#wrote this w a suddent burst of inspiration

[qierxing]

Venenum

A/N: Yeah this is inspired by the Castlevania anime LOL It may only be September but it’s Halloween vibes time babeyyyy

Yan! Vil Schoenheit x Reader

CW/TW: Domestic Abuse & Violence, Graphic descriptions of gore/blood, nudity, cursing

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When someone threw open the heavy stone doors of his castle, Vil was fully ready to strike them down for interrupting his skincare routine session.

Well, it wouldn’t be him, but he would’ve sent Rook or Epel to have the idiotic soul escorted out, permanently. But he isn’t sure whether he should be offended or amazed at the fact you march right up to him without blinking an eye at his stunning looks. No, you had the gall to grab his shoulders and look him straight on and ask–no, demand—his help. 

He’s had many mortals come to his looming castle to grovel for things. His alchemy and magic skills are rivaled to none in Shaftlands. But throughout all his millennia years of living, no human had the audacity like you.

“You’re the King of Poisons, right? Can you make me a potion?”

And yet, he didn’t leave you drained of blood, your body ran through with a pike on his walls as an example to any intruders. He could’ve. He should’ve, for all the insolence you’ve shown him. But something in him decided to haughtily scoff and shake off your hands and walk back to his vanity, with you trailing after him screeching like an overgrown parrot. It’s only when he whirls around and squeezes your cheeks with an admonishing scowl that you finally shut up.

“Look here, spudling, we are getting one thing straight.” You make an indignant muffled noise in response, but he ignores you. “I will help you, but you are the one making this potion.”

So began the long days of teaching you. There were several nights that made him think about going back on his word. Sometimes, when you end up squandering the few roots left in his supply or shattering his precious glass beakers, he thinks about just giving into his common sense and devouring you as his next meal. But he’s Vil Schoenheit, and there was never anyone he couldn’t transform into the perfect ideal version of themselves. So he keeps helping you pore over large grimoires with inky diagrams and descriptions and stir in dubious ingredients in the large cauldron.

He doesn’t know when and how, but something changed the way he looked at you. You were sometimes slow, but you were not stupid, and your intuition was brighter than any mortal he’s encountered before. And though even Epel had scowled at the way he overbearingly nagged him, you take his criticisms in stride and proactively ask him for his feedback. Usually he hates earnest personalities, but for you, it’s strangely fitting. It came to the point where even Rook would tease him for treating you so sweetly for a ‘lowly mortal’. (Rook was then ordered to hunt several hundred birds in punishment.)

He didn’t think to ask why exactly you needed this specific potion until one dark night you stumbled in with bruises and glassy eyes. For once, he can’t find it in himself to scold you for your unkempt appearance, only taking your shaking body to his room and telling Epel to draw a warm bath. You don’t even protest or voice anything as he undresses you, slitted pupils only dilating at the splotches of bruises and whip marks littering your whole body. But what really, really, truly turns his vision red, is the old scars and faded bruises that are side by side with the new ones. 

He gently lowers your battered body into the warm water, filled with mugwort and other herbs to help with the pain, and there’s only silence in the large echoey bath chambers. His mind is racing as he softly wipes away the dirt irritating the wounds: who would do such a thing? Another question comes to replace it before he can help it.

Which bastard does he need to send to hell?

When you are finally wrapped in one of his softest bathrobe and given a hot cup of chamomile tea, Vil finally decides to break the silence.

“Spudling–”

“Please, Vil…” He’s instantly hushed by your cracked voice. “Just…don’t ask. I…I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

He purses his lips, his dead heart finally churning with conflict and anxiety. No potion work is done that night, but you don’t know that after Vil tucks you into bed, he walks out and summons Rook to his side immediately.

“You know what to do.”

“At your command, my King.”

Vil has Epel preside over you while he goes and decides to actually take a look at the potion you were making. 

Lead, arsenic, belladonna. These came together to make the most poisonous brew, but something confused him. Why is it that the potion was diluted? And you made barely enough for three doses? This amount wasn’t even enough to kill a fully grown mortal man.

When Rook appears by his side at the cauldron with his usual smirk and bow, Vil only snaps at him to report right away. His nerves have become so frayed in worry that even his right hand man only raises an eyebrow before continuing.

How did he not see it? He wonders to himself, as he gazes at the crude iron ring donning your ring finger. The jewelry, if he can even call the embarrassingly sham that is barely the shape of a ring, lumpen metal clobbered together hastily. The metal was already beginning to rust, leaving chafe marks upon your raw skin. 

It tortures him to do so, but he lets you leave in the morning, murmuring your apologies and thanks as you draw in the rough straw cloak around you. As mighty as he is, he is still weak under the harsh sunlight, and he would rather unleash his plan when he is at full strength under the cold moonlight. You don’t see how his eyes darken as your figure walks toward the town center.

You had the potions you needed to make your escape. No more will you suffer under your spouse’s hot anger and fists. After this, you’ll be able to free yourselves from the shackles of marriage that you once willingly put on.

Everything shatters however, once your spouse finds the very bottles for your plans.

“You think you can just leave me?!” You scream in agony as a heavy boot stomps on your leg, and you feel your femur shatter under the weight. “After everything we went through, you think you can just go off and whore yourself out?!”

“Damn you! I’ll kill you! That’ll teach you not to mess with me!!” Sharp glass bits embed in your clenched palm and you close your eyes and brace yourself to the inevitable.

“That’s quite enough.”

The familiar voice has you lurching your head up despite the resistance on your neck. “Vil!...” You can only choke out in relief as the tall vampire kicks back your partner with a disgusted scrunch of his face.

“Vil, thank you so–” Vil’s eyes freeze you in place as something cold runs down your spine. You’re not the target of his wrath, but even then, it’s scary to see his eyes blank and devoid of any emotion. 

You can only watch in terror as he slams your spouse against the wall without breaking a sweat, choking him in place. 

“Your blood isn’t even worth drinking, dirty pig.” What was he…oh Great Seven no—!!!

The choked scream gets caught in your throat as your spouse’s head quite literally explodes, flinging bits and pieces of his flesh everywhere. You can only flail back as Vil tosses his mutilated body aside, more fresh blood spurting from his cracked open neck and staining the wooden floorboards below. 

Vil only clicks his tongue in annoyance. “I can’t believe my robes are now dirtied from that scum.” When he turns to you, his displeased look only deepens at the way you stare emptily at your spouse–nay, your ex-spouse’s– corpse. 

He picks your still form up easily, and maybe it’s the scent and the feeling of blood on your skin, but you finally thrash to life, begging him to put you down, to let you go, and he only scoffs at your impertinent attitude making a comeback. 

“Dear, I do hate getting dirty. So be a good darling and stay still.” HIs words alone, even if not imbued with curse power, is enough to get you to flinch back and obey. He can only sigh at how far he went just for you. How much has he sullied himself to make sure your beauty could never be lost to time? 

He makes quick work of taking your ring and crushing it completely to ash in his hands. But you start to stiffen in true horror when Vil noses at your neck and breathes in deeply.

“Perhaps we can find you a much more suitable alternative to that trash.”

If you could tell yourself that the beatings of your former spouse could not compare to the burning pain of Vil’s fangs within your flesh, would you still have gone to him?

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #my works #guess this is the Halloween series of twst lol #wrote this w a suddent burst of inspiration