A crown on your head and finger
Ft.Vil Schoenheit
Tags. Romantic, Fluff , Reader is NOT Yuu/MC, GN You/Your reader, Queen is a gender neutral term, established relationships, Vil is an amazing boyfriend, You enroll into Pomefiore at the same time as Vil, good vibes, proposals, Vil deserves good things in life, Artistic Author Reader who is talented asf, self indulgence
A/N. This is a rewrite/heavy touch up on a fic on my previous main that never really made it, I hope this is a decent upgrade. Enjoy! <3
Loud chatter, laughter, screams and noise all but became white noise when something was a bigger priority, and the hand in yours was playing the biggest part in it; you squeeze the soft hand, noting to ask how his skin is so soft.
He playfully asks why you were making him run “-As if the place was running away too. We’ll be fine-” He huffed, and you smiled; you knew he was looking forward to this as much as you were. The sound of excited footsteps, skipping to the acting club with an extra pep in the steps, you hummed the tune with an extra glint in your eyes; today was the first day you’d be a part of the highschool drama club, you were tasked with making the paintings for this classic script that would be adapted for their theatre stage.
Fairest Queen, The Huntsman, The Princess, Poison apples.. Painting the day away, you were drawing the portraits of the characters adapted to their assigned actors.
Gently setting down the brush to wait as Vil’s portrait dried, you were brought back to reality by him who sat next to you, leaning his head against yours from the side; his smile was impossible to miss, the way you heard it in his voice “Oh? I didn’t know I was your muse, my my.. Are you enthralled by me, my beauty?” as he asked teasingly, and the way his breath was caught in his throat when you nodded, saying “You are the fairest of them all,” you smiled at him, and Vil thought to himself that you must’ve mistook him for the mirror of the fairest queen.
And even as you grew up together, you never really stopped finding yourself in awe of this man- Just when was he going to stop getting prettier and more beautiful? You’d let your tongue slip a few times about it, each time being rewarded with a smile that was just.. perfect. If anything was perfect- and even if nothing was- he was the damn closest any and all ever could and would be.
To you and your thoroughly bewitched heart. The heart you’d given to your fairest queen, who holds it close to his own chest to find comfort with the beat of its pulse- yours; placed in his own hands, ones ever-villainized by the masses- by everything. His hands you adore.
The money and riches paled in comparison, and Vil found himself a saying to teach; that love like his -you- was and forever is the fairest kind of love amongst poisonous thorns. He cherished you and the love you shared with him in a way that’d put gods to shame.
Damned be the altars that failed the test of time, your love would last; you were a blessing, and you chose to be his.
Now you lay on bed with him cuddling you from behind, sitting up; Vil applying your self care routine for you as you went typed away on your keyboard, writing and multi tasking.
“Keep still, my dove” Vil breathed, quiet words, relaxing you royally as you leaned slowly, letting him pose you so that he could apply your shared beauty routine without a hitch. A royally lovely smile tugged its way up his breathtaking face, growing on his kissable lips as the happiness rose up to his eyes.
The sound of keyboard clicking eased late into the night as your beautiful boyfriend applied a face mask carefully, multitasking through your routines which would look ridiculously intimate to anyone else, you tried not to smile too widely; resulting in the smug, dopey grin he adored, Vil pat the face mask into shape on your face with a laugh.
You were exchanging emails with the publishers his father worked with, your recent step into stardom of authorship was in match with his own, thanks to Vil and his fathers’ encouragement; you have made the leap into public eyes. Yet you found safety even in the spotlight, knowing you were not alone.
Many if not most of your days were busy- both you and Vil’s, yet you were seen together more than apart. You always made time for each other, if you could, you would. And if you couldn’t? You’d wish blessings on the houses of the people that developed the modern phones and messaging apps.
Even then, coming back to each other -no matter how long it’s been- always made you happier than the last, distance might make the heart fonder, but it also makes the heart a little clingy. At least, that’s what you said; and if not from the tired yet happy, genuine smile Vil shared, from the squeeze of his gentle arms around you, both of you knew he agreed.
You had stepped back into your shared space, fast walking into the arms of your awaiting soulmate and crashing into the bed, stardom was a curse and a blessing. They adored you- or, at least, they adored your penmanship, your story telling, your artworks and script-writing.
For you, it’s rewarding. Difficult? Yes, occasionally makes you feel like you’ve lost your head- but still rewarding.
You adored the visitors who visited your writers tent and asked for your autograph, you made sure to write a positive quote in a character they chose too, each of them unique. Even when the high effort of this life often made you exhausted, you found yourself having what it takes to go on and aim for what you want.
The sight of your beloved boyfriend- at this point, fiance in all meanings without rings- made you relax; sighing and shrugging off the jacket, face mask and the like as you took your place next to him, opting to make up for the time spent apart by cuddling.
You hummed as Vil played with your hair, talking about your careers, recent casting calls, public receptions: To your most recent surprise, the public eye loved the story you wrote with the fairest of them all in mind the most, the one where you had written with Vil as the hero in mind. He promised you that if your artistic masterpiece was to be adapted to be on stage, he would make sure it’s perfect. For you, his fairest love.
Love with Vil was loyal, supporting, cherished.
Never falling, never losing what you have whilst growing up together; You were a mostly faceless author until you decided to reveal you’d be attending NRC with him, revealing your identity upon enrolling the college with a smile and absolute confidence, perfect (practised) posture, a powerful stance; you entered with a casting call, a show to creative genius humouring your absolutely floored fairest queen.
He did not think you would go above and beyond! You pulled all the stops, casting call, props, the poise! The confidence! The creativity! Your beauty was in full bloom as to be expected of you, the fairest lover of his majesty. And the absolute face of delight Vil has seeing you and him being placed in the same dorm only makes your happiness reach your eyes faster.
(Not to mention the absolute shock so many people would have, since they all grew up reading your works or heard a lot about you too, now discovering you were the same age/younger than them while making such masterpieces? Some are impressed, others want you to just take them out in the lethal way already. Your confidence, your stance, it was obvious from the way Vil gasped and not only that, but he was positively glowing ever since then, to know you two would be together even in your education.)
Vil absolutely brags about you ever since then, as he always has but with no filter or reason to hold back anymore as you were both fully public figures; even if most people are unaware of how guilty he feels some days.
Why? Because your favourite book, your artistic magnum opus will have a theatre adaptation, someday, but it has to wait until he is ready, if he is ever ready, yet you always smile and say that if it’s not him who acts the story you wrote with him in your mind, then the stage is not where its meant to be at all; not if the fairest of them all isn’t playing his role as the hero.
You reassure him so often in private as you read him like a book; reading between his lines and crossing out his ugly insecurities with your skillfully worded yet genuine reassurance. Meaning each word, and making sure he knew it too.
“I’d never cast Neige or some stuffed shirt crown jerk to play the role I wrote with you in my mind” You whispered the first time, and he had to do a double take- Him? You wrote this all based on him? For him? With him in mind, only him..? Vil knew you promised you would, but it just hit him like a train how you meant it, the genuine reality of it often sobered him up.
You wrote your best work on the ‘childish’ wish of his to be the hero for once; and people loved it.
“This world is a canvas, and you’re my most lovely muse; and I wax poetry nonsense far too often, people think I’m ingenuine..” You sigh, taking his handsome face tenderly in your palms, “-But I’ve never loved any of them; it’s only ever been you. I admire beauty, but I love you, only you.”
And Vil closes his eyes, circling his arms around your waist as he lets himself bury his expression and tears onto your neck. “Good things are worth waiting for, and you’re the best thing in my life; you’ll always be the my most important part of life-”
You kissed the crown of his head, noting to maybe put your prop work knowledge to use, maybe replicating the crowns depicted in the love stories of the fairest queen could make a great gift; Yes, this would be it.
It could take forever and evermore if he wanted it to, because-
“I’d wait for you until our next lives if you asked me to.”
For your upcoming important day, you would not only put the red box in the nightstand to use, but place the crown your beautiful future husband rightfully deserved on his head too. What a wonderful gift fit for the love you shared with him.. And he agreed, with a truly sudden surge of emotions that no acting training or practice could ever prepare him for, with a “yes” he agreed, many multiple times.
Throughout everything, you stuck by his side; and you showed him you’d intend to stick by as stubborn as a thorn, and he found himself fondly reminding you how you were so much more beautiful than a mere thorn.
You were the most beautiful garden of feelings, and you were all his- now, and forever, he’d remind you as he pointed to the ring on his head and the one on his finger.
Calling you either a skillful poet or a flatterer when you respond with an ever classic response of how you couldn’t hold a candle to the smile he has when he says things like that; depending on the day and how playful he feels.
Now, Vil felt the urge to roll his eyes, thankful for his years of practice to drown out the reflex of such informality as he made eye contact with the ramshackle perfect who asked if the crown on his head was real, if it was bought or made, if it was a collectors item or if there was only one of them-
He gestured in a waving motion which read as a most majestic –shut up– and the perfect gulped, not ready for what they may have said to set him off. But he smiled instead, with a poisonous glint in his eyes.
“Hm? Yes, potato, this crown I wear is in fact one of its kind. It’s a gift from my fairest one, yes, that’s why it matches the ring; hm? Is it really so unexpected of me to be loved, potato?” He glared, receiving no response, “No? Good.”
Vil huffed, fixing the now-iconic, signature crown on his head back in place, truly, you were his greatest gift in life.
A crown on his ring finger and one on his head too, you never let him forget that he is your fairest queen, as if he could ever.
He smiled as he elegantly raised his right hand, asking with a royal smirk and another huff of confidence, “-Because I only have the fairest lover of them all, potato, never forget it; [name] Schoenheit is the most beautiful name of them all, as the only one who’s as fair as me will only ever stand by my side.”
