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bastard-alignments · 2 years ago

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Hi, I saw that your request were open and that you want to write more ab Vil from TWST so I wanted to request him making his kidnapped darling try on the clothes he got for her or giving her a makeover if she wants more insecure before he took her (also I love your writing so much ♥️♥️♥️)

Thank you for requesting my little prince ♥ I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Vil thought for a moment as he watched you standing on the pedestal, surrounded by mirrors that allowed him to see all sides of you.

Stiffly, awkwardly, with your hands curled into fists. Tears ruined some of your make-up, your eyes puffy, and your lips chewed on. You strictly avoided any glance into the mirrors as if the sight of yourself was too much to bear. Instead, you stared daggers at him, the scowl creating wrinkles on your lovely face, yet Vil had no other choice than to describe you as utterly...

Beautiful.

If he had to guess, you had been over playing dress-up with him after the third outfit. But when you didn't show the proper excitement about your new wardrobe, Vil continued putting new outfits together regardless of your opinion. Now at number thirteen, a floor-length, purple, flowy dress with two high slits on either side of your legs and the sweetest of necklines, he had found his personal favorite for you.

"Stunning," he sighed, pleased with the gratifying view in front of him. Nothing he put on you had come close to how beautifully this dress accentuated your body, every movement accompanied by a flowing swish or draping of the fabric that left nothing and everything to one's imagination. He would have praised himself for picking out the right outfit to suit you, but Vil was no liar. It was you who suited the outfit, not the other way around.

"Are we done now?" you asked with gritted teeth, and Vil tsked at your raised shoulders and hunched back while you bottled up your anger.

His eyes snapped from your body to yours, the darkest flames of hatred burning in them, accompanied by... insecurity. True, you might detest him for the rigid regime of perfection he put you through. You were his new project, his muse, his obsession. But Vil had no problem fighting your fire with passion, your lips always soft, no matter how harsh your words could be.

However, he drew the line at your insecurity.

"Turn around and show me the back," he ordered, rising from his lavish, cushioned chair reserved only for him. To admire you, watch his most precious possession from the comfort worthy of the housewarden. But it would never measure up to the fluttering feelings in his stomach, the jittering of his fingers, and the faltering breaths in his lungs from being near you. No comfort was greater than the excitement of standing beside you, close enough to smell you, almost touching. If only you knew how much you were ruining Vil by simply existing, surely you'd have wholly and utterly destroyed him by now. He would have let you.

"I don't want to--"

"Turn. Around."

Your complaint fell on deaf ears, and it almost broke his heart to see you lower your gaze away from his in what Vil could only assume was defeat and fear. One of these days, he'd let go of the leash he held you so tightly with, but only when you were ready to stand next to him proudly. When you were ready to take the control from him—and he was ready to give the control over him up to you.

Not a day Vil thought would come soon, but one he would never have expected to anticipate quite so eagerly.

Until then, he'd be the one to guide you, fingertips slipping under your chin when you tried to avoid your reflection in the mirror. You gripped the fabric of the dress tightly, trying to hold on to something as your fear began to rake its nasty claws through your captivating mind. Vil knew he couldn't stop these thoughts from appearing, but he'd play his part in annihilating them. He couldn't understand how you could fear something as perfect and wonderful as you were, but he knew you well enough to see the signs of you slipping from your feisty self to the one you didn't like as much.

"Look at you, Darling. See how dazzling you are."

"I am not!"

"You are! Take a look—for me."

Your jaw remained firm against his fingertips even when Vil applied pressure. He saw no betterment of your posture or any tension slipping out of your shoulders, and he sighed. It wasn't his first time having to coerce you, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last.

Grabbing a tissue from a nearby box, he stepped around you, blocking your view of the mirrors with his body while wiping off the ruined mascara from your cheeks. Your lipgloss was always at the ready in his pocket, a little trinket when he had to be away from you and missed you and your lips.

You might have flinched back from his efforts, but even a smear of lipgloss was easily fixed by his skilled hands, the product evenly distributed with a kiss. It brought back that adorable scowl of yours, but at least for a moment, you were distracted enough to look up at him again.

And there you were, his perfect, strong-willed darling that could shatter his whole world.

He leaned forward, unable to hold back kissing that defiant mouth of yours even when you stemmed your hands into his chest. The cherry flavor of the lipgloss was exquisite, as was the flustered expression. There was nothing unlovable about you, his hands brushing along your sides with all the discipline Vil could muster to not rip that beautiful dress off your body and make you come undone until you'd see your own beauty in the chaos he'd create with you.

"Now, please, if you would," Vil mused, reluctant to part, yet set on his mission of proving your worth to you. Brushing his thumb briefly over your forehead to remind you of your wrinkles, he stepped behind you again, hands never leaving your curves. You tried to lower your face almost immediately to avoid looking forward, but this time, one of his hands wrapped around your chin faster than you could react, keeping your head locked in place. Your eyes darted side to side, up and down, but Vil was patient. This was a matter of patience to him, not a matter of effort.

You were beautiful without any effort applied. From the moment he met you, inside and out, he knew you were beautiful. Worthy to stand beside him. Worthy of ruining him. To break apart this carefully structured image of himself. Only you could allow him to truly be who he was—a lover. Obsessive and possessive, but a lover regardless. A lover of arts, beauty, and you. His only task was to make you understand your place in life and the power you had deep inside you.

"Please," he reiterated, shaking your head curtly to make you refocus your attention on what he wanted you to do. You inhaled deeply before finally caving to his demands. Beautiful and strong-willed as you were in defying him, you were just as exquisite when you ceased the resistance and relied on him, soothing that suppressed part of his that wanted to be needed and loved by you desperately.

"I look..." you mumbled, fighting against his grip on your jaw. For a moment, he could see the flames of fight in your eyes, and Vil readied himself with the tingle of excitement in his stomach. But then the fire dimmed before vanishing completely, your gaze slipping down your body.

"Okay... I guess."

"Okay?!" Vil couldn't help the appalled gasp escaping him as he repeated your judgment of yourself. No matter how many times he fought your demons with you, it never ceased to surprise him how cruel they were. There you stood, a marvel and a star reborn as a whole galaxy, and thought of yourself as just 'okay'?

You could have very well gouged out his eyes and rammed a dagger in his stomach with how much that hurt him.

"Look at you! Look again!" Vil demanded, and you winced, his sudden grip on your hair forcing you to look up as he pushed you toward the mirror. "This is a gift! You are stunning, marvelous, to keel over for!"

"It's fine! It's a nice dress! Vil that hurts--!"

"No, not the dress, love! You! You are stunning and beautiful, do you understand?"

Your face contorted into a pained grimace as you tried to brace yourself against the mirror with one hand, the other reaching to the one lodged in your hair. Drastic situations needed drastic measures, and Vil would never be too shy to do what he had to make you understand your worth.

"I- I understand!" you finally gave in, and his hand was gone before you knew it, the pained sensation replaced with a swift turning your body around and a kiss to take your breath away.

"Say it," Vil mustered in between kisses, caging your body between the mirror and his, his hands falling to your thighs, running higher, thankful for the slits in the dress. On second thought, he could never have you wear it in public—it was much too revealing. No one should ever look at what was only his. But for his private enjoyment, this was perfect, and Vil was happy to show you just how stunning you were with the help of the indulgent dress.

"I'm pretty."

"Beautiful."

"I'm beautiful."

"Gorgeous, mesmerizing."

"Gorgeous—ah!"

His grip on your ass made you lose your concentration for a moment, but when Vil's teeth grazed your lips in warning, you remembered the mantra he was going on about. "Mesmerizing..." you mumbled, breath hitching as he massaged your backside.

"You are, baby. So stunning, the most dazzling creature in this world."

Prying himself away from your lips cost Vil most, if not all, of his hard-earned discipline, but he was far from done with you. He knew that if he didn't burn these opinions into your mind, they'd disappear and leave another hole for you to sink into. He was not going to allow that.

"Look at you," he ordered, turning you around again to face the mirror, pressing your face against it until your hot breath fogged the surface.

"Don't stop looking while I show you how beautiful you are."

You didn't seem to expect anything, much less to see the proud and proper housewarden sink to his knees behind you. But there was beauty to be shown in your most vulnerable moments, and a dress was so easily pushed aside, giving him access to the space he forbade you to hide with any underwear.

He checked one more time if you were looking, both pleased and angry, that your eyes had fallen on him instead of yourself, wide open and with a hint of surprised anticipation of what he was going to do next. But you'd be looking straight ahead soon enough because what he was about to do would make you forget all your hesitations and insecurities, leaving only room to realize your true, amazing, stunning self.

After all, his tongue could do much more than speak words you barely believed. It could also make you see what you truly were when you were most vulnerable:

Beautiful.

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