𖹭 Fluff, comfort, angst, smut (as long as it's nothing too weird)
𖹭 Character x reader (please specify gn/fem/male reader)
𖹭 Headcanons, short fics, drabbles
𖹭 Heavy or triggering topics (with warnings beforehand)
𖹭 other various ships as long as they're NOT crossing my boundaries
𖹭 gorey scenes
𖹭 fics based off songs
I will NOT write:
✖ Anything involving children
✖ Real people
✖ Ships I'm not comfortable with
✖ Anything that crosses my personal boundaries
✖ Incest, weird kinks etc.
✖ crossovers
Request format (please try to follow):
𝄞 Character:
𝄞 Reader type (gn/fem/male):
𝄞 Prompt or scenario:
𝄞 Tone (fluff/angst/etc.):
𝄞 Any specific details (optional):
Fandoms (current interests):
Hannibal, Iwtv (interview with the vampire), castlevania, black butler, hazbin hotel, honkai star rail, genshin impact, sinners, Innocent/innocent rouge, vampire hunter d, arcane, red dead redemption, the boys, resident evil, the devil wears prada etc.
(I'm in so many fandoms, so if you have something on your mind and you don't know whether I can write something like that, feel free to ask!)
(The ones in bold and italic are the ones I'm most likely going to write about.)
Important:
♥︎ It is strictly prohibited to upload my work on other sites and to use my work to train AI models since I am strictly against using it.
♥︎ If you use AI, please don't interact with my posts.
♥︎ If you are under the age of 18, please stay off my page.
♥︎ If you are sensitive to or easily triggered by certain topics or scenarios, my content may not be for you.
♥︎ I am not responsible for how you react to the content posted here.
♥︎ If I suspect that you are under 18, you will be blocked.
As much as I absolutely love reading all of your requests and ideas, unfortunately I won't be able to write them right now, and I honestly don't know when I'll be able to get back to writing regularly.
These past few months haven't been the easiest for me, and I haven't really been feeling like myself lately (mostly mentally). On top of that, I have a few medical procedures coming up soon, so this month is going to be quite busy and a little overwhelming for me.
Please know that I still adore reading every request you send in! Your ideas genuinely make me smile, and I appreciate every single one of you for taking the time to share them with me. ♡
Once I'm feeling better and back on my feet, I'd be more than happy to work on the requests you've sent my way!
Until then, don't hesitate to keep sending in your ideas and requests, I love seeing them, even if I can't write them just yet.
Much love, and thank you for your patience and understanding!! 🤍
No matter who you are, who you love, or where you are in your journey, I hope you never feel pressured to change yourself just to make other people comfortable.
There is nothing wrong with being different. There is nothing wrong with taking your time to figure yourself out. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with being exactly who you are.
Please don't let anyone convince you that you need to be someone else to be worthy of love, respect, or happiness. Be kind to yourself, listen to your heart, set boundaries when you need to and never force yourself into situations that don't feel right just because others expect you to. You deserve to live as your most authentic self.
And since it's pride month, i'd also like to share that i'm asexual!!
Wherever this month finds you, i hope it brings you comfort, joy, and the reminder that you belong.
Just wanted to stop by and say how much I love your writing. You write Vincent so well, I love it! Lots of love :)
Ahh this is genuinely so sweet, thank you so much!!! Messages like this honestly make me so happy. I’m really glad you enjoy the way I write Vincent!! I always worry a little about whether I’m portraying him right, so hearing that means a lot more than you know. Thank you for taking the time to send this, and thank you for reading and supporting my work in general!! Lots of love right back to you! 🤍
PUH LEASEEE MAKE AN X FEM!READER FIC WITH MODERN!VINCENT I BEG HES SO SO HOT!1!1 (respectfully 💕)
i love your recent headcanons im literally ovulating
Might i request a smut with earth shattering rough sex after a long day and of course, one of his workers interrupted them with a phone call and the reader decides “fuck it” and throws his phone across the room (he can afford another one) because its been so goddamn long since they’ve properly had sex. And then they continue fucking for the first time in so long…
I also like to think that vincent is the reader’s sugar daddy IF YOU KNOW WHAT IM SAYIGN 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️ but of course take your time! and dont be afraid to get too freaky with this too
LOVE your writing so much btw 😁
Hi anon! I just posted something superrrrr similar to this! I really hope it's going to be to your liking!
And omg thank you so much for complimenting my writing, it means the world to me!
♥︎ afab!reader, sugar daddy!Vincent, mentions of alcohol, wealthy lifestyle, power imbalance (?), reader is spoiled rotten, porn with a lot of plot, kissing, vaginal fingering, slight choking, slight face slapping, finger sucking, p in v, mating press, missionary, praise kink, pussy worship (?), non consensual filming (!! Not condoning !!)
♡ Summary: Monaco, yacht dinners, expensive gifts, and a boyfriend who insists on keeping a hand on you at all times. Unfortunately for you, he also happens to be unbearably busy.
♥︎ Authors note: i genuinely had to get this out of my system.. if people actually end up liking this, i might write more of modern!Vincent because i fear this version of him has completely consumed my brain lately. This is also based off the hcs i posted yesterday, so make sure to check those out too if some parts of this confuse you a little!
♡ Words: 5992
The balcony offered a stunning view of nearly the entire marina. Yachts floated on the dark water below like pieces of exquisite jewelry, their lights casting a golden glow across the surface with every ripple of the waves. Somewhere in the streets below, soft music wafted through the warm Monte-Carlo night, accompanied by distant laughter, the sounds of upscale restaurants still bustling well past midnight. The air was infused with the scent of sea salt, cigarettes, perfume, and the heat of summer trapped between the buildings.
You were curled up in one of the cushioned chairs, a cocktail resting loosely in your hand, condensation trickling down the glass as you gazed at the city glowing beneath you. Behind you, his voice blended seamlessly into the night.
"No, move the meeting to Thursday," Vincent spoke calmly into the phone. "I’m not flying back early because someone didn’t read a contract correctly." He paused, then sighed. "I don’t care whose fault it was. Just fix it."
A faint smile crept onto your lips as you sipped your drink, some things truly never changed. When the call finally ended, a moment of silence enveloped the balcony before you heard the familiar sound of the sliding door opening behind you.
"You’re still working?" you asked without turning around.
"I’m done now."
"You said that an hour ago."
"I mean it this time." His voice was closer than you expected, and you turned slightly in your chair, only to freeze in place.
"…What is all that?" Several shopping bags dangled from his hands, their glossy logos glimmering under the balcony lights, Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Saint Laurent, Cartier. Another bag rested against his wrist, partially hidden from your view.
He looked unfairly attractive standing there, glasses slightly lowered on the bridge of his nose after hours of screen time, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, dark hair streaked with silver under the warm light spilling from the suite behind him. The city glowed gold against the sharpness of his features, softening him just enough to make you catch your breath.
You found yourself staring at the bags once more. "Are you serious?"
"I was gone longer than I meant to be."
"You disappeared for three hours."
"I know." He moved across the balcony slowly, placing the bags down next to your chair, the expensive rings catching the light for a moment as he relaxed his grip.
"You didn’t need to buy me half of Monaco to say sorry."
A small smile tugged at the edge of his lips.
"Only half?"
"You’re crazy."
"You like me like this." Unfortunately, he was right again. You watched as he loosened the watch on his wrist before settling down next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist as it always did. The warmth seeped through the thin fabric of your clothes almost immediately, the city below continued to glow endlessly beneath the balcony while luxury cars glided through the narrow streets, and music floated softly from somewhere near the harbor, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side.
"I’m sorry," he finally said, his voice softer this time. "I know this vacation hasn’t really felt like a vacation."
You turned to him, slightly taken aback, not by the apology itself, he did apologize sometimes, in his own peculiar way, but by the sincerity behind it. "You’re busy," you murmured.
"That’s not an excuse."
"No," you conceded quietly, "but it’s true, and I’m not upset about it."
He leaned back in the chair beside you, his gaze drifting out toward the sea for a moment. You could see the exhaustion lurking beneath his composed facade now that the calls had ceased, the constant tension in his shoulders, the weight he carried as if it had become a part of him years ago... then he turned to look at you again.
"I do love you, you know."
The words flowed so easily it almost stung, and you smiled faintly into your drink. "You bought me Cartier after ignoring me for three hours. I figured that was your way of showing affection."
A soft laugh escaped him, low and weary. "Cruel."
"You deserve it."
"Ugh, absolutely."
The gentle breeze swirled around the balcony once more, bringing the scent of the ocean through his hair as he leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your temple before resting his forehead against yours for a moment.
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he whispered.
“You said that yesterday.”
“And I meant it then too.”
“You’re impossible.”
His lips grazed the edge of your jaw, lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Morning crept in slowly through the curtains.
Soft sunlight poured into the hotel suite in golden streaks, warming the marble floors and the tangled sheets you had half buried yourself in during the night. Outside, the city was already alive, distant traffic humming below, faint voices near the harbor, and the occasional crash of waves against the docks.
You barely wanted to open your eyes, the room still held the scent of Vincent's cologne and coffee. Your head turned slightly toward the source, and there he was, standing by the counter across the suite, glasses perched on his nose, one hand cradling an espresso cup while the other lazily scrolled through something on his phone. Even in casual attire, he somehow managed to look effortlessly put together, dark trousers hanging low on his hips, a white button up only half tucked in, fully unbuttoned so you could take in the sight of his waist and body. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms in a careless manner.
You hated how attractive he appeared in the morning light, which is why there were countless mornings you’d plead with him to do something about the ache between your thighs that he caused. Without looking up from his screen, he said,
“You’re awake... finally, thought I might’ve lost you.”
“What the fuck... have you been waiting?” you mumbled groggily.
“Obviously.”
“You’re creepy.”
A faint smile tugged at the rim of his cup.
“You drool in your sleep.” Your eyes narrowed immediately. “I do not.
"You do."
"You’re just trying to annoy me with that lie."
"I would never." You locked eyes with him for a moment, then grabbed a pillow from beside you and tossed it half-heartedly in his direction. He caught it effortlessly, not even glancing up. Ugh, so infuriating.
"You’ve been working already, haven’t you?" you grumbled.
"Just emails."
"It’s eight in the morning."
"And?"
"And normal people take a break on vacation."
"You’ve mentioned that before."
"Yes, because you refuse to hear me out."
This time, he finally glanced up from his phone, placing it on the counter before sauntering over to the bed, espresso no longer in hand.
"You know," he said in a calm tone, "most people would be thankful to wake up in a place like this."
"Most people aren’t dating a weirdo who can’t relax to save their life."
"That sounds a bit overdramatic."
"It’s the truth."
He settled down near your legs, one hand absentmindedly smoothing the sheets over you as he took another sip of coffee. Up close, you noticed the faint shadows under his eyes that hadn’t completely vanished overnight.
"You only slept four hours," you pointed out softly.
"I slept."
"That wasn’t my point."
"Fuck.. just, stop.. okay?"
You sighed, leaning your head back against the pillows, watching the sunlight dance on the silver strands of his hair. Even in his exhaustion, he looked unfairly elegant, with that sharp nose and tired eyes hidden behind thin-framed glasses, an expensive watch perfectly resting on his wrist as if he couldn’t exist without it.
"You know what your problem is?" you asked.
"Oh, I’m sure you’re about to tell me."
"You honestly believe the world can’t function without your control." He pondered that for a moment, then shrugged lightly.
"Well, historically speaking, I haven’t been proven wrong."
You let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. "You and that massive ego."
"It’s been earned."
"See? Horrible."
The warmth of his hand glided against your ankle slowly beneath the sheets before he drew you a bit closer to him, his expression now softer than it had been all morning.
You gazed up at him cautiously. "Do you ever stop with the flirting?"
"Hah! Take a wild guess, darling."
"At least you’re being honest."
"I’m more honest with you than with anyone else."
Something about the way he said it made the room feel quieter for a moment, his gaze drifting briefly over your face before he spoke again, his voice lower this time.
"C'mon, get dressed." You blinked. "Why?"
"I’m taking you somewhere."
"That sounds a bit suspicious."
"It’s just breakfast..."
"You’re wealthy enough for that statement to sound dangerous."
A soft laugh escaped him again, quieter now.
"Trust me."
You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Last time you said that, we ended up on a yacht with three politicians and a guy who owned a diamond company."
"And you had fun!"
"Oh no... I hated every second."
"You looked stunning while hating it."
"You are truly impossible to argue with," you muttered, finally pulling yourself out of the sheets.
"I'm aware, sweetheart." His confidence should have been less appealing by now, at this point, it was practically a medical condition. You slipped into the bathroom long enough to wake yourself up properly while he remained somewhere in the suite behind you, likely answering another email despite claiming he was "done working." By the time you stepped back out, dressed and still adjusting an earring, he had already swapped the coffee for another phone call near the windows.
Of course he had.
"Yes, I saw the figures," he said calmly, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass overlooking the harbor. "Then send them to Zurich instead." You leaned against the doorway quietly, observing him for a moment. There was something captivating about the way he navigated conversations like this, controlled and precise. Like he always knew...
Even now, standing barefoot in a hotel suite at nine in the morning with slightly tousled hair and rolled up sleeves, he appeared more composed than most people ever managed to be. Then he caught you watching, and his expression changed almost instantly, it was so natural that you wondered if he even noticed it happening.
“I’ll call you back later, just don’t fuck it up like you did last time while I was away, okay?....alright...bye.” He said into the phone before hanging up without another word, raising an eyebrow, you remarked, “That seemed important.”
Vincent completely ignored that, crossing the room toward you instead, adjusting the necklace that sat crooked against your collarbone with careful fingers. “There,” he murmured, the gesture so gentle it almost didn’t seem like him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, dove.” For a moment, he simply gazed at you, making your stomach flutter every single time. “Oh my god, stop staring,” you pointed out quietly.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Oh, shut up.” You laughed softly as he pulled you closer by the waist, his expensive rings cool against your skin while his thumb brushed slowly along your side. “What’s the plan for this mysterious breakfast?” you asked.
“Ohhh.. you’ll see.” he chuckled.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be!”
The drive through the city felt almost surreal in the morning light, luxury cars gliding through narrow streets lined with designer shops while sunlight flooded the coastline so brightly it almost hurt to look at. Beside you, he drove with one hand resting casually on the wheel, sunglasses shielding his eyes now as soft jazz played through the car speakers. You glanced at him briefly.
“Kinda curious, but how much does this car even cost?”
“Uhmmm.. I.. don’t actually remember.”
“That is the most villainous rich person answer you could’ve given me. You are unbearable.”
“You asked.”
“You scare me sometimes.
"Fuck off! You adore me!" Unfortunately, that response came way too fast, and he noticed it too. The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly as he shot a glance your way for just a moment before turning his attention back to the road... such a cocky jerk.
A few minutes later, the car finally slowed down in front of a serene restaurant perched above the water, "hidden" enough from the city to feel exclusive. You barely had time to unbuckle before he was already stepping out and making his way around to your side to open the door for you. You eyed him with suspicion.
"You know you don’t have to do that every single time."
"I know."
"Then why do you?" His hand rested momentarily against your lower back as he led you toward the entrance. "Because I enjoy taking care of you." The straightforwardness of his answer caught you off guard more than anything extravagant ever could.
Inside, the restaurant offered a full view of the sea, sunlight shimmering across the water just beneath the terrace while soft music floated through the air quietly enough not to disrupt conversation. The staff greeted him immediately as he stepped inside.
Of course they did.
You leaned in closer as you trailed behind him toward the terrace table already set for the two of you. "Do you secretly own this place too?"
"...No."
"You hesitated."
"Alright... alright, I'm friends with the owner."
"That’s somehow worse."
A low chuckle escaped him as he pulled your chair out for you, the sea stretching endlessly below the terrace, warm wind tousling his silver streaked hair, and for once, his phone remained silent beside him on the table.
By the time breakfast wrapped up, the sun had risen high enough to turn the entire sea a blinding gold, you had long since swiped bites from his plate despite having ordered your own meal, and he had grumbled about it exactly three times while still nudging the dish closer to you anyway. His sunglasses lay forgotten beside his espresso now, sleeves still neatly rolled to his forearms as the warm sea breeze drifted through.
For once, he actually seemed at ease.. or at least pretty close to it. "You know," you said lazily, swirling the melting ice in your drink, "this is the longest you’ve gone without checking your phone."
"Well.. uhh I checked it twice."
"See? Addiction."
"It’s called responsibility."
"Whatever floats your boat.."
That got a quiet laugh from him, just under his breath. "You’re quite judgmental for someone who’s currently spending my money."
"I spend it beautifully!"
"Ehh.. you definitely try."
You narrowed your eyes at him as he reached for the check before you could even pretend to glance at it.. not that you would have paid anyway.
The city buzzed softly beneath the afternoon heat, designer storefronts gleamed in the sunlight, polished windows showcasing clothes and jewelry that cost horrifying amounts of money while luxury cars cruised through narrow streets as if they belonged there naturally.
Next to you, he adjusted his sunglasses back into place before casually slipping his hand around yours, and you shot him a suspicious glance almost immediately.
"Oh my god not again.."
"What?"
"You have that look on your face.. y'know.. the one you get before making financially irresponsible decisions."
"I’m always financially irresponsible."
"That is not reassuring." His thumb brushed lazily over your knuckles as he kept walking. "I’ve hardly spent any time with you this trip," he said simply. "Let me spoil you properly."
"You already bought me Cartier last night."
"And...?"
"And I’m starting to think you’re trying to buy my affection."
"You already adore me. I’m just maintaining the standard, babe!"
You physically couldn’t argue with someone this shameless, and a few minutes later, you realized with growing horror that he was steering you straight toward the designer district.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes."
"No, absolutely not."
"You haven’t even seen anything yet! You can't talk!"
"I know enough already..!"
His hand rested against your lower back as he smoothly guided you across the street, completely unfazed by your complaints, just the sight of the first boutique made your stomach churn.
Soft lighting danced off glass displays filled with watches and jewelry, while the faint scent of high end perfume wafted through the air. The staff greeted him immediately, not just with politeness, but with a sense of familiarity.
Of course they recognized him.
A woman near the entrance beamed the moment she saw him. "Monsieur, welcome back."
Back.
That single word irked you, and you turned to him slowly. "How often do you come here?"
"Occasionally."
The employee looked like she was holding back laughter. Within twenty minutes, everything had spiraled completely out of your control.
A Saint Laurent jacket draped over one arm, two Prada boxes sitting nearby, and something from Dior that you hadn’t even agreed to try on yet somehow was already bought.
Meanwhile, he lounged comfortably on one of the velvet chairs near the fitting area, one ankle crossed over the other, scrolling through emails on his phone as if casually spending outrageous amounts of money was the most normal thing in the world.
"You are insane," you told him as you stepped out of the fitting room, his eyes immediately lifting and locking onto you, the phone slowly lowering from his hand.
For a moment, he was silent, his gaze roaming over you with an intensity that made your entire body feel warm beneath the luxurious fabric.
Then finally:
"Fuck.. turn around for me." You stared at him, shocked. "Excuse me?"
"I want to see the back," he mumbled, biting his lower lip as he watched you.
"Pervert," you whispered, still wary, but you turned slightly anyway. The moment you faced him again, you instantly regretted it because now he looked far too pleased with himself.
"That one," he said with a calm demeanor.
"No..."
"Yes."
"It’s not needed, no... no."
"You checked yourself out in the mirror twice."
"That means nothing!!"
"Oh come on... it shows you like it." You crossed your arms right away. "You’re manipulative."
"And you’re breathtaking, we all have our flaws!"
Sometimes you despised him, by the time you two decided to leave, several bags dangled from his arm while countless staff members carried the rest toward the car outside. You stared at the growing pile in disbelief.
"There’s really no reason for all this."
He barely glanced at the bags.
"I wanted to."
"That’s not a reason... Vincent." The warmth of the afternoon enveloped you both again as soon as you stepped back onto the street. Nearby, music floated softly from a café while people strolled lazily through the sunlit city. He halted abruptly.
You blinked. "What now?" Without an immediate response, he reached up and adjusted your sunglasses slightly where they had slipped down your nose, leaning down just enough for his voice to remain between the two of you alone.
"You’ve been smiling all day."
Heat flooded your cheeks almost instantly. "That’s because you’ve spent enough money to destabilize a small country." A low laugh escaped his lips. "Still counts."
As evening descended over the city once more, the marina had completely transformed. The water mirrored hundreds of golden lights from docked yachts and waterfront restaurants, waves gently rolling beneath the darkening sky while music echoed faintly across the harbor. Everything sparkled at night here, the city, the sea, the people.
The moment the car approached the docks, you recognized it waiting there, of course you did. You had spent enough time on that yacht to know its shape immediately, the soft lights along the exterior, the polished deck, the subtle gold detailing he insisted wasn’t "too much"...
A soft chuckle escaped him as he exited the car, adjusting his sleeve cuff before making his way to your side. The warm marina air enveloped both of you instantly, carrying the scent of sea salt and high end perfume through the night.
His hand found its place on your waist effortlessly as he led you onto the yacht, which somehow appeared softer tonight, less daunting. Warm lights illuminated the deck while the gentle sound of waves lapped beneath the vessel, the city twinkling endlessly in the distance. Somewhere inside, low jazz played softly, blending seamlessly with the ocean's rhythm... then the aroma of food hit you.
You halted immediately.
“...Vincent Whittman.” He looked down at you, amusement already dancing in his eyes.
“What?”
“You hired a private chef again.”
“Well... you liked him last time.”
“That’s not the issue!”
“You said the restaurant yesterday was too packed.”
“I didn’t expect your solution to be Michelin-star dining on your yacht.”
“You deserve more than crowded eateries, doll.” The words flowed so easily that your mind almost refused to accept them, you regarded him with suspicion.
His thumb grazed your waist as you both strolled further onto the deck, and honestly, the setup was almost infuriatingly beautiful. Candles flickered gently in the warm night air, the table already set near the yacht's edge, overlooking the water while the city skyline glimmered gold around you both. Everything appeared elegant without effort, which somehow felt even more luxurious.
“You’re staring again,” he whispered.
“At the view... obviously.”
“Uh huh... liar.” You deliberately ignored him as he pulled your chair out for you anyway. Ugh, he was so annoyingly romantic when he wanted to be. Dinner passed slower than usual, but it was incredibly enjoyable and serene.
The yacht was enveloped by the slow, dark waves of the sea, while soft jazz floated through the deck speakers, the candlelight glinting off the sharp angles of his face with every movement. After a few glasses of wine, his glasses had slipped down his nose, and the silver strands in his hair shimmered warmly under the overhead lights.
You found yourself gazing at him more than once.
Unfortunately, Vincent caught you each time.
"Hm?" he finally asked, placing his wine glass down.
"You clean up nicely." A subtle smirk formed on his lips almost immediately.
"Nicely...?"
"Don’t get cocky."
"Tooooo late."
You rolled your eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still locked on you with that same unreadable softness that only appeared when no one else was around.
It was peculiar at times.
The ruthless man that everyone feared didn’t vanish completely around you, he lingered just beneath the surface, but moments like this made Vincent feel more tangible, less like an untouchable figure.
The chef made a brief appearance to replace part of the table before quietly slipping away, leaving the two of you alone with the endless sea and the city lights glowing around the yacht, a warm breeze wafting across the deck.
When you both returned to the suite, it was quiet.
Not silent, as the city never truly slept, but quieter than the marina below, where distant music and muffled laughter still floated softly through the slightly open balcony doors, inviting the night air in.
Warm light spilled gently across the room, and you kicked off your heels near the entrance with a sigh of relief, while he loosened his shirt collar by the windows, pushing his glasses up into his hair for the first time that evening, before deciding to throw them somewhere on the counter.
"You’re getting old," you remarked casually.
He turned to you slowly. "Excuse me?"
"You looked sooo offended getting up from that dinner chair."
"I did not."
"You made a noise."
"I- uh.. that was the chair.."
"Mhm."
A soft scoff escaped him as he poured another drink from the bottle resting on the counter. You observed him for a moment while stepping further into the suite.
There was something unfair about him at night.
Perhaps it was the weariness that softened him a bit after long days, or the way the warm lights of Monte-Carlo illuminated his sharp features through the windows, highlighting the silver strands in his hair. Or maybe it was simply that he appeared most genuine like this, with his loosened tie discarded somewhere, sleeves rolled unevenly, and expensive rings glinting softly as he raised the glass to his lips.
Your chest tightened slightly before you averted your gaze first, heading toward the balcony instead, hoping he wouldn’t notice how easily those words still affected you after all this time.
The night air enveloped you instantly.
Below, the city shimmered endlessly beneath the dark sky, headlights meandering slowly through narrow streets while yachts swayed gently against the water in the harbor.
A moment later, you felt him step beside you, his arm sliding around your waist effortlessly, pulling you back against his chest as he rested his chin briefly near your shoulder.
You watched the reflections dance across the water below while his hand moved lazily against your waist beneath the thin fabric of your clothes, both absentminded and affectionate all at once.
"Thank you for being patient with me this trip."
You turned your head slightly. "That sounds suspiciously sincere."
"It very much is sincere."
You studied him for a moment, tired eyes, hair falling messily after the long evening, his expression softer than the world would likely ever believe possible from a man like him.
"You really feel bad about the work thing, huh?"
"I brought you to Monaco and still spent half the vacation taking calls."
"You also spoiled me so much today that I’m pretty sure I can legally sue you."
His eyes wandered back to the city below, but his grip on you tightened just a bit more.
“You deserve my focus more than they ever could.”
There was something in the way he spoke that made your stomach flutter softly.
You leaned back against him, finding a more comfortable position, resting your head gently on his shoulder as the warm breeze tousled both of your hair.
His heartbeat was steady against your back, and his fingers absentmindedly traced slow patterns on your waist, as if he needed the reassurance that you were still there.
"Let me show you just how much I truly adore you." Before you could even voice a protest, he scooped you up, carrying you inside while shutting the balcony door behind him, drawing the curtains closed as well. He set you down on the bed, and before you could utter a word, he silenced you with a fierce kiss.
He crawled onto the bed, hovering over you as his tongue sought entrance into your mouth. You could tell he had been waiting for this all day, the way his hands roamed your body revealed just how desperate and pent up he was.
He was the first to break the kiss, pulling back just enough to attack your neck, urging you to arch into him.
"S-shit!" You cursed under your breath, feeling him suckle at your sensitive skin only fueled your desire for him.
He mumbled something against your skin before he began to strip you of your clothes, one by one. You let him, too lost in the waves of pleasure, but then panic set in. You tried to push him away as he continued to suck and lap at your neck, now occasionally grazing your collarbone.
You recalled what the hotel staff had warned you about... "Wait... Vincent! The staff... they said we s-shouldn't—"
He pulled away from your neck, his eyes locking onto yours with intensity, drool glistening on his chin and face as his brows knitted together.
"What shouldn’t we do? We shouldn’t have sex here? Well, no... I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I wanted to, I could buy this entire place and make it mine." Before you could even respond, he unclasped your bra, tossing it aside onto the bed, allowing your breasts to spill free as he swiftly removed his shirt, diving into your chest, leaving bites and hickeys scattered across your skin while his other hand began its descent.
"Open them up for me," he murmured against your skin, watching as you gracefully spread your legs, allowing his hand to cup your clothed sex. He ran a finger over the fabric of your already drenched pussy, moaning at the sensation... but of course, it was never enough.
Vincent pushed your panties to the side, his finger gliding from your entrance to your clit, spreading your slick as he rubbed his already hard cock against your leg, whimpering at the sudden contact.
Vincent pulled back from your chest with a soft pop, hovering over you as he took in the expression on your face when his finger finally sank into your wet cunt. You moaned loudly, and he smiled to himself, knowing deep down that no one would dare tell him to stop or kick him out.
Almost everyone knew who he was anyway.
"Such a good girl... you’re so hot, god, I want you so badly it’s insane. You’re driving me crazy." He pressed a kiss to your forehead as another finger slipped inside, curling just right as he relentlessly teased that one spot that made you want to cum right away.
"Vin... fuck... I’m gonna cum," you whined beneath him, your hair a mess on the sheets, eyebrows knitted together, hands gripping the sheets near your head as your hips began to move to their own rhythm.
Until, suddenly... he pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them clean as he shook his head. With one hand, he slid your panties off, the fingers that had just been in his mouth quickly thrusting into your mouth.
"Only on my cock, sweetheart, you’ll only cum on my cock." He wasted no time unbuckling his belt with one hand. You attempted to sit up to assist him, but he swiftly seized you by the throat, pinning you down on the bed with a force that made you feel a flicker of panic, yet you instinctively clenched around nothing.
He definitely noticed that, which prompted him to give you a light slap on the face, just a teasing gesture that made you giggle softly to yourself.
"Filthy girl... that’s why I’m obsessed with you." His hands returned to his belt, finally managing to undo it. He unzipped his pants and unbuttoned them, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. In a swift motion, he took your hand, placed his over it, and guided it directly over his hard, clothed cock, grinding against your palm just enough to elicit a gasp from you and a whine from him.
"Look what you’re doing to me, this is all because of you. I can’t wait to feel you inside... god, I’m going to cum just thinking about it." Vincent quickly pulled your hand away from his cock as he discarded his boxers, letting his cock slap heavily against his stomach, the tip already red and sticky from the hours of teasing.
How could you have not realized it sooner? Had he been hard the entire time he was with you? You snapped back to reality the moment you felt his head catch between your folds, allowing him to coat himself with your juices.
You could only moan at the sensation and the thought of him completely ruining you in this hotel room, it nearly made you drool.
Before you could even tell him to slip inside, he was already doing it, and oh, the moan that escaped him was loud. He threw his head back, relishing the feeling of your cunt clenching around him, trying to adjust to his size. Wetness gushed out of you immediately, and he noticed how your cunt became so slick, letting it drip down to your ass as he bit his lip at the sight.
"You're really spoiling me, doll.. so beautiful just for me.." His hips began to move right away, keeping your legs spread wide as he relentlessly slammed his pelvis against yours.
You were lost in the moment, mumbling incoherently as you tried to regain your focus, your hands exploring his abs before you attempted to clumsily rub your own clit. Naturally, he was quicker, swiftly smacking your hand away and replacing it with his own, rubbing rough circles against it while spreading your wetness across your lower abdomen.
"You should see yourself right now.. oh god.." You shut your eyes, moaning his name as he grunted, feeling your pussy clench around him, threatening to milk him dry. That’s when inspiration hit him. He snatched his phone from the bed, turning on the camera to record you in your blissed out state, zooming in on your face. You opened your eyes and felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, but you couldn’t deny the thrill of it, you clenched tightly around his cock, nearly making him drop his phone as he quickly shifted the focus to your pussy, taking him so well as his pace intensified.
"Such a beautiful pussy.. fuck..! Just look at it.. good girl.. such.. a good girl," he moaned, biting his lip as he finally stopped the recording. You felt a twinge of relief that he did, yet the desire to be recorded and teased lingered.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed, causing both of you to halt immediately. He scoffed, choosing not to answer it as he resumed his sloppy thrusts, your moans picking up again until the ringing began to irritate him. The buzzing was driving him insane, he pressed your legs against your chest, leaning in closer as he hit all your sweet spots in a mating press, his eye twitching at the sound of his phone, thrusting harder as the bed creaked beneath you.
"Vin.. Vinny, slow down! Sh-shit!" You shouted, but he was too lost in his own world, chasing that elusive high while trying to drown out the incessant buzzing in his head.
He was at his breaking point.
In a fit of frustration, he grabbed his phone and hurled it to the ground with a force that shattered it into pieces. You gasped at the sight, but honestly, you were too far gone to care.
"Can't have a moment..— of..! Peace!"
With that, he spilled inside you, triggering your own climax as you squirmed to escape his hold, feeling him fill you up to the brim, certain you’d be leaking for days.
He huffed, panting heavily as he finally released your legs, his softness retreating inside you while your walls continued to clench around him.
"Fucking hell," Vincent gasped, straightening up, eyes closed, brows furrowed in disbelief at what had just transpired.
"Vincent..?" You asked softly, and he snapped his gaze to you. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine, I just... god, I shouldn’t have done that..." he admitted, still trying to catch his breath as he slowly pulled out of you. You whined at the sudden emptiness but didn’t dare move, not wanting to mess up the sheets any further.
He stood and headed to the bathroom for a towel, returning to clean you up, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
"I’m sorry you had to see me lose my temper... but I just couldn’t hold it in anymore," he said, brushing your hair back as he settled on the edge of the bed.
"Oh come on, I thought it was kind of hot."
He paused, looking at you with a smile, rolling his eyes playfully. "Was it?"
"Mhm, loved every second of it... hey, what about the video?" He sighed, realizing he wouldn’t be able to view it for a long time unless he asked someone to recover all his lost photos and videos soon.
"Shit... well... it’ll take a while to see it clearly.." he smiled, finally getting up and heading back to the bathroom.
"We can always make more, can't we?" he playfully suggested, allowing your imagination to run wild as he slipped back into the bathroom, tossing aside the towel before approaching the bed again, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the bathroom for a nice warm shower together.
Authors note: I definitely projected onto this a tiny bit.. thooo i can’t lie, this version of him has been rotting my brain lately… i might write a fic for it eventually if anyone’s interested. . . (It's here) ♡
♡ I have a feeling that if modern day Vincent existed, he’d be like one of those ridiculously wealthy European men (coming from a European myself).. that somehow always look untouchably polished. Vincent would be the kind of man that screams old money even if he technically.. isn’t.
♡ France/Italy type rich, tailored clothes, luxury watches, expensive cars he replaces almost yearly, yacht parties, tennis on weekends, vacations in Monaco or somewhere equally absurdly expensive.
♡ He’d probably listen to house music, jazz, lounge music during late, night drives by the coast, and he’d always smell insanely expensive, literally like a designer fragrance people permanently associate with him whenever they catch a similar scent somewhere else. I don’t think he’d be flashy in a tacky way though, everything about him would still look refined and classy.
♡ The type of man who pretends he doesn’t care about appearances while spending an embarrassing amount of time choosing which watch fits his outfit best.
♡ I also feel like he’d thrive off connections and status. Parties on his yacht at least twice a year, expensive dinners with people he secretly dislikes just because they’re useful to know, constantly exchanging numbers with CEOs, politicians, investors, or whoever benefits him most.
♡ His house would probably be terrifyingly neat too, decorated with awards, achievements, rare collections, books he’s never actually read, all displayed in ways that silently beg people to ask about them so he can feed his ego a little more.
♡ He’d absolutely be the type to casually spend insane amounts of money like it’s nothing while acting confused when others are shocked by it. And despite looking calm all the time, I feel like he’d secretly be obsessed with reputation and being admired (obviously, it's Vincent Whittman). The kind of person who genuinely thinks money and fame can solve almost every problem..
♡ If he had a partner, though, I think he’d become weirdly attached in his own possessive way. He’d buy you whatever your heart desires without hesitation, expensive gifts, designer clothes, jewelry, surprise vacations, reservations at restaurants people wait months to get into. Partly because he genuinely adores you, but also because he likes showing you off.
♡ At parties he’d always keep a hand on your waist or pull you closer just to silently remind everyone that you’re his. He’d probably book private sections everywhere because he “doesn’t like crowds,” and after long swims at some private beach resort, he’d drag you to insanely expensive restaurants and tell you to order whatever you want without even glancing at the prices.
♡ honestly feel like he’d be more openly bisexual in a modern setting too, not necessarily because he’s emotionally open, but because in his world it simply wouldn’t matter much anymore. As long as the person beside him is beautiful, loyal, and makes him feel wanted, that’s enough for him.
♡ At the same time, he’d still be exhausting to deal with sometimes. Constant work calls, constantly busy, even leaving in the middle of sex because one of his employees messed something up again. He’d probably smoke a lot too, though obviously nothing cheap, same with alcohol.. everything rare, refined, ridiculously.... hard to obtain.
♡ He’d act like he has complete control over his life while secretly being unable to relax for even a second. And honestly, I feel like under all the money and ego, there’d still be this deeply insecure part of him that’s terrified someone richer, prettier, smarter, or simply better will eventually take his place.
If you’ve ever wanted to be friends with me but felt too nervous or shy to say it… consider this your sign!! ♡ I’d really love to meet new people, so please feel free to reach out!
♥︎ afab!reader, pervy Vincent (obviously), cumming in pants, grinding, dry humping (?), Vincent gets stepped on, alcohol intake (nothing serious), kissing, slapping, public sex, slight humiliation, he's pathetic and lowk submissive.
♡ Summary: Vincent can't seem to behave properly, so you decide to show him who's really in charge in this relationship.
♥︎ Authors note: I might write a part 2 of this, although I'm not really sure if I would. But anywayyy, I hope you guys enjoy this poorly written draft that sat in my notes for far too long! ^^; (if there are any typos, lmk!)
♡ Words: 2157
What a dirty man Vincent was.
A brazen man who always flashed a proud grin in front of cameras, lucky for him, everyone adored him, and those who didn’t... well, he’d just complain about it to you.
He was lounging in the armchair in your room, clutching a glass of whiskey while his eyes devoured your figure, hungrily drinking in your form as he sat comfortably with his legs spread wide.
He took a sip from his drink, keeping his eyes locked on you as he did.
Dressed in a deep blue suit, paired with a lovely tie you had gifted him for Christmas last year, his hair was messily styled, gelled to look intentionally disheveled yet clean, boldly showcasing his white strands.
His glasses perched low on his nose, sliding off occasionally as he pushed them back up against his beloved hooked nose.
You, on the other hand, were trying on a few dresses, slipping them on and off while wandering around the room almost undressed, preparing for the night ahead.
Tonight, he promised to take you out for dinner at the fanciest restaurant he could find... just to see you smile.
Your bare feet touched the floor as you moved about, occasionally groaning, utterly clueless about what to wear or how to style your hair... oh, and the jewelry? What kind would suit you? What heels would look good with this dress... no, wait, how about with this one?
You held both dresses and flopped onto the bed, clad only in a bra and panties, throwing your head back in frustration.
"What’s wrong, love?" he asked with feigned curiosity, as if he didn’t already know the answer. You shot him a stern look, sitting up and walking over to him, holding a dress in each hand as you stood before him.
"Stop staring and help me decide, the red one... or the blue one?" He chuckled at your response, taking another sip and setting the glass down on the table beside the armchair, then placing both arms behind his head in a teasing manner.
"It's your call, babe, go for the blue one... but..." he trailed off, biting his lower lip as his hands began to wander towards your bare skin. "I'd really prefer if you wore nothing at all and let me take you right here and right no—"
"Absolutely not, you fucking pervert." You chuckled, turning away, completely dismissing his suggestion as you carefully started to put on the blue dress. He sighed and rolled his eyes, instantly getting up to help you with the zipper while you pulled your hair to the front. He leaned down slightly, letting his breath brush against the back of your neck, the scent of alcohol mingling with his cologne, a fragrance he knew drove you wild.
But still... nothing really happened, you just ignored his well-known tactics as you continued to prepare yourself.
With the final touches complete, both of you slipped into your shoes, he wore a sleek, polished pair while you donned heels that perfectly complemented your dress.
"After you, my lady.." he said, opening the door to your house, allowing you to step out first. You did, but didn’t wait for him, instead, you smiled to yourself and started walking towards the car. He panicked, rushing after you and shutting the door behind him, quickly opening the car door for you before he, himself, sliding in right after you.
"Did you forget something?" You asked, glancing at him in the passenger seat as a slight blush crept onto his face. Instantly, his thoughts turned to a kiss, you were clearly asking him to kiss you... right? As he leaned in quickly, you pulled back, pointing at your house.
"The door, Vincent. Go lock the door." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as he immediately jumped up. "Right..! Of course..! Hah... I was just about to do that..." He dashed back to the house, locking the door before returning to the car and finally buckling his seatbelt.
The journey was dull, you spent most of it gazing out the window while he rambled on about his day and work. Every now and then, you'd clear your throat, hoping he'd take the hint and switch to a more entertaining topic.
And his version of fun was far from exciting.
"God, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, did you know that?" He remarked, his eyes focused on the road as the lights glimmered and danced off his glasses. Occasionally, he'd steal a glance at you, showering you with compliments that made you smile and giggle.
"I’m well aware, thank you," you replied softly, adjusting your hair out of habit.
"That’s my girl, you should recognize your value... just like I taught you," he grinned, his hand sliding over your thigh for a quick squeeze, resting there.
But every time he did this, it was clear he wanted more... and most of the time, you let him have more. One hand on the steering wheel, the other creeping under your dress, pushing it up over your knees. The moment you noticed his eyebrows knitting together while he kept his gaze on the road, biting his lower lip, you slapped his hand away, making him whine as he withdrew it.
"You horny freak, get a grip," you gasped, quickly adjusting your dress and crossing your legs, now completely ignoring him.
"Oh come on... can’t I just please my girl? Just a little touch... please?"
"Absolutely not, now keep driving before I change my mind and make you pull over so I can walk home," you shot back.
"You wouldn’t do that, babe, we both know it." he countered.
"Don’t underestimate me.." you muttered firmly under your breath as he sighed, clearly conceding. And even if you insisted on getting out of the car, he wouldn’t let you... or if he did, he’d just follow you slowly with the windows down, his head poking out, trying to coax you back inside.
You both arrived at the restaurant, now seated at opposite ends of the table.
He ordered his usual heavy liquor, while you opted for their finest red wine.
As minutes ticked by, you could already feel the alcohol working its magic, wine always gets you in the mood, which was precisely why you chose it tonight, to get your revenge and make him pay for his earlier misbehavior.
"How's your drink, love?" you asked sweetly, taking a sip of your wine as he shot you a smirk, adjusting his glasses, his eyes shimmering under the warm, romantic glow of the lights.
"Eh.. it's fine, I asked for ice but I guess they forgot it." he replied.
"Mhmmm.." you hummed, peering at him through your lashes as your foot began to slide toward his, nudging his shoe with yours before carefully lifting it, letting the front get caught in his trouser leg as you started to lift it higher, making him freeze and almost shudder at your touch..
"Lord.. not here," he murmured.
"What do you mean?" you teased, watching the waiter approach as you swiftly pressed your heeled foot against his crotch the moment the waiter reached your table.
"Ahhh, I’d like to order the beef bourguignon.. and you, my love?" you asked, tilting your head to the side as you pressed down hard over his now almost fully erect cock, swiping it from side to side, forcing him to grip the table tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure.
"Ghh.. I— uhhh.. the same will.. will do, yes!" he finished with a grunt, masking it with a cough as he shifted in his seat, seeking more friction while the waiter gave him a puzzled look.
"Ah, are you alright, dear? Oh my.. your fever might be flaring up.. I told you we shouldn’t have come here. Now now, after you eat, you’ll feel better in no time I'm sure." you brushed it off, the waiter already retreating while Vincent quietly whimpered under his breath, half his face covered by his hand, positioned right under his nose as he glanced around, his eyes nearly rolling back as you continued to step on him.
"You're so.. pathetic," you whispered, leaning in a little closer with a playful smile, ensuring no one would catch on to what was happening.
"So pathetic that just a touch gets you this hard.. you're enjoying this, aren't you?" you teased, starting to move your foot again as he tried to act casual, sipping his drink and nearly choking when you hit the right spot, huffing softly and unraveling before you.
"I need you.. so bad.. god, I'm going to cum," he breathed out, pausing just enough between his words as he leaned back in his chair, attempting to appear unfazed while you pulled him closer to the edge of ecstasy.
He quickly leaned forward again, almost as if he was about to share a secret, but the dazed expression on his face told a different story.. mouth slightly agape, eyes locked onto yours, his face radiating relaxation and bliss.
With one last rub of your heel, he lost control, making a mess in his dark dress pants, his ass barely clinging to the chair as he ground against your heel like a needy pup, soft whispers and pleas escaping his beautiful lips.
Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, the music was loud, and so were the people chattering, the food arrived just in time, while he was still trying to regain his composure. You pulled your heel away, already diving into your meal as you thanked the waiter with a smile.
"C'mon, eat up," you encouraged, taking a bite of your food while his trembling hands attempted to mimic your actions, trying to appear more "normal" despite the sweat glistening on his forehead.
"What are you even doing to me.." he questioned, the warmth on his pants quickly turning cold and uncomfortable as he took a bite from his own plate, giving you a sweet smirk.
"You should've figured it out by now," you replied, a bit of sauce dripping onto your finger, which you quickly licked off while gazing at him, making his cock twitch in his pants once more.
Thank goodness his pants were dark enough to hide any evidence.. another round wouldn’t hurt though..right?
Dinner had wrapped up, and you found yourselves back in the car, his dried cum leaving an odd stain on his pants that you'd have to deal with in the morning.. gross, you thought to yourself.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly while you touched up your lipstick in the car. Every now and then, you'd tease him, and he'd respond with a scrunched up face, a mix of embarrassment and irritation.
"I never realized you could pull off something like that in public.. and I had no idea you enjoyed it so much," you laughed, capping your lipstick and glancing out the window with a sly grin.
Vincent, however, was not amused, in fact, he wanted you more than ever. He was so close to pulling over just to take you in the backseat, his cock throbbed at the thought.
"Looks like I need to silence that filthy mouth of yours, don’t you think?" he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes glued to the road, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.
"You’ll need to do a lot more than that to scare me off," you huffed. Oh god, he was definitely not pleased, you could see it in the way he clenched his jaw repeatedly, his eyes darting to you, feeling even more embarrassed since you weren’t even looking at him while you said all that.
As soon as you both stepped out of the car and into your home, he crashed his lips against yours, holding you tightly to prevent any escape. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped your arms, deepening the kiss, whimpering into it.
You, on the other hand, with your eyes half-closed, looked away, smiling to yourself as he grew needier and more desperate. It was clear that it didn’t faze you much, and even if it did, you’d just blame it on the alcohol.
Your arms were pinned to your sides, allowing him to indulge as he practically ground against you.. poor Vincent..
You were the first to pull away from the kiss, tugging him by his tie as he gasped, his hands instantly searching for your zipper before you slapped him across the face.
"Behave." You said sharply, and he nodded, his eyes practically begging with desire as you started to lead him by the tie upstairs, making sure he stayed right behind you.
"We need to teach you some manners.. don’t you agree?" You grinned, glancing to the side slightly as he trailed after you like a loyal pup.
"Yes ma'am" he answered, oh god.. he submitted so easily to you.
okay i think you may be able to guess who this is from but im #nervous anyways so. :D
character: vincent whittamn
reader: fem
prompt: okay ill go deeper into it in the details part but sort of based off the song He's My Man by Luvcat (this idea has been brewing for a while) where the reader is basically making vincent sick to try and keep him home. very obsessive and messy and toxic on both ends, vincent being lowk shitty and manipulative, and the reader being disgustingly obsessed with him and only craving his concern and attention in any way
tone: predominantly angst, but fill in whatever u want. i give you all the freedom ever. i trust you more than anyone else ever to write this as my eyes have never graced poetry alike to yours in all their time reading
details: ok ok so you have typical housewife, same kinda vibe as the angst youve written before dynamic. vincent isnt home, hes always at work, doesnt care and is honestly pretty neglectful. the reader is DEEP in love with him, tho despite everything, and is basically losing it over how hes treating her. so as a desperate attempt to get him to be home, for him to pay attention to her and is extremely slowly poisoning him to make him sick so he has to go to her to help. in a way, she doesnt even understand what shes doing, and shes like fully attached to and dependant on him. i hope im wording this out well and not totally confusing you
outside of that. go insane. make it as horribly fucked up as you want. put anything you desire into it. again, i trust you completely. i love how your brain works and how you write the fucked up angst. WORDS CANT EXPLAIN HOW MUCH I ADORE IT
okur thats all :D
- anon who's probably not very anonymous and glazes you in like every single comment section because i simply CANNOT help doing so <3
(if you dont feel up to it, are too busy, or dont want to, THAT IS SO OKAY !!!!! dont feel bad at all and take care of urself while doing whats best for you^^)
♡ Summary: Vincent thinks he’s losing himself to exhaustion, memory lapses, panic attacks, lost time.. thankfully, he still has you to take care of him.. unfortunately for him, you’re the reason it’s happening.
♥︎ Authors note: Hello anonnn! I know exactly who you are! Anywayyy, I apologize for the late response... I've been really busy lately. However, when I saw your request, I had to fulfill it! So your wish is my command and feel free to let me know your thoughts . . . ♡ (if there are any typos pls lmk! Writing this at 2am ugh..)
♡ Words: 2730
Late September hangs over the city like something exhausted.
The heat hasn’t fully left yet, but it’s beginning to rot at the edges, turning damp in strange places, lingering too long in concrete and window frames and the seams of old buildings. The skyline beyond the apartment window looks blurred together rather than built, smokestacks and grey towers dissolving into the same dull shape beneath a sky that presses downward instead of stretching open.
Even the air inside feels used, you drift in and out of sleep on the couch without meaning to.
The fabric beneath you has thinned enough in places that you can feel the frame underneath if you shift wrong, rough against your skin in a way you stopped noticing properly months ago.
Above you, the ceiling fan turns with its usual uneven rhythm, slow enough that it almost seems reluctant, as if it keeps moving only because stopping would require more effort.
Light from the window drifts across the apartment in pale strips, washed-out and tired. It settles over the coffee table, over yesterday’s newspaper folded open where Vincent left it, over the mug beside it with cold coffee sitting untouched near the bottom.
Nothing in the room feels urgent, not even the silence, especially not the silence.
It sits heavily against the walls like it’s waiting for something that’s already late, Vincent hasn’t been home in hours, or maybe longer.
You stopped checking the clock sometime after midnight because the numbers never seem to change anything here, time inside the apartment feels swollen, stretched thin around the edges until it stops behaving properly.
The telephone rests against the wall on its small wooden stand, black and solid, too heavy-looking for something meant to carry voices.
Most of the time it simply exists there in silence, which somehow makes it worse.
You drift again, not fully asleep, though far enough that the room softens around the edges.
Then the sound of the line engaging cuts through the apartment, sharp and immediate, violent in the quiet.
You sit up too quickly, your heart stumbles once against your ribs before settling, for a second there’s only static.. then his voice.
“Yeah?”
Warped slightly by wires and distance and movement behind him, tired.. not the kind of tired he admits to.
“You called,” you say.
Paper rustles faintly on the other end. Voices overlap somewhere behind him, indistinct and rushed.
“I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”
“I wasn’t.”
Your voice comes out rough with sleep, “I keep falling asleep anyway." Something soft leaves him then. Not quite a laugh.
“Same here,” he says quietly. “Just not in the same place.”
You settle back into the couch, the receiver warm against your ear, the conversation hangs there between you both, oddly weightless.
“You’re still at the station?”
“Yeah.” another rustle. “Everything’s going wrong tonight. Cameras missing cues... someone lost half the live scripts.. people are panicking over nothing.”
You hum softly, you don’t fully follow the details anymore, but you know the shape of them.
Schedules.. deadlines.. bright studio lights. People running in carefully organized circles pretending the chaos means something.
“Sounds important.”
“It is,” he answers automatically.. then quieter:
“I think.”
That catches.. the hesitation, headlights slide across the curtains before disappearing again, the apartment dims back into itself.
“I’ll be home by two,” he says after a moment, habitual, like he’s repeating something neither of you expects to become true, you close your eyes briefly.
“You won’t.” what an ugly silence...
“Probably not.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the receiver, “I’m fine with that,” you say, the lie leaves too smoothly, he notices, you can tell he notices.
But he lets it pass. “I know.”
Something shifts in the background on his end. Someone calls his name, Vincent exhales slowly.
“Just don’t wait up too long.”
That almost makes you smile, because both of you already know you will, the line crackles softly.
“I’ll come home when I can,” he says.. a pause, then he whispers: “I love you.” almost like a routine..like something repeated enough times to become structural.
“Okay,” you answer, another silence settles, then the line clicks softly as he hangs up, you don’t move the receiver away from your ear immediately, you sit there listening to the faint remnants of the station beyond the dead line, the muffled machinery of a world that keeps taking pieces of him in increments too small to notice all at once.
The evening deepens without asking permission, inside, the ceiling fan keeps turning, slow and unconcerned, eventually you drift again. The city, the apartment, the sound of his voice. Everything blurs together into something almost soft enough to mistake for rest.
By afternoon the next day, the light has changed without improving, it spreads through the apartment thinly now, diluted and pale, making everything look older than it did earlier, dust drifts visibly through the sunbeams whenever it catches the angle correctly, suspended in the air like it’s forgotten where it was supposed to settle.
You’re still on the couch, at some point your body stopped treating it like temporary furniture, it has become a place you return to automatically.
The ceiling fan continues its slow rotation overhead, steady.. the fly near the window is still there.. or another one is. It taps softly against the glass in uneven intervals, you watch it longer than necessary.
There’s something strangely familiar in the persistence of it, when you finally shift your arm away from your eyes, your gaze lands on the telephone again.. still silent.
You look at it the way people look at clocks they already know the time on...out of habit.
Work explains everything, the station, the schedules, the endless emergencies that somehow never become important enough to remember later.
Vincent belongs there too easily, that’s part of the problem, you can picture him under studio lights more clearly now than you can picture him asleep beside you, he moves through that world cleanly, competently, like exhaustion simply slides off him while he’s there.
You’ve started noticing the difference more often, the thought settles unpleasantly in your chest.
Who are you with right now?
Not because he isn’t here.. but even his absence changes the shape of the apartment.
The silence organizes itself differently around it, you lean your head back again, the couch creaks faintly beneath your weight.
The afternoon continues lowering itself toward evening, nothing about the day feels completed, it just keeps going because there’s nothing stopping it.
When Vincent finally comes home, it’s later than he said, not unusual, the apartment door opens slowly, you hear it before you see him, the scrape of the lock, the uneven pause afterward.. then footsteps.
He enters with his coat half-falling from one shoulder, tie loosened unevenly beneath the collar of his shirt, for a moment he just stands there near the doorway like he hasn’t fully arrived yet. “You’re awake,” he says quietly, it sounds more relieved than surprised.
“You’re late." A tired smile touches his mouth briefly.
“Yeah.”
He drops his keys onto the table, the sound cuts sharply through the apartment, you watch him shrug the rest of his coat off, his movements are slower tonight.. almost delayed, like his body is waiting for instructions slightly after the moment they’re needed.
“You look awful,” you say, he laughs softly. “You always say that.”
“Because you always do.”...that gets another smile out of him, smaller this time, but it fades quickly, he presses a hand briefly against his eyes under his glasses, letting them slip up and uncomfortably rest against his sweaty forehead, you notice it immediately, the slight tremor in his fingers.
“Oh love.. are you alright?”
“Just tired.”
You stand and move toward the kitchen before he can say anything else. “I reheated dinner.”
Vincent exhales quietly behind you.
“Thanks.” you prepare the plate carefully, the bottle tucked behind the spices barely makes a sound when you pick it up, just a soft click, you hesitate, only for a second, then add a little more than usual, the liquid disappears easily...colorless and harmless-looking, you stir the sauce once.
By the time you bring the plate back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of the couch with his head tilted back against it, eyes closed.
“Mhhhm..” you hum softly, his eyes open immediately, like some part of him was waiting, you hand him the plate.
“Eat before you pass out.”
“Bossy.”
But he takes it.. he always takes it, you sit beside him while he eats, the apartment stays quiet except for the occasional scrape of silverware against ceramic, halfway through, Vincent stops.. you feel it before he speaks.
“This tastes different.” your pulse stutters once, but your expression doesn’t move. “How?”
He frowns faintly “I don’t know.” he lookes down at his plate. “Saltier maybe.”
You lean back casually. “You said the same thing last week.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.” The answer comes easily... a little too easily, Vincent studies the plate another second, then shakes his head once. “Maybe my tastebuds are dying.”
You smile softly. “Probably.. lay off those drugs, they might be the problem.” you chuckle at your own joke, watching him smile slightly as he rolled his eyes at you.. the moment passes, but something cold remains afterward like awareness, because for half a second, he noticed something.
The changes arrive gradually enough that neither of you names them, that’s what makes them dangerous, Vincent starts sleeping through alarms, then through entire afternoons.
He forgets where he leaves things, his keys, his cigarettes, conversations, sometimes he stops mid-sentence because he can’t remember where it was going.
At first he laughs about it, then he stops laughing, one evening he stands in the hallway staring at the apartment door after coming home, not opening it.. looking at it, you watch him from the couch. “Vincent?" He blinks hard, then finally turns the handle, for a moment his expression looks unsettled.
“I forgot which apartment was ours.”
The words leave him carefully.. embarrassed, you stand immediately, cross the room, touch his arm. “You’re exhausted.” He lets out a strained breath.
“Yeah.” But he doesn’t sound convinced, that night he clings to you in his sleep hard enough to bruise, his body burns with feverish heat beneath the blankets, you hold him anyway, carefully and tenderly, his breathing catches suddenly against your shoulder.
“I keep losing track of time,” he whispers, you smooth your hand through his hair. “That’s what stress does.”
“I was in the editing room earlier and suddenly everyone was gone.” his fingers tighten weakly around your sleeve. “I thought maybe I fell asleep standing up.”
“You’ve barely been resting.”
“You think that’s all this is?” the question lands harder than it should, for a moment you almost answer honestly, instead you press your lips briefly against his forehead.
“Yes.” he goes quiet.. “Okay.” the trust in that word settles somewhere deep inside you.. oh so warm and terrible...
A week later, Vincent improves.. not fully.. but enough to frighten you, he wakes early, shaves, gets dressed properly, even laughs at something on the TV while making coffee.
The apartment feels different immediately, sharper and more awake, you watch him from the kitchen doorway while he adjusts his cuffs, for the first time in weeks, he looks like himself, or at least close enough to it.
“I think I needed actual sleep,” he says, there’s color in his face again, focus in his eyes.. your stomach tightens.. you already know what that means.
“That’s good.”
He nods distractedly while searching for his wallet.. then.. “Did we talk the other night?”
You keep your expression neutral. “Which night?”
“The one where I came home late.” his brow furrows slightly. “I remember calling you from the station but after that everything’s blurry.”
Your fingers curl subtly against your palm.. “You were half-asleep.”
“Maybe.” but he still looks uncertain, then he glances up at you, for one brief second, something clears behind his eyes, a sharpness.
“You’ve been acting strange lately too.” The room goes very still.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent hesitates. “I don’t know.” A faint chuckle leaves him... uneasy. “Forget it.” But he keeps looking at you another second too long.
Then he grabs his coat and leaves, the apartment feels unbearably empty after the door shuts, you stand motionless in the kitchen, your pulse refuses to settle.. he doesn’t know.. right..?
For the first time, he almost touched the shape of something real.. and worse than that,
for the first time in weeks, part of you didn’t want him to.
That evening he comes home shaking, violently, the apartment door barely closes before he stumbles against it.. you’re beside him immediately.
“Vincent?”
His face is pale beneath the warm hallway light, sweat dampens the collar of his shirt.
“I don’t feel right.” the words come slurred together, panic flashes through you so suddenly it feels physical.
Too much.. you gave him too much, his knees nearly buckle, you catch him before he hits the floor. “Hey...! Hey, look at me.”
His eyes struggle to focus. “I was at work and then suddenly…” His breathing sharpens. “I couldn’t remember where I was.”
You guide him carefully toward the couch, the ceiling fan turns overhead slowly. “I thought I was going to pass out.”
“You’re okay.” Your voice stays calm and practiced, inside, something ugly twists hard in your chest.. fear. Because you almost broke him.. how selfish of you to almost kill your boy just for the sake of him not leaving you?
Vincent grips your wrist suddenly and hard, his unfocused gaze under his glasses fixes onto yours. “You’d tell me if something was wrong with me, right?”
The question splits straight through you, for one terrible second you can’t breathe, then instinct arrives, you kneel in front of him and up his face carefully.
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
A lie.. a filthy.. smooth lie.
His expression crumples slightly with relief, and you realize then, with sudden horrifying clarity, how completely he believes you, you’re not convincing.. no.. he needs you to be right, he leans forward abruptly, forehead against your shoulder.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he whispers, your arms wrap around him automatically, the fan keeps turning, the city keeps moving outside the pipes click softly somewhere in the walls, and slowly, carefully, you hold him together while realizing you’re the one pulling him apart.
After that, the balance between you shifts permanently, Vincent begins looking at you before making decisions, small things first, whether he already took medicine, whether he told someone at work he’d come in tomorrow, whether he ate, whether he slept.
Then larger things.
Whether he should leave the apartment at all.
“You think I’m okay to go in, love?” he asks one morning, you look up from your coffee, he’s standing near the doorway already dressed for work, but uncertain somehow.. waiting.
The realization settles slowly through you, he’s asking for permission, you should hate that, but, instead something inside you softens around it.
“You should rest today,” you say, Vincent exhales quietly, almost relieved. “Okay..”
The apartment grows smaller after that emotionally, it becomes the center of his world because everything outside it exhausts him too quickly now, some nights he wakes disoriented and reaches for you before he fully opens his eyes.
Other nights he sits at the edge of the bed staring at his hands like they belong to someone else. “I can’t tell what’s real lately,” he says once, you sit beside him carefully.
“What feels unreal?”
He laughs weakly. “All of it......"
“....but you don’t.” The words settle heavily between you, you don’t answer immediately, you know exactly why, eventually you touch his shoulder lightly.
“You’re overwhelmed.” Vincent leans toward you before you even finish speaking, like some part of him has already decided you are the safest thing left in the room.
Outside... the city continues existing without either of you, traffic lights changing, trains moving, studio cameras rolling, people laughing somewhere far above the streets.
Inside Vincent rests his head against you with the exhausted trust of someone too tired to survive without an anchor, you hold him carefully like something fragile.. stolen.. like something that might still realize what you’ve done if you loosen your grip even slightly.
Lay Me Down Where the Trees Bend Low — Human Alastor ♡
♡ Tone: fluff/slight angst/smut (near the end)
♥︎ afab!reader :: slow build/slow romance :: making out :: first kiss :: gentle kissing :: gentle sex :: biting :: mentions of blood :: loss of virginity :: cunnilingus :: p in v :: he misses his mother sigh :: he loves you dearly.
♡ Summary: By the river, you meet a boy who carries more than he says, love and consequence begin to blur, long before either of you realize it.
♥︎ Authors note: I took my time writing this. I'm not sure how in character this is, as I am only learning more and more about his character. Hopefully, I captured everything well. Totally didn't cry to this song while writing this.
(At the start, the reader is around 18 and he is 19, by the end, she is 20 and he is 21)
♡ Words: 6689
What was a girl like you doing all alone in the woods before sunset?
No one could truly explain that, you adored wandering at this hour.
Your skin glimmered in the sunlight that bathed it in gold, your hair shining brightly and fiercely as the sunlight danced on the water.
Your youth was evident, with a soft and flawless face, sharp eyes, and a warm, full smile. You had long since removed your boots, tossing them onto the soil beside the tree that towered over the river, swaying gently as the warm breeze played with its branches.
You lifted your dress slightly, walking close to the water as it caressed your bare feet, compared to the heat, this felt like paradise.
You held onto your white dress, wading further in until the water reached almost to your knees. It wasn’t a deep river, but it was enough to be a nuisance for you and those who had to cross it every annoying morning.
Your voice was soft, sweet, and melodic, humming a tune you had heard only once or twice in your life, your feet gliding over the rocks beneath as you watched frogs leap and bound in front of you, even though the sun made it hard to see.
Then, out of nowhere, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention, and you turned around sharply, squinting as your heartbeat raced, it felt as if someone was watching you..
Clutching your dress tighter, you quickly turned your gaze toward the sound..
Frightened, you began scanning your surroundings until you heard the rustling of leaves..
A deer appeared, its body adorned with leaves and branches, occasionally wagging its tail before it made its way to the river for a drink.
You felt a wave of relief wash over you, sighing as you approached it cautiously, trying not to startle it, eager for a closer look. You could sense it was just as frightened as you, as innocent and naive as you.
When it lifted its head, you flinched, stepping back slightly before losing your balance on a large rock, ultimately falling into the water and sending it scampering away.
"Fuck! Hold on! No..!" You muttered under your breath, as if the deer could hear you..
You were soaked, still perched in the water as your white dress danced with the ripples, your hair slightly damp as well. It clung to your sweaty, wet form as you struggled to rise.
Then.. you heard that familiar rustle of leaves and branches again, but this time, you didn’t bother to look back, assuming it was just that same old deer with those impressive antlers you had spotted moments earlier.
Once you managed to stand, you attempted to wring out the excess water from your dress, squeezing your chest and wrinkling the fabric as water dripped back into the river once again.
That was until something truly caught your attention.
A guy was standing on the opposite side of the lake, his gaze fixed on you as your eyes met, pausing in a mix of curiosity and fear.
The sun was shining, low in the sky, melting into that warm golden hour glow that made everything feel softer, slower, almost dreamlike. It illuminated your skin even more boldly now, accentuating the curves of your body, the droplets on your skin evaporating and being replaced by the humidity.
The dress clung to your stomach and chest, highlighting the prominent hills that rested there.
He stood beneath the light as well, the rays cascading over him gently, settling into the richness of his dark skin and transforming it into something warm and radiant rather than harsh or defined. It was a subtle kind of glow, as if the sun had chosen to linger on him a bit longer than on everything else.
His brown curls fell in soft, loose waves, slightly tousled in the most effortless manner, leaning more heavily to one side of his face.
Every so often, a strand caught the light and turned briefly golden before slipping back into shadow.
He wore glasses that softened his expression even further, the lenses glimmering faintly whenever he moved, as if they were capturing fragments of sunlight.
There was something almost unfair about how effortlessly still he appeared in that moment, as if he didn’t even have to make an effort.
Just being there, under that light, felt sufficient, serene, warm, and magnetic in a way that didn’t demand attention, yet drew it in effortlessly. It was as if the world had dimmed just a bit so he could shine in it like that..
The air didn’t shift immediately, which was the odd part, it remained warm, still thick with the heat of the river and the late sun, as if nothing had disturbed it at all.
Only your heartbeat gave you away, too loud, too abrupt, too conscious of itself in your ears.
You found yourself staring at him longer than intended, standing on the opposite bank as if he had always belonged to the scenery, while you were the one who had intruded upon something ancient and unchanging.
The water between you didn’t feel like water anymore, it seemed broader than it should have been, as if it had expanded just to emphasize the distance.
You attempted to speak, but at first, no words came out, instead, your fingers clenched around the fabric of your dress, wrinkled and heavy with river water, cold against your skin, contrasting with the warmth still lingering on your face.
Eventually, your voice emerged, smaller than you wished. “I didn’t hear you there.”
He didn’t respond right away, his gaze remained fixed on you, steady and unreadable, not indifference but rather an attention that had already made a decision before you even spoke.
Then he shifted slightly, just enough for the sunlight to catch the side of his face again, the gold flattered him, softening him, blurring the edges of whatever burden he carried.
“I know,” he finally replied, his voice drifting lightly across the river as if he wasn’t trying to be heard at all, yet somehow still was.
A pause ensued, you swallowed, glancing down at the water near your knees, watching the current swirl around you as if it were indifferent to what had just transpired.. but when you looked back up, he was still observing you.
Not your face this time, he seemed to notice the finer details instead, the way your dress hugged your curves, how your hair clung just a bit to your shoulder, and the way you stood there barefoot, as if you were meant to exist only in this moment.
"You’re far from the road," he remarked, not really asking. You frowned a little, trying to regain your composure, attempting to make this feel normal in your mind.
A stranger in the woods.
That’s all it should be.
"I like it here," you replied, though your voice came out softer than you meant. It caused a shift in his expression, not quite a smile, but something more nuanced, like recognition or an unspoken agreement he was reluctant to acknowledge.
He glanced past you for a moment, toward the trees on your side of the river. The way his gaze moved made you think he was counting something invisible.
When he spoke again, his voice dropped a notch. "Most people don’t come here alone."
A breeze swept through the trees, slow and purposeful, lifting the damp fabric at your knees. Suddenly, you felt acutely aware of your vulnerability in the simplest way, no boots, no solid ground, no distance from anything.
"C’est dangereux ici."
It wasn’t a warning meant to frighten you away, but rather something he had learned too early in life to dismiss. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more deeply instead of just observing.
"Are you saying I shouldn’t be here?" you asked. For the first time, hesitation flickered across his face, as if the answer was too complex to articulate clearly.
His hand lifted slightly, not reaching for you, but gesturing toward the space between you both, then it fell back to his side before it could become anything more.
"I’m telling you," he said slowly, "you don’t see everything that’s here."
The words lingered between you, heavy in a way that felt different from the sun shining behind him, deeper in the trees on his side of the river. A branch shifted without any wind.
Just once... just enough to catch your attention... and for the first time since you had plunged into the water, you found yourself uncertain if what you were witnessing was the start of something new... or the moment just before something had already been decided.
The river flowed steadily between you, slow enough that you could almost convince yourself it wasn’t dividing anything at all, merely existing in its own tranquil rhythm. You were still standing in it when you finally asked him his name, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, even if a part of you only realized afterward that your curiosity had nothing to do with being polite.
He regarded you for a moment before responding, not hesitating, just in that calm manner of his, as if weighing the significance of his words.
There was a pause, the kind that didn’t require anything to fill it.
"Alastor," he added afterward, as if it was just as important as the first part and didn’t need any emphasis to hold weight.
You whispered it under your breath once, then again a bit clearer, testing it without considering why, and he didn’t interrupt you. Just observed, calm in a way that made it seem like nothing about you was odd enough to comment on.
Then his gaze returned to you.
"And you?"
"[ Reader ]."
You said it effortlessly, though hearing it spoken aloud in this place made it feel slightly different, as if it belonged to the river now just as much as it belonged to you. He repeated it once, not slowly, not thoughtfully, just to ensure he had it right, and then gave a small nod as if that was all it required.
The light had begun to fade as you stood there, the sun sinking behind the trees, softening everything around you. Neither of you moved immediately, as if the conversation hadn’t quite given you direction, and the ensuing silence felt comfortable. It lingered, shared between you, like a moment neither of you was ready to disrupt yet.
The quiet persisted for a while, not empty but settled, as if neither of you felt compelled to chase it away. The river continued to flow past your legs in a steady rhythm, its coldness now noticeable, yet you remained unmoved by the bank.
It was odd how swiftly the thought of leaving had lost its urgency, as if the moment had stretched itself out without asking for permission. He shifted his weight slightly, crouching closer to the water’s edge, one hand resting casually on his knee while he gazed at you. There was nothing harsh in his expression, nothing demanding, just that same unwavering focus that suggested he wasn’t easily sidetracked.
"Do you come here often?" he inquired. It wasn’t intrusive, it felt more like he was placing the question gently between you rather than trying to extract anything from it.
"Sometimes," you replied, your gaze dropping to the water as it flowed past your ankles. "When it’s peaceful like this."
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense without needing further explanation. "It gets quieter as evening approaches," he remarked. You looked up at him then. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
He hesitated before responding, his eyes briefly drifting to the trees behind you, as if he were checking on something unspoken. When he returned his gaze to you, his voice was steady.
"It all depends on what you’re accustomed to hearing."
That made you stop, a sensation you couldn’t quite grasp yet, as if the words had grazed something deep within you. The woods behind you remained just trees, mere shadows and branches fading in the dim light, but for a fleeting moment, you felt more attuned to them than ever before.
You shifted in the water, the dampness of your dress becoming more pronounced as it cooled against your skin. "And what do you usually hear?" you asked, your tone lighter than the weight of the question.
A subtle expression flickered across his face, neither a smile nor anything easily definable.
"Things you tend to overlook after a while," he replied.
His answer didn’t shed much light, but it didn’t seem intended to. The river surged again, a bit louder for a moment as the current swirled around a rock near your knees. You glanced down, then back up, realizing without much thought that the light had shifted while you were distracted. The golden hue was now thinner, stretching and fading into cooler tones at the edges of the trees.
"I should probably head back soon," you mentioned, though you remained still.
He nodded once, as if he had anticipated that response, but he didn’t seem hurried.
"The road’s that way," he said, tilting his head slightly in the direction behind you.
You followed his gaze for a moment before returning your focus to him. He hadn’t moved from his spot, still firmly planted on the opposite bank, as if he belonged there, regardless of whether you chose to stay or go.
The instant you stepped out of the river, the air felt different against your skin, lighter in a way that made you acutely aware of how cold the water had been. You didn’t look back immediately, instead, you bent down, picked up your boots from where you had left them by the tree roots, and held them to your chest for a moment longer than necessary before turning toward the path.
The fabric of your dress hugged your body and then released with every step as you began to walk, gradually picking up speed, the sound of the river fading behind you while the woods enveloped you once more in their embrace.
When you glanced back for just a moment, he was still there on the opposite bank, watching you intently. He said something then, just as you turned away completely, something in French, spoken softly enough that it didn’t carry clearly across the water.
You caught only fragments of it, enough to realize it wasn’t loud, enough to understand it wasn’t meant to pursue you; it lingered behind as you walked, tangled in the trees, the distance, and the sound of your own footsteps crunching over dirt and leaves..
And then it vanished.
A year transformed everything without ever properly announcing its presence, the woods appeared unchanged from afar, but you understood them differently now, the paths, the bends in the light, the way the air shifted before evening settled in. You no longer stumbled here by chance.
You came because he did. The grass around you was tall that afternoon, dry and sun-bleached, swaying gently in slow waves whenever the wind swept through it, rising almost to your shoulders when you sat down, concealing everything except the small circle you and he had created just by being there often enough.
You were still in the same white dress, though it felt different now, softer, less new, familiar in a way that stemmed from repetition rather than memory.
Alastor sat across from you, one knee bent, his forearm resting casually over it, the white shirt he wore catching the light effortlessly, sleeves rolled up as he always did when it was warm, a few buttons undone at the collar.
Over it, he wore a deep red vest that contrasted beautifully against the pale grass and sunlight, not loud, just present in a way that made him seem more anchored to the place than anything around him. For a while, neither of you spoke, sharing a silence that no longer needed to be filled.
Then he let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting off into the distance, not quite focused on you.
“I didn’t spend much time in that house after,” he remarked.
You didn’t interrupt, instead, you shifted a bit in the grass, listening as his fingers absentmindedly traced the dry stalks beside him.
“Mon père…” he began, pausing as if the words still carried a heavy weight. “He believed silence could make things vanish.”
By now, you had picked up enough French that you didn’t need him to translate every thought in your mind.
Some phrases still came to you in their original form, and his voice made them easier to grasp. “He didn’t appreciate it when I stayed quiet,” he added, his tone softer. “Comme si ça le provoquait.”
You turned to look at him, really looking this time.
“And did it?” you asked gently.
He let out a sound that was almost a laugh, but it lacked any real humor.
“Oui.”
The grass swayed around you both, indifferent to the weight of the conversation.
“He used to say I would come to understand him one day,” Alastor continued, his voice now lower, less steady than before. “But he never waited for that.”
Alastor leaned back a bit, gazing up at the sky through the swaying grass.
“He didn’t require reasons,” he said, speaking slowly so his words landed clearly between you. “Just certainty.”
You remained silent for a moment, allowing the words to linger without trying to lighten the mood.
Then, softly, you asked, “Is that why…?” You didn’t need to finish, he understood.
His gaze returned to you, and this time it held something more vulnerable, laid bare for a moment longer than usual. “Yes,” he replied simply.
Then, after a breath:
“He didn’t allow me the choice to become someone else in that house."
The wind swept through the grass once more, taller this time, gliding over both of you in a gentle caress. You could hear the distant hum of insects, the heat of the day still heavy in the earth beneath you. You didn’t reach for him, and he didn’t reach for you.
But the space between you felt different now, no longer distant... like something that had already been understood, even if it took a year to voice it.
The wind brushed through the grass again, this time more slowly, as if it were weary of pushing against anything. He didn’t look at you immediately after he spoke, his gaze lingered somewhere far off, fixed on nothing in particular, as if he were trying to place the memory outside of himself to ease the weight in his chest while discussing it.
“It wasn’t just the house,” he finally said, his voice lower now, less steady than before, yet still composed. “It was everything within it. The way he spoke to her… the way she stopped responding.”
Alastor shifted slightly, running one hand through the dry grass, letting it slip back through his fingers. “She didn’t leave,” he added softly, almost as if he were stating something that had never quite made sense to him. “Even when she should have.”
You remained still, listening, not interrupting the slow emergence of his words, as if they had been trapped for ages, waiting for the chance to breathe. His jaw tightened a bit before he pressed on. “And I used to think that meant something good about her,” he said, a subtle edge creeping into his voice, not quite anger, but more like unresolved feelings finally finding their expression. “But it didn’t.”
The grass bent around his arm as the wind picked up again. “It just meant she stayed too long.” He swallowed hard, then glanced down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else for a moment.
"And when I finally grasped the truth..." he began, then hesitated. You didn’t urge him on, the silence between you expanded, yet it remained unbroken. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer.
"I couldn’t remain there after that," he confessed. "Not once I understood what staying truly meant." The way he articulated it lacked any theatrics, refusing to inflate the moment into something grander than it was.
Alastor leaned back a bit, allowing his shoulders to sink into the grass beneath him, his gaze drifting upward once more.
"I didn’t intend for it to happen," he added after a pause, his tone almost ethereal now. "I don’t think people like him ever believe anything will return to them."
He took another pause, then let out a slow breath.
"And when it finally did... he was at a loss for how to handle it." That was all he said for a while, the field remained tranquil except for the whispering wind and the gentle rustle of grass around you both. The sun hadn’t shifted much, yet everything felt a bit denser now, as if the air had absorbed something and was unsure how to let it go.
You finally broke the silence, choosing your words with care. "And your mother?"
His eyes flickered at that, a glimpse into something deeper within. "She stayed," he replied simply at first.
"Until she didn’t." He didn’t elaborate, and somehow, he didn’t need to. The silence that followed wasn’t void, it was rich in a different manner now, as if something had been placed between you that couldn’t be articulated again.
"Until she was gone too."
After a while, he turned his head slightly in your direction, not fully, just enough to acknowledge your presence.
"I didn’t turn into what he expected me to be," he murmured softly. "But I didn’t emerge unscathed either." The wind stirred once more, weaving through the tall grass until it enveloped both of you like a curtain that didn’t quite close, and for a moment, neither of you uttered a word.
The wind eased once more, as if it had chosen to cease its interruptions. The grass surrounding you both swayed and straightened in a gentle rhythm, and for a time, neither of you uttered a word, not because there was a lack of things to say, but because the silence had begun to feel like an integral part of the conversation itself.
He shifted slightly next to you, just enough to alter the space between your shoulders, neither closing it off nor breaking it, but changing it in a way that heightened your awareness of him.
When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you, not with intensity or scrutiny, but with that calm steadiness he possessed when he simply wanted to be present.
“You keep gazing at me as if I’m saying something unspoken,” he remarked after a pause, his voice low and almost contemplative.
“I’m not,” you answered, though uncertainty lingered in your mind about the truth of that statement.
That caused him to exhale softly, a hint of a smile forming but never quite materializing.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in just a bit, not in a rush, but enough that the air between you thinned, transforming from mere emptiness into something shared. Your fingers brushed against his again, this time slower and less hesitant, as if you were discovering the contours of him without needing to articulate why… he didn’t stop you.
What lingered with you more than anything was that closeness, where the world around you faded at the edges, it wasn’t like a kiss that arrived out of nowhere. The space between your breaths shifted from feeling like distance to embodying an understanding that was hard to define.
And in that intimacy, something peculiar coursed through you, a sense of him that transcended the present moment, a weight of unspoken words. Paths not taken, a history you couldn’t visualize but could almost feel pressing gently against the moment.
It wasn’t about his words. It wasn’t even in his face, it was in the way he remained motionless when you were close enough to catch every detail, as if he was accustomed to bearing more than what was visible, and didn’t know how to let it go, even here, even now.
You lingered there a moment longer than you intended, close enough that it felt like your breaths were intertwined, close enough that leaving would have meant recognizing something was coming to an end.
When you finally pulled back just a bit, it was enough to see him clearly again, he looked at you the same way he had before, but with a softness now, as if something unspoken had passed between you without needing to be articulated. Neither of you labeled it, but it lingered there nonetheless.
Between you, silent, and undeniable.
The river didn’t feel the same as it did the first time you visited, but not in a way you could easily articulate. It was still just water, still just shore and light and movement, yet now it felt like a place you knew how to return to, like somewhere that had begun to recognize you both instead of merely holding you for the first time.
You were already half in the water, barefoot and carefree about it now, the hem of your dress darkened slightly where it had brushed the surface too many times to remain dry. He was a little further out, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp already as if he had been there longer than you, which he probably had.
“You always act like it’s cold every time,” he remarked, glancing back at you.
“It is cold every time,” you shot back immediately. He shook his head slightly, as if that was a lost cause he wasn’t keen on pursuing. “Non, tu refuses juste de t'y faire.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does, mon amour!” he declared, as if that settled the matter. You stepped in further, then instantly regretted your boldness when the water rose higher, and you reacted too visibly to it.
Alastor observed you for a moment, then shifted just enough to face you more directly.
“Do you see?” he remarked, a subtle smile playing at the edge of his lips. “You're always like this.”
“I’m not like anything!!” you retorted, splashing a bit of water in his direction more out of principle than intent.
This time, he let it hit him without flinching, merely blinking once before regarding you as if you had validated something for him.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Exactly like that.”
You squinted at him. “You’re unbearable in two languages.”
That made him genuinely laugh this time, a short and easy sound that carried slightly over the water as he stepped closer, allowing the water to swirl around him as he came within your reach. “You enjoy it,” he stated.
“I do not enjoy it.”
“Yes, you do!” he insisted again, quieter now, as if it was less about debating and more about observing. Before you could reply, he flicked a bit of water back at you, not much, just enough to make you flinch and instinctively retaliate without thinking.
It turned into something spontaneous again, just movement and reaction, small splashes breaking the surface between you, laughter punctuating it in quick bursts.
“You initiated it,” you charged.
“I didn’t initiate anything,” he replied calmly, catching your wrist lightly when you got too close, not holding it for long, just enough to steady you when the ground beneath the water shifted.
“You did.”
“That is objectively false.”
“Objectively,” he repeated, amused.
You attempted to pull your hand back but instead slipped slightly, and his grip adjusted immediately, steadying you without making it a big deal, something practical, as if he had anticipated your loss of balance before it even occurred.
“Be careful,” he said, quieter now.
“I am careful,” you replied, though your voice had softened a bit. He released you after a moment, once he was sure you were stable again, but didn’t fully step back, the space between you remained small, the water shifting.
"T'es toujours comme ça," he whispered.
"What does that mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.
He looked at you, then down at the water lapping at your feet. "It's like you don’t trust where you’re standing."
You frowned a little. "I do trust it."
Then, as if he were addressing the river more than you, he said, "Not really."
You didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, you studied him for a moment, the way he seemed more at home in the flowing water than on solid ground, as if nothing here astonished him anymore like it used to astonish you.
Then you splashed him lightly again, not as a reprimand this time but as a way to shatter the silence.
He let out a laugh through his nose.
"You’re impossible," you remarked.
"And you’re still in the water," he countered.
"...so are you."
"Yes," he replied simply. "I am." Smiling at you cheekily.
That day, you had spent it at his place, in the cabin hidden deep in the woods that only the two of you knew about.
The darkest secrets were sheltered within those walls.
The ones only you and he were aware of.
The windows were wide open, he was in the kitchen preparing something before he finally washed his hands and made his way to you in the living room. This summer was relentless, you were fanning yourself with your hand while your dress was bunched up over your thighs.
He settled next to you, gazing at you with that same grin he always wore, fangs just barely peeking out from beneath his soft, plush lips that you loved to nip at and draw blood from.
"What?" you asked, turning your head towards him while you angrily fanned yourself. He knew you didn’t mean it that way, he understood that your irritation was solely due to the heat.
"Just admiring.." he chuckled softly to himself, then added, "tu es tellement belle.." His hand reached out to you, gently caressing your cheek as he let himself get lost in your gaze.
You smiled, leaning in towards him before sitting back modestly, adjusting your dress and leaning in for a kiss on the cheek, but before you realized it, his lips found yours instead.
He chuckled into the kiss, deepening it as his hands slid up to cradle your face, ensuring you wouldn’t pull away or anything.. which he knew you wouldn’t.
Your tongue slipped into his mouth, tilting your head to grant him better access, and you couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss, your hand trailing up his chest and lightly wrapping around his neck to feel the pulse racing beneath his skin.
When you finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless, desperately trying to regain your breath as saliva dripped down his chin.
You leaned in, licking it up before placing another gentle kiss on his lips.
A finger traced along your thigh, sending shivers down your spine, but panic surged through you as you felt his hands slipping under your dress.
Your fingers wrapped around his slender wrist, halting him.
He looked at you with a pained expression, immediately pulling back and adjusting his hair and clothes slightly.
"I'm sorry.. I shou—"
"Do you really want this?" you asked sharply, wanting to draw the truth from him so he could be honest without fearing you might use him for your own benefit and leave him behind.
"You’ve told me that.. you’re not really into this and I just.. want you to feel free, not pressured into anything like this."
He blinked once, then twice, before cupping your cheek with one hand, brushing your face with his thumb as he peered over his glasses, pushing them up with his other hand.
"I am absolutely sure, mon amour," he reassured you. "Only if you want this too.. of course"
You smiled, gently placing his hand against your cheek with your own, before pressing a kiss onto his soft, warm palm.
"More than anything."
Alastor laid you down on the pristine white sheets of the bed, while the handmade curtain from his beloved mother fluttered in the breeze from the open window, allowing fresh air to flow in as he kissed you passionately and deeply all over your body.
Your dress eventually slipped off, and most of his clothes followed suit, leaving you both clad only in your undergarments.
He gazed at you, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over your figure, making you look like a dream.
And you thought the same of him, his physique was something else entirely.
It made you want to devour him right then and there.
He leaned down, planting soft kisses on the curves of your breasts while maintaining intense eye contact, occasionally glancing at your other breast as he suckled on one.
His hands explored every inch of your body, thighs, waist, chest, arms, and legs.
His hair brushed against the insides of your thighs, locking eyes with your covered mound, which was already glistening, revealing the outline of your sensitive clit and soft folds, clenching around nothingness.
"Before I... do something... I want you to know that I've never... um... done anything like this before," he confessed, looking at you before averting his gaze slightly, a rare sight of him feeling shy.
"Neither have I," you replied. "But... if it feels strange or uncomfortable... I'll let you know, okay?" You smiled warmly at him, and he nodded, already hooking his fingers around the waistband of your undergarments, slipping them off with a soft shlick as he tossed them onto the bed.
It felt eerie to be doing this in such a dimly lit room, adorned with deer antlers on the walls and crooked crosses scattered about.
Yet, you felt an unexpected sense of comfort...
He stared at your cunt, licking his lips in anticipation, before he gently brushed a finger against your slick folds, drawing a whimper from you.
Instantly, he glanced at you, worried he might have caused you pain, but when he noticed your brows furrowing and your lips pressing into a thin line, he understood perfectly what he was doing to you.
He leaned closer, his lips grazing your clit, relishing your warmth and wetness as you squirmed beneath him, silently begging for more.
"More.. please.." you pleaded, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed it away from his face, tilting your head to the side.
He complied, enveloping your clit with his lips, suckling on it as lewd sounds escaped your throat and from the man nestled between your thighs.
His tongue danced over you, moving up and down in a rhythm that made you see stars.. your fingers gripped his hair tighter, tugging slightly at his scalp to grind against his face.
Alastor gazed at you with intensity, as if you were his entire world.
Alastor observed every reaction of yours as his unturned nose brushed against your pubic bone ever so gently.
"I'm..." before you could complete your thought, you hit your peak, arching your back as his hands encircled your thighs, drawing you closer to his face, allowing you to ride out your orgasm.
Your hands clutched the sheets, moaning his name repeatedly as he watched you become vulnerable with him.
As you began to pull away from his grasp, overwhelmed, he released you, placing a soft kiss on your thigh before straightening up.
"You did so well for me, ma chérie, good girl.. such a good girl for me.." he murmured gently, smiling in the dim light as he observed you twitch and struggle to form words.
He joined you, shedding the last piece of clothing as you gazed at him in awe.
The way his cock shimmered and twitched under the moonlight made your mouth water.
You were aware of what sex entailed, and so was he, but the intricacies of it were still a mystery to you, while he possessed a wealth of knowledge.
You swayed your hips, unsure of the reason behind it, yet the desire to have something inside you was overwhelming, you craved the sensation of him filling you up.
"You are absolutely stunning.. I feel so fortunate to have you all to myself.
Just me. No one else." He groaned at the last part, leaning forward to press his hard cock against your stomach, using his knee to spread your legs wider, capturing your lips in a kiss, encouraging you to hold onto him as you did.
Suddenly, his tip brushed against your entrance, and a squeak escaped your lips at the sensation.
"Shhhh.. take it slow," he murmured into the kiss, allowing your fingers to dig into his back gently while his hands tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp to help soothe you.
Then, gradually, he began to push inside, letting your body adjust to the stretch as you broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, both of you panting, fighting the urge to thrust hard into you.
"Shhh.. I’ve got you.. breathe, you’re doing so well for me, ma chérie. Always so.. good for me.. just relax for me.. come on, I know you can do it." He huffed, his hips faltering.
You inhaled deeply, allowing yourself to relax further so he could slide deeper into you, oh god.. he wasn’t even halfway in and you already felt so full.
You winced in pain again, your fingers digging into his back as you squeezed your eyes shut, while his dark gaze bore into you.
"It.. h-hurts.." you whimpered.
"I know, love.. I’m sorry.. I promise it’ll feel better once you relax a bit more for me."
And you did, letting him fully bottom out as you both sat there, still trying to sync your breathing with his to fully calm down.
Your cunt fluttered around him, eliciting a shaky moan from his throat, beads of sweat already forming on the back of his neck.
Your breathing began to slow, and you finally adjusted to the sensations below, boldly rolling your hips against his, eliciting simultaneous moans from both of you.
"Y-you can move..." you granted him permission.
And that was all he needed, he carefully pulled out of you slowly, just halfway, then pushed back in, whining at how your pussy was enveloping him.
He started with a gentle rhythm, allowing you to acclimate to the feeling.
"F-faster..! God.. hggghkk.. so good..!" You pleaded, your legs wrapping around his hips as he began to thrust into you harder and faster, his hips colliding with yours as he held you tightly, suckling on your breasts while you both moaned in bliss.
You bit down hard on his shoulder, making him groan, a droplet of blood landing on your chest, which he quickly licked clean.
Naturally, he had to reciprocate.
He bit into your collarbone fiercely, drawing blood as well, but only he suckled on the wound, his eyes locked onto yours, his hips mercilessly slamming against yours.
"You f-feel so good... so good for me... that's it... hah... let me hear you, scream as loud as you want, n-no one can hear us here... absolutely no one..! Fuck... mon ange... tu es mon ange."
He murmured against your skin, until another orgasm hit you like a freight train, arching your chest toward his face as you clenched around him, your pussy nearly milking him before he pulled out just in time.
Spurts of cum splattered across your stomach as his hips jerked, panting and huffing as he tried to steady his own heartbeat.
God, you looked stunning like this.
Hair tousled, sweaty, and panting just like him, struggling to catch your breath as you trembled from the aftershocks.
Once you both were cleaned up and snuggled in bed, he held you tightly, so close it felt almost surreal. You smiled to yourself as he mumbled something into your hair, inhaling your scent before finally drifting off to sleep.
♥︎ afab!reader, mentions of sex, mentions of addictions, smoking, drinking, pathetic Vincent, cheating, pregnancy (although stuff happen..), death, reader basically dies, intoxication, mentions of blood.
♡ Summary: You and your cherished husband share an intense love, caring for him through thick and thin, regardless of how low he may sink. But everything changes when you discover that he cheated on you one night while intoxicated, shattering your perception of him, leading to a heartbreaking ending
♥︎ Authors note: I've been thinking about this idea for some time now! Also.. white chrysanthemums are recognized as flowers of mourning, so you can tell what I did with that near the end..
♡ Words: 1586
Vincent always smelled strongly of cigarettes, his skin appeared dull and aged despite being just middle-aged, and dark circles under his eyes marred his pale complexion painfully, with his bushy eyebrows drooping low over his glasses.
He never really took care of himself.
You were always the one assisting him with his morning shave, ironing his clothes while pleading with him to eat something, instead, he let his thoughts consume him daily.
He believed he would never be enough.
His hair was always styled perfectly, gelled thanks to you and neatly combed, showcasing his white strands boldly.
He was an unhappy man, and you were the only one who understood that. On camera, he was a different person than the one at home. There were countless days when he’d stumble in, drunk, grinning from ear to ear, while you had to endure his nonsense and help him to bed.
Vincent was an addict.
And he hated being confronted, so you kept quiet for as long as possible.
Not only was he an alcoholic and a literal chimney, but he was also a massive sex addict.
He had his problems, you were aware of that, and you had your own.
You weren’t any better, you were just as crazy and wild as he was, which made him so devoted to you that he practically worshipped the ground you walked on.
That never stopped you from loving him, nor did it stop him from loving you.
You were his life, he claimed, you were his light... he said...
He’d make love to you so tenderly and gently as he thrust his hips into you, planting soft kisses on your forehead while moving at a slow and affectionate pace.
You never felt used, sex with him never felt like a mere quickie. He’d prepare you so well, shower you with compliments, and worship your body while you rode him as if it were your last day on earth.
However... during sex, it was almost as if he wasn’t fully present, you noticed it too.
He’d gaze right through you as if you were... invisible.
You never liked to think of it that way, he was a good husband, you loved him, and he loved you back.
You always reassured yourself that he was just a busy man, constantly stressed and burdened with worries, so of course he needed some way to unwind.
But that all changed one night when he stumbled in at exactly 4am. You had been awake the entire night, pacing the house, cleaning it twice already, and the food you made had turned cold and unappetizing.
Vincent didn’t even acknowledge you, just trudged upstairs and tossed his clothes in a heap on the floor before collapsing onto the bed.
Naturally, you followed him. You were the dutiful wife, never one to pry or push your husband into revealing something he clearly wanted to keep to himself.
Unless you were prepared for the fallout, which in your case wasn’t too severe, he’d just scold you, while others faced far worse.
You sighed and began to pick up his clothes, but then something caught your attention.
There was red lipstick smeared all over his collar, and your heart plummeted, your hands and feet turning icy as your gaze swept over the pristine white shirt you had gifted him not long ago.
You knew it wasn’t yours.
You hadn’t even held hands in ages, let alone left hickeys on each other’s bodies.
You clutched the shirt tightly, tears brimming in your eyes as you glanced back at him, sprawled on the bed, face down, after a “long day at work.”
The room was filled with his scent, mingled with the stench of that woman he likely slept with.
You couldn’t even bring yourself to be angry at her, she probably had no idea about you, poor girl… poor you.
The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, mixed with the lingering odor of wet cigarettes from the ashtray beside your bed.
A surge of sadness and rage flooded through you.
You felt a mix of disgust and betrayal, how could he do this to you? How many times has he pulled this stunt before? You didn't even want to think about it. A hand flew up to cover your mouth as silent tears streamed down your face, your hands shaking as they clutched the shirt tightly.
God.. her scent.. your stomach twisted, compelling you to sprint to the bathroom as you dropped the shirt, rushing while trying to hold back the bile rising in your throat.
You crumpled in front of the toilet, expelling everything as you silently heaved and gagged, desperate to keep him from waking up and asking questions.
It disturbed you to see him sleeping so soundly after cheating with some woman who barely knew him. Your stomach twisted again, but this time.. nothing came out.. just drool, tears, and snot, smearing your already flushed face as you buried your head in the bowl.
The next day was no different, you helped him prepare for the day. He was sweet and affectionate, and you mirrored his behavior, even though inside, all you wanted was to rip him apart.
You longed to leave him.. but what kind of wife would abandon her husband? No woman should be left homeless, or worse.. single..
How humiliating it felt to be without a husband at your age.
Take it or leave it.
When night fell, he returned home, a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he rushed towards you, not even bothering to take off his shoes. He began showering kisses on your neck, passionately capturing your lips in a kiss that made you feel nauseous all over again.
He murmured how deeply he adored you, how intensely he longed for you, and how regretful he felt for his actions. On his knees before you, he clutched your dress, lifting it gently as tears streamed down his face, desperately trying to convey the depth of his love for you alone. He acknowledged that his actions were wrong, attributing them to the influence of alcohol.
That night, you found yourself gazing right through him, zoning out and disconnecting while he pressed his hips against yours, whispering empty secrets into your ear as you sat there, devoid of the energy to reciprocate. His 'I love you's' felt utterly hollow. You no longer craved his love, you wanted nothing from him at all.
The feelings you once had, had faded, the passion and affection that once bound you were gone. Every glance at his face brought a sense of betrayal. Yet, despite everything, you still found yourself pursuing him, occasionally allowing your true self to emerge, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him to prove his sincerity, believing that a simple apology could mend everything.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months... That morning, you awoke beside him, drenched in sweat, feeling that familiar wave of nausea, but this time, it wasn’t from disgust.
His bare back faced you, rising and falling with each breath of his slumbering form, and you felt a twinge of jealousy at his peacefulness.
The nausea intensified, prompting you to rush to the bathroom, gripping the sink as you dry heaved. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
It couldn’t be... no...
Time passed, and now you were carrying the child of the man you had long since stopped loving. Yet, despite your melancholy and disappointment, you still found a flicker of love for him, while he was overjoyed at the news.
Months had passed, and a sudden, sharp pain engulfed your body, you found yourself surrounded by stunning girls in white, the ones who had saved countless lives before. You were in safe hands... or so you believed.
But things were far from the pleasant scenario you had envisioned.
Lying on the frigid hospital bed, your thighs smeared with a crimson, sticky substance that filled your nostrils with an overwhelming scent, nearly causing you to faint from the stench...
Not to mention the agony.
Outside, the rain poured down, and Vincent sat right in front of you.
No longer clutching a cigarette.
His hair was disheveled, droplets cascading from his locks onto his face, tear streaks marking his cheeks.
Strange...
You'd find yourself wondering.
It felt almost like a dream... you'd think...
Oh, how he wished it were just a dream, unfortunately, the scene reflected his despair.
Dressed in a long black coat and a matching suit, his attire mirrored his hair and those soulless, two-colored eyes you adored so much...
How unfortunate... you would never gaze into those eyes again, and he would never see you or the son he was meant to have.
Your outfit mirrored his.
Gray and dreary, cold and damp, just like him.
Even though you no longer breathed, you lay six feet beneath the cold earth that had claimed your beautiful mind and soul.
And the tomb had already taken your face.
Oh, how he yearned for you...
He knew his end was approaching, he couldn't survive without his love...
Without his life... oh, how he regretted what he had done to you.
How he wished he had loved you harder and more fiercely.
What a pity he never had the opportunity to reveal his true feelings for you.
Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the rain, as he gently laid a white chrysanthemum on your grave before turning away and disappearing from this cursed graveyard he never wanted to see again.
♡ Summary: You decide to spend the night at your boyfriend's place. As you plan to enjoy a relaxing bath, he unexpectedly interrupts, invading your personal space and your moment of solitude.
♥︎ Authors note: I'm writing this on a school night.. ugh.. anyway, I really like that Vox is basically a TV with shark traits.. so sometimes I find myself wondering, what if he shocks himself every time he showers.. but then again, that wouldn't really add up since he does have some shark characteristics, particularly his gills! So I like to imagine that he's kind of water resistant or something. (He's also giving clean freak vibes.. so he definitely showers a lot.)
♡ Words: 2169
The space doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you.
It never does when you’re here, it’s too quiet, too lavish, too meticulously arranged. It resembles a setting that’s been staged rather than a place where someone actually lives. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a sweeping view of the city, devouring the skyline in a slow dance of lights, and the couch you’re sprawled on is far too large for just one person... or even two, honestly.
Yet somehow, in this moment, you’ve claimed it as your own, feet tucked beneath you, head tilted back, the ceiling fading into a blur of your thoughts.
There’s a drink in your hand, some concoction he whipped up. You can’t even recall when you started holding it, just that it’s there.
The same drink he enjoys, same glass, same sharp, slightly bitter flavor that lingers too long on your palate.
You hear his quiet footsteps before you actually see him.
The penthouse shifts when he arrives, as if it breathes differently, Vox enters without uttering a word at first. You feign interest in the ceiling, pretending you didn’t notice how your heart just decided to act up.
The soft clink of glass prompts you to turn your head slightly, he’s already got the same drink in hand. His gaze finds you.
“You’re drinking mine,” Vox says with a slight smirk.
Your fingers tighten around the glass a bit. “Didn’t realize it was marked.”
He strides further in, maintaining eye contact, and when he halts near the couch, close enough for you to catch his scent, clean and sharp, making it hard to think straight, he raises his glass slightly.
“You picked the stronger one,” he murmurs, his claws gripping the glass as he finally settles down beside you, draping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you a bit closer, his head nudging against yours in the process.
"As if it's not the same drink we're sipping on," you remarked, groaning at how close you were, pretending to dislike it while secretly holding your breath. His scent was overwhelming... it was like he had just stepped out of a cologne bath, and he was fully aware of the effect it had on you.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, love," he replied playfully, taking a sip of his drink, his red digital eyes scanning the room that felt like it was consuming you whole.
You turned your head to face him, squinting slightly as you adjusted to the light from his screen, smiling at him with half-closed eyes.
"I think I’ll go take a shower... or maybe a bath... something... I can’t stand how my skin feels," you murmured his name at the end, almost a whisper.
"Hm? Here? Right now? Sure... make yourself at home," he said, pulling back just enough to get a better look at you, one of his clawed fingers slipping under the strap of your bra that peeked out from under your shirt.
"Yes... here, Vox. I have clothes here anyway, remember?" You placed your glass on the table beside the couch, immediately standing up as his hand slipped out from under your shirt, your warmth leaving him entirely.
He remained seated, taking more gulps from his drink as he watched you head towards the bathroom.
Deep down, you knew he was going to watch you or something, what a fucking creep, with cameras everywhere... of course he would!
You sighed, glancing around the massive bathroom he had for reasons you couldn't fathom, your bare feet padding towards the bathtub. You turned on the water and began to peel off your clothes, finally tossing your panties onto the pile of clothes.
One of the cameras in the corner shifted, and your eye twitched at the sound... you were right.
Without a second thought, you turned off the water and slowly sank beneath the surface, inhaling and exhaling sharply as you let the warmth envelop you.
Your eyes were shut, the bathroom lights low, ugh, what a weirdo he was. Your face twisted in annoyance as you heard another digital sound. The camera. Again.
Still, you tried to keep your cool, but a sudden creak of the door shattered your tranquility.
Vox leaned against the door frame before stepping inside, holding a drink, just for you.
Your expression softened, but irritation still bubbled beneath the surface as he approached with that same lazy smirk plastered on his face, or rather, on his screen, as he offered you the drink, waiting for your response.
"A little something for you from me, it’s your favorite... c'monnn, try it, let me know how I did!" He groaned. You rolled your eyes at his enthusiasm, bringing your lips to the black straw that stood out in the vibrant drink. You took a sip, and fuck, he really nailed it.
"It’s fine... I guess..." you muttered, holding the drink in one hand while your fingers wrapped around the straw, gulping it down as you glanced around, pointedly ignoring him.
"That’s it? You’re not going to say anything more?" He asked, and you sensed a hint of irritation in his tone. But then he just scoffed and plopped down on the edge of the bathtub. "Whatever," he mumbled to himself.
You pretended he wasn’t there, tuning out his sighs while you savored your drink and the warmth of the water.
Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on you, drinking in your beauty and the way your skin glistened under the soft lights, Vox could feel his desire stirring just from watching you.
Once you finished the drink, he snatched it away, vanished for a moment, and returned with a grin, his eyes half-lidded as he looked at you.
The instant he saw you reaching for the soap to lather your body, he snatched it from you, holding it with confidence.
"Let me take care of that... you just sit back and relax for me, alright?"
"Fine... but I swear to god if you—"
"Pffft, what?? Me? No... never, haha... don't you trust me?" He chuckled awkwardly, glancing around for a moment before he stopped. "Alright, fine... just let me take care of this for you."
You sighed, giving him the green light to proceed with whatever he had in mind while you sat back and observed him. You noticed how he picked up the washcloth, lathering it with body wash before bringing it straight to your chest, raising an eyebrow at him in surprise.
"What? I'm just doing my job," he grinned, biting his lower lip as he gently brushed against your skin, coating it with a thin layer of soap, occasionally grazing your nipples just to elicit a soft mewl from you, which sent delightful shivers down his spine.
"You're stunning, you know that?" he murmured, continuing his task, his hands gradually moving lower.
"Of course I do."
You smiled at his compliment, momentarily looking away as he chuckled warmly at your reaction, letting your arm dangle over the edge of the tub while you brushed your finger over your lips, swaying your head from side to side.
After a while, he set the cloth aside, which definitely caught your attention.
Before you knew it, you felt a new sensation... His hand was already between your legs, sleeves rolled up as he gazed at you intently, grinning at the soft whimper that slipped from your throat.
"Where's that tough act now, huh?" he teased, letting his finger glide between your folds, occasionally dipping just slightly into your entrance as he watched you.
"Shut up," you whined, gripping the edge of the bathtub as you thrust your hips.
"So wet and warm... you're even warmer than usual... fuck, the things I’d do right now just to be inside you," he spoke to you in a sinful tone while his fingers rubbed your clit slowly, even underwater he could feel just how soaked you were. His words made you moan, your hips rolling against his hand as you tried to look away.
"Don't look away now.. you should know who can touch you like this, touch you in places only I know.." you whimpered at his words again, finally meeting his gaze before gripping his forearm, your nails digging into his skin as his fingers slid inside you completely, moving in and out, curling just right to make you see stars.
"Can we make love before you go? Please.. god, I want to feel you so bad.. need you on my cock.. please.." he pulled his fingers out, leaving you feeling unsatisfied as you whimpered in frustration. But when those words hit you like a freight train, you nodded eagerly.
A smile spread across his face again as he stood up, lifting you from the water in one swift motion before stepping into the shower with you, quickly tossing his clothes aside near your pile as he turned on the water, letting the steam envelop the modern, dimly lit bathroom.
Before you knew it, his face crashed against yours. His bright blue tongue intertwined with yours as your fingers found their way to his gills, playfully brushing against them while you felt his claws dig into your skin beneath your breasts. Occasional whines escaped him while your fingers continuously teased and played around his sensitive gills.
When he broke the kiss, he roughly grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up at him before slamming your face against the foggy glass, your breasts and cheek pressed against it while your hands were nearly above your head, also pressed against the cold surface.
You huffed and laughed at his antics, turning your head back slightly only for him to slam it against the glass again, while with the other hand, he gripped your ass, positioning himself between it as he rubbed his aching cock back and forth a few times, letting his precum mix with the water and your sweat.
"Aren’t you a sight.. shittt.. I can't hold back any longer, doll, I need you.." He gripped the base of his cock, letting the tip tease your entrance once, then twice, before he slowly pushed all the way in, releasing your hair as both of his hands spread you wide for him.
"Mnngh.. s'big.." you gasped, your face, chest, and hands pressed against the glass, hissing in frustration..
"I know.. I know, love, you can handle it.. take it, be the good girl you are." He allowed you a moment to adjust before he started to move, your displeased whines quickly morphing into sultry moans, echoing throughout the room as the water tried to muffle the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans blending together.
He was losing control, and you could sense it. How? By the filthy words spilling from his lips as he pounded into you like a beast, his claws digging into your hips, screen and voice glitching with every thrust.
"Dirty little whore.. so good for me, shittt, squeezing me so t-t-t-tight! You love this, don’t you? Being treated like the w-whore you are? Huh? Shit.. how about you let me use this pussy ev-every day after work? Ohhhhh...fuckkkkkkk.. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?"
A long moan escaped him as you writhed in front of him, his hips slapping against your ass, his thick cock twitching inside you as if it had never known a woman's touch.
"Fuck babe, I’m so close.." You could barely comprehend his words, certain he was about to shatter the glass with how hard he was fucking you, how fast and rough he was, his clawed hands roaming your body before finally settling near your clit, rubbing rough circles to push you over the edge with him.
Oh yeah, he was definitely going to bluescreen.
And that was all it took, your back arched, hips grinding against his as he relentlessly bullied himself into you, rubbing your clit with fervor as he leaned more on top of you, his chest pressing against your back, practically moaning into your ear while your pussy clamped down around him.
Thick ropes of cum filled you up as he released everything inside, making you feel so incredibly full.. ugh..
His cock twitched a few more times before he finally pulled out, cum spilling almost immediately from your cunt as you whined at the sensation, your legs already trembling and barely able to support you.
"I've got you, sweetheart.." he murmured, holding you by your waist and spinning you around while placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Mnn.. sore.." you whispered, your head resting against his chest as he held you close, letting the water cascade over both of you while you tried to gather your thoughts and catch your breath.
"I know.. let's get you cleaned up... properly.. and then we can head to bed, I have an early meeting tomorrow anyway.." you nodded carefully against him, then looked up at him, smiling.
Oh, how much footage he has of just the two of you to watch when he's away from you..
♥︎ afab!reader (it's not specified though so it can be gn!reader), substance abuse, alcohol intake, alcoholism, drug intake, smoking, Implied suicide attempt, suicidal ideation, crying, Vincent is absolutely MISERABLE, intoxication, addiction.
♡ Summary: Vincent is adored on air and unraveling off it, driven by obsession, approval, and... self destruction, while you’re the only one who sees him when the cameras cut, and the only one left trying to keep him from disappearing entirely.
♥︎ Authors note: yippieeee more angst, i love torturing Vincent 🥹, it makes me so happy ughhhhh i HAVE to eat him whole
♡ Words: 2769
The mark encircling his neck had begun to darken.
It wasn’t so dramatic that it could be confused for anything else, merely a bruised ring, uneven, fading into his skin like something he hadn’t fully embraced.
Vincent was slumped into the couch, shirt half unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely, a cigarette smoldering slowly between his fingers. The ash had grown long, threatening to drop, yet he didn’t flick it away.
The TV remained on, low volume, his own voice echoing from earlier that evening.
“…trust me! With your entertainm—”
Vincent leaned forward and turned it off mid sentence.
Silence enveloped him, thick and immediate. He exhaled, smoke rising, curling against the dim light of the lamp beside him. His gaze remained fixed on the blank screen, as if it might flicker back to life and reveal something new... something better.
They adored him, that was the truth, they adored him... the station had the numbers to back it up. Ratings soaring, letters pouring in, strangers stopping him on the street as if he were someone worth remembering. His name held significance now. Not just recited from a script, but acknowledged and desired.
And yet...
He took a deep drag on the cigarette, as if trying to extract something from it that wasn’t there. It only took one comment. One casual remark from a producer, a guest who didn’t quite smile the right way, a pause that lingered half a second too long on air, and that was all it took for the cracks to reappear.
Not liked enough... not convincing enough... replaceable, his jaw clenched, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the cigarette finally dropping ash onto the carpet. He didn’t notice... or didn’t care, there was a glass on the table, half whiskey, no ice left.
He reached for it without looking, took a swallow that burned more than usual, his throat still felt tight, he briefly wondered if the bruising had anything to do with that.
Probably... he let out a dry laugh, more breath than sound.
“Fuck.” The word lingered there.
On the table next to the glass, there lay a small, rolled up bill, accompanied by that familiar powder he adored so much.
He lingered on it for a moment longer than necessary, then averted his gaze as if that counted as self control. It didn’t, nothing ever did. The silence remained, merely shifting, growing louder in various ways. It filled the gaps between his thoughts, stretching them until they morphed into one long, dragging question: Is it enough?
Vincent already knew the answer. Abruptly, he stood up, pacing once across the room and back again. The cigarette burned down between his fingers until it singed his skin. He hissed, dropped it, and crushed it under his shoe with excessive force.
"I'll show them.." he muttered, though no one was there to hear it. Tomorrow, he’d sit behind that desk again, perfectly composed, voice steady, eyes locked onto the camera as if he were speaking to each person individually. They’d believe him, they always did. That was the worst part.
He was good at it, effortlessly so, good enough that no one questioned the cost it exacted from him. Vincent picked up the glass again, finished it this time, and finally reached for the rolled up bill. His fingers hesitated for just a moment before he picked it up. Control, he reminded himself, just enough to steady things, that was always the narrative.
He brought the bill to his nose, closing one nostril before leaning down, following that line he had previously made neatly on the table with a sharp inhale.
Oh fuck, that felt incredible.
He leaned back against the couch, his head tilting slightly, eyes half lidded as the room softened at the edges. The tension in his chest eased, just enough to breathe without having to think about it.
For a brief moment.. it felt eerily quiet in a way that was almost manageable, his gaze drifting back to the darkened screen of the television.
Tomorrow, they’d be watching again, and he’d deliver exactly what they craved.
The paper crinkled softly between his fingers as he leaned over the table once more, aligning it with more precision than anything else in his life lately.
The door clicked.
He didn’t turn, he recognized the sound, the weight of it, the way it always arrived just a second too late when it was you. Your footsteps were quieter than usual, as if you were already preparing yourself for what you’d find.. and there it was.
You halted a few feet behind him, taking in the scene, the glass, the cigarette burns, the small, careful line he was bending toward as if it were the only straight thing left in the room.
“…really?”
Your voice wasn’t loud, which made it worse. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking up to the table, to nothing in particular, before he continued anyway. As if the interruption hadn’t warranted more than that.
“Long day,” he replied, flat and almost automatic. It sounded rehearsed, as it always did. You moved closer, slower this time, and when you settled beside him, the couch dipped just enough to throw him slightly off balance, but he didn’t pull away either.
He lingered there, caught in that space between finishing what he started and pretending he hadn’t.
“You said that yesterday,” you murmured, yet he chose not to respond.
Your hand hovered for a moment before it gently rested against his arm, grounding, or perhaps just hoping to be.
He exhaled through his nose, faintly annoyed, but not enough to shake you off.
“I’ve got it,” he said, quieter now. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t convincing, no, it wasn’t meant to be. You looked at him properly then, not at the table, not at the mess, but at him, your gaze lingering on the darkened skin around his neck, and your expression shifted in a way he didn’t want to dwell on for too long.
“…does it hurt?”
That made him pause, though not entirely.. his hand lingered on the table, fingers hovering near the rolled up bill, but the action froze, as if something inside him had lost its way.
"What?" Vincent inquired, even though he had heard you, your hand shifted, just a bit, brushing close to the mark but not actually making contact.
"Your neck," you replied, your tone softer now. "From a few days back."
He leaned back at last, as if the question had yanked him from a trance, his head tilting against the couch, revealing the bruise more clearly in the dim light, he avoided your gaze..
"It’s nothing."
The words came out harsher than he meant, you let out a breath, the sound thin and laced with frustration. "It didn’t look like nothing when I found you."
He chuckled briefly, dry and devoid of humor.
"Yeah, well," he muttered, his eyes now half-closed, "you have a knack for showing up at the worst moments."
That hit hard, and he was aware of it, but he didn’t glance to see, your hand remained steady where it was, thumb lightly brushing against his sleeve as if to remind him of your presence.
"You could’ve—" you began, then caught yourself, your brows knitting together. "You didn’t have to do that."
He took a moment before responding, reaching forward again, this time slower, less deliberate, the edge of his actions softened.
"I didn’t," he finally said. "Sooo..."
You moved in closer, your shoulder nudging against his, insistent in a quieter way.
"I’m serious," you said, your voice trembling just enough to betray your feelings. "You scared me."
Your eyes fell to his neck, the mark appeared worse in reality than it had in your mind earlier that day..darker now.. uneven. Almost as if something had nearly gone too far but, for reasons you couldn’t grasp, had chosen to halt midway.
Your throat constricted before you even uttered a word.
“I walked in,” you murmured softly, your voice already strained, “and for just a moment, you were gone from the floor and I thought—” you hesitated, the rest of your thoughts failing to come out clearly.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” you continued, your tone steadier now, though still thin. “Just like that. Like I’d walk in and that would be the end.”
Your thumb moved slowly, as if you were trying to imprint the warmth of his presence into your memory.
“I pulled you down,” you added in a whisper. “You don’t even remember, do you? Of course you don’t... a whole bottle of whiskey vanished that day.”
A flicker crossed his jaw, a small twitch, something lost, and when his voice finally emerged, it was rough.
“Doesn’t matter.”
You exhaled, a sound that was almost disbelief.
“It fucking does, Vincent!” you insisted. “It matters.”
He leaned back slightly, his eyes half closed, as if the weight of everything was something he could physically escape from.
“I’m still here,” he stated after a pause, as if it were a simple fact, your hand froze on his shoulder.
“That’s not what I saw,” you countered.
His gaze shifted, just a fraction, not quite meeting yours... it passed through you.
“I was fucking tired,” he admitted, and you nearly laughed, but it morphed into something else halfway through.
“Tired,” you echoed. “That’s what you’re calling it?”... he remained silent.
Because there was no clear answer left within him, everything he had constructed around himself, being desired, being observed, being untouchable in front of a camera, had begun to decay into something heavier when no one was watching.
You moved closer, your shoulder pressing into his once more, firm this time, no longer asking, your hand rose gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead, then resting against the side of his face. He didn’t lean into your touch, nor did he pull away.
"I was terrified," you repeated, your voice now softer. "I can’t find another way to express it." A lengthy silence followed.
Then, quieter than anything he had uttered all evening:
"…I know."
This was the closest semblance of acknowledgment he could offer, you breathed out slowly, your forehead resting momentarily against his temple, your hand lingered on his cheek, your thumb moving in gentle, repetitive circles as if you were trying to keep him safe in the moment through your touch alone.
Then.....
"I’m sorry."
His apology didn’t come out smoothly.
It emerged fractured from the beginning, as if it had been bottled up for too long and came out wrong because of that.
"I don’t know what I’m doing anymore," he repeated, his voice now softer, as if saying it again made it more tangible instead of less. "I don’t— I can’t figure out how to stop it."
His hands hovered in front of him for a moment, useless, then fell onto his knees as if they couldn’t decide what part they were meant to play in all of this.
You kept your hand on his face, the only thing preventing him from collapsing entirely in on himself.
His breathing began to shift, becoming uneven, shallow at first, almost as if he was trying to maintain control but failing in slow motion.
"I keep thinking I can mend it," he murmured. "I keep believing that if I’m good enough, if I endure long enough, if I—" He halted mid sentence as his voice cracked, and something within him finally broke, his head bowing forward.
Suddenly, as if whatever he had been standing on gave way, he made a sound he hadn’t intended, small, sharp, almost furious at himself for it, and then it morphed into something worse because he couldn’t contain it after that.
His shoulders trembled once, then again, he pressed a hand over his mouth as if that would remedy it, as if he could physically hold himself together that way, but it didn’t work. It only made everything quieter and more suffocating.
"I’m sorry," he repeated, but this time it was distorted, fragmented between gasps. "I’m sorry, I don’t— I don’t know how to exist in my own mind anymore."
He leaned in closer, elbows resting on his knees, his posture folding in on itself as if it had nowhere else to go.
You, on the other hand, don’t push him to escape it, you simply remain there while the tremors gradually lose their intensity, while his breath continues to hitch as if it forgot the rhythm it was meant to follow.
Your hand finds its way to his neck, firm and unwavering even as he struggles to keep himself upright.
"It’s okay," you murmur softly, his hands still covering his face for a moment, but eventually they fall, slow and heavy, settling against his knees. He doesn’t meet your gaze right away... as if he’s ashamed of what just transpired... or frightened that it’s still ongoing.
You shift your hand from his neck to the side of his head, your fingers weaving through his hair gently. He flinches at first, more out of instinct than resistance, but then he stills... allowing it to happen. His breathing remains unsteady, but it begins to calm as he adjusts to your presence instead of fighting it.
"I’ve got you," you say softly, and he exhales a shaky breath through his nose, almost as if he can’t quite accept it, yet he doesn’t argue anymore either. You lean your head slightly toward him, keeping your tone soothing. "You don’t have to fix anything right now."
His gaze stays downcast. "...I don’t know how to do this," he mutters, his voice rough. "I know," you reply instantly, your hand continuing to stroke his hair, slow and repetitive, small gestures meant to prevent him from spiraling back down.
"You don’t have to do anything right now," you add softly. "Just sit here."
He leans back a bit into the couch again, not completely upright, not entirely collapsed anymore... somewhere in between.
The room felt muted, as if everything had been dialed down, except for his breathing and the warmth radiating beneath his skin.
He lingered near you after you helped him regain his balance... too near, as if your presence was the only thing that made sense in a world that felt utterly chaotic.
His gaze darted to your face and then away, as if he was struggling to process the reality of you still being there.
"I’m fine," he muttered again, but it didn’t sound like a declaration anymore, more like a reflex.
You shot him a look, and he didn’t contest it after that, a few seconds ticked by before he unconsciously shifted closer, as if his equilibrium and thoughts were no longer in sync. His hand rose, resting gently on your arm, then your shoulder, then your neck, while his other hand began to trail down your body, lingering as if he were trying to find himself in something familiar.
His eyes flickered to your lips for a brief moment before he leaned in.
You sensed it instantly.
Your hand shot up between you, halting his advance before it could escalate.
"Vincent," you said, your voice low and steady, and he froze mid motion, his eyes blinking as if he had just emerged from a deeper place than the room. You didn’t withdraw your hand immediately, creating a clear boundary without escalating the situation.
"You’re not thinking clearly," you said softly, and his throat worked as if he was searching for words but couldn’t find them. "I—" he began, then trailed off, his hand falling from your lower body as if it had been severed.
"...sorry," he murmured, quieter now, and he seemed so lost. You shook your head gently.
"No," you replied. "Just... come on." His breathing was still uneven, but more stable than before, and you softened your tone.
"You’re overwhelmed. That’s all it is."
He met your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded faintly, as if even that was too much to contest. You got up and stepped back just enough to completely break the moment, then...
"Bed," you stated plainly, and he complied... a silent submission from someone too exhausted to maintain the facade of control. As you guided him down the corridor, he remained near, no longer reaching out, instead leaning into your support, allowing you to lead him to a place secure enough to shield him from the night's grasp.
Behind you, the living room remained illuminated and vacant, as if it had already moved past all the things he had nearly done within its walls.
Hii omg i loved your breathe me fic with vincent i think you portrayed him and the reader’s relationship INCREDIBLY well. Especially how mentally unstable the reader could be without their beloved 💔 (im getting a hint of BPD themes there too!) its cooked to perfection and your writing is just beyond amazing!!
I was wondering if you could do something similar with alastor and a afab!reader that happens to be his wife :0? I dont know if you write him but feel free to ignore this ^^
Ofc alastor being more collected than vincent with the reader. It’d like to think that hes all tough love yet he still takes care of her. BUT hes still just as toxic as the (obsessive)reader. Also the reader belongs in a psych ward jst so yk where im getting at 🤭 BUT SHE ISNT IN ONE!!
This is all angst of course!! With a hint of fluff right at the end but feel free to replace that with smut if your comfortable! But yeah this is mostly just angst
♥︎ Summary: He’s distant and secretive, you're obsessive and unstable when he pulls away, and yet you two live in a decaying house in the wet and eerie woods, you learn a thing or two about him as well.
♡ Author note: Hi anonnnn! I was right in the middle of studying when I came across your request, and I just had to pause because it's absolutely fantastic! I really hope this meets your expectations, and I would love to hear your feedback on it! I'm suuuuuuuuper happy you picked up on the subtle BPD traits, as that was my intention to portray it that way, I did something similar in this case too! Enjoy!!!
♥︎ Words: 2698
The house had an unsettling aroma.. no, not all at once, not enough for anyone else to catch on, but you did.
Something sweet, something metallic, something that lingered at the back of your throat and refused to dissipate. It resided in the walls, in the floorboards, in the silence that filled the air when the night grew too still. And you cherished it, for it signified his return.
Marriage hadn’t dulled either of you.
If anything, it intensified the situation.
You quickly realized that he didn’t belong to you in the way you desired, and that realization turned you bitter.
“You were away too long,” you remarked one evening, standing in the threshold as Alastor entered, his coat damp, glasses slightly fogged from the change in temperature. He didn’t respond immediately, he merely closed the door, slow and purposeful.
“Oh dear, I mentioned I had work.”
“You don’t work,” you retorted. “You vanish.” That made him truly look at you... really see, as if he recognized the form of what you were becoming and chose not to intervene.
“…And you wait,” he countered.
Your smile was sharp. “Naturally.”
You despised his departures, and it wasn’t because you longed for him, but because the uncertainty of his whereabouts gnawed at you, and not knowing meant someone else could claim him. The mere thought made your skin crawl.. so you began to investigate.
His coat pockets, his hands, the stains beneath his nails. “Who was it this time?” you asked nonchalantly once, sitting on the edge of the bed as he cleaned his hands in the basin, and he paused for just a moment.
“Be careful now, love.” Alastor said softly, but you moved anyway, crossing the room, seizing his wrist before he could escape. Your grip was firm.. perhaps a bit too firm.
“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice low, nearly quaking. “Don’t pretend I don’t have the right to know.” His gaze fell to your hand, then back to your face.
“You don’t,” he replied as you laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. “I’m your wife.”
“That doesn’t grant you access to everything I am, does it now..? Hm?"
"It ought to be."
The air was thick with tension, his unoccupied hand rose, slow and intentional, fingers grazing your jawline, not tender, yet not harsh either, perhaps, calculated?
"You desire too much, mon amour," he whispered, and you leaned into his touch regardless.
"All I want is you, is that too much to request?"
The first instance he revealed to you, wasn’t by chance, he could have concealed it more effectively, Alastor always had that ability, but on that particular night, he chose not to.
Naturally, you followed him again.
Through the trees, beyond the spot where the earth became soft and the atmosphere thickened. The woods felt altered there, as if something had been disrupted too many times to return to its original state.
You spotted him before he noticed you, kneeling and motionless, until he shifted slightly. Your breath caught in awe as you approached.. until a twig snapped underfoot, that was what made him halt, slowly pivoting his head towards the noise, and there you stood.
"I warned you not to follow me," he stated.
You inclined your head, your gaze darting past him, attempting to see and comprehend.
"I was curious about what you do out here," you answered.
"You shouldn’t," he replied, but you were already moving closer, and this time he allowed it. Up close, it was more intense.. or perhaps better, you couldn’t tell.
The scent assaulted you first, thick, suffocating, undeniable now. Your stomach churned, yet you couldn’t look away, you wouldn’t.
There lays a corpse at his feet, one that had met its end with a swift swing of an axe, how unfortunate.. what a way to perish..
You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of compassion for the unrecognizable man sprawled before you in the grass.
"This is what you rush off to?" you inquired, your voice now softer, he observed you intently, he didn’t appear ashamed.. nor remorseful.
"You ought not to witness this," Alastor remarked, bringing a bloodied finger to his face as he adjusted his spectacles with a slight nudge, attempting to wipe away as much blood as he could.
"You could've informed me," you whispered.
"For what purpose?" he inquired.
"So I wouldn't have to conjure it up in my mind," you replied, casting a glance his way, your face nearly betraying annoyance. "You're careless, do you realize that? I assumed it was far worse."
"You won't breathe a word to anyone," he stated, and a smile crept onto your lips at his demeanor. "Tell who? And jeopardize everything we share?"
He gazed at you, his bloodied hand reaching toward your face as he smiled, gently brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, almost as if he were commending you for your compliance.
He stopped hiding the stains, and you stopped feigning ignorance, there were times he returned home late, hands still marked, eyes vacant, and you would sit beside him as if nothing was amiss, as if this was merely another facet of him you were entitled to.
At other times... you pressed him.
"Was she beautiful?" you inquired once, your voice light, almost teasing.
His head turned slowly.
"What?"
You shrugged. "Or him. I’m indifferent. I merely wish to know if you had any affection for them."
His expression turned stern.
"Ma chérie, are you truly hearing yourself? That’s not how this works."
"Then how does it work?" you challenged, leaning in closer, your tone sharpening. "Because you leave me here while you venture out and— what? Satisfy your desires? Your needs? Indulge?"
"That’s enough."
"No, it isn’t," you retorted. "If you’re going to be tied to something, it should be to me." His hand moved swiftly, gripping your chin, forcing your face upward to meet his.
"I don’t belong to anything," Alastor declared, his voice low and unwavering.
Your lips twisted into a grimace.
"You keep saying that," you murmured. "Yet you keep returning."
He pressed his lips into a thin line before exhaling, releasing your face as he rose, making his way to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking beneath him. You sat there, a sense of pride swelling within you, but for how long?
The boundary between you faded after that, you didn’t pursue him as often, you didn’t need to. Occasionally, he brought things back... but never whole... always fragmented.
"You’re out of your mind," he remarked once, observing you from the other side of the room as you sat too near, too at ease, as if none of it bothered you any longer.
You looked up, unimpressed.
"And you’re not?" silence.
A soft, nearly humorless exhale.
"No," he conceded, and you smiled at that, almost with satisfaction.
You fought harder, of course you did, with sharp words and even sharper hands.
You clawed at him when he tried to pull away, and he shoved you back when you pushed too far. There were nights when the house reverberated with it, your voices, your fury, something raw and ugly scraping against the walls.
But neither of you walked away.
One night, you crossed the line, as you always did, eventually.
"You’d replace me if you had the chance," you spat, pacing the room, your nails digging into your palms. "Don’t lie. You’d seek someone quieter. Someone who doesn’t question anything."
Alastor reclined in his chair, observing you unravel with that same infuriating calmness.
"If I wanted that," he replied, "you wouldn’t be here." You halted and slowly turned.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said, now standing, approaching you carefully and almost silently as he drew nearer, "you’re precisely as difficult as I allow you to be, so don’t be absurd, darling!"
Your breath caught. "You don’t control me," you retorted, his hand rose again, familiar now, tilting your face, compelling you to meet his gaze.
"I don’t need to," he answered, your chest rose and fell, sharp and uneven, for a moment, it seemed you might strike him, perhaps you would have, but instead, you leaned in.
"Then stop pretending you don’t want this," you murmured, and his gaze fell to your lips, then back to your eyes... oh... something dark flickered there, a thing that matched you perfectly, outside, something stirred in the woods.
Inside, something worse lingered.
The house retained its scent, thick, sweet, decaying... yours and his.
And no matter how ugly it became,
how violent, how suffocating, how wrong,
he still came back, and you never let him forget why.
Intimacy was never his cup of tea, he engaged in it merely out of spite, allowing you to unwind from the daily antics he endured.
In contrast to him, you were a menace in bed, wild and unrestrained, your cries echoing through the room as you pleaded for more and more and more...
You could go on for hours, seemingly insatiable, your vulgarity on full display as you opened yourself wide for him, whispering all manner of wickedness.
"Fuck it out of me," you would wail. "Fuck the evil out of me, Al."
And he would obey, his gaze fixed on you as you surrendered to the pleasure, his hands guiding your movements in a fluid rhythm, your words a jumble of incoherence as your hips rolled against him.
And oh, how he adored you.
His love for you was so profound that the thought of leaving was unfathomable, you were flawless, willing to do anything for him, even if he commanded you to end it all, you would comply without hesitation.
He would fulfill all of your desires, the moment you caught sight of him licking the blood from the knife in the kitchen, a smug grin plastered on his face, you knew it was time to make your request.
That day, you spent nearly an hour on the couch, his head nestled between your thighs, his tongue dancing against you as you squirmed, grinding against his face while your fingers tangled in his hair, scratching his scalp as you pressed him closer.
You chuckled, a laugh that seemed out of place in the stillness of the room, slicing through the atmosphere like a shattering glass.
Alastor glanced up instantly.
“...What’s the matter, darling?”
You shook your head, laughter still bubbling up, pacing back and forth, your hands fidgeting at your sides.
“Nothing,” you replied, your breath uneven. “It’s just—you don’t even realize what you sound like, do you?”
“I hear myself perfectly well.” That only made you laugh harder, naturally.
“You really don’t understand,” you said, turning to face him, your smile sharp, your eyes gleaming in a way that felt off. “You say things like that and expect me to just stand here as if it doesn’t— like it doesn’t affect me.”
“Sweetheart...I didn’t mean it that way.”
“But you said it,” you retorted, the glass slipping from your grasp before you could think twice.
It shattered against the wall, the noise loud enough to resonate, water trickling down in erratic lines, and he flinched this time... just a little, but you noticed, and it fueled something within you.
“Say it again,” you insisted, your voice rising, your laughter morphing into something fragile. “Go on. Since it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not engaging in this with you.”
“Oh, but you are,” you shot back, seizing the nearest object and hurling it, not directly at him... no, not quite, but close enough to make your point. “You always do this— say something and then act like I’m the one at fault for reacting—” Your breath hitched again as your hands began to tremble.
“I should just—” you began, laughing softly under your breath, the sound splintering. “I should just end it, right? That’d be simpler. For you.”
He was moving before you could even finish.
“Don’t.”
You disregarded him.
“I mean, what’s the point?” you continued, your voice faltering, spiraling out of control now. “You don’t even—” You dragged your nails down your own arm, not enough to break the skin, but enough to feel something. “—you don’t even care if I—”
He seized you.
Your wrist was caught mid motion, his other arm already encircling you, pulling you back.
"Hey."
"Let go of me—" you began, immediately struggling, your body still fueled by that frantic, jagged energy, attempting to escape it.
"No," Alastor replied, though his tone was softer now. More resolute in a different manner. "No, you’re not going to do that, darling."
"I will," you retorted, your voice wavering, your hands still battling even as your strength began to wane. "I’ll do whatever I please, you don’t have the right to—"
"I know," he interrupted, drawing you closer rather than restraining you. "I know you will. That’s precisely why I’m intervening."
That caught you off guard... just enough, your movements faltered, your breath hitching sharply as his grip adjusted. One arm still firmly around you, the other rising, steadying and anchoring you.
"Oh my.. you’re trembling...!" he whispered, now quieter, near your ear.
"I’m not," you shot back instinctively.
"Oh yes, yes you are."
You attempted to resist again, truly you did, but it felt different now, your hands didn’t connect properly, your strength had abandoned you. It unraveled too swiftly, slipping away from you as if you could no longer grasp it.
"Don’t—" you gasped, your voice fully cracking now. "Don’t pretend to care all of a sudden—"
"I’ve always cared."
Your body froze in his embrace, your breathing uneven, your chest constricted as if something had tightened around it.
"…You don’t," you murmured, and he didn’t release you.
If anything, he drew you in tighter, one hand rising, hesitating for just a moment before resting against the side of your head, steady, anchoring.
"I do," he said, now quieter. "You simply don’t appreciate the way I express it."
Your throat constricted, that sharp, ugly laugh attempted to resurface, but it faltered midway, transforming into something entirely different.
"Then articulate it properly," you whispered, your voice small in a manner you despised. "Just once. Just— show it in a way I can genuinely—" your words crumbled, your breathing caught.
The fight left you all at once, your weight collapsing back into him as your shoulders trembled, your hands finally going motionless where they were trapped between his arm and your body.
“I hate you,” you uttered, but it emerged fractured, uneven, your voice faltering on each syllable. “I loathe the way you—” poor you.. you couldn't complete your thought.
“I know,” Alastor replied once more, but this time, it was gentler, his hold loosening just enough to shift, one arm still around you, keeping you close, the other moving cautiously, fingers gliding over your arm, then your shoulder, no longer forcing or restraining.
“You don’t have the right to harm yourself just to prove a point,” he murmured. “Not with me, ma chérie.” You exhaled a shaky breath, your head bowing forward, your forehead nearly touching his chest.
“…Then don’t make me feel like I must,” you whispered.
His hand paused against you for a moment, then moved again, slower this time, more assured, his fingers sliding up to gently tilt your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“You don’t need to battle me to be held,” he said, and your eyes stung.
“…Then hold me,” you replied, barely above a whisper.
The room remained a chaos, shattered glass, splintered wood, remnants of everything that had just transpired scattered around you like evidence, but neither of you made a move to tidy it up.
That night, you both laid in bed together, entwined in each other's arms as he continued to share some silly puns he knew, recounting something that had happened to him before to elicit a laugh from you.
Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, and with a satisfied hum, he leaned down to kiss your head, lingering just a moment longer as he breathed in your scent, feeling as if he were slipping away.
“Bonne nuit, mon amour.” he whispered before extinguishing the light that glowed warmly atop his nightstand.
♥︎ afab!reader, blood, kissing, making out, Vincent being a weirdo, he's also pathetic, bloodplay, knifeplay, fingers in mouth, spit, biting, rough sex, fingering, choking, breeding kink(?), blood drinking(?), breathplay.
♡ Summary: The sight of Vincent returning home, drenched in blood after taking a life, ignites a fire within you. You can't resist the urge to explore some fresh new ideas in the bedroom... and it turns out, you both enjoy it.
♥︎ Authors note: Another draft for you guys! These exams are kicking my ass sigh.
♡ Words: 2521
The doorbell chimed, and your ears perked up at the sound. You swiftly turned your head, swinging your legs off the table and placing the newspaper down. You made your way to the door.
You always felt a twinge of anxiety in moments like this, it could either be the police, probing you about the missing people, or it could be your dear Vincent.
Your heart raced as you cautiously unlocked the door, swinging it open and looking up.
Vincent!
Oh..
Ew.. well.. not really..
You took in the sight of him, clad only in his dress shirt, the top buttons undone, his breath coming in uneven gasps. He was drenched in blood from head to toe, the scent of cologne mingling with the metallic tang of copper. You reached out, grabbing his arm to pull him inside before anyone could start asking questions, quickly shutting the door behind you.
"God.. when will you ever learn.. why do you always get so messy when you kill?" You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose as he looked down at you, panting heavily, his brows knitted in a mix of pleasure and madness. What a psycho..
"I did what needed to be done, does it really matter?"
"Of course it matters! Do you want to get caught..?"
He shook his head, ruffling his disheveled hair. He was sweaty and desperate, that much was clear from the look on his face. As he started to lean in, you pointed a finger at him.
"Hey! No! I won’t do anything with you until you clean up!"
"Why are you like this.." His shoulders slumped, his expression softening.
"And why do you always seem to get turned on after you kill someone? You murder, you get aroused, and then you come to me expecting me to do something about it.. doesn’t that strike you as odd?" You said firmly.
"I’m not weird! You’re the one who married a man like me!" He huffed, kicking off his shoes and placing them next to yours, fully aware that you were about to scold him for that too.
"And what does that make you?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, ready for whatever he might try next.
"Fuck off..." he grunted. You could tell he was surrendering, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his disheveled shirt as he peeled it off, almost as if he was playfully inviting you to watch.
Still, you couldn't deny how incredibly attractive he looked while doing it, the way the blood shimmered against his skin... oh no... not you too! You quickly brushed those thoughts aside.
"Toss them in the tub, I'll handle it... you go take a shower. You filthy dog."
He nodded, starting to unbuckle his belt, teasingly swaying his hips back and forth, fully aware that you were watching, a smirk plastered on his face as he enjoyed your reaction to his little performance.
Your mouth watered at the sight of his arousal. And he noticed.
"Ugh... you're absolutely insane."
You pushed past him, heading towards the kitchen; if you didn’t give in to him, you knew he’d be asking for food, so you began to whip up dinner.
"And you adore me!" he called out from the hallway.
"Unfortunately!" you shot back, already turning on the faucet to drown out his voice.
Dinner went smoothly, he wouldn’t stop bragging about how he took that guy out, sharing details about who he was and all the little specifics in case the police decided to drop by.
You already had your responses ready, but it was captivating how much he relished in it... of course, if it meant he’d outshine everyone else.
"— and then... I cleanly sliced his throat!" He chuckled, taking a sip of whatever he was drinking... cognac? Perhaps...
"Cleanly... right..." you teased, slicing through the meat as you took a bite.
"Do you always have to say something like that?" he grumbled, taking a bite from his own plate while looking away, adjusting his glasses that seemed barely held together.
"Vincent... you’re a mess when you kill." You shot back, correcting him.
He didn’t appreciate that, mumbling under his breath, chewing his food while raising his eyebrows, then relaxing them with a sigh. You knew what he craved, and you couldn’t help but deny him... he was so cute when he was needy...
"Alright, fine, let's have sex." you finally said.
He turned to you with a grin, instantly straightening up as he eagerly dug into his meal.
"Fuck babe! You should've mentioned this earlier!" He nearly choked on his food as he spoke with his mouth full.
"You idiot." You couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. What a strange guy.
As you waited for him in bed, your mind wandered to how he looked all bloodied, needy and panting, but you didn't want to get messy! Besides! The thought of a stranger's blood on you both was just gross!! Ugh.. if only it was his or yours...
An idea hit you, and you rummaged through your drawer for a precious item he had given you....
The door clicked open as he bounced in, cheerful, glasses still perched on his nose, proudly crawling onto the bed beside you, his eyes hungry for you.
"You're so fucking beautiful, love" he praised, making you raise an eyebrow and smile at him.
"You flatter me, but sweet talk won't get you far.." you teased, closing your eyes at him playfully.
"Let me show you just how far it can take you..."
He captured your lips in a gentle kiss that quickly turned passionate as he pulled you onto him, straddling his lap while you ground against him. You scrunched your face at the sensation of his arousal. He held your face and the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as if he wanted to devour you, and just before breaking the kiss, he bit your lip, drawing blood that trickled down your chin.
He quickly lapped it up, moaning at the taste, eyes closed in bliss as you felt him twitch beneath you.
"Goodness, why do you get hard so easily? It's almost pathetic. "
He whimpered at your remark, watching you arch your back, allowing him to explore your chest as you wiped the saliva from your chins. What was up with him tonight?
"I can't help it," he gasped, his hands instinctively cradling the underside of your breasts as he watched them nearly overflow from your nightgown, biting his lip at the tantalizing view.
You noticed his growing impatience, smiling down at him as you cupped his face, removing his glasses with the other hand and tossing them carelessly onto the bed. You gently ran your thumb across his lips, grazing his pearly whites, and a blush crept onto his cheeks. He quickly complied, opening his mouth as you pushed his hands away, sliding your finger in and out against his tongue, pressing just enough to make him gag, tears welling in his eyes.
"Ah ah! No touching!"
In a flash, he pulled his hands back, placing them on either side of his head against the pillow. You could almost feel him leaking beneath you through the two or let's say.. three layers of fabric... he was always like this!
"Ghk! Hnngh!.. pleauhh..." he whimpered, gagging on your finger again as his face flushed a deeper shade of red, his eyebrows knitting together in pleasure as he felt your warm, clothed mound pressing against him.
With his eyes closed, it was time to make your move. Swiftly and carefully, you retrieved the item you had taken from the drawer earlier, hidden beneath your pillow, and traced it across his chest, prompting him to open his eyes and gaze at the object.
A dagger... his dagger, the one he had gifted you some time ago. His breath caught in his throat as he choked on your finger, drool spilling down his chin and soaking his throat. You glided the blade over his half exposed chest, applying just enough pressure to break the skin, trailing it upwards until it pressed against his neck, your thumb still working in and out of his mouth as his eyes rolled back in his head.
You pressed it firmly against him as he arched his back, his hands yearning to touch you, yet refraining because he knew you'd halt the moment he did.
Blood trickled down onto the sheets, painting the dagger with tiny droplets of crimson as you brought it to your lips. He watched you intently as he began to bite and suckle on your thumb in an erotic manner. Swiftly, you swiped your tongue against it, licking it clean while you moaned at the delightful taste..
Oh, how sweet he tasted!
Vincent could have easily reached his climax right then and there at the sight, but instead, he rolled his hips against her, desperately seeking any form of friction as the sensation became unbearable.
"There, there..." you cooed, placing the dagger onto the bed as you observed more blood dripping from his neck. Leaning down for a better taste, you lapped at his neck, withdrawing your finger from his mouth as your hands began to explore his body, unbuttoning the rest of his sleepwear. You pressed your hands against his chest, lifting your hips slightly so he would have to do the same to grind against you.
If you weren't wet before, you were practically soaked now. You broke the sinful contact from his neck to claim his lips, allowing him to taste himself as you two kissed, blood smearing across both your faces in the process while he craved more of you.
You pressed onto the cut; the bleeding had nearly ceased, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of slight lightheadedness. A small puddle of blood formed on the sheets, easily cleaned up.
He moaned at the contact of the kiss, hissing in pain as your finger traced the cut gently, not enough to inflict significant pain, but just enough to leave him wanting more.
You both broke the kiss right away, shifting positions so that he was now on top of you, pulling your hips closer as he ground against you, letting your nightgown gather around your hips and over your stomach. He pushed it up, exposing your breasts while leaning down to trace bloody kisses across your skin, biting harshly against your breast, making you moan in pure ecstasy.
"You're so filthy... pretending to be innocent... yet your imagination is so wicked, god, I adore you. I need you desperately... I need to consume you, this isn’t enough... it never is!"
He murmured against your skin, trailing his kisses downward until he impatiently slid your panties off, whining at the sight of your glistening pussy throbbing with need. His hand slipped down, two of his fingers diving inside you as he began to move them in and out, gasping at the sensation of you clenching around them while maintaining eye contact with you... and well, with your wetness.
He was mesmerized by the sight of his fingers disappearing inside you so easily, moaning with each thrust as if his fingers were his cock.
"God, Vincent..! Haaah! Stop being so... mnnh... embarrassing."
"Can't help it, doll, you should see how well you're taking my fingers," he chuckled, nearly drooling at the sight.
In a flash, he pulled them out, quickly shimmying out of his sleepwear, aligning his cock against your folds, letting his precum ooze out and cover you, a testament to how turned on he was.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, unable to resist the urge to watch, hissing as he began to open you up with it. Slowly thrusting inside, his eyes fluttered shut, releasing a long, loud moan as he bottomed out. As soon as he started his pace, it was fast and rough, you watched him go in and out, in and out, in and out, until you felt his rough hand wrap around your neck, pressing tightly, making you slightly lose your breath.
"Do you have any idea.. what— mnngh! What you’re doing to me?" He whimpered in the midst of his thrusts, and you nodded, even though you weren’t quite sure why you were doing so.
"I’d let you c—cut me up,, haaah! — use me however you want a—all, whi— while I bleed out in your arms," he leaned closer, his cheek pressed against yours, his hand still gripping your neck as you felt your cheeks flush at his words, listening to his moans and huffs near your ear while you mirrored his sounds.
"Vincent..! Oh my.. holy shit! Slow down!" You shouted at him, yet you couldn’t help but arch your back, your chest pressed against his as his relentless pace continued unabated.
"I’m gonna get you pregnant, gonna breed you.. fuck! So.. so so so so.. soooo.. gooood.. shit! You’re so tight and warm, I can’t— haah.. can’t get enough.. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be bred? By me? Right? Yes? Say it..! Say! It!"
The grip around your neck tightened as he adjusted his posture slightly, allowing you to gasp for air at the new angle while he pounded deep inside you, pleasure and pain intertwining, causing your worlds to blur and bleed together as you screamed his name at the top of your lungs.
"Yes! Yes— please..! More!! Vincent! My god!" You pleaded, your eyes locking with his just before you felt your climax nearing, sensing that he was close too, his thrusts becoming sloppy and messy, slipping in and out of you effortlessly because you were so wet for him..
A few thrusts later, he released himself inside you, his hand loosening around your throat as he shivered, letting it spill within you, triggering your orgasm, causing you to arch your back and clench around him as you writhed beneath.
You both panted, trying to catch each other’s breaths, and he leaned down one last time to place a gentle kiss on your sweaty forehead, resting it against his, closing his eyes for just a moment.
The remainder of the night was spent together in bed, both of you clad in fresh nightwear and nestled under crisp sheets. You carefully had wrapped a bandage around his neck, fully aware that it would likely leave a scar. Yet, he appeared completely unfazed, the cuts on his chest seemed trivial compared to the one on his neck.
"I’m really sorry about that," you said, your gaze dropping to your hands while he held you tightly around the waist.
"Sorry? If you hadn’t done anything, I wouldn’t have had the chance to tell you that I actually like that," he chuckled. You rolled your eyes at his response, bringing your hand to his face and gently caressing it, watching as he melted under your touch.
"Wait a second..." you glanced around, puzzled.
"Where are your glasses?" you inquired. He quickly began searching with you, as if he could see anything at all, until a crack echoed from beneath him.
