. That was about what Kalle was expecting.

♡ Floyd leans over, in one swift motion takes the orange out of Kalle's hand m. Kalle doesn't even have it in themselves to protest.

♡ It's not like they care. It's just a stupid trend and a stupid orange, and a stupid eel. They don't care the slightest bit about any of this. 

♡ Floyd throws and catches the orange, looks it over carefully. For a brief, horrifying second, Kalle expects him to bite into it like an apple.

♡ But no. He peels it like a normal, well adjusted person then breaks it in half.

♡ “Here ya go, fishie. Happy now?”

♡ He throws half of the orange at Kalle. They're too surprised to actually catch it, letting the fruit fall on their lap.

♡ “Yeah. Thanks,” they mutter.

♡ When the silence falls between them, neither of them seem particularly happy.

THORNQUEEN

♡ “Vil, my darling dearest, my sweetest heart, the light of my worthless life, the apple of my eye, the—”

♡ Vil rolls his eyes. “Stop this,” he cuts in before Rosienne can continue with his tirade. “Spending so much time with Rook is bad for you. Just tell me what you want.”

♡ Rosienne grins.

♡ “Would you do me a favor and kindly peel this orange for me?”

♡ He’s being silly, he knows it well, but he can't help it. Rosienne's heart is an ugly, thorny thing that without constant reassurances will rot and wither. 

♡ Vil raises an eyebrow. “Really, dear, really? Is that what we're doing now?”

♡ Of course he instantly figured it out. It's Vil, after all.

♡ “Hey now! I was trying to be romantic, alright!”

♡ “No, you're being silly. Do you really think you need to put me to a test? Because if so, that's frankly quite insulting.”

♡ Both his tone and stare are as cold as the darkest months of winter and Rosienne is ready to start spilling apologies.

♡ And then Vil leans over to place a light kiss on Rosienne's forehead.

♡ “I will still peel it for you, if you just want the orange. They're good for your health either way.”

♡ Rosienne feels like he may cry. 

♡ “...yeah, yeah I do.” He takes a second to take a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. Sometimes he hates how easily crying comes to him. “Thank you.”

GLASSROSE

♡ For Eliott, it's less of a test and more of a cute little game. He loves Riddle more than the world itself, but he just wants to see Riddle’s reaction. For the fun of it, nothing more.

♡ At least there was a very low chance Riddle would know it's a trend — the boy didn't even know how to use most social media, bless his heart.

♡ “Would Her Majesty be so kind as to peel this orange for me?” Eliott asks, not even trying to contain his amusement.

♡ Riddle eyes him over carefully. He's definitely suspicious, taught by experience that his boyfriend is prone to coming up with various schemes, but finally comes to the conclusion that it can't be anything harmful.

♡ “Of course,” he just says, nodding.

♡ Eliott beams. “I love you so much. Have I told you that already? Because I do. So much.”

♡ The blush that blossoms on Riddle’s cheeks is maybe the most delightful thing Eliott has seen today. “Quite a lot, yes.”

♡ He peels the orange, quick and clean, then passes it back to Eliott.

♡ “You should have a half,” Eliott offers. “It's only fair.”

♡ Sometimes i love you is a neat little pile of orange peels. Sometimes i love you is an orange shared in half.

♡ When Riddle smiles at his boyfriend, it's soft.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #oc x canon #twisted wonderland fanfic #rook hunt #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #vil schoenheit #rook hunt x yuu #floyd leech x oc #vil schoenheit x oc #riddle rosehearts x oc #💌 writing #❣️ lilyarrow #❣️ blueglass #❣️thornqueen #❣️ glassrose #woo first piece of writing on this blog woo #i actually feel quite proud of this one #even if it's just a small thing that i wrote bc i couldn't sleep #also dear heavens i havent thought about floyd and kalle in a while i almost forgot how MESSY those bitches are shfjdngnf #everytime they kiss love loses <3

[cvlutos]

HE WHO OWNS, THE COURT WINS IT ALL!!

✡︎ May.06.2023 | 6.0K| Commissioned by @pinkskybelle

✡︎ Vil S. | Rook H. | Male OC

✡︎ Bridgerton AU | Angst | Fluff | Poly | Slowburn | Courting | Hierarchy | Oblivious | Mentions of Alcohol| Etc

✡︎ Synopsis: This is a time for all the rich nobles and bacheors gather for six months to find a love, to grow their name, to make a fourtune. So shall you play along.

| One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six |

ACT ONE

“We know what we are, but know not what we may be.” - Shakespeare

The Huntsman gently closes the book, leaning against the rough bark of the pine tree, basking in the few sun rays that gently touch his skin. Emerald eyes flutter closed as he lets out a low amused hum.

“Something will change. C’est assez excitant~”

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

“Vil. You know I am quite disappointed.”

The tip of the fountain pen taps against the pristine white documents, each paper in some way tied to the never-ending business and work that’s conducted by the small Schoenheit Family, made up of the Head of the House, his new wife, and his two sons.

His eldest son, Vil Schoenheit, stands before him. Dressed in a simple button-up and slacks, his blonde hair in a low bun except for the purposeful loose strands that frame the sides of his face. Lilac eyes express nothing, as pink-painted lips press tightly together. The room was dimly lit with little light filtering in through the large violet window shades. A thick, dark oak desk was placed in the furthest part of the room, separating the two.

The silence between them grows more tense with each passing moment, as the head of the family lets out another annoyed sigh. Wishing to be occupied with signing papers alone, then having to deal with the son of his late ex-wife. The shadows prevent the head’s face from being seen, but Vil knows—his father has his always disappointed face engraved into his memory—he knows that his father is scowling. Like he always does. Scowling with disappointed eyes and disappointed lips.

The air, thick and cold—frigid upon Vil’s elegant skin, forcing him to remain present, then allowing his mind to wander to more savory things instead of listening to his father’s long lectures. The pen taps again, showing a bit of his father’s impatience, which is always short. Since Vil was a child, his father has never been patient. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

“I apologize,” Vil bows, placing a hand over his heart, “but there was not much else I could do. Time got away from me...”

The chair beneath his father creaks as he leans forward with a scoff, “The time got away? You—who is insistent upon keeping track of all things I do. Ready to undermine me at all chances.” Vil’s father lets out a tired sigh. “Just like your mother would, always trying to correct—” He speaks under his breath, placing his pen down, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yet time got away from you.”

The blonde brows of Vil’s face scrunch, his glossed lips pulling into a deep scowl, standing straight once again, his arms crossing. “Leave my mother out of this. You tormented her enough when she was here.”

“Do not get smart with me boy!” His father’s hand slams against his desk, creating a firm and echoing sound that seems to shake the very room, Vil bites back any words, watching the multitude of books, pens, pencils, and décor topple off the desk. Vil does nothing. Keeping his posture straight and unamused, eyes firm and staring. His father’s hands clenching and stretching, fixing his wedding band subconsciously, breathing heavily.

“Pick my things up, boy.” Vil’s father’s voice is firm, watching with glaring eyes as Vil’s shoulders drop, slowly sliding down and onto his knees and picking up the multiple objects and placing them back on his desk. Vil’s father proceeds to speak, staring down at his son.

“If time has gotten away from you—then you simply force my hand Vil.”

The chair creaks. His father rises from his seat and pulls out a black envelope with gold writing. He flicks the envelope from his hand, watching it flutter before landing on the wooden flooring, forcing Vil, on his knees, to reach for it, on all fours. Like a dog.

‘Vil Schoenheit’

Written in beautiful gold cursive, Vil recognizes exactly who the letter is from immediately having received a letter occasionally from the family. The Royal Draconia family. He rises to his feet, placing the objects back in place and returning where he stood. Looking over the letter in silence.

“Because I cannot trust you to act reasonably and properly, you will host this year’s courting season.” His father speaks again, straightening his hair and clothing. Vil’s gaze moves up to his father, scowling deeply.

“The courting season is in less than three months. Everyone has already made preparations for the Al-Asims to host. And I have talked to the head of the family, and he is more than happy to let you host.” Vil’s father sits back down, before waving his hand in a shooing motion, “Now go. I’m tired of looking at you.” Vil gives another curt bow, biting back any vile words that wished to escape his lips. Turning on his heel and walking out of his father’s office.

Closing the heavy oak door with a hard slam, keeping his displeased scowl, any servants were quick to move out of his way, keeping their heads low. He walks the lavish white halls quickly, steps muffled by the thick violet carpets, he holds the letter tightly. His huntsman appears beside him in stride, a small smile across his lips. Unbothered by Vil’s scowl and furrowed brows.

“Bon après-midi, mon Seigneur, pourquoi un air renfrogné orne-t-il le beau visage d’une personne?” Vil stops immediately in place, turning to his huntsman, holding up the envelope, and watching his personal guard nod in immediate understanding.

“He has not only forced me to my hands and knees like a dog but has also saddled me with preparing this year’s courting season. Even went so far as to ask the Draconia family, he has absolutely made a fool of me.” Vil’s voice is low, dripping with venom, before resuming his walk, his steps long and fast, his guard follows easily. Dressed casually in his familiar brown feathered hat upon his head.

“How would you like to begin planning?”

“Have letters sent out—Courting with take place at the Pomefiore Manor. I’ll have father regret ever forcing my hand.”

══════ •✦• ══════

“Master Robyn!”

The wind blows softly through the sunlit manor grounds, rustling the vibrant green grass and forest leaves as two figures crouch in the bushes, out of sight and view of the frantic middle-aged maid who was shouting for them. Trying to rush down the stone stairs, but also afraid to fall, leaving her to grip the ends of her black dress and white apron as she sidestepped down the steps. Swatting away at the two large dogs that yap and bark as they bound up and down the steps, messing with her as she tries to shoo them away.

There’s a handmade animal target made of hay and cloth that stands unmoving, placed in the very center of the grassy field. Something the maid is utterly oblivious to, as small hands grip the wooden bow, a hand-crafted gift made for the young brother of the Locksley house, with his name elegantly engraved along the handle.

“Ignore her.”

The master of the house’s voice is quiet, with a hint of playfulness as he tucks a strand of rose-red hair behind his ear, crouching low as he adjusts his brother’s aim. Once again, the maid shouts, which earns a snicker from the younger boy, as the Head of the house grins. Both the brothers are quite used to her panicked shouts, having grown to know the difference between her actual urgent calls and her simple faux panic that she at times sends herself into over the smallest changes.

“Do I shoot now, brother?” His brother’s voice is playful, glancing up at his brother with eager eyes, waiting for the release command. A moment passes before the eldest looks at his younger brother, giving a short nod.

“Shoot.”

The young brother does, the arrow zipping through the bushes and shooting straight into the fake deer’s neck, sending the puppet flying over. The maid shrieks in fear and surprise, nearly dropping whatever she was holding, as the dogs bark happily, rushing over to the straw dummy and pouncing on it. The younger brother immediately jumped with a cheer, revealing his hiding spot as he rushed over to the puppet.

“That was like 15 yards away, brother! And the arrow went zoom!” The young child holds out his arm, pretending it was the arrow and how it flew, nearly falling over from the extra momentum and the dogs that jump and bump into his small frame.

“Master Jay, please be careful!”

The maid, a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and white streaks, holds the ends of her skirt as she rushes across the field, her plump peach-colored face flushed. Jay ignores her completely, entertaining himself with the dogs and the straw deer, chasing them around with it.

“Marjorie, he is alright.”

She nearly jumps 10 feet in the air, turning around and coming face to face with the master of the house, Robyn Locksley. Who has a small smile, resting a firm, gentle hand on her shoulder with an apologetic grin and laugh. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” She presses her palms against her fast-beating heart, and he gives her a moment to gain her breath as he fixes the runaway strays of her hair, watching his brother from the corner of his eyes, watching Jay play happily with their two black and white hunting dogs.

“You called for me earlier. Was something wrong?”

Robyn holds out his arm, allowing the maid, one he’s known since childhood, to interlock their arms as they walk around the grassy field. She was the main maid in charge of Robyn’s everything, making sure that he had everything he could likely need, while his parents spent days away from the manor. Leaving their young son alone for days on end, a habit that didn’t change at the surprise arrival of Jay Locksley, who was born when Robyn was only sixteen.

So, while Marjorie took care of him, Robyn took care of Jay. Even after the Locksley name was ruined, all due to his father’s negligence and his mother’s embarrassment, who fled the moment it was declared by the Draconia Family that Robert Locksley had ruined their wealth and discarded their name and found dead in an alley in the next town over. Though his mother, Jane, died six years ago in a carriage accident.

Neither of the sons of Robert and Jane attended the funeral, at the request of her third husband.

“Goodness me! I almost forgot! Well, news has it that the courting season has changed from the Al-Asim Family to the Schoenheit Family, at the last minute’s notice—”

Robyn nods, giving an occasional hum as he listens. Knowing that it was better off to simply ramble on about whatever news and or drama she gained, speaking about all the speculated drama behind the sudden decision. Cause to her, quick and unusual change is never good.

Though Robyn is curious. A sudden change three months before courting season, he can imagine quite the mad faces of some of the more prominent families. Having to rearrange everything to fit the more regal attitude the Schoenheit’s had, instead of the more freeing vibe that the Al-Asim’s conveyed.

“It could possibly be tied to Kalim Al-Asim and his secret lover?” Robyn holds back a laugh but is not unable to stop a sly smile from spreading across his lips.

“I assume it is another story from the market?” Robyn watches her face go slightly pink, making Robyn know immediately that he’s correct. He laughs, watching her wave him off in a playful fashion. “All rumors hold a bit of truth.”

“That they do.”

They continue walking, Marjorie going back to her conjectures, Robyn adding input here and there, his bright blue eyes gazing along the gardens located on the side of the house, the grassy ground shifting into gravel, crossing past a flowery hedge into the fruit and vegetable gardens. His eyes surveyed each plant, silently searching for any growing berries and fresh, vibrant tomatoes. After finding nothing of interest, his gaze moves to the thick tree line that surrounded the entire Locksley Manor. Located on the furthest outskirts of the large bustling town, hidden within the green land forests. Marjorie continues,

“And it is to be held at the Pomefiore Manor!” Robyn turns to her, his full attention, his brows pulling together in shock and surprise. The Schoenheit family had two famous manors, the Schoenheit Manor where all events are held in relation to the family, and the Pomefiore Manor.

“The one in the Northern Mountains?” The maid nods, stopping in her tracks and pulling away as she rummages through her pockets, retrieving an elegant letter, and placed it in Robyn’s hands.

Pomefiore Manor is a manor of pure and utter elegance hidden within the towering northern mountains and shielded by flurries of never-ending winters. No one except the Schoenheit Family to be allowed that deep into the mountains. Others have tried, but none ever returned alive.

“Such an odd location... And so last minute...”

Robyn mutters under his breath, he’s spent time reading about the mountains and the mysterious snowstorm that follows, some say it was caused by a jealous queen who lost her love to another, and her cold bitter hurt would make those that once stood in her way suffer. While more logical, researchers blamed it on a strange influx of magic that forced the storm to never end. His gaze moves down to Marjorie, watching her anxious-filled expression. Robyn gently presses a hand against her head, his lips curling into a smile.

“I’ll be alright. I was invited, so there should be no worries.”

“You’ll be away for six months. Oh dear,” She leans against Robyn, leaning her full weight against him like a mother would her very own son. He allows her, indulging in the slight smell of honey that surrounds her. Marjorie continues to ramble as she pulls away. Robyn watches her talk aloud, speaking to herself, then to others.

“How would I ever—you’re off to getting married? I need to prepare. We only have three months—Dear Seven—” You watch her walk from the garden and towards the back of the house. Robyn follows behind her, slipping the letter into his pants pocket, as he watches her climb up the stone steps, still speaking to herself, stepping into the manor, clearly in her own world.

“What’s courting season?”

Jay pops up beside the young master of the house, holding a long stick, watching Marjorie before wide blue eyes look up at Robyn, dirt, and grass decorating his clothing. Robyn lets out a low hum, roughing up his brother’s hair, ignoring the gentle ‘hey!’, as Jay tries to duck away.

“It’s like a long party. I’ll be looking for a spouse—Though,” The master of the house trails off, a grin spreading across his lips, watching Jay try to fix his short messy red hair, that’s always messy, even after Robyn spends 15 minutes in front of a mirror, trying to style his unruly hair before giving up. Watching Jay try and slick his hair back, squinting his eyes to look cool, making Robyn laugh when the hair practically bounced back into place.

“—I’ll be away for six months.”

The two siblings walk side by side. Jay, with similar bright blue eyes, bounds happily beside his sibling, attracting the attention of the playful hunting dogs, who zip and dart between the two.

“For six months... That is a long, long time.” Robyn’s brother sways as he walks, purposely bumping into his brother, who uses his hand to entertain the dogs, feeling them playfully nip and bite at his fingers, and chasing the siblings as they walk.

“It is—You will be alright; Marjorie and Arthur will take of you.”

Marjorie and Arthur are the only two remaining maids and butlers to the Locksley Estate. The two manage everything within the large, empty manor. Marjorie is in charge of the inside of the manor, while Arthur handles all outer duties. Occasionally, the two siblings help in secret, dusting and sweeping, maintaining the gardens, and handling the large dogs.

“But it’ll be lonely without you—”

Jay wraps his arms around his brother’s waist, stopping the two in their tracks, Robyn gently combing his fingers through his brother’s hair. His lips pulled into a frown, the last few years, since the fall of the Locksley name, everything has been nothing but hectic, meaning Robyn missed his other courting season, leaving him with only this year and the next before he’s considered ineligible, which could possibly leave the two homeless. And though every fiber in his being wants to remain with his brother—nor does he truly desire a spouse—this is one of his ‘noble’ duties.

“I’ll visit. Once a month, if possible... Our situation is no secret.”

Jay is aware of their social standing. Aware of who exactly their parents were, Robyn had no reason to paint his parents in a good light. Sparing no expense to hide the truth in bits and pieces. Jay knows they’re nobles with no riches, nobles alone in status, merely because King Draconia pitied them, and swore that they could properly regain their title if Robyn worked and proved that the Locksley family was worth helping.

Though becoming a proper noble matters little to none to the Head of the Family, it’s merely a title that comes with a following never-ending headache, and if Robyn could—he very well would rid himself of it. Yet, he crouches to his brother’s level, his hands gently squeezing his shoulders. Jay’s eyes look glossed over in worry, his bottom lip poking out as he frowns.

“You’ll be in my thoughts. Always.”

Robyn Locksley has a brother to protect, to care for, whom he loves more than any other. His only family—besides Marjorie and Arthur—and closest friend. Jay nods, his pouting lips curling into a small mischievous smile as his hands tug at the bottom of his shirt. “Then—Can you help me shoot some more?”

Robyn gasps, clearly being tricked by his brother, “I knew those tears were fake!”

Robyn attacks his brother in a flurry of tickles, bringing his sibling into his embrace, wrestling Jay in his arms, causing him to giggle and laugh, fighting back and losing terribly. “No! No! Robyn! Please!” He shouts in between giggles, the dogs barking and yapping happily, knocking over both Robyn and Jay as they practically pounce onto the two, sending them all to the floor, giving Jay a chance to wiggle and squirm away, darting away in a fit of laughs and giggles. Robyn kneels in the grass, green blades coating parts of his clothing, hair, and face, hands resting on his knees. Jay sticks out his tongue, urging the dogs to come get him, leaving Robyn alone for a moment.

Courting Season.

It’s six months long and, unlike any of the other bachelors and bachelorettes, who flaunt and flounce, wearing their name proudly, the Locksley family cannot. ‘If not for myself... then for you,’ Jay darts around with the dogs, smile large and blue eyes happily wide. Robyn can’t remember the last time he’s seen his brother so happy, the last time he’s been so present. Not simply sparing a glance, but spending a moment with his brother after his long trips, to only leave again.

Trying to undo all his father did. Trying to prove his worth to the ever-reigning Draconia Family, who at any moment displeased with Robyn Locksley, could take everything away. Robyn pushes off the ground, wiping off the dirt and grass, his gaze turning to the large house. Whatever connection Robyn felt, whatever love for the manor—whatever love for his Locksley name ceased to exist years ago. It’s nothing but a house within his name, but to Jay—even as he knows the truth, the manor means something to him. That represents something that Robyn is quite unsure of.

“Master Robyn! Master Jay! Lunch is ready!” Marjorie’s voice shouts aloud, carrying a tray out and to the sitting area located at the top of the stairs, Arthur helping her keep the glass doors open.

Jay immediately is on his feet, racing towards the garden stairs, the two hunting dogs yapping and running after the young boy. A short happy huff lips past Robyn’s lips, walking towards the manor with a small smile.

══════ •✦• ══════

Courting Season.

A season in which all elegant bachelors and bachelorettes take a break from the pressures of society, gathering together to expand their family name and grow their riches by finding a spouse. There are no expectations of love, but connections. That is the goal, to connect and grow. Win it all or lose everything. Failure results in shame, and the Draconia refuses to have shame attached to them.

Courting Season is divided into two, the Spring Court and the Summer Court.

The Spring Court [March, April, May]:

The Court of Spring is the beginning of all festivities and gives a chance for everyone to scope out potential suitors and enjoy the fun without absolute commitment.

For most of the spring, the bachelors and bachelorettes remain separate. Getting to know one another and gaining companions. The more socially accepted you are, the less likely you’ll have competition in finding a good partner.

The Summer Court [June, July, August]:

The Court of Summer, this is the latter half of all festivities. During this time, one should already have mutually picked their suitor for the last three months, spending this time to bond more, whether romantically or for future business endeavors.

At this point, most have selected their main interest and attempt to spend the latter half trying to know them. While others, pleased with their connections but have no desire for romance, spend the last three months enjoying the festivities, but must show a sign that they are out of the running and uninteresting.

Origin of Courting Season: Created and in placed by one of the great kings of Briar Valley, as a way to keep the rich with the rich and keep the poor with the poor.

This idea has changed very little over time, due to the expansion of how many noble families exist beneath Draconia’s control.

ACT TWO:

“This above all; to thine own self be true.” - Shakespeare

The Huntsman can’t help but smile, turning his gaze to the growing crowd, as carriages of different sizes and colors move in staggered lines, traveling up the rocky dirt road, lined with elegant floral bushes, filling the air with the gentle scents of lavender and jasmine, guiding them towards the gleaming manor of violet, white, and gold. Feeling the cool spring air bite at his cheeks, he slides off the towering tree branch, falling to the ground in simply ease. Emerald eyes subtly memorized each landau that stood out before landing on a bright red and gold wooden carriage, pulled by two elegant black stallions.

“J’aime bien celui-là.”

══════ •✦• ════════════ •✦• ══════

This is the beauty of the Pomefiore Manor.

It is a celebratory night, the first night of Courting Season, the first night before everyone is separated for the first three months. Yet that is the farthest thought from everyone’s mind. For some, it is their first time away from home, away from the suffocation of their titles. For others, this is a usual scene and a moment for them to take a break from their hectic life and bask in simplicity. For others, this is business, not a vacation.

DEAR ROBYN LOCKSLEY,

Greetings from the Draconia Family.

We hope all is well and wish you a very joyful and eventful courting season. May the odds be in your favor, and you find the perfect lover. We have written to you to speak gaily and thank you for all of your dedicated help, but we are also afraid that even after years of service, it is simply not enough. Your father was quite the foolish man and was built quite the debt, one you must repay. So sadly, I’m afraid that if you do not find a spouse of higher rank, you will be stripped of your title and all assets. Now don’t fear, this courting season is quite an extraordinary one, so have fun, be merry. For this might be your last time.

Best Wishes,

THE DRACONIA FAMILY

The words of the letter remain heavy upon his brain. Any formalities slipped out moreso on instinct than purpose, and barely remembering the faces of the different women and men that introduced themselves. Doing well to speak to the noble, only in name, rather than earned purpose. Which Robyn knows, aware of his name being spread across the ballroom like an uncontrolled wildfire, as others send him curious looks.

Looks he does well to ignore.

This had been on his mind for the last three months, in between preparations for his long journey, and making sure finances were in order. Making sure that Jay, Marjorie, and Arthur had all they needed while he was gone. He spent the days spending time with his brother, promising that six months would pass quickly that before they knew it, they’d be together again in the fall. While in the late night, he remained glued to his desk, furiously writing letters to different nobles and businessmen, trying to build any sort of safety net if he did fail in the task appointed by the Draconia Family. Spending nights within his bed, rereading the letter over and over.

Half of him wanted to make the unprompted journey to the Draconia Castle, demanding to speak with the King. Urge them to give him more tasks. To let him find some way to at least make sure his brother and the only two servants that he had were all right and cared for.

Though Robyn is certain that their solution would have Jay work for them. Not only does he lose the title of noble, but becomes a poorly treated servant. That thought alone forced Robyn to remain in the manor, doing well so as to not frighten the others.

He shakes the thought from his head. Suddenly very aware of his facial expressions, he forces a relaxed smile. Turning his gaze upon the crowded ballroom. Spotting some familiar faces and some not. Each and all dressed in the finest of silks and jewels, all wanted to show off to the Schoenheit heir, who has yet to make himself known.

Robyn stands against the towering white marble walls. As flickers of white and gold flames give way to bright light, placed upon hanging crystal chandeliers, as shoes tap and float against the polished floors. Dancing away with whoever filled their fancy, away from prying, judgmental eyes, with hands entwined and bodies close, dancing to the lovely orchestra.

Everyone during courting season has something to gain and something to hide.

The musicians, people that Robyn is sure that they have been alive far longer than him and have more than mastered the dark oak string instruments. The Locksley Head is certain that the orchestra is most definitely a gift from the Draconia Family. Seeing as no noble would accept less than the best, though Robyn is unsure of the last time he’s heard a live orchestra.

He holds the crystal flute glass, one practically forced into his hand the moment he stepped into the ballroom, occasionally sipping its sweet savory flavor that sends tingles down his tongue after every taste. There’s a subtle underlying flavor of alcohol. Yet the sweet flavor overpowers it greatly. He’s sure that there will be a few who make the mistake of drinking downing drink after drink.

Robyn softly sways to the music, far more interested in the different people, each seemingly comfortable in this environment. Not to say he hates dancing or even festivities, but it’s more enjoyable with someone, is it not?

Robyn’s blue eyes shifted across the enormous crowd that formed around the ballroom dance floor, mingling and gossiping—laughing at their own jokes and discussing the future events. Each within their own right, amazed with how elegant the first night seems to be, when Vil Schoenheit only had three months to prepare. While others knew that the moment Vil Schoenheit sent out invitations with a bouquet, that this year’s courting season—Vil Schoenheit's final courting season would be extravagant.

“Such a shame to only watch and never mingle—Though one can find beauty in simply people watching.”

The voice is like a cool summer breeze and has Robyn shuddering—once for the sudden cold and another out of pure surprise. A man, young, with short blonde hair, pulled into a low ponytail, and deep green eyes that betrayed nothing of his thoughts nor actions, but only showed his curiosity and amusement. He wears simple clothing, tight black pants, a white button-up shirt, and a black corset vest with green lace embellishments, with a simple black belt and a bow and quiver attached to his back.

Robyn glances over his form once more, before landing on his face. He’s watching the crowd. He can tell the strange man is a huntsman. The ends of Robyn’s lips curl. “People are the finest works of art.”

“Ils sont vraiment,” the huntsman says nothing more with a merry hum, occasionally glancing at the young nobleman, but keeping his gaze focused on the smiling faces of the people.

“From the way you’re dressed, you do not seem like a noble?” Robyn’s words make the man chuckle, earning his full attention, unlike before. He wears a bright smile, pressing a hand over his heart as he bows.

“That I am not. I am Rook Hunt, personal guard and huntsman to Vil Schoenheit.”

Robyn’s eyes widen at his words, watching Rook stand straight, a still amused smile upon his lips. “May I ask what gave me away, Mr. Robyn Locksley?”

“You know who I am?”

“Who would not? You arrived in such a crimson carriage. Such a red is quite beautiful.” Emerald eyes dart up to his hair, before resting back on Robyn’s face, unafraid of eye contact. Robyn lets out a low huff like laugh, crossing his arms, and tilting his head to the side. “You asked how I knew—”

“Oui.”

“You are simply underdressed.” The words make the huntsman laugh, a few eyes turning in their direction for the sudden loud laugh, unaware of the two.

“Such a simple fact and yet gave so much away. Tu es vraiment fascinant.” Rook wipes away imaginary tears, giving another shallow bow, as if apologizing. “Forgive me of my outburst, it is not often one speaks to me so freely.”

“Freely?” Darting past Robyn’s curiosity, his smile unfaltering, “You spoke as people being art, then we stand in a museum of moving pieces.”

A museum of moving pieces. Robyn follows Rook’s gaze, watching the crowd move and dance. No one is in the same position as before, some with their arms crossed when they once talked animatedly, some who drink when they once were eating.

“So much passes in so little time. How can one truly appreciate it without a photo?” How can one fully enjoy a moment when a moment so quickly passes? Robyn’s gaze moves to his flute glass, watching the bubbles form and pop, before turning his gaze back towards the crowd.

“That is the beauty of it.” Rook tears his eyes away, green eyes filled with so much honesty. For a moment, Robyn swears he sees Jay’s honest eyes. It has been so long since he’s met someone who’s so true to themselves.

“You speak of…” The words come out heavy, and weigh heavily upon his tongue, “beauty quite often… Why?”

Rook takes a moment to answer, though Robyn is certain that the huntsman doesn’t need a moment to think of response, but moreso for affect. “That is my life pursuit… To find beauty in all things.” Robyn’s eyes move towards the orchestra, watching them happily play, caught up in the melodies of their own music. He thinks back to the letter, one he folded and shoved into the deepest parts of his temporary dresser, unable to swallow the bitterness of it all. Robyn lets out a soft sigh, taking a large gulp of his drink, before speaking.

“In theory that would be easy… To find beauty in everything… Yet how do you look past the negative to see beauty?”

“You do not.” The Huntsman answers with ease, rocking on his heels with a smile, laughing at Robyn’s confused expression. “You take all for how it is and how it will be. Negativity is a fluid emotion—no one can avoid it, so you must learn how to see it for what it is. People will always have negativity—that is one of life’s absolutes. Yet that is not all people can be…”

“So, you find beauty in those that experience it and move past it?”

“And those who cannot—il y a de la beauté dans l’angoisse.”

Robyn finishes the bubbly drink, placing the crystal flute glass on the tray of a passing by servant, before turning to Rook with a grin. “I quite enjoy your company,” Robyn face slightly flushed, feeling the gentle buzz of alcohol in his system, yet he doesn’t stop, offering out a hand.

“May I ask you to accompany me to the gardens?”

══════ •✦• ══════

“Master Vil, many are awaiting your arrival.”

A short maid bows deeply keeping her face hidden as the Schoenheit heir finishes his hair. Pulled into a simple bun, adorned with crystals and jewels. His pink painted lips pressed together, fingers elegantly fixing the golden chain of his necklace.

“Tell me, has father said anything about the courting season?” His voice is low, while the elegant makeup brush is carefully dragged across the lid of his eye, unbothered to even look at the shuddering maid, who’s dressed in simply black and white, keeping herself in Vil’s shadow.

“He—um—The Master spoke of annoyance and disappointment, yet has said nothing else, Master Vil.”

Coating the purple eye shadow across his eyes, before switching to black eyeliner, he speaks again. “That is good, I suppose,” he moves to his other eye, “And have you seen Rook? I give him a moment to see all who has arrived, and he takes the time to simply go missing.” Vil speaks to himself before letting out a sigh, switching from the black eye shadow to a deep purple. He speaks directly to his maid.

“I am aware he has been mingling with guests, yet has yet returned, where is he?”

“Um, the gardens, I believe. He is entertaining Master Robyn Locksley.” Vil pulls the brush from his eye, staring at the two perfectly matching eyes, before placing the brush down and for once, turning to fully look at the maid. His blonde brows furrowed and lips in a low grimace.

“Robyn Locksley… If I am correct, he is a noble in name and of nothing else.” There is slight venom in his words, standing up from his vanity and towards the full-length mirror, once again checking to make sure his outfit is in order. The maid makes sure to stand behind him, keeping her hand over her heart and legs crossed in a low curtsy.

“Yes, that he is. But many say that the reason is due to Robyn Locksley having close ties to the Draconia Family. Which is why he is able to retain his title. Rumors say that it was Lord Malleus himself who gifted the Locksley with the crimson red carriage. Which has caught a lot of attention, I am certain that Master Robyn will have quite many who seek him.”

Vil clicks his tongue, heels clicking as he returns to his vanity, picking up the black eye liner, “I do not like rumors, yet if there is any truth in this—I assure you, Robyn Locksley has caught my attention.” He speaks under his breath, adding the wings onto his eyes, before clearing his throat.

“Prepare for my arrival. I want not a soul missing.”

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

#t.manor.writings #t.manor.commissions #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #rook hunt #Vil Schoenheit #original character #rook hunt x vil Schoenheit #rook hunt x oc #vil schoenheit x oc #rook x oc #vil x oc #rook x vil x oc #rook x vil #bridgerton au #twst x oc #twisted wonderland x oc #twst oc

[siren-serenity]

Hi! I was hoping you could write something with my yuusona Minthe (she/they pronouns used interchangeably) for the battle of the restaurants event ^^ (here's their info!)

May I request, Minthe as a barista. She's trying to make Vil's order (which is a bit complicated) but Rook keeps distracting them with cute nicknames which only get weirder the more they don't react to it, and so they make a mistake?

Minthe, Rook and Vil are in a polycule.

Thank you, and I hope you have a great day ahead ^^

↳ *TITLE: HER LOVERS!* ༉‧₊˚✧

↳ *MINTHE X ROOK HUNT X VIL SCHOENHEIT!* ༉‧₊˚✧

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ OMFG??? THATS LIKE A DREAM COME TRUE FOR ME!!! bro minthe should be in heaven - i mean?? rook dedicating all his love for you? being vil's lover and being in the utmost care? that is honestly a dream!!! (Okay, as I wrote this, I made a HUGE mistake by deviating from the plot line…let me know if you want me to rewrite it!!! So sorry T-T)

↳ *𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘚!* ༉‧₊˚✧

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Taglist: @krenenbaker, @moonlitnyx, @azulashengrottospiano. @eynnwwyjth, @parad-ice-lostandfound, @officialdaydreamer00, @leonistic, @plutosring, @starsilluminateourgalaxy, @aceofsweets, @rav--en, @dowdos, @deathkat657, @escha-evenstar, @toffeeeez, @dearest-siblingtwst, @biromanticboba, @savanaclaw1996, @candlewitch-cryptic, @lowenergyallday

please reblog or dm if you wish to be tagged!!

Their presence in the cafe blinded the students. Who wouldn't be? It was the queen and his huntsman, Vil Schoenheit and Rook Hunt after all. Vil's appearance is as beautiful as ever; he truly deserves the title of 'the fairest of them all'. Similarly, Rook's wide grin made him glow with beauty.

"Ma cherie!" Rook crooned as he skipped his way to the barista counter. Minthe gave him a small grin and nodded. "Hey, Rook!"

"Forgetting somebody," Vil drawled playfully before reaching for her hand. He brought it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. "Morning, little dagger."

Minthe clicked the computer screen and sent him a loving smile. "Good morning, my fairest. What would you two like to order?"

Vil hummed under his breath. "Something healthy to start the day, I suppose. I haven't gone on my jog yet."

The huntsman nodded. "I'll have anything Vil takes! We're going on a jog later. Truly, Vil is the most dedicated to pursuing the path of beauty!"

Minthe laughed in agreement.

"That's why we love him," she teased. "Alright! Can I serve you two a fruit smoothie and chicken pot pie to start your day? Perfectly healthy and made with organic ingredients. No preservatives added."

The blonds nodded in agreement before having a small polite "squabble" over who would pay. Minthe could hear the quiet whispers as she went to make their smoothies. Vil would occasionally go "I'm your housewarden!" to which Rook would reply with "As your beloved huntsman, I should pay! It is but a small cost."

As she sliced the bananas, she could hear her senior, Melody Striker, approaching.

"Got the two fighting over you again?" The black-purple-haired girl snickered, gesturing to the two who were still arguing. "Ah, young love."

The strawberry juice covered her fingers and made them feel sticky, but Minthe carried on. "No, they're just arguing over who pays for both their meals."

She playfully sighed, switching in the blender with a flick of a finger.

“Honestly,” she yelled over the chaotic noise. “They should just take turns or pay for their own! I don’t see the need—“

“I think they just like showing off to you,” Melody smirked. “It’s probably a Pomefiore thing; I saw Ace and Epel doing the same a few days back. Peacocks, all of them.”

Minthe snorted as she poured the smoothie into the two cups. “I can see that.”

As the black-purple-haired senior walked away to the counter, she prepared the last of the identical dishes before walking towards her lovers. Her heart fluttered as she met eye contact with both of them and almost on instinct, a smile blossomed on her face.

“Your dishes, monsieurs,” she teased, setting down the plates. Vil looked upon the meal with a glint in his eyes and Minthe awaited with bated breath for his approval.

Vil hummed before gracefully taking a fork and taking a bite out of the warm chicken pot pie. Even as she stood, she could smell the tantalising scent of the meat, cooked to perfection and smelling utterly delectable.

“You’re not good at hiding your desire, little dagger,” Vil’s playful drawl snapped her out of her stupor. She felt him cradling her chin with one hand, lifting up the spoon with a piece of the pie on it to her mouth. “Have some, dear.”

Minthe felt Rook take her unoccupied hand in his, brushing a calloused thumb over her knuckles.

“Eat, mon amor,” Rook hummed, “I can sense your hunger and your yearning to have a bite of the pie!”

As if agreeing, Minthe’s stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. With a sigh and a smile, she relented. She took a bite, her smile growing larger with the taste of the pie dancing on her tongue. With her eyes closed, she didn’t notice Vil and Rook exchanging a fond, loving smile between them.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #battle of the restaurants #twst #twst oc #vil schoenheit x oc #rook hunt x oc #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #vil x rook x oc #polycule #polyamory

[thevilqueen]

Insatiable ~ Vil Schoenheit and Kānila Mahar

Cw: dick sucking.

Vil’s breath caught in his throat as he felt Kānila’s lips press against the skin of his exposed legs. Her kisses were deliberate and agonisingly slow, as if she was walking down a path she had already mapped out completely. After all, this wasn’t their first time exploring Vil’s body. He left a soft sigh as he felt them move upwards, he could sense their warm breath caressing him along with the tip of their nose. Kanila’s hands moved up and down the back of his legs slowly before he felt them being lifted, allowing them to rest over her shoulders.

“Oh, that’s a new one,” they said, before pressing their lips to the side of his right knee.

Vil hummed as if taken out of his daze for a short moment. Kanila loved keeping track of the moles on his body, as small and sparse as they were, they were spread over Vil’s pristine skin. They weren’t visible on pictures, nor were they often exposed, only someone that knew him intimately would know about the location of each of them. There was only two more Kanila had to kiss before they would pay attention to the area that demanded them the most. As sweet as the attention to even the smallest of things about Vil was, he couldn’t help his hands shaking from the anticipation.

As Kānila gave his thighs a final kiss, her tongue slid towards Vil’s hard member. He couldn’t help moaning as a response making them chuckle before their lips touched the sensitive skin of his swollen balls. Vil gasped his heartrate increasing as they licked and sucked on the skin, slowly directing their attention to his shaft with a lick from the base to the tip. Kanila kissed and sucked sloppily, a few moans falling from her lips along with her drool and Vil’s precum. Vil’s sounds of pleasure were getting louder by the second, his knuckles white as he gripped his sheets tightly.

Kanila’s hands wrapped around his balls stimulating them along with the tip of his cock with her mouth. She felt her own arousal dangerously build up in between her legs as the moans of her lover kept pushing her to the edge. They could tell Vil was close by the way his body was trembling and his voice breaking. Kanila moaned alongside him and soon Vil’s release filled their mouth. She swallowed hungrily, indulging in the bitter taste she was addicted to, barely containing herself.

Vil’s breathing was uneven and as he tried to regain his composure, he couldn’t fight the yearning he felt for Kanila. Vil’s hand reached for them, and they held it as they licked the last drops of his release from the tip of his member. His legs fell to each side of them and as if they read his mind, they laid on top of him, kissing his jaw. Vil’s arms wrapped around them securely as she pushed the matted strands of hair covering his face to the side. Then Kanila kissed his forehead, resisting the urge to directly lick the few droplets of sweat she had noticed, though Vil knew they craved the taste.

“I’m already missing you in my mouth,” Kanila teased.

Vil chuckled before pulling them to the side, making them face him as they laid on his bed. His nose brushed against her before his lips caught hers in a tender kiss.

“You are insatiable for someone that eats so little.”

“Or maybe you’re the only thing I enjoy consuming,” Kanila replied in between kisses with a smile.

“I guess I can’t blame you for having good taste.”

#vil schoenheit smut #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit x oc #👑.kānivil

[londonfog-chan]

Forgive me father for I have simped for Twisted wonderland characters.

Ended up making some OCs based on fem!Beast (Prince Adam) and Mirabel Madrigal.

The twst fem!Beast is named Princess Adeline Fleur, and she’s in Pomefiore. I ship her with Vil because I got emotional watching Shrek one day and realized I want a “pretty boy” character to fall in love with a girl who does not have to go through her weight loss/shaved legs glow up to get the model boy.

The twst Mirabel is named Milagros Lavela, and she takes the part of the MC/Yuusona. She lives in ramshackle dorm and like Mirabel, she has no gift. I pair her with Malleus.

#twisted wonderland #yuusona #twisted wonderland oc #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x oc #KoroMarimoart

[simplysimpingchaos]

Ikagai Omarion a student in night raven college his dorm is ignihyde

Oc for Twisted wonderland

[This is how he looked like, I don't own the image I merely referencing the appearance]

He have always been quiet student and plain person he doesn't attract any attention and always spoke in low tone, and mostly blunt tone he never the one to try argue to anyone and merely stayed silent in the sidelines 

wearing a blank expression, his hair is brown and his eyes is grey having a small frail body and [4'5 cm] mostly short person and light weight person, he barely express any of his emotions but whenever his embarrassed his ear will turn red despite his face being blank, when nervous or anxious his hand will turn cold and would placed them inside his pocket,

despite him being small and looking a bit frail his very flexible and agile He can also held a few larger weapon then himself, or even lifted up more bigger and heavy stuffed, having more stamina because of his consistent training

His signature spell called: 

Crystallized, which the user can create  crystal out of thin air using their energy they can manifest them,[It works like a ice power] they can willingly changed its shaped too, but the if it's overused the user might have a cracked in his skin which is similar to having a cut injuries 

bonus: 

(if the user used his blood as way to create crystal it will have more stability and density and sharpness in its edge)

Ikagai have used his signatures spell a few more times enduring the effect even almost over bolting himself at that times, He have always pushed himself over the limits when it comes to training, when going back to his grandparents home he would spend his free time training he have his favourite location spot near his grandparents home, a vast wide field area with forest tree acting as a end line for his training ground.

And of course he admired the housewarden of Pomefiore, Vil schoenheit he have always thought to himself how much Vil have achieved with his own confidence and skill, he had admired all his worked and acting career, he secretly watched them and attending a few performances of his just to see him in action, Although he didn't crossed the line where he would literally watch vil everyday he respected him and didn't wanna cause trouble so he only watched in the shadow he didn't dare to talked to him or tried to get in his way, His coward when it comes to Vil, whenever he sees Vil heading his way he would immediately act naturally and go to another way.

///Backstory///

Back at his homeland everyone have called him as a: 'Freak' because of how he react to death of his families he didn't shed a tear only staring blankly at the corpse of his parents he didn't even seen showing remorse even kids at his age could still cry and grief, some other have said that he have killed his own parents even though it was a accident, His grandParents taken care of him throughout his childhood, which they taught him how to make clothes which become his hobbies, at the age of Ten his grandparents moved out to another town along with him where he have attended a school there, his grandmother wanted Ikagai to have a good experience with school, 

which is true since no one knows him in the new town He barely even talked to anyone, he have been a silent kid playing on the swing and happily watching everyone from the sidelines even though he didn't create any friends he still talked when they asked him questions which some kids caught him off guard since they thought he was mute, Ikagai was a person having no interest participating to any event

Although he came in to one of stage play, and there he meet a boy with blond hair and faded violet on his edge, on the stage he can't help but admire him he can still feel the same feelings he had, he later learned his name is Vil schoenheit

The way Vil deliver his line to the audience to hear playing as a villain his sternness and arrogant act made Ikagai admired him more his heart always skip a beat whenever he hear Vil say his line or sentence, He admire his confidence and the way he shines through out the play, through out the play Ikagai have his only eyes towards vil whenever he appeared his eyes quickly glue onto him watching his performance carefully just like a puppy watching their owners, at that time he thought to himself he wanna learn more about Vil and be by his side to see him more.

it was his first meeting with Vil but he didn't dare to approach him he keep his distance and watched him from afar, for the first time Ikagai felt Scared for him he might ruin his reputation since his seen as someone different he didn't wanna caused any effect, so he decided to follow Vil path silently while keeping distance which is a few reason why he attended the night raven college.

#twisted wonderland #Twisted wonderland x oc #Vil schoenheit x oc #Just for fun #oc intro #Vil schoenheit #Oc

[cyn-write]

Oc x Canon Week: Day 4

Eira Fox (Lucifer/Dodger Twst) × Rook Hunt × Vil Schoenheit

"Cuddling"

This was one of the longest days Vil has had in a while. Between classes, club activities, and a very long meeting with his agent, he was ready to crash. He entered Pomefiore later than he expected, everyone was already asleep (as he should be) and all the lights were out. He was so tired, he didn't notice the slight footsteps of his lovers following him.

Rook and Eira had been waiting for Vil for hours. They had started to worry when he did not show up for dinner and the clock went past his usual bedtime. So when they finally saw him walk in exhausted, they followed close behind and only made their presents known when Vil almost fainted from exhaustion.

"Roi de Poison," Rook whispered as he caught Vil from tripping, "You must be careful, Mon Amour. If anything were to happen to you, we would be devastated ~"

Eira slipped underneath Vil's other arm, her pale arm wrapped around his waist and fluffy tail brushing against her Queen's trousers.

Vil looked at the two and shook his head, "I told you two not to wait up for me." Eira just rolled her eyes and smirked.

Rook spoke the words he and his mute love both thought, "Apologise Vil, but we could not sleep knowing you were not in our arms." Rook and Eira helped Vil to his room and gently sat him on the bed. As he sank in, Eira pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before gathering his skin care products. Rook was already prepared with his makeup remover and sat next to his tired love.

"What am I going to do with you two?" Vil chuckled as he removed his school jacket with aid from Rook.

"Let us help you," Rook said quietly, handing him his make remover as Rook took his Jacket to hang on the chair.

Silently, Eira appeared with two creams in her hands. She placed them on the nightstand and signed 'I know there is more, but you need to sleep.'

Vil was so tired, he agreed to the normally preposterous proposal. "Very well... did I get it all?" he asked.

Eira took the cloth and touched up a few spots before nodding. Her feline eyes were illuminated by the moon and Vil could only focus on them, he was beyond tired. Eira did not wait for Vil to ask before applying his cream herself. She was so delicate despite her sharp nails. Rook returned from Vil's closet with a nightshirt and soft silk pants.

Despite the little aid the groggy Vil provided, the duo got Vil ready for bed and, already in their pajamas, curled up next to their exhausted lover on either side. Rook held Vil, allowing his Queen to rest his head on his shoulder, while Eira curled herself around Vil's other side, her soft white ears tickled his chin and her fluffy tail curled around both boys.

At this moment, Vil realized how lucky he was. He did not have one but two partners who cared for him and loved him so deeply but waited up to help him with his nightly routine. Despite the business of these past few weeks, they still found little moments for him whether in the early morning as they work out together, or late at night when they steal a few moments to snuggle before sleeping in each other's arms.

Despite all the challenges that came with dating THE Vil Schonheit, they both did it with a smile and a kiss.

Now, this is Love...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 4: Complete! I hope you enjoyed this entry in the @theocxcanonweek challenge! Eira is one of my favorite Ocs and I love her relationship with Vil and Rook. They love and support each other and will fight to the ends of the earth to see the other smile. Eira is a 3rd-year mute arctic-fox beast-woman who will do everything to protect the ones she loves, no matter the cost.

Enjoy, Like, Reblog, and Follow for more on Eira and my other Ocs from the CanonxOC week 2023!

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #Vil x oc x Rook #twst oc #twst #twst fanfic #rook hunt x oc #Vil Schoenheit x Oc #oc x canon #oc x canon week! #rook x vil #rook x vil x oc

[dilatorywriting]

Apart

Vil Schoenheit x OC Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Never in a hundred years would anyone have expected the Vil Schoenheit to develop seperation anxiety.

[OC Archive]

Vil wasn’t picking up his phone. Which was saying something, because normally the blonde was hemming and hawing over getting Saya to answer in any reasonable fashion. It wasn’t her fault she was terrible with texts, let alone the strange, encrypted, messaging software he’d insisted they use. But Vil was normally so focused—so intent. She’d never had to wait more than a few minutes before for him to respond to even her silliest of questions.

She listened through the tinny speakers as the phone rang, and rang, and rang.

It went to voicemail again with a near petulant chirp and Saya huffed irritably through her nose.

Vil was away filming. He hadn’t wanted to be. He’d told her time and time again that he’d specifically set aside his acting career to focus on his education, and that he had no intentions of stepping into any new roles when his duties to Pomefiore and Night Raven already ate up so much of his precious free time. But this was some reshoot or other for a project that had long since shifted into post-production. And he was contractually obligated to pack his bags and head out on the earliest flight to the Shaftlands.

“Call me every night,” he’d said, as he was fretfully checking and rechecking his suitcase. Shifting through outfits like a blackjack dealer spitting cards around a table. “And every morning.”

“And every afternoon?” she’d drawled, rolling over to bury back into his too-expensive plum duvet. The sun wasn’t even up yet. The birds hadn’t even started to sing yet. It was too early to be awake at all, let alone trying to juggle kindness and reciprocal doting.

“I’m serious,” he’d snapped. “You already get into enough trouble while I’m here to keep a watch over you. And now I’m going to be on another continent.”

And he’d seemed… frazzled, almost. There were smears of purple beneath his eyes that didn’t look intentional or artful, and there was a tightness to his sculpted brows that spoke of a burgeoning headache.

“You said It’s only for two weeks,” Saya mumbled, sitting back up to give him and his fretting her proper attention. “It’ll be fine. It can be, like, a vacation,” she tried. “Away from all my nonsense. I’m sure by the end of it you’ll be dreading coming back.”

Her cheek stretched with sharp, stinging pain and she whined into Vil’s palm as he pinched the skin there.

“Don’t say that,” he demanded, bitter and… something she couldn’t quite place. Saya blinked back, owlish and surprised. Vil never really liked when she joked about him not caring, or about her being a burden, and blablabla. It was all in good fun, well, mostly, but he always put a hard stop to it nonetheless. So she hadn’t expected him to sit back and laugh at her little joke, but he’d never really looked quite so…

“…I’ll miss you,” she said around his fingers, instead of pushing further. Hoping that might be less of a conversational landmine. But instead of helping, that something darkening his eyes just got worse.

“Every morning and every night,” he said again after a moment, ducking forward to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “So keep your phone charged.”

Another chirp. Another ‘you have reached the voicemail of—’

Saya frowned and set her phone aside.

He had been a bit… odd, maybe. The last few times they’d spoken. Or, well, to be fair, he hadn’t really been himself the entire time he’d been away. Like there was an undercurrent of tension to him winding tighter and tighter, just waiting to snap. Vil had always had a tendency to work himself too hard, but this… didn’t really seem like that. There was almost a mania to it. Not quite hysterical, but something that reminded her a bit too much of trickling tar and the foul, creeping sludge of blot for comfort.

Her phone vibrated and Saya pounced for it before the screen even had a chance to light up.

“Oh thank god, you picked up. Do you know where he is?”

Saya blinked, startled, and then hazarded a quick glance at the caller ID. When his PR Team's icon blinked back at her, she swallowed a pissy curse.

“Amelia,” she frowned, fighting the urge to twist her fingers. “What do you mean? Know where who is?”

“You know who!” the woman snapped, sounding halfway to a meltdown. “Vil stormed off set hours ago and no one’s been able to find him.”

Saya’s stomach dropped and she felt herself moving towards the door before she’d even realized she’d stood.

“What do you mean?” she frowned, scraggling blindly along the coat hangers for a jacket. “What do you mean ‘ran off?’” He wouldn’t. Vil would never. He was a consummate professional—

“He hasn’t been… feeling well,” Amelia said into the speaker, sounding a bit choked. “And some of the crew was struggling with his… his mood.”

“Just call him a bitch and be done with it,” Saya snipped, yanking her arms through the sleeves and shoving her keys into her pocket. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“He can always be a bit difficult to work with—demanding, heavy-handed. We all know that. But never cruel. But this time it was like… He was just... ” the woman trailed off, still stiff. Still clearly panicked. “So things weren’t going well. I—We—He just—"

“Look,” Saya interrupted, stumbling out the door and hearing the creaking old hinges slam behind her. It was pouring. A torrential downpour that had turned the whole of the paths outside Ramshackle into a hazardous, muddy obstacle course. “You can share your poor, boohoo backstories later. Do you have any idea where he could have—"

She crashed headfirst into another rushing figure with a whoosh that knocked the air right out of her chest. Saya leaned forward with a gasping wheeze, trying to get her feet back under her and the air back into her lungs, and gaped in shock at the very familiar chest that she’d just barreled into at Mach speed. A chest that was supposed to be a hundred miles away on a movie set and not—not—

The voice in her phone was faint, droning buzz like the flighty chitter of mosquitos. She shoved it into her pocket until the panicked white noise was muffled through a layer of fabric.

There were too many questions. Too many hard questions.

So Saya just stiffened her lip and looped an arm through Vil’s.

“Come on,” she sighed, feeling a terrible, nervous chill trickling through her veins like ice water. “Your makeup is dripping everywhere. Let’s get you inside.”

Vil hated Ramshackle—made it a point to say so every time he laid eyes upon the fetid, lopsided, wreck of a building. But this time he just let himself be herded through the main entrance without a word, and that fretful, freezing something in her limbs got worse. Saya corralled him carefully upstairs to her small room. Ro was supposed to be away at Diasomnia for the evening, but the little bit of extra privacy wouldn’t do any harm.

Saya’s heart was tripping unpleasantly in her chest and she decided she had a plan.

First, she’d sit him down on her bed all comfy like. She’d wipe away his smeared mascara and dot at the red, angry lines on his cheeks. Then, she’d bundle him up in her comforter and maybe make some cocoa. And then—then… Well, she didn’t know what then. But it was a start.

Vil, naturally, was never one to make anyone’s lives easier ever. Even hers. So when she moved to start pushing him towards her mattress, he lurched around—quick as a snake—and dragged her into his arms so tight that her sides were aching with it. Saya squeaked and fought the urge to immediately start wriggling like a fish in a net. Because something wasn’t… This really wasn’t…

“Vil…?” she tried, and he pressed forward until his nose was digging into her throat so hard there was sure to be a fresh set of red marks there tomorrow. She tried to get her arms up, to hug him back, but it was too tight. And he wasn’t moving. So Saya sighed and settled on a soft, “I missed you.”

Vil locked up like a broken doll and she froze, feeling like she’d audibly misstepped somehow.

“Uhm…” she mumbled, unsure how to backtrack. “Are you alright? Amelia called. She said everyone was worried that—”

“They’re not worried,” he sneered, so sharp and so venomous that it genuinely startled her. “I did what I had to do and I left. I doubt they could care less.”

Saya frowned, hesitant. “Something’s bothering you.”

A scoff. “Everything bothers me.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t fix everything,” she pressed back. “Not all at once, anyways. Just—one thing at a time maybe? So I can help with that first?”

“…I always knew,” Vil said against her shoulder after a moment, “that they were miserable, lying vermin. That’s all any of this really is. What can I do for them, how can they use me best. And it never bothered me before. Or maybe it did, but I just never knew any better.”

“What are you talking about?” Saya frowned, doing her best to shuffle up against him in as close of an approximation to a reassuring pat as she could manage with her arms pinned to her side.

“It’s hard,” Vil continued, sounding bitter. “To learn that you can be loved as a person, and then having to go back to being a commodity. To being nothing but your use. So don’t ever,” he seethed, digging his painted nails into her hips, “say that leaving you is a vacation, or a treat, or enjoyable ever again when you’re the only one who ever even lets me be a person to begin with.”

“…okay,” Saya choked. Because that sounded like a lot. A lot, a lot. But—but this was Vil. Who she really did love so, so much. Cracks and all.

So she did what she did best and walled off the strange something that had started to fester in her gut. Locked it away and decided promptly that it had never existed at all.

“But maybe next time at least tell someone where you’re going,” she protested weakly, forcing a bit of levity into her tone. “Because your PA was calling me in a panic. I was literally about to go down to the road and hitchhike to the Shaftlands.”

“Do not ever get into a car with a stranger who tries to pick you up on the curbside,” he snipped at her, grip loosening just enough that he could reach up to tug, reprimanding, at a lock of her hair instead. “And this is why I was so nervous about leaving you alone. You’re just as danger prone as your brother.”

“Oh, please. I am not.”

“Being willing to turn and bite the thing chasing you like a feral racoon doesn’t mean you aren’t being chased,” Vil snorted, a bit of his more familiar, playful snark curling over the words to replace that horrible, cloying something from before. He ran his fingers through her hair and scratched lightly at her scalp. “I should track your phone at this rate.”

Saya scoffed. “I’m surprised you don’t already.”

Vil hummed, sounding pensive. And perhaps a touch of good humor. Like he’d caught himself thinking on an inside joke.

“Nevertheless,” he sighed, slowly unwinding himself from around her like a hulking, venomous snake unspooling its coils. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I just missed you terribly. And wanted to come home as soon as possible.”

Oof. One hit KO.

Saya huffed, cheeks going pink all the way up to her ears.

“Yeah, well, I missed you more and you didn’t see me forgetting your stupid ‘keep your phone charged at all times’ rule, did I?”

Vil chuckled and leaned forward to press a soft, apologetic kiss along the underside of her jaw.

“I have a lot to repent for, it would seem,” he hummed.

“Damn straight.”

A pause, as she looked over him with a touch of that same creeping, prickling worry.

“But… only after you’re feeling a bit better,” she amended, eyes darting off to the corner of the room with an embarrassed little huff. “It’s not fair,” she said after a moment. “That you feel like—” like there was no one in the world who wanted him for him. That he was good for nothing but his face, or his smile, or pretty, little lies. “—like they don’t care about you.”

“You care,” Vil sighed, burrowing back into her collarbone. “That’s all that really matters, hmm?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Saya harumphed. “Next time this happens I’ll follow you around myself and like, I don’t know, spray them with a water bottle full of cat piss. Or something.”

Vil laughed, low and deep.

“Of course. What a simple solution,” he hummed against her throat. “To just never let you leave my side to begin with.”

And maybe the steady, unquestionable undercurrent to that proclamation should have been a bit concerning. Like the sweetness of chocolate undermined by something darker and stickier that would leave one’s mouth dry and a peculiar sense of wrongness coating their tongue. But honestly, that sounded all well and good to her. Never leave his side to begin with. Saya sighed and let Vil pull her back towards her mattress. Because honestly, if it was him being the clingy one, then at least she’d never have to admit to it on her own. 

.

.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x OC #Vil Schoenheit x OC #Vil x OC #vil schoenheit #My Writing

[prince-versailles]

Here's a little something I finished writing a few days ago, to help you get to know my OC a bit more.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fanfic #twst oc #vil schoenheit x oc

[dajana-m]

Juniper in Twisted Wonderland

This will be in headcanon format

I can definitely see Juniper getting along with Rook and Vil

I also like imagining that all the mechanics of stardew valley apply to her

Imagine this; Crowley lets this 20 year old woman who appeared in the middle of the ceremony stay at Ramshackle, she doesn't seem to mind it's... ramshackle appearance, says she can work with it

He comes to request she investigate the mishaps happening in the school and he see the building looking better than it has in a long time

Along with- IS THAT A WINDMILL??? AND FARM ANIMALS- WHAT?!

Anyways, she says she's made a couple bucks AND IS THAT 100K MADOL?!

Anyways, by the time it's the Pomefiore arc, she has a whole system built with a wine cellar to age her wine

Offers some to Vil since he's 18, just 2 years younger than her

Recommends the starfruit wine, says it's equally sweet and sour, the perfect blend and it tastes to good???

She even has a whole farm of blueberries and a greenhouse for coffee beans with different kinds of trees like cherry, apricot, apple and peach. Even sheds for pineapples and to process wool and all these cool things

This woman made a whole ass farm in the span of less than a year??? Epel's impressed

Just imagine you're Vil ok? And you stay at this odd woman's dorm and the next day she's waiting outside your door with- is that a freaking DIAMOND?!

"OH! You're awake! Here's a housewarming gift, you won't believe how many floors I descended to get this bad boy heh, killed a couple slimes too for face masks, they do wonders for your skin yknow?"

And it's just so??? Ugh I'm in love nvm Sebby, Juniper's love interest is Vil now/j

Epel loves staying over and Ramshackle now cause it kinda reminds him of home

Especially when Juniper lights up the fireplace and gives him some coffee or juice

Or when she gives him some pumpkins she has when fall comes

IMAGINE THEIR REACTION TO HOW FAST HER PLANTS GROW?! LIKE BROOOO

@v-anrouge (just a drabble of my newest oc I made, she's very french)

© 2023 @dajana-m & @the-dumber-scaramouche | did you know that not plagiarizing other people's works and claiming them as your own is completely free and saves both parties a lot of trouble? Which means no reposting, no translating and NO COPYING.

#twisted wonderland drabbles #dismey twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x oc #stardew valley #stardew valley farmer

[jasmariswonderland]

Dreams Adorned In Silk ~ VilxOC

Synopsis: After months of knowing her, Vil thinks it's time to finally time to express to Danica all that he feels for her. And what better way than under a dazzling, firelit sky?

A/N: Vil's new SSR has a death-grip upon my heart. 😭😍😭

Pairings: 👑/🦢

Word Count: 2315

Warnings: A lot of fluff with just the slightest hint of angst.

~~~

With the final descent of the sun, the evening began to take on a cooler temperature. A blessed relief from the scorching heat. They had arrived earlier that afternoon while the sun was still blazing high in the sky and while their silky attire offered stylish comfort, a break from the heat was not unwelcome. Now, nestled together in a private tent some distance down the river and away from the crowds, they prepared for a spectacular night they were sure to enjoy. And for Vil, the moment he’d been greatly anticipating, but simultaneously dreading, had finally come.

In the corner of the tent, sat his fair companion. He watched as she held out her hand, musing over the elegant jeweled bangle circling her wrist. The beginnings of a smile pulled at Vil’s lips, it was something he’d seen her admiring it in the marketplace earlier that day. She said nothing, not wanting to feel like she was imposing on him, but the wistful look in her eyes told him all that he needed to know. When they arrived at their tent a little while ago, the first thing Vil did was surprise Danica with a beautifully crafted gift box. Biting back a smirk at the small gasp and the way her eyes lit up at the sight of the bangle. 

“How did you know?” she had asked him. “I was looking at it, true, but…I don’t think…”

“Your lips might not have said you wanted this, but they didn’t have to.” A playful smile caused her cheeks to redden. “The look in your eyes was confirmation enough that you would appreciate if I gave this to you.”

“Ahh, oh Vil-san, thank you!”

The red tint upon her face darkened as she slipped the bangle on her arm. She turned it afew times with her other hand, watching as the gems sparkled, their light jumping from one facet to another. Though she did not realize it, her own eyes were sparkling as well.

“It’s so beautiful, thank you. Thank you!”

Seeing her joy caused a fluttering sensation in his chest. Secretly, it brought him joy as well, seeing her so happy. There were not many instances where Vil could see Danica smile. The last few months had been particularly difficult ones and loath he was to admit it, Vil had been the source of much of her despair. 

Things in their world were now beginning to calm down. The VDC had passed, their emotions reconciled and they managed to escape STYX. The Shroud brothers were dealt with and, best of all, Vil’s youthful beauty had been restored after his heroic dive into the underworld. Everything seemed to be returning to normal and today’s venture to Scalding Sands was a wonderful change to their usual routines. 

And for Vil, it was even more wonderful that despite all they had been through, Danica was still able to smile at him and enjoy his company just as much as he enjoyed her’s. How nice it was to finally have some time alone with her, without the pressures of school or the expectations of the world breathing down their necks. At that moment, he wasn’t Vil Scheonheit, the international mega celebrity and dorm leader of Pomefiore. He was simply Vil enjoying a vacation with the one he cared about above all others. 

“I’ve had so much fun today,” said Danica. “I’m so excited for the fireworks, it will be the perfect ending to a perfect day!”

“I’m glad to hear that, Little Potato,” Vil smiled. “I take it you’re no longer feeling sad?”

“Sad? Why ever would I feel sad for?”

“Well I know a few of your friends were also here today,” he thoughtfully tilted his head. “Iman, Vidaria, Kalim and Cater. Even Trey and Yuulan are here as well. I saw some of the pictures Cater uploaded to Magicam.” 

“Yes, I saw the pictures too,” Danica lowered her gaze, which momentarily gave Vil reason for concern. But she ended up smiling. “But I wasn’t sad, I’m…much happier that I got to spend the day with you, Vil-san.”

“Really?” This genuinely surprised Vil, though it also secretly tickled him. “You’re glad you spent the day with me, as opposed to your friends?”

“What? Does that sound very strange?”

“No, no. I don’t mean it that way, it’s just that…well…I figured…”

His voice trailed off, surprisingly at a loss for words. Danica smiled and went on to explain how she could hang out with her friends anytime while they were at school. However with Vil, though they were in the same dorm, their obligations often kept them from spending time together. Especially considering that Vil was a dorm leader and soon to begin preparing for his senior internship. Once the new school year began, they were likely not to see much of each other at all. 

“I could always call up Kalim or Cater and arrange a meetup if I wanted to,” she said. “But I value the time I can have with you because…well…” A light red tint returned to her cheeks. “Because it’s so rare that we can be alone, I value this time with you all the more.”

“Danica…”

Vil’s heart began to flutter once more. Over the months, Danica had gradually become more assertive in speaking her mind. She still had her timid moments, but she was finding her voice and her thoughtful astuteness was something that he always found intriguing. But for her to voice how much she valued their time together, well, it was enough for Vil to start feeling rather bold. 

He couldn’t deny the close bond they had forged. A most unlikely friendship that Vil never could have anticipated. When he thought how this was the same shy and soft-spoken spudling he was introduced to at the start of the school year, it made him chuckle. What initially began as a curiosity on his part soon blossomed into a genuine respect, eventually giving way to awe and now, something even deeper. 

As time passed, he found he could not deny these feelings developing within him. Nor could he deny the immense comfort Danica had provided him during the more recent times of difficulty. When he overblotted, she did not judge him. When his appearance drastically changed after his underworld dive, not once did she flinch. Instead, in both situations, her unwavering support had been his anchor.

Vil was grateful for her growth, her strength, and her newfound confidence. He had come to appreciate her not just as a friend but as someone truly special.

Still, a nagging thought continued to gnaw at him. In his pursuit of beauty, he had been quite ruthless with her at times. His harshness often overwhelmed her, sometimes reducing her to tears. The pressure he placed upon her was insurmountable and he cringed inside thinking of the pain he caused as they were preparing for the VDC. All of this weighed as heavily on his heart as his feelings for her. Could she really accept him after enduring such pain?

Her words were the exact answer he needed. And as the evening became cooler and Danica slowly moved closer to him, Vil found he could not deny his feelings any longer. In his mind, he rehearsed his words, reminding himself that as a professional actor, this shouldn’t be such a difficult thing to do. How many times has he said these words before be it on stage or film? A dozen times at least? This is what his mind told him but in his heart, he knew this would be far from easy, and unlike any other performance he gave, this was real. 

Danica was now sitting very close to him, close enough for her to take in the elegant scent of his perfume. It was woody and slightly spicy, but also sweet, perfect for their surroundings and suited Vil very well. She glanced up at him, his brows furrowed and deep in thought, and couldn't help but stare for a few moments. Not too long ago, just to be in the same room as Vil seemed to her like the most harrowing experience in the world. And to look at him was tantamount to looking into the eyes of a god. Time had calmed her anxiety around him and while their closeness still felt unnerving at times, it also made her heart feel strangely warm. As she thought about this, she began turning back around and was surprised by a gentle hand running down her cheek. Vil pulled a lock of hair away from her face, catching her attention. 

“Danica, there’s been something I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time.” 

“Hmm? What is it, Vil-san?”

“I…well…” he took a deep breath. “First off, I would like to apologize. The first time I attempted to convey this, I did so in an extremely undignified manner.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was extremely selfish and cruel then. But please know, even though I did a very poor job at expressing my feelings, they haven't changed,” Vil smiled a little. “And when I say that I am the only one who sees you for the jewel that you are, I mean that.Truly.”

These words made Danica blush, though they also perplexed her. She couldn’t yet understand what Vil was trying to say but she did notice how he was looking at her. His usual intense gaze was softer and more tender. With his tone lacking its usual authoritative manner. Once again, she asked what he meant by this. But just as he worked up the courage to continue, they were both startled by a loud, booming sound filling the air. Fireworks erupted in a brilliant display.

Like a garden of flowers blooming in the sky, the night was illuminated with glowing color and dazzling light. Danica even reached out to the sky, she’d never seen such large fireworks before and felt they were close enough to touch. In the distance an enchanting, infectious music began to play, filling the air and loud enough for them to hear. Both of them were enraptured by the gorgeous display and Vil momentarily forgot his words, smiling at Danica.

“Would you like to dance with me, Little Potato?” he asked. “You know, it’s a Scalding Sands’ tradition to dance under the fireworks. Kalim told me.”

A bright red tint returned to Danica’s cheeks. “Was that…what you wanted to ask me, Vil-san?”

Of course it wasn’t, but he looked at her teasingly. “Do you want to dance with me or not?”

She eagerly agreed, allowing him to take her hand and pull her to her feet. Under the firelit sky, he guided her through an array of fun and graceful movements that perfectly matched the music. The colorful silks of their attire swirled elegantly with them as they danced, adding themselves to the gorgeous display up above. Vil was a beautiful dancer and the perfect partner, Danica already knew that firsthand. The way he danced with her always left her breathless; every turn, every sway, was captivating. The way he never took his eyes off of her, caused her heart to race with the rhythm of the music. 

However, what touched Danica the most, at that moment, was seeing Vil laugh and smile with such natural joy. It was rare to see him smile, even at her. He often kept a stolid expression when he wasn’t glaring with disappointment or smirking with amusement. But a true smile from Vil was almost as rare as him going a day without once having to scold Epel. But because she didn’t often see him smile, when he did, it was all the more special. A beautiful treasure that she held dear to her heart.

It was also quite infectious and Danica found herself smiling with him, sharing in this joy. So deep was this joy that what happened next was as natural as it was spontaneous. Vil stopped spinning her and for a moment, they continued gazing up at the colorful sky before he lifted her chin to face him. He gazed at her thoughtfully and without a word, gently pressed his lips to hers. He half expected her to be shocked or even to pull away, but to his surprise, she didn’t. There was no resistance and Danica slowly wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back.

Under the firelit sky, the fireworks weren’t the only thing booming. Though Vil hadn’t yet voiced his feelings, at that moment, he didn’t have to. Their closeness, this kiss, spoke louder than any words he could say. And her response said it all, his love was reciprocated. 

~~~

Vil slowly stirred awake, tears dampening his cheeks even before he opened his eyes. His heart ached with the bittersweet residue of the dream that had felt so vivid, so real. He knew what he would find before his eyes opened to confirm it. The empty space beside him in his bed told him that it had indeed all been a dream. A beautiful, silk-adorned dream, and now reality was crashing down upon him.

Cursing his own mind for playing such a cruel trick on him, Vil couldn't help but wonder why he would dream of something so poignant in the first place. That’s when his gaze shifted to the dress form in the corner of his room, adorned with the silky outfit Trey had gifted him, a plethora of vibrant colors and glittery fireworks printed upon the fabric. At the time, gratitude welled up within him for the thoughtful gift, but now it was overshadowed by sadness and regret. How he would have loved to attend and see the fireworks for himself, dancing in the gorgeous silk outfit with Danica by his side. It could have been a perfect date, and the perfect moment to finally express his feelings to her.

As he showered and dressed in his school uniform, Vil continued to contemplate this. He had fallen in love with her, that much was certain. And considering all they had gone through, he was almost certain that she was in love with him as well. Unfortunately, they hadn’t had much opportunity to really discuss their relationship since their return from STYX. The emotions from that harrowing experience were still quite high even a month later, to say nothing of his guilt at how badly he’d treated her before. 

He was just about ready to leave for the day, classes would start soon and he had to shift his focus. Vil gleaned out the window of his room, it was a lovely day at least, warm and sunny without a single cloud in the blue sky. His window also overlooked the Pomefiore courtyard and when he glanced down, there she was. Danica sat under one of the apple trees, chatting and laughing with Yuulan, Grim sitting in the latter’s lap. Her laughter was like music to his ears, and it ignited a spark of determination within him. 

The time for hesitance had long passed. It was time to seize the moment.

With his phone in hand, Vil quickly wrote up a text to Danica and watched as she received it and checked her phone. The message was simple: a request for her to meet him in the lounge later that evening for a monthly evaluation, something he gave to all freshmen. In truth, the evaluation was merely a pretense for something just as important, but even more special. 

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #pomefiore #twst vil #vil schoenheit #vil x oc #vil schoenheit x oc #otp: vildani #oc: danica #things i write

[offorestsongs]

rest in peace Rosienne, you never stood a chance (reference)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #pomefiore oc #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x oc #💌 art #★ rosienne #❣️thornqueen #i randomly added those rose earrings for rosienne but actually maybe i should make them canon #they look cute #i kinda hate how this looks but it was supposed to just be a doodle so its fine its fine ITS FINE

[twstinginthewind]

I'm shipping Sia with Vil and seeing what happens.

OC ships. Let's talk.

Sia has a lot of respect for Vil both as an artist and as a school leader, and much like everyone else, is dazzled by his sheer star power... and she also understands wanting to be seen as who you are, not just what you look like. She may or may not have dealt with it to a smaller degree at her old school, since she was one of those girls who developed early, and young teens can be cruel over things like that. The Villain and the Bimbo aren't what they seem on the surface!

I think Vil would be impressed by her "work first, and take care of others before yourself" ethic. She doesn't neglect herself by any means, but a lot of what she does is for the sake of her family, and she doesn't waste time on frivolities. She would understand the pressures of his job, and they could potentially be a very good support system for one another.

It would be surprising to her for him to approach her (she would never) since she's not really a celebrity type. A pretty heiress, yes, and one who looks towards making strong industry connections, but not one who seeks out the spotlight. She'd be content to remain a behind-the-scenes partner to him until they're ready to be very serious about it. Vil might ask for her to be included with him at photoshoots and movie sets as a stylist or "personal assistant" so that they can spend time together without much fuss.

But man. When they do go out publicly? They'll be gorgeous together.

#vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x oc #twisted wonderland oc #sia sealponte