#vincent sinclair x reader

[ch3ml8kes]

Vincent who's usually quiet and closed off all the time being the complete opposite during sex.

He's so vocal and sloppy during it. And considering he assumably hasn't been touched in that way before he's also extremely sensitive.

MDNI, No warnings just a regular smvt scenario. I said we needed more sub Vincent stuff here so I had to contribute...

Tumblr don't flag or hide this again holy shit I've seen much worse on here.

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He'd whimper and tense up if you even put your hand on his thigh or over his crotch through his pants. He never expected to be touched so willingly due to his looks, so everything you do catches him off guard. It's humiliating for him at first but he finds himself leaning into you and wanting more. He shivers and groans every time you touch his bare skin, hisses when you pull on his hair and bite at his neck.

As he desperately thrusts himself down against your hand you can tell he's trying to say something, he just keeps stopping himself as he always does, refusing to speak unless it's really necessary. But when he can't take it anymore he leans into you and whispers out a raspy "please", telling you he wants to go further.

As you slowly push into Vincent he's humming back in satisfaction. His little noises are cut off when he bites his lip and buries his head under your neck, bracing himself for when you start moving. Vincent's attempt to stay quiet doesn't work for long though. Once you slam into him he throws his head back and whines out so loud it surprises the both of you.

Vincent looks up and growls at you after as it's your fault he's so loud... But once you remind him that he's the one who asked for this he gives up. He knows he has no choice but to accept that he won't be able to control himself as he takes it. He wants it too bad to back out now anyway.

Keeping in mind that this is his first time you decide to go slow at first, but all Vincent let's out are shaky breaths and a frustrated grunt. He's too sensitive and desperate for a slow pace. He needs you to go all in. He keeps signing "You can do better than that", staring up at you with a challenging eye as if he's gonna rip your head off if you don't speed up.

He's eventually being fucked so hard that it's got to hurt. But Vincent clearly enjoys being pushed all the way. This is the most you've ever heard his actual voice.

He whines out at every thrust, leans up to beg in your ear for you to go faster, throws his head back and cusses under his breath every time you hit the right spot. When he hears you saying "Not so quiet now are we?" he throws his arms over his face in shame, but that only makes you go harder.

You can barely make out what he's saying anymore because his words are now muffled. At one point he almost reaches for his mask, so you quickly stop to pull his arms away, telling him you're only gonna keep going if he let's you see and hear and see him again.

[maskys-punching-bag]

Vincent having a phantom of the opera moment where he makes a wax sculpture of his muse, and she promptly passes out at the sight of it

[st0ckholmsyndrom]

vincent was unusual for how he expressed his emotions.

you knew this, but you liked it, you really liked it.

when he’d cry, you’d never know until you heard a faint sniffle or a broken breath. and if you’d coo him loudly, he’d stiffen. you had to learn to move slowly, just gently scoot closer and hold him tight, comfort him with soft words.

but each time he felt your comfort, his rigidness softened quicker than the time before, eventually when he trusted you more, he’d walk up and just bury himself into your neck when he got sad.

one emotion vincent really struggled to express clearly was anger. especially to you, he very very rarely confronted you.

so when you pissed him off he just straight up ignored you, it’s not that he didn’t want to work it out, or that he wasnt affected, he just didn’t know how to express it. he wouldn’t look at you either, hiding out in the basement as he spent all his time sculpting.

as when he’s infatuated he’s the opposite. he just stares at you fondly with low eyes, following you around like a dog, unable to leave your side, making you jump when you quickly turn and forget he’s there, his stillness eerie. it can get creepy, if you let it.

so you’d have to guess what you did wrong, he’d faintly nod his head yes when you got it, but he wouldn’t give you attention again until you apologized, sincerely.

but when it came to you? and he did something wrong, and you got upset? he wouldn’t let you ignore him even a little, it wasn’t an option.

he’d pester you until you opened up, he didn’t take brushing it off as an answer. you’d tell him a million times it’s nothing, and your fine, but he’s still signing

are you sure?.. tell me?..

over and over until you had no choice but to give in. vincent was very unfair that way.

he had a absent way of expressing how you affected him, you’d kiss his neck deeply, feeling his head tilt back a little, and when you stopped, and he looked down, you couldn’t tell if he liked it. eye staring at you blankly, unblinking, like he wasn’t sure how to feel.

then you’d bump the hard tent in his pants, and he couldn’t look back down at you, turning away and hiding his face behind his long black hair. it was like the only normal part of him was his dick.

he’d faintly buck his hips with need if you stalled to touch him.

he’d still show it though. just maybe not in the moment, staring down at you when you knelt for him, expressionless through the eye holes of his mask.

the hardest twitch you felt was his dick throb in throat. his hands just slightly trembled in comparison, abruptly pulling and tangling when the pleasure got too much.

you loved giving him head for that reason, it was when you got the most reaction from him, you’d focus on his tip just to hear the strained sounds, when he couldn’t help but loose himself.

he’d show it after, when his legs mostly relaxed, pulling you ontop of him. he breathed shaky breaths as he caged you in, careless to the mess he trapped you into.

he was the most vocal too, while he had you bound to him, his arms firm as he held you to his chest.

you could hear his soft sounds, as his high came down, with your weight atop him.

[slashisms]

Slashers & Airhead!SO

Requested by: @stygianoir

You like to think the best of people, without ever considering the darker aspects of life. Others would say that you lack the self-preservation instinct. Probably because you’ll take a walk at two o’clock in the morning without your phone if you’re having trouble sleeping, or happily take a shortcut down a dark alley with headphones in; if you happen across a shady character, you’re more likely to wave, smile and introduce yourself than avoid them.

Honestly, it’s a miracle you survived this long. The world is full of people who would take advantage of someone like you: pretty, clueless and kind. Your childlike optimism should invoke disdain, but it doesn’t. It’s hard to hate someone who has no idea what they’re doing.

You’re just immune to the ugliness that pervades most of society and it’s like a breath of fresh air, an oasis that your slasher feels the need to protect, or hoard for themselves. Your naivete is addicting, but it can be dangerous, how easily you trust the undeserving. It’s too bad that you have no idea what you mean to them, or how far they’d go to keep you safe.

So, how does your slasher finally make their intentions clear?

Chucky: He was planning to kill you initially, but your clueless reaction charmed him and he decides to keep you. You’re adorable, in his words. Plus you make it too easy to hide his…hobby, never questioning his, frankly, terrible lies or frequent late nights drop ins. It’s a good thing too because he’s killing a lot more people with you around; mostly people that flirt with you, or look at you for too long— or at all, and the occasional new ‘friend’ whose ill intentions are going over your head. He’s not sure where you’d end up without him to take care of things, probably with your organs on the black market.

You would think you’d notice how every obstacle in your life disappears, but you’d have to pay attention to them in the first place to notice their absence. He’s more than frustrated when he realizes he’s going to have to, gulp, be direct. He avoids the conversation, tries to gloss over the depth of his feelings with his charm, or make you to understand with grotesque displays of violence, which won't work since you don’t even realize he’s the one killing all the people around you! It takes him presenting your asshole boss, tied up in your basement, for you to finally understand the nature of his twisted devotion. Whether you accept it is up to you, but you’d probably end up bound and gagged instead if you refuse. Lovingly and with care, of course.

The Axe Man: It took you too long to realize you were even being haunted. Actually, it took him physically manifesting; almost a year after you moved in because it was impossible to feed on fear when the person you’re haunting doesn’t even realize they’re being haunted. You just assume it’s you doing all the odd shit around the house: leaving things in different spots than you remember, forgetting to replace flickering lights, or turning the stove on at night. He’s still not sure how you managed to talk yourself into taking the blame for that one.

When he finally has your attention, he’s already fallen in love with you. It’s kinda hard not to, after watching you for so long. You have an air of innocence that he finds charming and the fact that you take to leaving little offerings for him only makes him fall harder. After all, not all spirits were bad, right? (True, but definitely not in his case.) You got the sense that he was more lonely than malicious (also not true). You ignore the concerned warnings of the people around you about the sinister feeling they get whenever they visit, the increasingly frequent bouts of memory loss, and the weird, vivid dreams. He doesn’t really confess; you simply wake up one day with a ring on your finger and the ever-present feeling of someone breathing down your neck.

Vincent Sinclair: You’re happy to ride with Lester when your car randomly breaks down a few miles away from Ambrose, oblivious to his glaring red flags. Like when he takes out his hunting knife to show to you and you mimic his excitement, firing off questions. You walk into town with him, letting him show you around like he’s a tour guide. You don’t question Bo when he tells you that the problem with your car is going to take days to fix because well, he’s the mechanic. The fact that you don’t see another person besides him, or that the part needed to fix your car keeps getting delayed doesn’t seem to bother you. None of them are quite sure what to do with you since you appear content to remain in Ambrose. Vincent is fascinated, probably because you express such admiration for the wax sculptures, enough so that they’re forced to introduce you when you won’t stop pestering them with questions. You rarely see him, but he spends almost all his time watching you.

A normal person would be alarmed at the idea of someone sneaking into the room they sleep in at night to leave wax sculptures on their dresser, but you’re not. You happily accept the reassurance that Vincent is ‘harmless’. Bo is still convinced they’ll have to get rid of you once you realize how the sculptures are made. Except you don’t. You’re completely focused on making a good impression on Vincent, the mysterious artist who’s been occupying your thoughts for months.

You spend just as long working out a way to communicate with him on the rare occasions that he lets himself be seen. Inventing your own secret system distracts you enough that they don’t really have to try that hard to keep you in the dark about how they usually treat tourists. Vincent is adequately flustered by your affection, which you interpret as disinterest. By the time he’s acclimated to the fact that you’ve captured his heart, you’re convinced he sees you as a bit of a groupie. The fact that he takes the time to learn your little language, writes you poems with disgustingly romantic nuance, or has started making sculptures and paintings of the two of you isn’t enough to convince you otherwise either.

Bo probably says something before he can manage it himself. You would have dismissed that too if Vincent hadn’t gathered the courage to confirm the words of his irate twin once you were alone. It’s going to be real awkward if you ever manage to find out exactly what’s going on in Ambrose, especially after the wedding.

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[yourgothfriend69]

Who’s better

Brahms Heelshire

Michael Myers (1978 AND 2007)

Vincent Sinclair

Voting ended onJul 17

[mythicalcowboyatheart]

Miss Ambrose

Bo Sinclair x reader x Vincent Sinclair

Warnings: Bo's creepy, violence near the end

A/n: I want an escape from my shitty life rn so I'm gonna start rewriting my Ambrose series some of my past works that I don't like too much starting with this one.

Your feet sting, walking for miles in wedged saddles and a sundress did not feel great. what felt like forever went by when down a long gravel road and over a small stream of flood water you reached the small, old, almost abandoned looking town called Ambrose. A place you probably would have never be caught dead in unless absolutely needed, and right now it was very needed. Your shit box of a car had broke down miles back, luckily where your tire popped was close enough for you to see a sign telling you about a roadside attraction.

What the hell even was a wax museum doing in the middle of nowhere?

Passing the sign that welcomed you into town you you see light at an itty-bitty gas station, you had been walking for so long you hadn't even noticed the sun had started to go down. You sigh softly and push the glass door open hoping to find salvation in who ever may be in the store. The bell above the door rang and you see a tall man in a mechanic jumpsuit and a hat. His feet are up on the counter leaning back in his chair at the front of the store. Once he sees you he sits up giving you a lazy smile. "Hello there Darlin' what can I do for you?"

"Hello..." Your eyes flick to his embroidered name tag. "Bo, My car broke down a few miles form here and I need some help..." "Awh poor thing got a flat tire?" He says with his Louisianian twang. You give him a confused look "Yeah actually how'd ya know?" "well darlin' that's just a lucky guess... Plus I assume a beautiful thing like you ain't hiking in that pretty little dress you got on willingly..." He chuckles. "Well.... yeah..." You laugh softly looking at your wedged saddles, pieces of gravel stuck in the bottom of your soles.

"where you headin' Babydoll?" The man you now know as Bo looks you up and down slowly taking in your figure not so subtlety checking you out. "Was just checking out the state..." You answer meekly. "Just travelling for fun?" He asks raising one eyebrow, his gaze lingering on your chest for a few seconds before flicking to your eyes. "Something like that..." you give a tight liped smile crossing your arms in front breasts. Bo smirks, leaning back in his chair again. "well darlin' you're a long ways from any type of civilization." You give a slight ackward chuckle. "So I've noticed..."

Bo chuckles, watching you carefully, taking in the way your dress hugs your curves. Your eyes don't meet his almost hungry gaze. "So... Bo... Could you fix my tire for me? I...i don't really know anything about cars... so I'm kinda helpless." Bo licks his lips and grins, standing up and making his way around the counter. "I can help ya with that, darlin'... ain't nothin to worry bout" He gives you a wink. "why don't you wait here for me while I go change that tire of your's" You nod in agreement, clearly not wanting to be in a car with this hot weirdo.

"Great, I won't keep you waiting for long darlin', make yourself comfortable" Bo smiles, walking past you, looking back to catch a glimpse of your ass before the bell dings as he leaves.

You sigh in relief when you see his truck speed off. As you watch him disappear in the distance you catch a glimpse of the House of Wax.

Surely Bo wouldn't mind if you went to explore the House of Wax would he?

You don't ponder on it too much on it before you exit the gas station and begin to walk up the the hill to the museum. The small unpaved streets are quiet. You reach the front door and open it, closing it behind you, you wonder in to see the wax people sculptures. Your gaze catchs a shelf with smaller scaled wax figures, you smile looking at a octopus lady. You go in further into the museum untill you stumble upon a flight of stairs leading to a lower level. You figure there is no harm in exploring so you descend the stairs and see a man with long black hair working on a wax sculpture. "Oh sorry... I didn't know anyone was here..." You say softly.

The mans hands stop working on the sculpture, his hand grips the carving tool tightly as he turns to you slowly, revealing a masked face. He tilts his head. You awkwardly stand there and to brake the silence you ask. "Ar... Are you the artist h...here?" You ask your eyes fixed on the carving tool in his hand. He looks at you trying to figure you out but none the less he slowly nods his head. "Yo...your very talented..." You say slowly backing up from him like he's a scared animal.

The long haired man watches you like a hawk as you trip on the bottom step, your wedged saddles doing nothing to help you catch yourself as you smack your head on a step higher up on the stairs. Your dazed when you hear a familiar Louisianian twang. "Hey there Darlin' see you meet Vinny..." Your vision blurs in the candle lit basement as you try to look up at him. His silhouette menacingly towering over you. Before you can say anything Bo's boot collides with your head then every thing goes black.

Edit: let me know if y'all want a part two!

[pupsafterdark]

Vincent would love watching you craft, paint, sew. Whatever creative hobbies you do, he’d love to watch as you work. watching how your hands move, over analyzing every inch of you, recording you on a stolen camera for one of the visitors. Saving it for later to jack off to it.

[bunn1-g1rl]

Vincent experimenting with the camera in the bedroom, filming your reactions as he pushes inside you. The pace is agonizingly slow, teasing even. The artist is waiting to film your pretty little sounds, every change of your expressions.

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