#vincent sinclair angst

[littlecorpselady]

Pitiful Flesh

♡ Draft - Vincent Sinclair x reader

♡ note - angst with no happy ending for the final part, I promise I love him

Dragging his fingers slowly across his face, his skin tingled and ached beneath his fingertips. The tip of his blunt fingernail pressed momentarily against a swollen line, one which had greeted him many times before in his past. His finger stilling in a moment of unfiltered hesitation before slowly traveling downwards in a practiced manner, a trail so frightening but yet oh so familiar. A sense of comfort dragging along a tangy aftertaste just for him. The line beginning to throb and wince in protest to its exsistence as his body shuttered with unshed weeps of agony. It was mutilated, repulsive flesh just as he was. His throat depraved of his vocals from the day his father separated them from whole. He was a freak, a severe unforgivable mistake. He could sculpt and take apart flesh, mold it into something new and beautiful but not even God could fix the horrid deformity resting upon his face. He was truly alone, casted away from society and left to decay in his own misery. Letting his hand fall away from his face, Vincent laid his mask back into place, back to masking away the horrid nightmare beneath. Despite his self loathing he couldn't deny his work the time of day, he'd come so far just how his mama did, it'd be a vile waste to stop now. A waste of his mamas legacy. So he slipped back into action, pulling on his jacket and moving on with perfected swiftness just as he had practiced many times before, each route fading into the same ending over and over again for the unfortunate ones at the end of his blade.

He leaned forward, way too close, way too intrigued for a mess of a man such as himself to deserve. His functioning eye nearly but only almost twinkling in a moment of sparked interest as a sight of dreams dangled in front of him, luring him in like a promise. Moving with such delicate grace, turning as it wished but never without elegance. Not even the hands of a artist could wish to recreate such elegance, the finest of paints could do no honour. The thought alone of never being able to recapture this delicacy made his fingers curl tightly into fists of jealousy rather than of aroused anger brought on by hatred. No amount of delusion or sickness could force him to hate such a admirable sight, the moment he felt vicious towards this sight was the moment he had truly become hollowed out. His mind mustve wondered away from him because a set of beautiful eyes were tracked on him now upon catching him lurking from the window. His heat beated so much faster than ever before as he threw himself out of view. Soon. Soon he shall have them, prove himself worthy of their presence.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

Vincent Sinclair Masterlist

First Impressions

Nightmares

Undeserving Monster

Dance the Night Away

Long Haired M!Reader

Werewolf M!Reader

[lebenspurpur]

"don't do this to yourself"

AN: felt a little angsty today, this was pretty rushed - i apologize

Warnings: Vincent and Bo's canon suffered abuse, Vincent's self hatred, Vincent talks, don't really know how this turned out, i think that's it

Vincent refuses to lift his head, even as your voice hits his ears. Eyes closed with so much force, he can see bright yellow flashes behind his lid, he cowers on the floor. Like a coward. Like a child.

His mask lies a few feet ahead of him, ripped to pieces after yet another frightening look in the mirror. For some reason, he thought today would be the day on which he could look at himself without breaking down. He was wrong, once again.

Vincent hated the mask. It served as a perfect reminder of their mother, a reminder of what was wrong with him right there. He didn't know what was worse, the scar, or the mask.

He seemed to be having a lot more of these breakdowns lately. Funny, he thought it was getting better.

"Can I touch you? Should I leave?"

Vincent wants you to leave. God, he wants to face you, make you recoil in disgust and fear and horror. He wants you to become nauseous as you realize who you're living with. What kind of monster you allowed into your bed. He wants to take his knife and plunge it into your heart, bury your memory deep inside of him and release you from staying with him, in this rotten house, in this dead town.

Instead, he stays on the floor, shivering with disgust in himself.

Your hand meets his back. Slowly, you ease onto your knees next to him, palm rubbing soothing circles into the sweater he's wearing. As much as Vincent wants you to leave right now, your touch feels like a breath of fresh air, like summer rain after the heat.

"Vincent.", your hand travels up his back as you shuffle in front of him. He can hear the rings you wear clang against the tiles of the floor. Soon your hands rest on his shoulder, and even through the overwhelming warmth of his hands over his face, he seems to feel your soft breath fanning over his face.

"Don't do this to yourself.", your heart breaks at seeing him so frail. It doesn't look right. Such a strong, terrifying man, cowering on the ground.

Vincent feels your hands on his jaw, lapping over his own fingers. Your skin is so soft compared to his, so sweet, so healthy. Your knees touch his, and suddenly he feels like a child again, kneeling in front of his twin, curiously touching what looks like his own face, mirrored into something without any scarring, a perfect, ideal copy.

Soft lips touch his knuckles, and he wants to cry. To cry and sob into you, lose every tear he's saved up since he's been a teen, to fall into you and trust that you'd catch him.

"Promise me you won't run away.", Vincent realizes he doesn't recognize his own voice. The hoarse words sound like someone else said them.

"I would never run from you."

Vincent nearly scoffs in hatred, but his frustration quickly turns into blank fear as your hands peel his own away from him.

His eyes stay closed as cold air hits his heated face, face scrunched up in terror as if he's preparing for a hit.

The seconds of silence after you see his face for the first time are deafening.

Vincent knew all along that you'd be just like the others. He knew it, foresaw it. If only he didn't get attached to you. If only he killed you just like all the others, if only Bo had-

His entire system ceases to function as your lips find his, his own real lips, not the masked ones - he can't believe it, and you smile into him, into the scarred side of his visage.

Vincent thinks he went to heaven. You must have bludgeoned him with the hammer on the dinner table or something. This could not be true.

But as he opens his eyes, there you are, all smiling, eyes shining with adoration and trust and love, love for him. Gulping, he realizes he's shaking as he reaches out towards you, all trembling and shaking, fervently kissing you again while pressing you against his chest. He can't believe you're real.

[capified]

Vincent Sinclair | All In Good Time

Vincent Sinclair X Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: cursing, a little angst, reader is a little pushy

Word Count: 1,748

—

You loved this man, truly.

He was, quite literally, all you had.

The only thing you ever cared about, basically.

Over the last two years, you had been there for him, cared for him, helped him with his wax sculptures (and by help, I mean keep him company while he did all the work, he wouldn't let you touch them), and you loved him with every fiber of your being.

You didn't want to push him away when it came to his face, but he trusts you, don't he? You knew he did, but that didn't stop the intrusive thought from plaguing your mind. Its swarmed your thoughts for weeks now. You've thought about talking to him about it, but you didn't want to offend him.

You walked through the town, enjoying today's weather. Completely ignoring the fact that you were walking by dead bodies, you made your way to the House of Wax. You knew that your boyfriend would be in the basement, working on his newest piece of work.

You opened the door to the museum, the feeling of the cracked wax on the door never failed to make you cringe. Passing the delicately posed wax figures, you made your way into the dim lit basement.

"Vince baby, are you in here?" You called out, walking down the candle lit hallway. When you made it to the main room, Vincent was currently covering, a probably innocent, person in hot wax. You tried not to pay attention to that, though. What you did notice, was Vincent rushing to cover his face with anything he could find.

You frowned at this.

You hated that he was so insecure around you. You caught a glance of his mask, resting it on a nearby table. Grabbing it, you walked towards him as his back faced you. "Here baby," you reached the piece of wax over his shoulder.

He grabbed it out of your grasp and quickly secured it to his face, you didn't fail to notice his quivering. "Vince, you don't have to wear that around me," you told him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his back.

The full body flinch he experienced, quickly had you letting go of him and stepping away, letting him compose himself. Your heart raced as he turned to walk away from you, but you stopped him. "I'm sorry," you frowned, "I didn't mean to upset you."

He lifted his head and turned to give you a glance, before leaving you in the wax room by yourself.

You hated being in here alone, especially with a dead body. You expected Vince to wait on you, knowing how much you hated it, but he was gone. You let out a sigh, half guilt, half anger, and rushed upstairs.

When you reached the top floor, the entrance door was wide open. "Vince wait!" You yelled after him, seeing his form halfway up the hill to the house, running after him.

"Wait!" You were almost caught up with him. "I said wait!" You said angrily, hand getting ready to grab his shoulder, but he had already spun around before you got the chance to touch him. Unexpectedly, he took a sharp step towards you. His swift movement startled you, making you take a step back.

He stood there, and you could tell he was upset by the way his body shook.

"I'm sorry," you sniffled, feeling bad for pestering him and feeling bad for making him feel bad.

He only shook his head, turning on his heel and walking away from you again. Only this time, you didn't go after him. You stood there until he disappeared into the house.

You cursed at yourself, letting out a frustrated sigh and kicked the nearest rock you saw, before making your way to your little cabin on the outskirts of Ambrose. If Vincent decided not to come home to you, then what?

You couldn't leave. You knew that if you tried, the three Sinclair brothers would stop you in no time. Still fuming, you pushed the front door open to the cabin.

The cabin was small, but it was cozy. After a year of being in Ambrose, and when you and Vincent started dating, you had convinced them that the two of you needed your own place to live. Living in a place that was made for the two of you would've been so much better than living under the same roof as Bo.

Plus, your decorations were just better.

But none of that would matter if the one person you were here for, didn't come back to you.

Rolling your eyes, you thought that a nice warm bath would help put your mind to ease. It would also give you the chance to practice your apology to him, too. You angrily gathered your towels.

"Fuck!" You shouted to stop yourself from hurting yourself. You were angry at yourself for hurting Vince like that. How could you have been so pushy about it? Maybe later, Vince would be calm enough to talk about it, or maybe he wouldn't.

You took a moment to compose yourself.

Turning on the water, you grabbed a match and lit the candles that surrounded the back side of the tub. You and Vince had often shared baths together, of course he never took his mask of, though. Pushing the thought to the back of your mind, you turned the water off.

Satisfied, you reached over and flipped the light switch off, smiling at the scene. You wished Vincent was here with you to share this moment.

Undressing yourself, you lowered yourself into the water, letting out a sigh of content as the warm water surrounded your body.

The longer you soaked, the more you started to think. You knew you should've been a lot more sensitive about the whole situation. You knew you went about it the wrong way. You just wanted him to be happy and comfortable. You sniffed again, refusing to let the tears fall.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to let him know that you would wait however long he needed you to.

And before you could change your mind, you pulled your body out of the tub.

You could've went about the situation so much differently. You wrapped a towel around yourself and unplugged the stopper, letting the water flood out. You turned back on the light, before blowing out the candles.

Pulling the bathroom door open, you jumped back when you saw someone sitting on the bed that you and Vincent shared. At the sound of your frightened gasp, the figure stood up. You relaxed when he got caught in the moonlight and you realized it was just the man you were looking for.

He starts walking towards the bedroom entrance, but you're quicker than him and stand in the doorway, blocking the exit. You knew, if he really wanted too, he could move you out of the way without breaking a sweat.

Your hand made contact with his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait Vince, please?"

He shook his head, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way.

"Please just listen to me! And if you still want to leave, I won't stop you, but please hear me out first," you begged him. You could hear him sigh and you watched as his body slumped, tiredly. He nodded for you to continue.

"Okay, I'm sorry," you started, "I didn't mean to make you mad, or offend you, or make you uncomfortable. It wasn't my intentions." Vince shifted around on his feet.

"I love you."

And here comes the water works.

"I'll always love you. No matter what. No matter you look like, or how you act," you turned away slightly to wipe away a tear threatening to fall down your cheek. "I'm sorry for pressuring you, that was wrong of me. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, but I just want you to know that I'm so fucking sorry," your voice cracked.

Vincent looked at you for a moment, before closing the gap between the two of you, pulling you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around his torso, crying into his chest.

You honestly had no idea why you were this upset. Maybe because you knew you had damaged the trust that he had for you. Or maybe because you knew that you had hurt him - might've not been physically, but definitely emotionally and mentally.

Vincent backed up a bit, just enough to cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away. You pouted up at him. "You don't have to forgive me, I understand," you blabbered.

He shook his head at you, hands holding both of your cheeks gently. He leaned down, bringing your foreheads together. You stood up on your tip toes, pressing your lips his mask's waxy ones. And he let you, before he led you to the bed and pushed you down to sit on the edge.

You looked up at him with a questioning look.

He turned his back to you, before walking towards the door.

You slumped in your seat, thinking he was leaving, but he only flipped the light on.

His hands made their way up to the wax on his face. You could only watch in awe, as you were so sure that he'd be done with you after this. But alas, his mask comes off, him placing it on the dressier, before turning around and making his way back to you. Face uncovered.

Your heart sped up, staring up at your boyfriend. You remained seated as he reached you.

You took in every detail of his face. And every single inch of it was beautiful. Standing in front of you now, he bent down ever so slightly, taking your hand in his and placing it on the marred side of his face.

This was an enormous step in your relationship, you both knew this.

"I knew you were beautiful, Vince," you spoke, before he leaned into your soft hand. You, very gently, ran your thumb over his cheek.

"I love you," you whispered to him, afraid to ruin the moment, your eyes not leaving his.

[aggravatetheaxe]

for the fucked up kissing meme prompt how about 2 for vincent?

Fucked Up Kisses

I'm experimenting with reining in the length of my stuff when it's an ask meme and not a request, I hope that's okay!

cw: imminent peril, major character death (you lmao), use of the word "psycho" in a pejorative sense

--

2. a  kiss  when  it’s  not  allowed.

You weren't sure how you'd gotten here. You'd acted on instinct from the moment you'd stepped foot in Ambrose, like a prey animal giving up a chase they knew they couldn't win - posturing and standing your ground, staring into your death with your last shred of hope and pride.

At first, miraculously, it had worked; the masked one, Vincent, had managed to convince his psycho brother to let him keep you. You'd resented it, resented being treated like a souvenir. You'd been as callous toward Vincent as your situation would allow, and he'd been harsh at first. But as the weeks had worn on, he'd grown gentler, more patient. There were times it even seemed like he was fond of you. Now that you'd given up fighting him, there were times you wondered if you were fond of him, too.

Fond or not, by god, you were alive.

Were being the operative word. Because at the moment, you were standing in the center aisle of the church, Bo's blade to your throat, his crushing grip the only thing holding you upright.

"It was always gonna end like this." His breath was unbearably hot and stunk of nicotine. "It was always gonna end like this," he repeated, eyes shining, teeth bared in a grimace.

Your stomach shriveled, body revolting against his control. Despite the knife just under your chin, you managed to grind out, "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you and your shitty fucking mom and her shitty fucking wax town."

Bo turned red, veins standing out against his sweat-slicked skin. He shook as he shifted his grip to your throat, squeezing so tight you couldn't breathe let alone speak. All at once, it felt like your head was going to explode.

The church's double doors opened, bringing a cool night breeze into the sweltering church. Your swimming vision just caught the shape of Vincent as he strode forward, looking sharply between you and Bo. You'd been around him so long, he didn't need to sign for you to understand he was asking What the hell is going on here?

"Your li'l pet" - Bo tossed you to the ground at Vincent's feet - "was in here fuckin' with the figures - I told you what would happen, Vince, I tried to warn you. I told you." For a second, his voice was strained with something like anguish.

Vincent signed something, but you were too busy hacking on the floor to catch what he said. You reached out, clutching the toe of his boot and pulling yourself closer, nearly under him, hoping he would protect you from his brother.

"No, Vincent." Heavy breaths, ragged. "We already been over this. You know the rules. We agreed on 'em."

You looked up in time to see Vincent sign, "Let me talk to them. Let me fix it."

"No. This ain't nothin' you can fix." Bo looked down at you, gaze seething, gesturing with his knife. "Ain't no one fucks with Momma's town. We agreed. We agreed, Vincent. It's been you 'n' me since the beginning, Vince, this is our work!"

You focused on trying to catch your breath as they argued, Vincent's movements angrier than you'd ever seen them, somehow louder. He'd talked Bo down before, but this time seemed different. It seemed you'd crossed an unforgivable line.

End of the road.

Eventually, Bo passed the two of you, turning once he reached the church doors. His eyes bored into Vincent. "Do it. Now, where I can see." Before his twin could protest, he exploded, "Or are you gonna tell me some fuckin' stray is more important'n this? Huh? Than our family?"

Another heated pause. Vincent only stood still, staring at Bo.

"If you don't do it," Bo concluded, voice cracking, "I'm gonna. Your choice."

"O ... kay." You almost jumped. Vincent ... was using his voice? "Okay."

With a deep inhale, he stepped around you and crouched so you were face to mask. His sole blue eye searched your expression with undeniable sorrow.

"Please," you managed, voice hoarse and squeaky. "Please, don't. I'm sorry - "

"Vincent." Bo's tone brooked no argument. "Hurry up."

Vincent shifted slightly, drawing a knife from his boot. A small, sharp one, not one of the ornate blades you'd seen him use on his victims. He looked at it, then you, then reached forward, taking you gently by the hair at the nape of your neck.

"No." It came out as a bare wheeze. "No, no, no. No..."

The blade was at your throat - just under your chin and to the side, poised to slice your carotid artery. Instant, painless death.

Painless. What a farce. All the pain came before the final cut.

It was over. Why fight it? If Vincent didn't do it, Bo would; you believed that. Your lips stilled, eyes half-lidding. No posturing. No begging. As good as dead already.

And for the first time since you met him, Vincent hesitated. His gaze stuttered over your face, your mouth. His grip tightened on the knife at your throat, a vain attempt to still his shaking hand, and he leaned closer.

"Vincent," Bo barked. "Enough of that shit."

"Wait," Vincent signed.

"I waited long enough! For fuck's sake, can't you see what they're doing? Tryna twist you all up. They think you're stupid!" His tone became darker. "Vincent. You kiss that sack of shit, I swear ta Christ, I'll make you sorry."

Vincent glanced up briefly before looking back at you, his gaze calculating. You could practically hear the gears in his head turning. He transferred his grip from your nape to your jaw, fingers squeezing you hard enough to bruise.

"No." One final plea. You didn't want him to kiss you. It didn't seem fair that he should kiss you when he was about to murder you in cold blood.

He hesitated, thumb ghosting over your lips. For a moment, the knife moved from your throat, and he reached to remove his mask. He'd only done so in front of you once ... but it didn't matter now. It didn't matter what he looked like. It wasn't his face that made him a monster.

"Vincent!" Bo's voice cracked again. "You fuckin' idiot - !"

Your artist's lips were as soft and warm as his blade was hard and cold.

Then everything was warm. Then everything was cold.

[houseofdabs]

sad thought i just had trying to write sumn:

Bo going to the house of wax to stare at the highchairs, he's drunk and angry and sad. He gets out all of his anger and just kinda collapses and cries in front of them all while Vincent is downstairs listening, upset that no matter how hard he were to try he could never comfort his twin. He sometimes cries with him from the basement, feeling just as helpless as he did when he would watch Bo in the highchair. All he can do is carry Bo back to his room when he inevitably falls asleep on the floor