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macabr3-barbi3 · 2 days

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PrideRing and Prejudice Prompt Challenge!

hello everyone! the Bapple's Orchard Discord Server had a Regency Prompt Challenge that a lot of crazy talented artists and writers have contributed to: here is the Masterlist of everyone's submissions that will be being updated through the day as more people post! There's something for everyone, and will be including RadioStatic and x Reader fics and music!

With that said, here are my submissions! First, have a string quartet arrangement that I did for a Bapple Approved™️ RadioStatic song, Something About Us by Daft Punk 🦌📺

And a short and sweet Alastor x Reader fic- enjoy! 💕🦌

Moonlight on Canvas (Hazbin Hotel Regency AU)

The ball hosted by the Morningstar family had been, as always, a fantastical soiree until you had spotted Alastor.

You give Lord Morningstar’s daughter Charlotte a wave across the room when she spots you, her own arm waving furiously, and as she turns away you see Alastor behind her, caught in conversation with the eager viscount, Vincent Vox. He strikes a silhouette like a portrait, one you’ve painted countless times before; tall, lean, the red of his outfit a charming contrast to his dark hair and eyes. You can see it in your mind now, the brushstrokes you could use to mimic the beauty of him in the lights of the ballroom, the burgundies and crimsons for his jacket, hickory and mahogany for his hair and the darkness of his eyes where they watch the viewer under the shadow of his fringe. It would make a stunning painting, and yet still be a poor imitation of what stood in front of you.

He looks like he would rather be anywhere but where he is, taking cautious steps backwards that Vox follows, and when he casts a desperate look behind himself he catches your eye, brows rising when his gaze settles on you, resplendent in your evening finery.

You bolt when he turns to make his excuses, ducking into the hall that leads to the garden before his eyes can track where you’ve gone.

The cool air of the night is a soothing balm on your nerves as you settle on the bench amongst the roses and tulips, off the main path where married couples and chaperoned groups pass by. Your heart is racing and you wish you had given enough thought to your escape to grab a drink before fleeing. You couldn’t face Alastor tonight; maybe you never could again. Once a close friend, he had been gone for seven years. You had written him countless letters, asking of his travels, when he would be coming home, why he had left so suddenly- every one of them left unanswered, the Viscount having assured you that he was passing your messages along since they had also been tentative friends before he left.

Surely you had done something wrong. He had changed his mind after leaving, your last conversation one about his marriage prospects- “if I must marry anyone, a lifelong commitment to a friend that I have grown fond- to you- would be far more desirable than one thrust upon me by the demands of society,” he had said, and while it wasn’t a dramatic declaration of love you knew what you expected of one another. You wanted him, but you would settle for being part of society, not pushed to the wayside as a spinster as your age went on; he wanted to be left to his own devices, no longer bothered by the mothers of eligible women or fathers looking to make a marriage for business connections. You had thought that he meant you- you must have been mistaken, if his blatant ignoral of your letters was anything to go by.

You wouldn’t let it bother you. You had been waiting for him all this time, but perhaps the time had come to set aside matters of the heart and focus on your life. Sir Pentious, a charming (if clumsy) man was present at the ball, and had made an offer for your hand once that you had declined, no father or brother to convince you on the matter and your mother uncaring of your choices- perhaps you could speak with him and see if the offer still stood…

A branch cracks behind you, tearing you from your thoughts, and you turn to see Alastor behind you, two glasses of champagne held in one hand. “I thought I might find you here,” he murmurs, giving you that familiar smile of his. “Where else would an artist be but amongst the most beautiful scenery on the grounds?”

“Alastor.” You glance through the bushes and trees, not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity. “I didn’t know that you were back!”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Oh? So your record setting sprint from the ballroom was for another reason then; I see.” Despite his smile you can see that he’s a bit irritated, his grip on the stems of the champagne glasses making them clink together before he hands one to you. “I had hoped that we could speak tonight- I meant to inform you of my return sooner.”

You take the glass from him wordlessly and down it, ignoring the amused look on his face. “Perhaps you should have informed me of your departure sooner as well, rather than disappearing into the night without so much as a ‘farewell.’” You use your glass to keep you grounded and turn to inspect the flowers, fighting to keep the ire from your voice. You weren’t ready for this conversation with him, hadn’t been planning on talking to him at all really, after his absence.

“Darling.” You hear the compression of the grass as he steps closer to you, entering the peripherals of your vision. “What have I done to earn such a dismissal? Do you not wish to see me at all?”

“No,” you say truthfully, and the flash of hurt across his face strikes anguish into your heart. “I didn’t- I wasn’t ready to see you tonight.”

Even now he is beautiful, especially now; he stiffens his shoulders, his face upset, eyes still bright in the darkness of the night. Amongst the flowers, the yellows and reds contrasting so stunningly with the image of him, you could paint this scene a hundred ways and still never quite capture the raw emotion that overtakes his expression. Depending on how the rest of the conversation goes, that might be the only way that you can gaze upon his beauty going forward- paintings done from memory, sketches on ballroom napkins when you spot him at a party and can’t stop the itch in your fingers that demands you bring the vision to fruition.

The tension seeps from his frame, not in relief but defeat. “I wish you had come to me,” he whispers, pain evident in his tone. “About whatever I did to cause your apparent frustration with me. Before simply deciding to cast me- our friendship- aside. So that I may have had some attempt at salvaging it.”

“What are you- Alastor, you cut me off!” You whirl around to face him fully, hating the sting of tears in your eyes. “I sent you countless letters when you left and you never responded-”

“You’re one to speak of unanswered correspondence,” he huffs. “‘Countless,’ you say- can you not count to ‘zero?’”

“What?” The tension in his frame has returned while he struggles to keep his composure, and he looks away from you, casting his eyes out across the garden rather than facing you. “Alastor, I sent you hundreds of letters over the years- I had to send them off through the Viscount since you didn’t deign to even tell me you were leaving. So many letters asking where you were, why you left, when you were coming back. If you were… okay. I thought you might have died and I was devastated until I saw you today and I thought that you just-” You cut yourself off when you hear the quiet clamor of other voices, and you duck into the shadow of the apple trees that line the path. You watch Alastor track their movements down the path before he turns back to you as they get out of sight, his expression now curious rather than pained.

“What did you think?” He sets his glass down on the bench and steps closer, maintaining a respectable distance between your bodies but reaching his hand out to take yours, pulling the champagne glass from your own tight grip with his free hand and setting it beside his. Your heart is hammering in your chest while you stand there together; if someone so much as saw you out here together-

“Dearest.”

“Don’t call me that,” you manage despite your breath being caught in your chest. “Not now. You’ve clearly changed your mind, if you meant it at all, and I was foolish to-”

His unoccupied hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone and effectively making your brain stutter. “What did you think?” He asks quietly, his eyes lidded as he looks down at you, his familiar smile looking like it means to come back, twitching at the edges of his lips. “Grant me this clarification if you would- a proper conversation might help to clear up any lingering uncertainty between us.”

You can’t bring yourself to step back from his hold on your skin. “I- our last discussion,” you breathe, not daring to speak any louder lest you break the spell that’s fallen over the pair of you. “You had said that were you to marry anyone you would want it to be me, and then you vanished for seven years without so much as an ‘adieu.’ I thought…” You swallow the lump in your eyes, distantly thinking that the blurred image of him before you would make another lovely portrait. “I thought you changed your mind; that you had said something reckless and wanted to take it back without having to have such a discussion with me.”

“It would appear that the charming Viscount has played us both for fools, darling.” He looks like he wants to step closer to you but thinks better of it as a peal of laughter escapes the hall leading to your little platform in the garden. “I am not one to change my mind once I have made a decision; I sent you letters as well. Tales of what I could divulge of my travels- and I will provide more details when I am able to- and questions about what you were doing without me, mentions of how I missed our chats and teas. I inquired multiple times if you had considered what I said, blatantly verified that I would be interested in marrying you whenever I was able to return. I thought your lack of a response was a refusal.”

“Oh my God, Alastor.” The nervous laughter that bubbles out of you is so refreshing it takes over your body, stomach not able to heave the way it wants with the corset in the way of your air intake. “You tried to send your letters through Vox as well?”

“Not directly- I had my aide, Husker, coming into town with my correspondence. He left them with dear Vincent who assured him that they were going to the proper recipients. I suppose I can only hope that no one else was subjected to the same discourtesy and received my letters as intended.” He removes his hands from your face and wrist to clench his own into fists at his sides. “This blatant disrespect of not just my matters, but yours as well, will not stand.” He turns like he means to head back into the ballroom and your hand darts out, grips his arm like to let him go would be a grievous mistake.

“Did you really mean it?” You ask him, and the look that he gives you you want to find a way to paint on the back of your eyelids- fond and amused and relieved, tinged with anger that is not directed at you but on your behalf. “You- you would marry me?”

He hums a bit, glancing back at you with that fond look in his gaze. “As long as you'd still want to marry a man potentially convicted of manslaughter after I've seen the Viscount, then yes, darling. Seven years might have changed a lot, but neither my feelings nor my intentions.” He pulls you closer, almost into his arms then, his embrace so light it’s hardly there, the fabric of your clothing just barely brushing his. Your gasp is lost against the soft material of his coat before you look up at him, smile soft when he directs it to you. “Would you think me a scoundrel should I steal a kiss from you before my possible imprisonment?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “I could never think anything but the best of you, Alastor,” you tell him, and then whisper, “please,” tilting your face up and closing your eyes, the thought of someone seeing you far from your mind. This moment would make a beautiful painting, you were sure of it; anticipation clear in the strokes of the brush, the colors making the tension and relief between the two of you evident, your emotions bleeding through the canvas into the eyes of whoever looked at it.

His lips press to your forehead, and when your eyes fly open he’s chuckling at you, grin mischievous as he steps away. “I’m afraid this is all I will allow myself, dearest- I can’t be causing too many scandals in one night.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss there as well before releasing you entirely.

“Now that things have been cleared up between us, I do believe the Viscount is owed a visit!” Alastor says this cheerfully, a wink aimed in your direction before he's striding back down the hallway to the ballroom, his long legs making it difficult to catch him before he can do something reckless.

You’ve just entered the room, cheeks flushed, when you see Alastor stroll up to Vox as casual as can be. “Alastor!” The Viscount exclaims, gesturing beside himself to a tall companion, dressed in a gaudy shade of purple. “I was just telling my friend here about-”

The crowd never hears what Vox was telling his friend as Alastor’s clenched fist connects with his face, sending him flying backwards into a table and spilling punch and hor d'oeuvres across the floor. His friend looks outraged, a young woman nearby failing to stifle a chuckle into her glass of champagne, and everyone is watching Alastor like some feral animal as he straightens up after dealing his blow and stretches his hand out. “This man,” he says, his voice full of contempt like you’ve never heard from him before, glaring down at Vox’s bleeding form, “is a cad. An encroaching fungus that has wheedled his way into the fine community that we have here and should not be spared another thought. Viscount or not, a wretch will remain a wretch; things such as honor and loyalty cannot, apparently, be taught. I implore you all to keep that in mind!” He offers a smile and a low bow to some of the nearby ladies as a couple of the Morningstar guards are shuffling over, and he puts up no resistance, holding his arms out amiably for them to take and lead him away.

When the guards have led Alastor away, the Morningstar patriarch following out the way they had come, you watch as Vox is helped to his feet by his companion, furiously wiping blood off his face before storming out of the ballroom. You wonder if there’s a way to get your letters back- to give them to Alastor, provide him with the words that you had tried telling him for so long before the opportunity was forcibly taken from your hands. You find a glass of punch from a table that hadn’t been buckled under the weight of a man and sip it while you make a lap around the ballroom- unsure if Alastor will be able to return but not yet willing to let the magical feel of the evening end. There are whispers all around you, about Vox, about Alastor, and you look again to the broken table that hasn’t yet been cleaned up, wondering if they would allow you to take the stained tablecloth to use as a canvas if you stretched it properly.

“Excuse me, miss.” A man speaks behind you, and you turn to see an older gentleman- Husker, if you remember correctly of your tea and chats with Alastor. “His Grace has asked me to reassure you that with the exception of his being thrown into a jail cell, he will come to call on you tomorrow at your mother’s residence; to ask for your hand properly.” He gives a heavy sign, glancing at the rest of the occupants of the ballroom and the group of people that stand to your left. “I was also asked to inform you that should you decide to paint the events of this evening, he would be more than happy to hang the resulting portrait in the manor’s foyer.”

Your face lights up with a genuine smile, something that Husker eyes suspiciously before he walks away, muttering under his breath. You look around the ballroom and find Charlotte talking to a friend and make your way to her- she could be convinced to part with the tablecloth, you were sure of it, and you would use it to make a beautiful piece of art that hung in your new home and marked the start of something that had been worth waiting for after all.

#PrideRing and Prejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs #fan song #arrangement #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor x reader #alastor #everyone is so creative <3

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intimacyequalsdeath · 2 days

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Greif (Bo Sinclair x AFAB Reader)

This has been sitting in my drafts for awhile now cause I never felt good enough about it to actually post. I wanted to make a good hurt/comfort but not make it too over the top extreme and I'm really confident in this version of it to finally post it. This is the first time I've posted a heavier fic like this so please head all the trigger warnings I put for this one.

Notes: Minors DNI, This fic is written with an AFAB reader in mind though no specific descriptions are used the pronouns She/her are used in relation to the reader. Trigger warnings: Pregnancy, abortion talk (Briefly). Bo is really mean at least in the start, Hurt/Comfort. Afab reader with she/her pronouns used. Excessive Cursing.

"If you fuckin' think I'm lettin' you bring a fuckin' baby into this town you're fuckin crazy!"

Bo yelled as he paced around the living room of the main house. You had finally come clean and revealed to him that you were most likely pregnant. He was taking the news about as well as one would expect Bo Sinclair to.

"I didn't ask to get pregnant Bo! Maybe you should've been more careful!"

You screamed right back at him. Bo scoffed at your argument and shook his head, a nasty grin overtaking his face.

"I shoulda never let you fuckin stay here. I told myself the day you rolled into town that you were gonna cause me nothin' but trouble"

"Maybe you should let Vincent make me into one of his wax figures then Bo, or better yet, you can keep me in the basement under the station."

Bo froze at your statement and fixed you with an expression you had never seen grace his face before.

"You better watch your fuckin' mouth if you know what's good for ya"

"Why Bo? You can't handle the truth of what you were doing in that basement before I came along?"

"You have not got a fuckin' clue what you're talkin' about. When what you need to worry about is what your gonna do with bastard you got growin' in there cause it's not gonna have any relation to me"

He spat, motioning to your stomach.

"If you don't wanna keep the baby what do you suppose I do then?"

"I mean hell if I know, I'm sure the pharmacy in the next town over has some pills or somethin' to nip the problem in the bud"

"Y- you'd really want me to go through with that? After everything we've been through together? Are you fucking serious?"

"No darlin' I want you to go all the way over to the next town over and go on a fuckin' shoppin' spree!"

"How could you even suggest something like that Bo? After everything we've been through?"

"A baby ain't nothin' but a liability, a liability ain't a single one of us got time for. 'sides do you really fuckin' think Ambrose is the place to raise a baby?"

"You, Vince and Les grew up here! Plus it's not like you'd let me fuckin' leave and go somewhere else to raise the baby. You'd turn me into a wax figure before that ever happened"

"Exactly, so what happens when that rug rat grows up and starts askin' questions? Askin' shit about what his daddy and uncles do? Askin' about the figures? What the fuck are you gonna do then?"

"You explained what the 3 of you do to me pretty damn near perfect didn't you?"

You countered Bo's argument. You watch his face as another unreadable expression crossed it as he finally sat down in his recliner and put his head in his hands. You sat and watched him in sick curiosity before the overwhelming feeling hit you like a truck.

Bo Sinclair was afraid.

An emotion you quite honestly never thought you'd see Bo experience. Sure Lester had told you stories from when they were kids and scared of their parents, storms or the usual childhood fears. But this was different. Bo wasn't a child and this wasn't a storm that would just pass if he hid under his covers and waited long enough.

You sat looking at a broken son in the body of a man, a son who had never healed from the torture his own parents put him through. The cracks that Bo tried to conceal so well from his own upbringing were crumbling in front of you. The fears coming back to him, his mother's voice echoing in his head that he would just grow up to be like his father.

The fear that it would be twins, like him and Vince and he'd have to watch them be separated and not be able to do a thing for them. Not being able to take them to a hospital just to protect Ambrose and his brothers.

"You're not going to be like them Bo"

You broke the silence with a whisper. You could hear Bo sharply suck in a breath, you were treading on unprecedented territory with Bo. His childhood was just something he didn't talk or think about at all and now it was at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Shut up"

He mumbled back. A usual response for when Bo felt like you were trying to back him into a corner and he was running out of ammo to fight you off.

"You're not going to be like them Bo. You aren't them and you never will be."

You exclaimed louder. Bo threw his hands off his face and stood up so fast the chair tipped on it's back legs. He stood, in front of the chair, just starring at you, breathing heavily as emotions swam through his eyes. You decided to be bold and test the waters, you began to take small steps toward Bo, he wasn't attempting to walk away so you continued this until you were right in front of him.

"Bo"

You said softly as you stood directly in front of him. He finally snapped his eyes down to meet yours.

"Bo, you're going to be better then them. You're going to be a good dad Bo, you've had a first hand experience of what not to be like as a parent, it's going to be rocky sure but-"

"My mama always told me I'd end up being just like daddy, Just a mean son of a bitch who never had anything nice to say to no one."

Bo cut you off, a much softer tone then before when his fear was translating to anger.

"Do you want to be like you dad? Are you gonna hate this baby if it doesn't come out to be what you were expecting?"

Bo look at you as if you had grown three heads.

"Of course not, it's my kid, how could I not love my own flesh and blood."

"If you know that, and aren't planning to emulate your father, then why are you so worried about ending up like him?"

Bo was stunned, no one had ever talked him through his emotions like that.

"T-that was the only image of a father I ever got. I don't know what a good dad is like. I don't know how "normal" kids who parents actually wanted 'em around had it"

You reached down and grabbed his wrist gently. Bringing it up and rubbing your fingers over his scars, the scars that told many glaring stories of what shaped him into the cold man he was today. You were thawing him out though, slowly but surely.

"You'll learn, No ones saying it'll be easy, but you're capable of running this whole town and taking care of the four of us, I'm sure you'll pick up fatherhood just as quick as anything else."

"Well that ain't my only issue with this whole baby thing though"

"What else is wrong then Bo?"

"It's- It's fuckin'" He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "What if it's twins, and their conjoined like- like me and Vince were."

"Oh Bo"

"We ain't got no doctors here, and it's not like we could go stay in another town for the duration of it that would be too risky, god forbid you have complications too. I just- I don't know if I could do that darlin'"

Everything was coming together and your vision on why Bo was so angry was becoming clearer and clearer. Bo wasn't angry at you, he was scared of loosing you. Scared of being alone when he had finally found something he never thought he would ever get to have.

"Bo honey, I know it's scary, but what happened with you and Vince was rare. There's no guarantee that this baby will even be twins. You should've brought this all to me instead of just yelling."

"I know darlin', I should've went about it better. But I guess when you told me you were pregnant I- I got scared. The entire time you've been here I've had these scenarios in my head, worryin' about what would happen"

You were speechless as you watch as he turned away from you and began pacing again, this time without the yelling. The entire time you had known Bo you had never known him to be one to talk about his feelings. "I'm not a fuckin' pussy" He was remark to you when you would ask him what was wrong.

The front door swung open as Vincent returned from the wax museum. Bo stopped as your gazes moved to Vince who was now frozen in the doorway of the living room.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Vincent signed. You looked at him apologetically before flicking your eyes over to Bo to see what he would say.

"Nah Vince it's nothin'. Just uh- She's pregnant is all"

Vincent perked up and his gaze immediately flicked over to you.

"Really?"

He signed, giving off an aura of excitement. You nodded at him and mustered a smile

"I'm gonna be an uncle!. I'll start reading dad's old medical books and learn things to help with the delivery"

"Now Vince we ain't even-"

"I know he had an entire book about it, I'll start getting set up for prenatal appointments too. Maybe we could even go to the next town over for checkups and stuff, we'll need stuff for the baby too"

Vincent kept rambling in sign, something he did often. You couldn't help but laugh at his childlike wonder at the prospect of being an uncle. You looked over to Bo, who was noticeably less tense as he watched his twin's excitement over the new member of the family.

"Vince chill out for a sec, having this baby is so risky. What if it's twin and they come out like us? You're gonna separate 'em?"

"Well all things considered, the pregnancy only has a one in 250 chance of becoming a twin pregnancy. Plus we're identical twins, only fraternal ones run in families which means two separate eggs would have to be fertilized instead of the egg splitting."

Bo and you look at Vincent in dumbfounded shock as he signed the information as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Where the hell did ya learn all that?"

Bo asked still in shock as he looked at his brother as if he had grown another head.

"In dad's old medical books" Vincent shrugged "I'll leave you two alone now though, I should go get researching"

Vincent signed in reply before turning and heading upstairs to his bedroom. When you heard Vincent's bedroom door close you turned back to look at Bo who was already looking at you when your eyes met his. A lighter mood fell over the living room and smile at him.

"A one in 250 chance huh?"

"Yeah, I reckon so"

"You wanna take that chance daddy?"

All the emotions of the night wash over Bo's face as he thinks for a moment then answers.

"If you think it's a good idea, can't really argue with facts I suppose. But there's gonna be rules."

With that Bo is back, the rule making irritable Bo you fell in love with when you rolled into the gas station all those years ago.

"What rules are we talkin' about?"

"For starters your gonna take it easy, when someone comes into town your gonna stay here at the house and out of sight. No heavy lifting, no helping Vincent anymore, no walk-"

"Bo, Just wrap me in bubble wrap then yeah?"

"I mean I could go to the next town over and find somethin-"

"I was joking Bo, You're not wrapping me in a protective layer"

"I can if I want too"

He mumbled under his breath. I bit back a laugh and rolled my eyes.

"Whatever you say Bo"

"Hey I run this town-"

Bo begins the spiel you've heard about 20,000 times since you began living here as you walk into the kitchen, the cravings starting to take over, as he follows you to explain how he runs the town and how what he says goes and if he has to make more rules to keep you he will.

As you stand in the kitchen, eating your snack and listening to Bo's spiel. Something deep down inside you, lets a feeling wash over you that maybe just maybe, everything will be just fine.

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair x reader #hurt/comfort #house of wax #house of wax fanfic

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averlym · 8 months

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HI I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE INTO ADAMANDI HOLY SHIT. Can’t believe so few people know about this masterpiece of a musical

:OOOOO hai i agree it is criminally (haha yknow bc there are crimes..) underrated!! and really brilliant!!! discovered it literally midway through the week and akdfjgsjhdsjhjgdf

have a doodle of the saints :3

#this is kinda because on someone's insta i saw one of the saints doing a peace sign dksajh have smth silly #adamandi #ask me stuff???#realising i have to put my tags at the beginning before rambles or tumblr won't catch it #i am into adamandi. now. this is terrible timing because exam season but hMM the academic grindset really resonates now huh #the moment i caught myself in the ao3 tag i was like ''oh.''#i have so many thoughts. so many many thoughts. im so insane about this musical actually. also the fandom so far seems so nice #also yeah! the number of people who know about it is quite small huh.. it makes me kinda feel like im infiltrating the group... ?#late to the party as ever. but it's. so so good. such a musical ever the brainrot is real #also the way the creators themselves are active on tumblr :OO rly cool. ngl the tags they left under my posts had me #giggling screaming kicking my feet etcetera... and bc apparently i thrive off positive reinforcement that sparked the whole cut fruit art..#i am itching to know about the track thing with portia. also portrix real the lesbians keep winning!! also also i may have spent half a day #internet stalking ><. secret pinterest boards where :O #anyway thank you for the ask anon idk how to answer concisely but yes. adamandi. oh my god.#miscellany: can we appreciate ambrose's high notes.. also i was on wiki reading about ''apollonian vs dionysian'' it's insane #on yet another note. im entering my lin era rn i think. what a time. where can i run so true + vincent's surname my beloved. forest imagery #side note? tiny little detail i'd love to do smth about in the future: in word to the wise there's smth about “appraising your rings” and i #the one who pulls the strings beatrix mentions “bought my classmates rings” like. kjdfhsgjkhd???? thinks.#.. but new fav musical unlocked is all #between this and watt i am maybe into my murder musical era. confession that i don't do horror much because i have an overactive imaginatio #but like those two hit the spot. and i think organic imagery.. blood visuals.. is very cool// and the moment you start looking at literal #life and death situations then the dramaticness especially comes in and that's fun!! // also i read smth today about tragedy making you #appreciate irl stuff more. like ''wow thats messed up im sure glad that isnt me i love life''. and lowkey?? yeah

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threephantomrey · 7 months

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remember this epic idea i had for a movie a few months ago? well, i’d like to add onto it a little bit.

Asamad sends different types of signs to different members of the gang:

• Vincent gets the dreams

• Shaggy, Daphne, Flim Flam, and Fred get the visions

• Velma gets the cryptic messages

• Scooby and Scrappy get the animals

#i texted this to my friend around the time i came up with that movie plot and just remembered it now so i thought ‘ooh let me post this!!’#scooby doo #this is the version with Flim Flam and Scrappy. i only sent her a version without them i’m adding them now cause i forgot to before #asamad van ghoul #mystery inc #vincent van ghoul #flim flam #scrappy doo #movie ideas

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gaymakima · 2 years

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It’s the 27th here so HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY CHRISTOPHER LEE you magnificent king :’) I didn’t participate in Lee Week this year because I haven’t watched quite enough of his films yet to really make much content for it, but I really do love his performances, and of course the man himself. Maybe I’ll watch some Hammer today to celebrate >:)

#my post #christopher lee #also happy bday peter cushing for yesterday and vincent price for today!!#admittedly i need to watch more cushing and price films #on top of chris lee films #listen i hadn't watched a movie for 5-6 years before this i thought i was over my movie era #i was wrong

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saevus-brutalis · 1 year

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stole a meme again

#thought i should share #real ones saw it wayyy before y’all sorry 😫😫#had to gatekeep my WIP drawing of Vince #but since it’s posted already y’all get to see this gorgeous meme i definitely did not steal from tumblr again #oc: vincent elijah vahn #vincent vibes #vince vibes #lore: vincent e. vahn

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llama-head · 2 years

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I got two days left at my job, then I’m playing sims for two days, then I’m packing the rest of my stuff so I can move next weekend

#gonna get my desk set up so I can not have back pain anymore!!#shall be nice #hopefully gonna get my second monitor working too!!#also have a week before school starts so I’m gonna push and get lots of posts done #most of my school this year is working with original characters so lots of sims art too #which I will post here!!#some of it cuz I do a lot of aged up Jax and Vincent and I don’t want to spoil that #kk thoughts

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cherryskyies · 11 months

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The slashers w an insecure s/o

Includes: Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt

slowly getting through this major writers block. my writing might be dog shit for a few posts but I'm forcing myself to work through it 🩷

Reader is female

Warnings: descriptions of sex (mostly bo section), praise, low self-esteem.

Masterlist || Navigation || ao3

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent doesn't understand it.

The moment he laid eyes on you he was in awe, knowing immediately he needed you alive. There wasn't enough wax in the world to sculpt you the ways he desired.

So to see your hesitance at removing your clothing, he was scared you had changed your mind about him — the thought of you being insecure hadn't crossed his mind until you admitted it.

Your cheeks are hot from embarrassment, apologies slipping off your tongue as you dropped your head against his chest. "I'm sorry Vin, I've never liked my body."

He's quick to silently reassure you that he loves all of you, even the parts he hasn't seen with soft hands roaming your delicate body; finger tips gliding over your curves, stopping to lift your face to his – it's a promise.

Vincent will worship the very ground you walk on, making it his goal to show you your beauty through his gentle touches and precise sculptures. You will fill his work space.

Bo Sinclair

"What'dya mean you don't like your body? You've got the best piece of ass I've seen in my life!" Bo exclaims, genuinely confused at your insecurities.

There is not a chance he'll fully understand, regardless of his own insecurities. Bo looks at you and sees the perfect woman — so what if you have some imperfections? He might as well be blind because he can't see them.

He is very gentle with you though, thoroughly fucking the insecurities away and praising you every chance he gets.

"Look how beautiful you are, cumming all over my cock," Bo praises, forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror he's placed across the room. "So perfect."

Would definitely make you point out features you like on yourself before you can cum. Just seems like that kind of guy.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas would be so heartbroken to hear you say you don't like your appearance. He'd think it's his fault for not appreciating you enough.

The first time you say it, you're both a nervous wreck.

"It's not you, Tommy. I just.. I've never liked my appearance," you admit, eyes downcast while your hand holds his at the hem of your shirt.

He whines, nuzzling his face in your neck. It's not fair that you feel this way he thinks, you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

But he understands, having his own insecurities; so the two of you make a deal to leave the lights off and keep your shirts on until you are more comfortable — which doesn't take long with the way he worships your body.

With Thomas your insecurities are a thing of the past.

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flynnriderishot · 4 months

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I have a request for vinnie fic, where the two of you are at that stage in your relationship were your just playfully bullying each other?? thank you

it’s love, not bullying - v.h

“vincent!”

from the bedroom, vinnie stifled a laugh, calling out to you,

“yeah, babe?”

“get in here, now!”

you could hear his feet dragging across the floor as he ran towards you,

“what’s up?”

“my snacks.” you wittily clapped back, “why’d you put them so high?”

“because you can’t reach it.”

“and that’s funny to you?” you placed your hands on your hips.

“no, but you called for me, didn’t you?” you asked, leaning over you to grab the bag of chips, “i like hearing you say my name.”

•••

you stood with your phone propped up against the paper towel holder in your kitchen.

what was meant to be your weekly tiktok post, turned into you standing still as your boyfriend jokingly threw air punches towards you.

“oooh, if you would’ve moved, you would’ve been knocked out.”

the look on your face was one you could only describe as contently unbothered.

“why must you bully me?”

“it’s love, not bullying.”

you stared into the camera with a blank expression until vinnie’s arm gently wrapped around your neck and pulled you towards him.

you screamed slightly before laughing, doing what you could to break from his hold.

“let me go!”

“the more you fight it, the more it’ll hurt!” he warned you.

you knew he was joking, his hold was anything but harmful, your laugh was enough to prove that.

after few seconds of fighting, vinnie let you go, smiling down at you as you breathed heavily.

the laugh that escaped your lips can straight from the heart. one your viewers would definitely put in yours and vinnie’s top ten moments, “this was supposed to be a thirst trap.”

•••

vinnie stood in front of the stove, the only thing covering his body being a pair of plaid pants that matched your own, though you were wearing a crop top with it.

your boyfriend had the idea to make you breakfast before you woke up, completely unaware that you woke the minute he kissed your forehead before he got out of bed.

you lazily made your way towards him, rubbing your eyes as you did.

vinnie hummed softly to himself as he flipped a pancake.

he jumped at the feeling of your cold hands wrapping around his torso.

“jesus! you scared the hell out of me.”

“sorry.” you mumbled, kissing the skin of his back softly to add onto your apology.

“how’d you sleep?”

“good. you woke me up when you left.”

vinnie frowned, “i’m sorry, baby.”

you simply hummed.

vinnie thought nothing if it, thinking you were just too tired to talk. that is, until he noticed your hand moving towards the flour he was using to make the pancake batter.

“yn?”

“hmm?”

“stop it.”

“i’m not going anything.” you giggled, tightening your hold on his waist to keep him from moving. you knew your strength was no match for him, but you still did it.

“put your hand down.”

“huh?” you furrowed your brows.

he went to repeat himself, “put your—“

vinnie was cut off by you tossing a hand full of flour at his face.

you mouth fell in shock, your laughter filling the house, “i didn’t mean to do that much. i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay.” vinnie shrugged it off, turning the stove off as he wiped his eyes.

“i’m sorry, vin.” you began to feel bad.

“it’s okay, baby. can you help me get this off?”

“yeah, of course.”

just as you moved to help him, vinnie’s hand entered your line of vision as he tossed some flour at you.

you gasped loudly as vinnie cackle.

“oh, you bitch!”

vinnie let out a shocked sound as you chased him around the house. the sound of your shared laughter was far too loud for it to only be 8am, but at this point, the noise complaint would be worth it.

#vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker x reader

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stitched-mouth-vs-the-world · 7 months

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Master’s Whore

Pairing: Vincent Phantomhive x Fem! Maid! Reader.

Warning: NSFW, Smut, Master x Servant (possible power dynamic), Cheating, Pet Names, Creampie, Unprotected sex (please wrap it and stay safe everyone!), Intercourse (P in V), Breeding kink?

Summary: Vincent fucks his maid just a room over from his entire family.

Word Count: 806.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 1

A/N:

Welcome to Kinktober! My first fic, posted on time. Let's see if I can keep it up for the rest of the month. Hope you like the first edition to Stitched's first Kinktober!I did try to keep this gender neutral in the beginning, but it's a little hard to with smut so you can see when I stopped trying to be GN and just made the reader female. I suppose you can say the reader's gender is still ambiguous despite their female body (and though Vincent calls them 'Princess').I tried to make a McDonald's joke at the end but I don't think it landed at all (I can't fucking believe I made a McDonald's joke in a smut fic)

If you think this fic is good, just wait for Day 2...

Here is the masterlist for all of my Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—

Your eyes slowly rolled back as the master fucked himself into you.

"Shh, baby, I know you can be quiet..." He whispered into your ear.

You whimpered against your master's hand. It was becoming harder and harder not to scream in ecstasy from his thin fingers and thick cock. Two fingers were pressed against your clit, rubbing in slow sensational motions whilst his dick eased in and out of you at nearly the same pace.

You were trying so hard not make a noise. The consequences of being caught in such a scandalous position with Earl Vincent Phantomhive could be devastating. Not only was Vincent's happy family was at risk, but most importantly your reputation and job was at risk.

Imagine what people would think of you, the Phantomhive mistress whore.

But the thought of the dangerous consequences thrilled the both of you. Made you both all hot and bothered.

"Oh Master!" You moaned out.

Vincent squeezed your jaw tightly, a warning to quiet down.

"Oh princess, you know my family are just outside that door. Are you trying to get us caught?" Vincent tutted.

You whined and lowered your head slightly. You stood facing the door with the Earl right you behind you and inside you, watching and almost daring someone to walk in and catch you in the act.

Vincent suddenly picked up the pace, moving faster in and out of your desperate hole. You placed your hands over Vincent's, the one still squeezing your face, as an attempt to hide your moans and cries better. Vincent groaned behind you, feeling himself grow closer to his climax.

"Oh God, I'm going to fill you up so good my little maid." He huffed into your ear.

"Please Sir!" You cried, the sound muffled behind both your hands and Vincent's over your mouth. You were just as close.

It wasn't long before you and your lover made it to your long needed orgasms. As promised, Vincent spilled his seed far into your awaiting hole. Whilst your cum spilled onto the carpet under you. You'd have fun trying to get that stain out later, seeing as you couldn't possibly leave it for your co workers to deal with.

You sighed and went to stand up straight, but Vincent stopped you with a kind hand on your back.

"Wait Darling, we can't let all this cum go to waste." Vincent chuckled.

He pulled up your panties nice and tight and lovingly tapped your pussy through your panties before letting you stand up and turn to face him.

Vincent tutted again and sighed as you looked down at your cum on the carpet, he was stingy with cum, always insisting both your fluids be properly taken by the other. Vincent liked getting his and yours cum worth. Oh well, he'd just have to make up for it later. He pulled himself back into his trousers and smiled at you while stretching a bit.

He walked over to the door but before opening it, he turned back to you and grinned, "I'll want you again before the day is over, so I'll need you stay later than usual. You don't have a problem with that, do you Princess?"

You stood in front of your master, skirt still pulled up, cum sticking to your thighs and filling your cunt also covering the carpet under you whilst your legs shook. His words had your pussy clenching around nothing, again.

So obviously you smiled and slowly shook you head, "Not at all. Master..."

#stitched #stitched talks #stitched’s kinktober #kinktober 2023 #vincent phantomhive #vincent phantomhive x reader #black butler #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji smut #vincent phantomhive smut #stitched writes

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loveandmurders · 6 months

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You belong to Ambrose I (poly!Sinclairs x f!reader)

Hey everyone, I'm happy to finally post the first part of this imagine.

I really hope you'll enjoy it <3

Warnings: no proof reading, a few strong words, angst, dangerous!Lester, mentions of violence, blood and murders, morally grey reader.

“Hey, mom, what do you think Ambrose looks like now?” you heard yourself asking your mother without even meaning to.

The woman sent you a quick glance before her attention went back on the food she was preparing on the kitchen table.

“Why?” she sternly asked back and you tried to shrug it off, no matter how embarrassed you were starting to feel about the whole conversation you just brought up.

“Don’t know. I’m just planning a road trip with friends and we’ll go close back to where Ambrose is…was. I noticed it wasn’t even marked on maps anymore” you explained and your mother hummed

“Then you got your answer. Ambrose must be gone.” she said “Like the brothers you used to love so much” she replied and sent you another look, as you glanced down at your lap, in shame.

You should have known better than to talk about Ambrose to your mother. The woman had always wanted to pretend it had been a terrible nightmare.

“Mom…” you whispered

“I’ve never understood why you were so fond of them. Your dad either. They were a terrible influence on you. I’m happy you decided to burn the bridges with them and that you never went back to Ambrose. There was nothing for you there. And those people were troublesome and violent and… freaks. You deserved way better than them.” she continued and you resisted the urge to take their defence. They weren’t freaks, they were… a great part of your life and now a great hole inside your chest. “What was their name again?” your mother asked.

“Sinclairs” you instantly replied before biting your tongue

“Ah yes. Well, I’m glad you didn’t become one” she continued and you frowned at that.

“What do you mean, mom?” you wondered with a tilt of your head

“The eldest one, when he came back to Ambrose after his mother died and that he was sent away for a few months, and before his dad died that same day, he looked for you. He knocked at our door. Thank God you were away with your dad then. I told him to go away and he assured me that he would never go away from you, and that you would become his wife one day too.”

“His… wife” you whispered, your heart aching.

Bo was indeed often speaking about marrying you and sharing you with his brothers, but you always thought there were only words; the Sinclairs never really planned out their future. Bo was too obsessed with cars and getting free from his family to care about anything else. Vincent was too focused on his art. Lester was just a lost kid wandering into the woods late at night. You hadn’t thought they were actually seeing you as their future. You always appeased Bo, you always brought Vincent back to reality, you always helped Lester feel like he was part of something.

“To be honest” your mom resumed and your attention went back on her “with the amount of time you were spending with him and his brothers, I was really worried you would agree on doing something that stupid. And even though you left Ambrose heartbroken and sobbing, I’m happy something happened between you, him and his twin, that day. I don’t know what it is, but I knew it convinced you to leave.” she continued and you didn’t answer. The memory of that day was still burning you to the core.

You had been so happy so see Bo and later on, Vincent. You had run into their arms and they had hugged you with fierce love. You were all planning on getting Lester back too.

And then, Bo killed his dad and Vincent told you he was going to continue the House of Wax, the way his mother always did. You knew about the murders, you knew people were beneath the wax, but you never said anything because you loved the boys. And despite how an awful mother Trudy was, she liked you. You were a girl, and she could finally chat around with what looked like a daughter to her. Victor was also a little more careful around you. You were loved by the Sinclairs, and they couldn’t explain it; it just happened.

But their love was dark and violent, and you couldn’t agree to live like that; you couldn’t stay in Ambrose when everything was dying around and you couldn’t live from murders. You promised yourself to never betray your boys, but at the same time, you left with your parents without a goodbye. You knew that if you decided to go see the twins one last time, they would convince you to stay and it couldn’t happen. You never recovered from the fact you didn’t see Lester again before leaving and you hoped Bo had been able to bring him back home. You were certain he did though, because his people were the only thing that mattered to him.

You were about to leave the kitchen when your mother called your name and you turned around, with a raised eyebrow, silently asking her what she wanted.

“Do me a favour and stay away from Ambrose during your little road trip, okay?” she said with a hint of concern in her voice

“You said yourself that there is nothing there anymore anyways” you replied, a little bit surprised by your mother’s attitude

“I know but… I don’t want you to tempt the devil” she replied and you only found yourself nodding.

You wondered if by the devil she meant Bo.

Bo knelt in front of a woman he just killed. She was the last one of the group and he was glad about it because he felt quite tired now. It was too hot today to play hide and seek with assholes. At least, the night was already casting its shadows around Ambrose and bringing with it a little bit of fresh air. Bo looked down at the woman, tilting his head to the side as he watched the pretty necklace she had around her neck. It was slightly covered in blood but he was pretty sure he could wash it without trouble. It looked expensive; he was certain the glitter coming from beneath the blood was a little diamond. He took it off her body without a care and pocketed it before Vincent could use this jewel on his next wax statue.

“Y/N would’ve liked it” Bo hummed to himself before sadly sighting. His throat tightened as always when he was saying your name out loud.

Whenever he was spotting something that reminded him of you, he was always grabbing it and putting it away, in a box filled with gifts for you. He never stopped hoping that one day he would be able to give you this box. You would realise how much you were loved then; but so far it only happened in his dreams. And yet, he was thinking about you everyday of his life and he still believed you would come back home one day. He was certain you were meant to be a Sinclair; even his parents were liking you so it had to mean something. He missed you so much, he missed your laugh and he missed the way you loved his brothers and himself. Ambrose was empty without you. Life had always been shit, but your absence was torture. He had thought that after a few years, the pain would subside, but it really didn’t. It often felt like it was actually growing up inside his chest. You left with a piece of themselves, you left with the only sun and happiness the boys truly felt. He knew his brothers were feeling the same, because everytime they were all eating together at night, the conversation always ended on what you became. And on why you never came back.

They could guess you were disapproving of the killing, but they couldn’t stand the idea that maybe you got scared of them. They couldn’t even say it out loud; you were the only thing they would never have hurt.

Bo sighted again as he grabbed the woman by her ankles and he started to pull her to the house. Vincent came upstairs when he heard a body being dragged on the floor and he helped his twin out. Vincent could tell by the look in Bo’s eyes that he was thinking about you. It was the only moment Bo was utterly silent too, lost in thoughts.

Vincent couldn’t blame him. He had hundreds of books filled with drawings of you. Whenever he thought that he would never hear your voice again, never feel your touch on his skin anymore, Vincent was drawing you. He was certain you existed that way, and he was certain he would never forget about what you looked like, even if he knew your figure and face were carved inside his chest and brain. You used to caress the bad side of his face and to remind him he was handsome, even in front of Trudy or Victor. You had never been afraid to show yourself with “the freak”. And his skin felt so dry and painful now your fingers hadn’t traced it in years.

The twins worked in utter silence and none of them felt hungry that night, so they went to bed earlier than usual. None of them slept actually, simply staring at the ceiling or at the wall, wondering where you were and if you were happy… without them. They wanted you to be happy as much as they wanted you to be miserable without them, because it was their only chance you would one day come back home.

Lester wasn’t better than the twins. And if Bo fucked with some girls, Lester just couldn’t even think about touching someone else than you. It felt wrong to him. He promised you he was yours and only yours after all. He had always enjoyed how a little bit possessive you were with the three of them. Lester wasn’t certain of a lot of things, but he knew he belonged to you. You had always loved them equally, giving them the love they were all craving so much.

You were always in Lester’s mind. He was always hoping to find you among a group of tourists, to be fair. He never stopped looking for you and hoping to see you again. You belonged to them too, so he couldn’t understand how you could live away from them. And he knew that if he ever found you again, he wouldn’t hesitate to lock you up somewhere if it meant keeping you by his side. Forever.

And he was certain that the twins were thinking the same. They lost you once, they wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

But for that… he needed to find you first.

And every morning and every night, he promised himself he would. Out of the three, he was the one who was the most certain he could get you back home, no matter if you wanted it or not. You were his little goddess, so he was certain that at some point you would come close to Ambrose again… and he would stumble upon you… and he would get you home. You would become the divinity of Ambrose once again, and everything would be alright.

One day, luck seemed to be on his side.

The closer you drove to Ambrose, the more you recognised the roads. Your mother’s words never stopped echoing inside your head and at some point, you turned the wheel so you wouldn't get too close to the place. A part of you wanted to drive right back to it; you even felt a little pang when you took the opposite path. You wanted to be back home more than anything, but you were too afraid of what would await you there. You even believed that the twins would be so mad at you, they would kill you and turn you into a wax statue so you couldn’t leave anymore without saying goodbye.

You found a little campsite and you all decided to spend the evening and night there. You forced yourself to focus on your people so you could forget about the Sinclairs. Another part of you was begging you to leave this place and to drive as far as possible away from Ambrose. You had no idea which parts of you were stronger.

You realised you didn’t have enough food for tonight so you and another girl took the car to find a shop nearby. It was late so a lot of them were close and you had to admit, you shivered in fear when your friend showed you the only store open 24/7 in the area. It was very close to Ambrose; little did you know that it was actually the town Lester was living in. You tried to not show anything as you drove to the store. You crossed your fingers to not run into any of the Sinclairs before you thought how stupid this was. The boys wouldn’t be there, and they might even be dead because of their way of life. And you were a lucky girl, something like that couldn’t happen to you.

Even if something inside of you was bubbling in excitement and hope.

As you entered the store, a man was leaving it. He moved to the side to let you come in and as you were about to thank him, your eyes met his and widened.

Lester.

You tried to move past him, hoping he wouldn’t have recognised you or that he would hate you enough to let you go easily. But you were a fool. He instantly grabbed your wrist as he whispered your name, bringing you back to him. He was in trance. He couldn’t believe the day finally came. Your friend frowned, wondering what was going on. She placed an arm around your shoulder to show you support

“Can you let go of her, buddy?” she calmly said and Lester instantly obeyed, not wanting to cause a scene. He put his hands in front of him in defence.

“Sorry. Hi, Y/N, ‘s been a long time” he hummed, looking for your eyes.

“Hi, Les. Sorry, but we’re a bit in a hurry here, we’ll chat another time, hmm?” you said, hoping to get out of this discussion as fast as possible. Goosebumps littered his skin at the sound of your voice calling him by his nickname.

You were surprised when Lester simply smiled and nodded. You noticed his grin didn’t reach his eyes though and you suppressed a shiver. You knew you were in trouble, especially with him letting you go so easily. Even more when he cheerfully said as you turned your back to him “See you soon, darl”

Lester settled in his truck and waited for you and your friend to get out of the store. He dialled his big brother’s number with a light in his eyes. It was the first time in so long he felt like he was finally alive. He was certain things were finally going to be good.

“‘S up, Les?” Bo hummed at the other side of the line, always answering his phone very fast whenever his brothers needed him

“She’s here.” Lester simply said because he was too happy and excited to say anything else.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout, kid?” Bo asked, not wanting to get some false hope.

“Y/N. She’s at the store. She’s with a friend. Gonna follow them, I’ll send ya their location… And we’ll bring her home tonight”

It was a promise.

And a threat.

Taglist : @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21

PART II

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unreliablesnake · 1 year

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Territorial (Vincent de Gramont x reader)

Summary: You meet your old high school crush and can't help but tell Vincent about it. But he's certainly not happy to hear this story.

Note: Takes place after my other Vincent fics, but you don't need to read them. / I wrote it in like an hour with breaks and it shows. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.

Warnings: smut (fingering) so MINORS DNI!!!

“Imagine my surprise when I found out it was him! He changed so much throughout the years. He was never the type to wear suits.”

You were laughing, excited that someone from your years in high school showed up in your life again. It was a nice surprise; you used to be on good terms with him, maybe even had a crush that stayed with you in the back of your mind. And now you were working in the same office building, so the two of you were already making plans to have lunch together in the following days.

“He’s been working there for almost as long as I do. How is it that we haven’t met yet? What are the chances?” you asked your boyfriend before taking another bite of your dinner.

But Vincent remained silent, his jaw tightening as you kept talking about your old friend. It took you some minutes to finally realize he didn’t want to hear about any of this. You shut your mouth the moment it dawned on you, and bit on your lower lip as you looked down at your plate guiltily, as if you had done something wrong.

“Are you done?” he asked with a frown, and after a few moments of thinking, you nodded. “I haven’t seen you this excited about a friend before, love. Or was he more than just a friend? Do I have a reason to worry?”

You gulped loudly upon hearing his question. He could see right through you as always, he knew about your crush without you saying anything about it. Too bad that to him it didn’t matter if you still had any feelings for that guy or not. You once had and that was enough for him to get mad at you.

Because he was mad, you knew that. It wasn’t jealousy, it was pure anger that he felt times like this. Every time a guy looked at you the wrong way, every time you dared to be nice to another man, Vincent got angry and took it out on you.

Of course, he would never hit you. Sure, he would spank you, maybe even choke you a little, but all of this would happen in the safety of your bedroom. He would never seriously think about hurting you, he loved you too much for that.

Or so you thought.

Now there was a glint in his green eyes, something you had never seen before. It was pure rage, fueled by your story about this old flame. “He’s just a friend, I promise,” you tried weakly, but despite being sure you loved only him, your thin voice made even you question if it was true.

He suddenly put down his fork and knife, took a sip of his wine–his eyes never leaving yours–then stood up and extended his hand to help you up. With your legs already shaking, you took his hand and stood up as well. For the first time in a while, you had absolutely no idea what he was about to do. Was it really that bad that you were so excited about meeting an old friend?

His fingers wrapped around yours tightly enough to make you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying out loud. You followed him across the rooms obediently, not asking him what he was planning to do now.

Once you stepped inside the bedroom, he slammed in the door and pulled you into a hungry, demanding kiss. You tried to push him away a little to breathe, but he only put his hand on the base of your skull and pulled you even closer. This was a first; he had never been this aggressive before, but now he seemed desperate to show you who you belonged to.

His hands were quick to remove your clothes when he finally let you breathe, fingers exploring every single curve of your body as if he had never seen you naked before. Then they moved between your legs, expert fingers slipping between your folds which drew a pathetic moan out of you, making you weak in the knees.

“Who do you belong to, hm?” he asked you before kissing you again. “Tell me, love, do you remember where you belong?”

“I belong to you,” you replied weakly as you put your hands on his chest to steady yourself. His fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot, and it was hard to keep yourself together by now. “I’m so sorry,” you added.

While his fingers were pumping at a steady pace, chasing you towards your first high, Vincent looked you in the eye and tilted his head to the side a little. “Good girl. Never forget this,” he warned you darkly.

Your first orgasm made you collapse into his arms, but he didn't seem to mind, it only made him more determined to overstimulate you. By now you knew what this was all about. He wanted to mark his territory, showing you how good he was for you, how perfectly you fit together.

Jealous Vincent wasn't new. He was rough and focused on his own needs, using you as a simple fleshlight. But territorial Vincent was someone you hadn't met before. He wasn't controlled by his anger; he was driven by something else, as if he was desperately trying to prove to you that he was the only one who had a place in your heart.

It wasn't unusual for him to focus on your needs, but this was different. You couldn't quite put a finger on what the difference was, but you could feel it in your bones that something wasn't the same.

He kept calling you a good girl, telling you how badly he needed you, how you belonged to him, and how the two of you were brought together by fate. He was almost too sentimental, something he barely was with you. If you didn't know any better, you would have assumed he was worried about losing you.

“What's wrong?” you asked when you were lying in bed with you resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him.

But he remained silent, the only reaction was the way his grip on your hip tightened. Just when you were about to give up, he suddenly spoke up. “I want you to keep your distance with him. Lunches on weekdays are okay, but I don't want you to meet outside of that building. Can you promise me that?”

You thought about it, but it was a fair request. So you nodded, agreeing while also hoping for a change of his heart in the future. If that was enough to make him feel better, you were willing to do it for now. After all, you didn't want to ruin your engagement so soon.

#vincent de gramont x reader #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #vincent de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont #john wick #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #i actually had a guy from high school working on the same building like eight out nine years ago #we met on the tram by total accident like three times in row and it turned out he worked on the floor below is for almost as long as i did #we didn't keep in touch though

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desmorotu · 2 months

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more redacted headcanons!!!

some might be angsty? most of them?

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

- i saw a hc where milo isn’t necessarily short, but the other guys are just unbelievably tall. in my head milo is 5’11, ash is 6’5, and david is 6’9. tank is the only one who looks deceiving bc they’re like 5’10 in my head but their wolf is as big as david’s. ppl from the outside make the joke that shaw security is secretly a tall person club

- guy was a music major before he switched to writing. i mentioned it in his playlist post but i get those vibes HARD. he also writes honey poetry because he knows they secretly like it

- i like the idea that darlin and angel came from a rough family upbringing because 1. it’s relatable to a lot of ppl and 2. it would explain why tank shoves themselves into harms way and why angel is so outgoing now. it shows different responses to trauma imo.

- babe sometimes has crippling panic attacks on the thought of angel being a latent empowered and leaving them alone as the unempowered person of the group, but in my mind babe is the latent one and they’re a fire elemental.

- sweetheart feels guilty sometimes for being empowered while the other mates aren’t. they know it has absolutely nothing to do with them and that they can’t do anything about it, but sometimes they feel a pang in their heart at the fact that the other two won’t feel their core swell and warm up when looking at their mates.

- starlight has night terrors about the time they fell down—both times. they also think about when avior fell and they can’t help but intrusively picture what he looked like when he finally landed. it makes them physically ill. avior has to be extra careful when talking back about their experiences sometimes.

- lovely is still goes to therapy every week to work through the trauma of adam, dying, and now they’ve added the summit on top of that. they’re withering away into a husk of themselves. they’re so exhausted with dealing with all of this pressure, but they’d do anything for vincent (and i think that’s going to be their downfall).

- gavin has been brought to tears on multiple occasions at the thought that freelancer loves him for him and not just because he’s an incubus. he’s had to muffle his sobs because he genuinely does not know how he deserved someone so loving. he hasn’t brought it up to them yet.

- i think that freelancer is on the ace spectrum (greysexual maybe?) and that gavin was the only person they’ve ever really had sex with, or wanted to have sex with. they trusted him enough to “show them the ropes” and he built their confidence to where it is now. gavin helped build their relationship with sex and while they’re still on the spectrum, they’re more positive about it and they enjoy that kind of intimacy with him.

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

that’s all that i can squeeze out of my brain rn >:( i haven’t been on tumblr that much and UGH it’s just bc my real life is more interesting than my redacted life (which is a very good thing, but still it makes me sad) and i have no motivation to post 💔 but here are some hcs that have been on my mind lately :3 i hope they make sense

k byeee 💟

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decaying-church · 9 months

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Slasher Nsfw Headcanons

(a/n: pretend I've been posting constantly this year :))

Pairing : Herbert West x male!reader, Vincent Sinclair x male!reader

Requested by @unspeakableoftheoscarwildesorr : Will you do a nsfw headcannons with vincent sinclaire and herbert west? It’s alright if you don’t want to. Please have a good day :))

Warning: bottom!slashers, top!reader, hair pulling, public play, Vincent's conservative upbringing, Vincent writes smut for you, bondage, mentions of chemical burns, getting caught multiple times (slight exhibitionist Herbert) sorry dan, breeding, aftercare

Characters: Herbert West, Vincent Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

He likes it when you watch him work, hovering over his shoulder, sometimes leaning on the table next to him. It makes him nervous, his hands fumbling a bit. If you tell him he was doing good and his brain would shut off.

He loves it when you praise him.

He also likes it when you run your hand over his back, whether you're giving him a massage or just feeling clingy he won't be able to focus on anything but you touching him.

Definitely a virgin when you met, but he knows about the general action of sex. Like the thing goes in the thing and then a baby comes out.

An utterly submissive bottom.

Before you met he figured that if he ever did end up having sex then he’d be the one doing all the work, as men do. (mmmh, conservative, yee-haw upbringing)

But then he met you, and he loved you, and you were both men, so his picture of what sex should be was completely shattered.

If you're generally smaller than him, he’ll try and be dominant. It won't work, the second you flirt with him or make a suggestive comment he goes weak in the knees.

He will make a single attempt at being on top before metaphorically throwing his hands up and going “well I tried”.

If your bigger, there is no attempt, there isn't even a thought of dominance, you were bigger- stronger, therefore you could do whatever you wanted to him and he would not complain (he will never tell you this because he knows you’d tell him otherwise but it honestly added an extra layer of excitement to everything)

The town is pretty empty so the two of you could essentially fuck anywhere.

You once joked about fucking in the middle of the road- and even though you were just joking, the thought of you holding him down on the old road, in front of all those houses, fucking him without a hint of modesty or secrecy genuinely plagued his dreams for several nights.

In reality, you’ve fucked in the gas station, in the movie theater, in the church, and in (or in more risky cases, against) the various houses around town.

Personally, I believe Vincent can talk, he’s just severely traumatized and doesn’t do it often, most days he communicates though groans, gestures, and forms of writing or drawing.

So, sometimes, when he wants you to try someone very specific with him, something too specific for him to say out loud, partially because of humiliation, but also because speaking was difficult for him, he will write it.

And not simple sentences either, he will go on and on about what he wants you to do to him, he’ll draw pictures, he’ll rant on for pages and pages.

The first time he did this you nearly read it out loud, you got about half a sentence in before realizing that no one else (especially Lester, who was just in the next room) needed to hear what he’d written for you.

Of course, with a set of quite specific instructions, you were able to make his every fantasy come true.

Vincent can genuinely go forever, round after round after round.

After years of being a recluse, he has a limit for how long he can go without some kind of stimulation.

Really, finally having someone who wants him and loves him above everybody else makes it a bit harder to continue the streak of celibacy he had before.

He can go about two weeks before he starts outright begging you to fuck him. Again, in great detail.

He doesn't have any prior experience so you'll have to teach him quite a few things.

The first time he asked you to tie him up he brought you some old ratty rope that would have torn his skin the moment things got too intense.

You have to ride out of tow a couple of times for supplies.

He is heartbroken every single time you leave, he always half expects you to just keep driving and never come back.

You always come back, much to Bo’s, who has to put up with Vincent being agiant baby whenever you leave, relief.

(if you ever actually leave Vincent, Bo will hunt you down. Despite everything he does love his brother)

He has a pretty average set of kinks, he likes being praised, tied up, and fucked within an inch of consciousness. He like it when you pull his hair and call him pretty, he likes getting fucked in places he shouldn’t, and he likes it when you leave marks on him.

Aftercare fiend, he’s not a pillow princess but you’d think he was with the way that he’d just lay there, fully fucked out, waiting for you to take care of him.

If you’re someplace where you can’t fully take care of him, (I.e. any other place you’ve fucked outside of your bedroom) he will become extremely flustered. Because that means he has to travel however far away you are from your bedroom in this state. And you could be several houses away or just a couple rooms away but he doesn’t consider either to be more or less embarrassing.

The state he’s in could varies depending on what you did, he could just have ruffled hair and messy clothes, or he could be walking around with a limp with every inch of visible skin covered in bruises.

Herbert West

A very busy man that doesn't like being interrupted while working.

That being said, he will sit on your cock while he's working.

He’ll tease you, act like he’s ready to get his back blown out against his desk, only for him to keep you inside while he works, shifting every so often, fully ignoring how hard he was in favor of chemicals and mildly unethical plans.

You might be able to fully pull him away from work if you give him an explicit rundown of all of the things you were going to do to him.

It'll distract him to the point that he just gives up, grabbing you by the shirt and pulling you in for a kiss.

Most of your “interactions” in his lab were just the two of you humping like animals on the nearest flat surface, which could be anything, a desk, the floor, the wall.

The two of you had so many chemical burns that could have been avoided simply by moving to his bedroom, you think the two off you would learn your lesson after the first time- you didn’t.

Herbert did not care what Dan heard or saw.

This was his house too after all. He could fuck wherever he wanted.

You’ve be caught by Dan an embarrassing amount of times.

Herbert from time to time will treat you like an experiment.

Don’t be surprised if he strips you down and asks to run some “test”

Herbert really, really likes oral.

He loves it when you guide him, one hand in his hair, slowly pulling him back and forth on your cock.

He is not immune to pet names.

Honey, baby, sweetheart, darling. The list goes on.

While he certainly likes those names, nothing captures his attention quite like you calling him “doctor”

This would be extremely inconvenience if you also worked at the hospital (the number of quickies had in closets/labs/bathrooms is downright disposable)

If you don't, you do it purely to tease him.

Leaning in close, telling him all the disgusting things you want to do to him, then just, “come on, Doctor West, don't you think you deserve a break?”

Herbert is definitely a switch with a preference for power bottoming.

He's in control while also getting fucked sideways, it's perfect for him.

When he is feeling fully submissive he will beg you to breed him.

He knows he can't necessarily be bred, but he likes the feeling of you cumming in him over and over.

Every position he likes, he likes for a very specific reason.

He likes missionary because he can leave marks all over your back, he likes being bent over the table so he has something to rest against when his legs inevitably gave out, he liked getting fucked on the wall because he liked how frantic and desperate it felt.

He will not flirt or try and sugarcoat what he wants, he doesn't care who hears, if he wants you to fuck him, he's going to tell you.

Herbert says he doesn’t like slow sex, but there’s been a couple of times when he hits a road block with his research and he’s frustrated and overwhelmed by everything and everyone and he just wants you to make it better.

You can’t necessarily help with the research but you could help him relax.

The way he reacts to aftercare changes drastically throughout your relationship.

When you first got together, he didn’t want you near him, don’t touch him, don’t talk to him, don’t look at him. Even though his legs were shaking violently and his body felt like it was on fire he insisted that he could handle everything himself.

There was somehow always water and food for him though, he figured it was a coincidence (leave him alone, his brain isn’t working at full capacity at the moment)

Further into you’re relationship he will definitely still be a brat about it, but less so. He’ll let you clean him, feed him, praise him. And on some of the more intense days, you’re gonna be carrying him around like a princess.

He “hates it”, but the moment you try and leave him to fend for himself, he gets even more irritated.

If it’s one of those days where you’re both bone tired afterwards then he’ll let you cuddle with him, he won’t initiate it, but he’ll enjoy it .

Kinktober 2023

#vincent sinclair x male!reader #vincent sinclair x male reader #vincent sinclair x reader #herbert west x male!reader #herbert west x male reader #herbert west x reader #male reader #x male reader #male!reader #x male!reader #dom male reader #dom!male!reader #top male reader #top!male!reader #top!reader #dom!reader

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not-neverland06 · 3 months

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One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps.

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you.

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting.

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house.

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety.

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you.

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs.

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom.

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it.

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come.

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time.

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor.

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table.

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with.

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys.

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants.

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo.

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up.

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for.

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely.

Alright, you’ll take that.

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go.

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours.

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody.

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow.

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others.

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works.

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls.

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you.

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about.

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them.

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out.

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it.

Your one act of rebellion.

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like.

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this.

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming.

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out.

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful.

Or she would.

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her.

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something.

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood.

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly.

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound.

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand.

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken.

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this.

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life.

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them.

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms.

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten.

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move.

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself.

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could.

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it.

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this.

You could hardly believe it yourself.

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down.

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past.

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day.

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down.

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag.

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser.

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it.

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable.

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them.

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing.

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence.

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body.

Maybe he had won.

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you.

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted.

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too.

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it.

#bo sinclair x reader #Slashers x reader #house of wax x reader #house of wax 2005 #Slasher x reader #slashers x y/n #Slashers x you #bo Sinclair x you #bo Sinclair x y/n

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callme-darling · 3 months

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I just need to be Vincent's little secretary 😍 running some errands, bringing him his coffee, or some lunch when he's too busy to remember that he has to eat... Wear tiny skirts and low cut shirts just to tease him, among other services 😊

anon, darling beloved anon, i adore you for this. this genuinely made me come up w like 3 oneshots/headcanons for being his secretary, so expect the rest to be posted sometime🤭

the little secretary

word count: ~550

warnings: fem reader, workplace flirting, implied age gap, nothing explicit (yet, heheh)

a/n: this was so much fun, i LOVE this concept

vincent works so hard, so it’s only natural that his secretary works as hard (if not harder). that very concept is the reason the last lady quit. but then came you—young, enthusiastic, and oh so pretty. vincent almost thought his coworker was playing a joke on him when you were introduced as his new personal assistant.

the tasks themselves usually weren’t too laborious. mostly a lot of organizing, filing, and administrative duties vincent didn’t have the time or energy to be bothered with. and you always completed them with a small smile and quiet “yes, sir”, something that never failed to get your supervisor’s eyes to linger on you for a thoughtful moment before he’d turn back to his desk to resume his own work.

and how, even in the coldest of winter, you’d still shuffle into the office in those tight little skirts of yours that should be a workplace violation, but no one says a word. vincent knows it’s technically his responsibility to reprimand you, but any thought of doing so disappears as soon as he sees you walk into his office, sheer black tights a poor attempt to cover what the skirts don’t. and, god, the heels. usually black or a muted red. he felt no better than pavlov’s dog when he’d hear the distinct, faint clacking come down the hallway, on alert and ready.

after a month or so, you became more comfortable and began to take genuine enjoyment in your eagerness to be of use. it started with a casual coffee offered from your hand every morning—black, one sugar—just the way he liked it. he’d always thank you with a small smile and nod, his fingers ghosting over yours for a moment before taking the cup.

then it developed to you wordlessly dropping off lunch from a restaurant downtown when you noticed his shoulders get tense with stress. occasionally you’d leave a handwritten note atop the parcel for him to find when he comes back from a meeting. ‘brb—went to the downtown office to drop off the files you approved. don’t forget to take a break.’ he’d never admit it aloud, but it was those kind acts of service that made his heart beat the quickest.

but while you were sickeningly sweet most days, you could also be painfully teasing the next. you’d get your nails done, a simple french manicure that he never failed to notice when you handed him a folder. and then his eyes would inevitably trail up your arm, only to see you’re wearing a new blouse. a new, and rather revealing blouse at that. he’d look away quickly, clear his throat, and nod that you were good to go back to whatever task he called you away from.

now vincent isn’t a dumb man, quite the contrary. he’d never admit out loud, but he knew the game you were playing. knew that you were strategic in how you toyed with him—giving just enough that, to the untrained eye, your little smiles and the pretty batting of your eyelashes were simply mannerisms of politeness. vincent, however, was quicker than most to catch on. you’re just in luck; he has his own games he likes to play too.

#ꕤ ₊˚✧ mailbox .#swann arlaud #anatomy of a fall #vincent renzi #anatomie d'une chute #anatomy of a fall vincent

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