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twstbookclub · 1 year

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mc in epel & rook's fic is my spirit animal fr, love how you protray rook and epel

... could you write about pining (and desperate) vil? 👀

oh my god, thank you! i try my best thinking about how the guys would act whenever i write them, so seeing you say that... i'm just really happy right now ;; i also try really, really hard to make a unique mc for each fic. with how the boys are though, it's hard to try and put in an mc who's not a fighter in a way.

also!! thank you for giving me the chance to write for vil. i was a bit stuck on what i want for him, until you came along. when i think of vil being desperate and pining for someone, he'd be the type to find excuses to be with them lmao. just use his position as housewarden and his acting skills, and you got yourself a vil who can fool anyone into thinking he has no ulterior motives to be with the one he likes. well, except for rook. as a man who has the pride of a professional, he wouldn't let anyone know he's weak for them.

anyway, i hope you enjoy this! this was inspired by how much i want vil to do my makeup, and for all the times my friend did my makeup. i had so much fun writing this, hehe.

you have no idea how tempted i was to write vil as blatantly desperate and pining for the mc the entire time.

Of Makeup and Subtlety

Summary: You should've known that you'd have to follow Pomefiore's rules during your stay there. Although... does Vil really need to do your makeup? Why is it taking so long? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender Neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa 🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Makeup Session, Vil Schoenheit being Lowkey Touch-Starved and Desperate, Mention of a Sleeping Grim Word Count: 1,788

“Hold still,” Vil clicked his tongue, pressing the chub of your cheeks between his thumb and index finger. “You’re going to ruin all of my hard work if you don’t stop squirming.”

You grumbled and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You two have been sitting before the vanity mirror for hours. Yesterday, Vil insisted on doing your makeup for today, and the pity on Epel’s face said it all.

You decided to ignore the ominous smile that stretched across Rook's face—as if he knew something you didn’t.

You knew Vil long enough to know how much he took his beauty routine seriously. The man wouldn’t even budge when you told him about the possibility of being tardy to class. He needed to do his and your makeup, after all.

“Then, we wake up at dawn,” Vil said, looking at you with that determined fire in his eyes. “Come now, Prefect. While you’re under my care in Pomefiore, you have to look your best. I won’t let one smudge of lipstick stain our dorm’s reputation when it comes to beauty.”

That’s what he said. Now, you’re stuck awkwardly sitting in front of Vil as he held your face. Your chin rested on the web space between his thumb and index finger. The regal blond frowned and squeezed your cheeks once you scowled.

“Vil, it’s the ass crack of dawn. You woke me up earlier than expected, and you know I’m not a morning person.”

The sun laid dormant, the beginning of dawn as silent as the Pomefiore Dorm. No sane person would wake up at this hour, except for Vil apparently. The housewarden in question huffed, whether in amusement or exasperation was beyond you. His grip on you softened as he dabbed and slid the makeup sponge over your cheeks. Despite your grievances, it didn’t deter Vil at all. He kept applying the liquid foundation like a mother ignoring her child’s tantrum.

“I’ve told you beforehand, yet you refused to sleep early—” Vil shot you a deadpan look as he continued pressing the sponge on your skin— “Like I suggested.”

You shrunk in your seat, feeling small from Vil’s scolding. He sighed, blinking the annoyance away from his eyes. A calm, almost calculated, gleam took its place. He set the sponge aside with a pleased smile as his thumb caressed your cheek.

“I knew I bought the right shade for you.”

You owlishly blinked, brows raising high at Vil’s words. “When did you even find time to get the right shade?”

“Just yesterday.” Vil hummed, the pleased smile turning into a self-satisfied one. “Never underestimate my eyes. One look at you, and I could tell which shade and colors compliment your skin.”

You swore you felt Vil’s fingers tense on your jaw. Maybe it was because he had to keep your face still from all your talking. A defeated sigh escaped you as you slightly shook your head.

“Alright, alright. Can we please finish this already?” You grumbled, fidgeting in your seat. “I might get pins and needles if I stay like this any longer.”

Vil rolled his eyes and twisted the cap of the concealer open with a flourish. “One cannot rush beauty, Prefect.”

“Professor Crewel’s whip says otherwise.”

Vil’s hand never left your face the entire time. His breath ghosted over your skin every time he leaned close. The gentle stroke of the brush over your closed eyelids; the soft caresses on your cheek as Vil applied the blush; the occasional press of his thumb as he spreads the product on your skin—the blond was lost in his own concentration. Every time his thumb slid across your skin, his touch lingered as his eyes drank in your features. In your honest opinion, he was looking a bit too long for comfort. With either a brief nod or shake of his head, Vil would either add, lessen, or change something in your makeup.

Bottles of foundation, concealer, and creams lined the tabletop. Eyeshadow palettes and compact blushes were left open as he worked his magic. Vil’s pale hand was streaked with color swatches and mixed shades. The stains somehow looked beautiful on his skin, which was surreal. It should be illegal at this point. The sun began to peek over the earth, and streams of sunlight shone through the window of your room. A streak of light revealed a curled-up figure in the shadow of your bed canopy. Somehow, Grim slept through all of your conversations with Vil.

Half of you was jealous of Grim for being able to sleep longer. The other half, though? You’d rather not admit that Vil’s attention and touch felt nice. You’ll take that secret to the grave.

A heavy sigh shifted your focus from the sleeping furball to Vil, brows furrowed and lips pursed. His fingers held your face again, turning it this way and that. The senior must’ve seen something because he picked up the eyeshadow brush again.

“It looks like I missed a spot.” Vil squeezed your cheeks and looked down at you with taut lips. “Be a dear and close your eyes for me?”

“Okay,” you sighed, frustrated and impatient. You bit back any snappy remarks, knowing how much effort Vil put into making you look pretty. It’s been hours, morning has already broken, and he’s not done yet. You have to give him credit, though. Your makeup surprisingly doesn’t feel heavy, even after the excruciatingly long process of putting it on.

You closed your eyes with your hands on your lap. Shuffling reached your ears as Vil’s breath warmed your skin again. Is it because of how hot his breath is, or is it the flush of your cheeks?

The brush swept across one of your eyelids in gentle strokes before the steady press of Vil’s pinky replaced it. After what seemed longer than necessary, Vil finally switched to your other eyelid. The hand on your chin tilted your head upward, still feeling hot from his breath ghosting over your skin. Vil’s thumb caressed your cheek as he did, making your breath hitch at how close he is. Your heart jumped into your throat and, suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Vil told you as his hand left your face. You could hear the pop of a container being opened, then you felt him cup your jaw and tilt your head again. “Slightly open your mouth for me.”

You did as told, feeling something smooth and thick glide across your lips. Trembles wracked your body at how unbelievably close Vil was. The tips of his hair tickled your cheeks, and his breath felt warmer. The hand applying the lip gloss rested on your cheek. You hoped that he couldn't feel how hot your face was at the moment. You almost gnawed your lip if it weren’t for his tight yet comfortable grip on you.

“Smack your lips,” Vil’s stern tone echoed in your ears. You did as told again, biting your pursed lips to stop them from quivering. When your lips made an audible pop, you heard a pleased hum from the blond. Not a moment too soon, multiple sprays of water greeted your face. A setting spray, you remembered Vil calling that tiny bottle of water on the vanity table. Hands held your shoulders and turned you around. Your head spun a little when he said, “You can open your eyes now.”

The moment your eyes fluttered open, you saw a different person in the mirror. Gold glitter dusted your eyelids, framed by your long lashes courtesy of the mascara. The smokey eyeshadow and meticulously drawn eyeliner emphasized the color of your irises. Your blemish-free, dewy face looked back at you with full, glossy lips that parted in surprise. You could barely recognize yourself. Hell, will anyone know this was you when you walked out of Pomefiore?

“I…” You stopped yourself from touching your skin, afraid to wipe off Vil’s hard work. Your hands stayed on your lap as you continued looking in the mirror. Your eyes sparkled and your skin glowed as your room bathed in morning light. You’re not entirely sure if the sparkle was because of the light, but…

“I’m beautiful…”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Vil gaze at you with a smile and something soft, an indecipherable emotion, in his eyes. A whisper in the wind prevented you from pondering about the odd expression.

“You always are.”

Your eyes widened at his words. It seemed like Vil didn’t intend for you to hear it. Before you could speak, Vil gave your shoulders a squeeze and lifted you from the chair. His smile from earlier disappeared, replaced by a pleased and shit-eating grin. You bristled a little, knowing that he’s proud of your reaction and the fact that he was right to do your makeup.

This smug, gorgeous bastard.

“Off you go, Prefect,” Vil hummed, shooing you away from your own room. “Wake Epel up for me, would you? Our dorm’s self-care routine should be starting right now.”

“You already have Rook for that,” you sighed, but started heading towards the freshman’s room anyway. When you reached the door, you paused with your hand on the knob. You pensively bit the inside of your cheek, pride and common courtesy warring in your mind.

“Thank you,” you muttered, glancing at the Pomefiore housewarden over your shoulder, before you hurried out of the room with red ears and long strides.

Still and silent, Vil simply stood in front of the mirror. A smile graced his lips as his eyes softened, adoring and longing. A sigh slips past his lips as his heart slowed to a calm beat. He took the liquid foundation and peered at the manufacture date, the black ink stating its creation from a few months ago. The rest of the containers displayed the same month on their manufacture dates, hidden from plain sight.

“That was close,” Vil chuckled, gripping the bottle tighter, before he placed it back, “I can’t let the prefect know how much I pay attention to them, can I?”

His pride as a professional would be damned if you found out how fond he was of you. After all, it wasn’t easy to scour every shop and boutique for the perfect colors. Nothing less for the person Vil adored and longed for every second of the day.

A sleepy mewl snapped Vil out of his trance. With a sigh, the Queen’s visage returned to its stern beauty as he prepared himself for a grouchy, troublesome Grim. No one could ever know, and it would start with furiously brushing the cat’s fur to distract him from the makeup on the vanity table.

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