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die-die-mydarling-xx · 1 year

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Run Rabbit

Pairing: Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader

NSFW

Themes: Predator/prey, some fear play, some dom/sub

I probably should have let this sit a bit longer so I could proof-read/edit, but I was too excited to post it! Feel free to comment any advice/mistakes and I will probably edit at a later date.

Your heart raced as you ran through the rooms of the house of wax, dodging the wax figures and various other decorations as you went. You could hear the heavy footfalls of your pursuer, but they seemed to be getting fainter behind you. Out of breath, you ducked behind the old piano in the next room you turned into, feeling safe enough to rest for a few moments as the footsteps that followed you were barely audible. You tried to catch your breath as you crouched in the shadows. Despite being mostly hidden, it was hard to will yourself to stay there; the adrenaline flooding your veins made you want to continue running. You realized suddenly that you could no longer hear the movements of your pursuer. Holding your breath, you carefully listened for any indication of his whereabouts. The sudden, sharp rap of a boot on the wooden floor almost made you cry out. The sound had come from just beyond the doorway to the adjacent room. You wasted no time in scrambling to your feet and out from behind the piano, and just in time because as you did so the figure of a tall man emerged from the doorway. Your heart leapt into your throat as he lunged for you, just barely missing you. You could feel the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

You continued running, and the steady sound of heavy footsteps resumed behind you. There was something about the way he chased you, never quite running, but keeping a swift, certain pace. Like he knew he wouldn’t have to work too hard to catch you. The thought sent something of a jolt through you, equal parts fear and excitement. You knew you wouldn’t be able to run for much longer, but you felt a little thrill at the thought of the chase finally ending.

Seeing the door to the basement ahead of you, you made a beeline for it. It opened easily, and the hot air from the workshop below washed over you. You quickly stepped onto the stairs and closed the door behind you. It wouldn’t slow him down much, but you were still committed to prolonging the pursuit even that little bit. Even as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you could hear those confident footfalls starting down after you. Running through the basement, the heat from the fires caused sweat to run down your back, and you could feel yourself beginning to slow. Faster than you expected, you reached a dead end. You quickly turned to run back the way you’d come. He was already there, swiftly moving in to corner you. You tried to duck under his outstretched arms, but this time he was expecting the move and grabbed hold of you. You barely had time to cry out before you were held firmly to his chest, one hand moving to cover your mouth.

You squirmed in his grasp, a futile attempt to free yourself from the tight hold he had on you. Your heart pounded in your chest as he tightened his grip on you slightly. A shiver went down your spine as you felt his hot breath on your ear, and you grasped his wrist as you again tried to twist your way out of his arms. With a low grunt, he twisted you around and slammed you down onto a nearby work table. The surprise of the impact gave him a moment to pull two wicked-looking daggers from a pocket, holding them up for a second so they flashed in the dancing firelight. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the sharp blades, although you knew he wouldn’t hurt you with them. You felt your heart skip a beat as he slammed them into the table on either side of you. It took you a moment to realize you were unscathed, as you heard the material of your shirt rip as the blades pierced it. Instinctively, you reached down to insure that you were unhurt. A large hand stopped you, quickly pushing your hands over your head and holding them there by your wrists. A soft gasp left you at the move.

Vincent was usually so gentle during your intimate moments, often checking in with you and letting you take the lead on many things. You loved that side of him, seeing how he looked at you so tenderly, and how he touched you like he was worried you’d break under his hands. But there was a few times you’d seen him going after victims, and it put some thoughts in your head . . . Seeing how he was so unrestrained, and how easily he could throw most of them around. When you first brought the idea up to him, he’d been a little hesitant. He didn’t want to treat you like he would one of his victims, and he was worried about being too rough with you. But after you’d spent some time easing him into it, you could tell he began to really get into it as well.

It was almost a complete shift in his personality, the way he would manhandle you during these moments. The ease with which he held you down only served to amplify the desire you felt burning in your stomach. With his free hand, he made quick work of your pants, throwing them to the floor. He took a few moments to take in your appearance, flushed from both exertion and excitement, and now partially nude on the table before him. He tilted his head as he regarded you, and you squirmed slightly under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Unzipping his own pants, he pulled out his sizable cock, already hard and dripping pre-cum from the tip. It was clear the chase had excited him as much as it had you. A surprised yelp left you as Vincent grabbed your thighs and pulled you down the table towards him, lining his cock up with your entrance. Usually he would take the time to prepare you, and make sure you were ready to take him, but it was clear he wasn’t going to do that this time around. You let out a moan as he roughly pushed himself into you, feeling yourself stretch around his girth. It burned a little, but the mild pain only added to the pleasure you felt as he entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting into you, setting a fast pace that had his hips snapping against you. As you felt each stroke hit deep inside you, he reached up to hold your hands above your head again.

You loved the feeling of him holding you down or against him as he fucked you. The feeling of being so helpless underneath him made your knees go weak, and you could tell over time that he’d grown to love showing off his strength with you. You let out a choked moan as he hit a spot inside you that made you see stars, and he made a noise like a growl as he roughly fucked into you. You arched your back up into him as he hit that spot consistently, unable to hold back on whimpers and groans of pleasure. The way he just held you there, thrusting into you so roughly . . . like you were just a toy he was using for his own pleasure. You must have clenched around him at the thought, because a second later he groaned into your neck. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, but he kept up the same hard pace as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Suddenly, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. You could feel the warm spurt inside you as he came, and the feeling sent you over the edge with a cry. He thrust into you a few more times, but they were gentler, almost lazy as he spilled the rest of his cum inside you.

A few seconds later, he released your wrists. You could feel the ache where he’d been holding them, and you knew you’d most likely have bruises later. He moved his hands to gently cup your face, looking into your eyes with a slight worry. You smiled at him to let him know he hadn’t hurt you too badly, still feeling blissed out in the aftermath of your climax. You pulled him in for a kiss, and you could feel his relieved smile against your lips.

“Let’s go get cleaned up . . . and I reckon I’m gonna need a new shirt.”

#house of wax #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair imagine #house of wax imagine #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair x you #slashers x reader #slashers #vincent sinclair fanfiction #Vincent Sinclair nsft #vincent sinclair smut #house of wax smut #house of wax nsft

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adalwolfgang · 9 months

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Hi! Can I ask for Sinclair brothers and RZ Michael Myers with yandere!reader?

Slashers with a Yandere!Reader

Warnings: Nsfw mentioned on Bo's part, Yandere themes? That's all I can really think to add.

A/n: I am so sorry for answering so late. Lately, I have been caught up in things and have lost motivation to write (apart from the time Im writing this) so that is why my Inbox/requests are closed but I'm trying to respond to requests that have been sitting in my inbox for awhile.

Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner(s)!

Beaugard (Bo) Sinclair 7.8/10

It really comes down to how and what you do honestly. He loves your devotion and loyalty to him. It feeds into his God complex. Other days, it pisses him off or annoys him to no end.

He doesnt mind unless it get's into the way of luring in victims or just overall bugs him. This leads to arguments that will either end in each party storming off or makeup sex.

Lester Sinclair 8.3/10

Emotionally and Physically starved. Like starved. dude never got as much attention as Bo and Vincent got as kids. I mean, did we ever get to see baby photos of Lester? No.

He enjoys all of the 5 love languages you provide. Sometimes he might want to go on a little ride in his truck, it being just him and Jonesy, but he overall doesnt mind if you come along. He enjoys the company of getting to talk to another, breathing human. Not just Jonesy or a wax statue.

Vincent Sinclair 8/10

He loves the praise. Especially when it comes to his face. You always constantly reassuring him and showing affection makes him smile so much it hurts. He doesn't really care what or how you act around him or tourists. As long as you don't come between him and his work, he will allow it.

He enjoys being able to take his mask off and instantly get praised for it as if he just completed a huge achievement. Since he's mostly always in the basement of the wax museum, having you around is pleasant to him. He'll listen to you ramble about anything and everything while he works, his face turning warm when you pause between words to compliment him or his work.

RZ!Michael Myers 5/10

He's worse than Bo. He likes to test you. Seeing how far you'll actually go for him. Michael pushes your button's, wanting to see if you have the guts to kill for him. Not believing you're worthy enough for him. You think saying a heartful declaration of love will sway his heart? Not even a little.

You have to be persistent, but not to the point of becoming an annoyance or a bother. He likes to kill alone. But once he comes back to where ever it is you both stay, he won't mind being greeted and getting some affections.

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aalyssah · 9 months

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New Discovery

Pairing: Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut. Nothing crazy.

Word Count: 1,180

Summary: You discover that you have a wax kink after an accidental spill during sexy time with Vincent.

A/N: I didn’t put an actual wax play, but I made it known. Hope You Enjoy!

It was a normal hot day in Ambrose and what's better than fresh ice cold lemonade?

You poured lemonade in three glasses cups and put the lemonade back in the fridge. You walked to the living room where Lester sat on the couch playing a video game.

"Hey Lest, I made you some lemonade." Lester paused his game and turned to you with a smile. "Oh thank god! When I tell you it's hot, I mean it!" Lester took a glass from your hand and gulped it down without second thought.

He hummed at the taste and reached his hand out for another glass, but you pulled back. "No, this is Bo and Vinny's." Lester had a pout form on his face. "Forget them, please let me just have a sip. They won't find out." You shook your head, standing up. "Nope, I don't need Bo yelling at me." Lester let you go and continued to play his game.

You walked to the garage to see Bo cleaning his tools. "Hey Bo, I made some lemonade." You held the glass out for him to take, which he took gratefully. "Mmm, it's so hot out there." You nodded your head.

"I know, I don't know how you do it trapped in that jumpsuit and hat. Just working here could give me a heatstroke." You and Bo shared a laugh before letting you go to Vincent.

You opened the basement door and walked down the creaky steps. "Vinny, baby, I got lemonade!" You walked up to him just in time to see him scurrying to put his mask on. "Awe baby, don't hide from me. It's just me and you." Vincent didn't listen, still putting mask on. He picked up the lemonade and took sips.

He let your hand run through his hair as he drank the drink. "Good, right?" Vincent nodded his head, finishing the cup. He fanned himself from the hot air. You bit your lip, eyeing him up and down.

"Vinny, you look so good today." Vincent turned around to look at you suspiciously. "What? Can't I compliment my man?" Vinny gave you one last look and shook his head and continued with his wax.

A pout formed on your lips as he turned away from you. "Vinny please, let's just have a quickie." You rubbed up his arms, but he gently pushed you off. "Please Vince, for me? I'll be extra quiet." Vincent let out a huff of somewhat defeat.

He pushed his work to the side and patted the table. You happily jumped up with a smile. "I promise I'll be quiet and quick." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you. You placed small kisses on his mask, in hopes to get him to take it off.

He took your shirt and bra off, and lifted his mask. You cheered slightly. "There's my handsome boy." A blush formed on his cheeks, but he hid it by putting his face in your breast, licking and sucking at your nipples. His tongue ran over your sensitive peak while his other hand massaged and fumbled with the other.

His teeth nibbled from time to time, a small high pitch moan falling from your lips. Your hand was in his hair, scratching at his scalp. While he played with your breast, you took a moment to tap at his shirt. "Come on, get undressed before someone comes down."

Vincent complied, stripping from his shirt and pants while you got out of your pants. You both stood there naked, staring at each other. "You look so beautiful, baby." You slowly jerked him off, watching as his body jumped.

He was already semi hard just from fondling with your breast. "Big dick Vinny." You chuckled at the nickname, and guided his cock to your wet entrance, rubbing it up and down your slit. Vincent jerked his hips, trying to catch it in time to slip inside you. His tip was glistening from your juices.

After a couple of seconds of agonizing teasing you finally push him in, both of you sighing of relief in sync. It felt good for him to be inside you. It's very rare for you and him to get some 'intimate' time together.

With people coming every month to visit the town, go on vacations, and Vincent making the wax figure, there's no time to be alone.

He began slowly, thrusting his hips in yours, breathy moans coming from you. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper in you. "God Vincent!" Your head drew back, letting moans out, allowing Vincent to kiss and suck on your neck.

His hips thrusted at a comfortable pace, not too slow, nor fast. You put your hands on his butt, squeezing at his cheeks. “Come on, baby, faster, harder.” Vincent bit his lip at your determination for him to fuck you harder. He paused for a minute to grab your legs and put them over his shoulder.

He began thrusting harder and faster, reaching deeper than ever. The clapping noises were just as loud as the wet noise coming from your cunt. “Oh, fuck, holy shit!” Your head was about to fall back on the hard wood table, but Vincent wrapped his right hand around your neck, pulling you closer to him.

He harshly kissed you, forcing you to be quiet. His balls slapped against your ass, the smacking noise evident to what was happening in the basement. You were squirming under his hold so much from relentless pounding, you accidentally knocked into his wax melter.

The wax melter fell over, the wax spilling and hitting your arm and stomach. You screamed/moaned at the pain of the hot wax burning your skin. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and Vincent swore you got tighter.

He was ready to stop and get the wax, but you stopped him with your words. “Oh god, I’m- I’m cumming!” You clenched down on him, showing you were close. Vincent was confused as to why the wax made you more aroused, so he dipped his finger in the hot wax and poked your body.

“Vincent!”

You came, squeezing around him the tightest you’ve ever had in your life. Vincent let out a groggy groan, tensing up as he came. His cum shot into you, his body falling limp above yours. You were both breathing heavy, resting after the tired fucking.

You both didn’t have time to relax when a loud banging noise was heard at the door. “Hey, y’all need to be more quiet down there! You woke me up from my nap!” You heard Lester complain with a tired voice, before Bo took his turn.

“Yeah, stop fucking like wild rabbits and shut up!” Their footsteps walked away from the door and when you turned to look at Vincent you saw a deep red blush in his cheeks.

Not only did you have a new discovery on a kink, but you also discovered you're not as quiet as you think you are.

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair smut #vincent sinclair fluff #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair fanfiction #house of wax vincent #slasher smut #house of wax

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visceravalentines · 2 years

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I wish you would write a fic where….

Sinclair bros. gang bang tbh

Alright Nonnie, here we are. I've been wanting to write something like this for a while but the maximum number of people I've ever had sex with at the same time is one (1) so it was kind of daunting to tackle three at once (heh). It got away from me a little bit on the buildup but I hope you like it! Happy to write more like this in the future so if you want me to give it another shot, lmk.

The Sundress

Poly!Sinclairs x Hinge!AFAB!Reader

Smut, group sex, oral, voyeurism, praise kink/dirty talk, no pronouns used but reader wears a sundress, gets called "doll" and "pretty"

This morning you decided to wear a very particular sundress.

You found it at a thrift store on a solo venture into town. It was cute, had a tiny floral print and ruffles on the straps. It wasn’t completely your style, but there was just something about it. It fit your frame perfectly and at the same time, it was both scandalously short and devastatingly low-cut. You wondered if it was too much as you gave the skirt a little twirl in the dressing room mirror. There was a time when you wouldn’t dare wear something like that out of the house for fear of the attention it would attract.

Now, however, the only attention that existed in Ambrose was much more than welcome.

You went ahead and bought it. The thought of each of your boys’ reactions made you giddy and a little smug. You hung it in your closet and waited for the right day to come along to bring it out: a day when you felt especially sexy and particularly devious. A day when things had finally calmed down after a long and busy week in which you all barely saw each other and most definitely had not spent any quality time together.

That morning, you took a few extra minutes getting ready. The stars had aligned for your little plan. Your hair was gorgeous. Your skin was glowing. You looked like a snack and felt like one too. You practically pranced down the stairs despite admonishing yourself to play it cool.

Bo and Vince were at the breakfast table, enjoying a leisurely morning after the hectic week. Bo had his nose deep in a Clive Barker novel, absently sipping his coffee. Vincent was chewing on toast and sketching.

“Good morning,” you say cheerfully, pulling open the fridge and leaning forward just a little to see if there was any orange juice left.

You hear Vincent stop chewing. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you watch him hit Bo in the arm, his eye glued to you.

“What the hell d’you – oh my.” Bo’s eyebrows shoot up and he immediately places his book facedown on the table. “Well good mornin’ to you, doll.”

You flash them a sugary smile as you pour yourself the dregs of the juice. Vinny’s eye is wide as a saucer. Bo is actually licking his lips. “Did you guys sleep well?”

“Sure did,” Bo says. “What d’you have planned for today? Anything…in particular?”

You perch on the edge of the table, skirt sliding up beneath your ass just a little bit. “It’s supposed to be real hot today, so I figured I’d go through and water all the flowers one more time.”

Vincent is scribbling absently back and forth over his half-finished sketch. “Good plan,” he signs. “Need any help?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright. I can manage a hose, you know.”

“Yeah I bet you can,” Bo murmurs.

You smile at him. “What do you have on the list today?”

Bo talks and Vinny signs at the same time.

“Nothin’ much – ”

“Basically nothing – ”

“ – just gonna clean up around the station a little – ”

“ – probably going to do some inventory of art supplies, super boring – ”

“ – definitely gonna be, y’know, a little bit lonely….”

“ – could use some company for sure….”

A giggle almost escapes your lips. “Well, maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” You hop off the table, adjust your skirt, flounce to the doorway and then turn around. All eyes flick back up to your face. “Hey, when does Lester get back?”

“Lester?” Bo says flatly.

“Late, I think, very late,” Vincent signs.

“Oh, okay. Good to know. Bye guys.” You give them a little wave.

The morning passes with a shocking number of chance encounters. Something is broken in almost every building you visit, and Bo simply must fix it today. Similarly, Vincent informs you he needs to do a spot check of wax figures to make sure they’re holding up alright, and wouldn’t you know it, there are flowerbeds nearby every single one.

Watering flowers is hard work, and you can’t possibly be blamed for the sheen of sweat that glistens on your face and arms, nor the number of times you are required to bend over a planter box, nor the fact that you filled the watering can too full and splashed a little water on your bodice and Bo missed his aim with a hammer and smashed his thumb.

When the heat of the day rolls around in the mid-afternoon, you decide to break for lunch and head back up to the house. The twins are nowhere to be found. You are halfway up Main Street when the rattle of a familiar truck engine reaches your ears.

You turn around and beam at Lester, who is quite literally hanging out the driver’s side window. “Hey stranger!”

“Hey yourself,” he says, parking the truck in the middle of the road. “You look – well, now – that is a mighty fine dress.” He blushes.

“Thank you!” You give him a twirl.

His mouth is actually hanging open. He quickly closes it and swallows hard. “Y’know, I would…I’d offer you a ride, but…how ‘bout I just walk you home instead?”

“I would love that.”

Lester climbs out of the truck and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. He is remarkably clean, nothing but a few bloodstains below his knees. He offers you his arm, which you gladly take.

“Don’t you need to move the truck out of the road?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Nobody comes here anyway. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, just watering flowers. It’s hot today.” You toss your head, fan yourself.

“You’re damn right. Been workin’ up a sweat, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Geez.” He cannot take his eyes off you. “Where’re Bo and Vincent?”

“I’m not sure. They’ve been hanging around all day, but I haven’t seen them for a minute.”

“Yeah I’ll bet they have. You’re prettier than a field o’ phlox, honey.”

You squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Les.”

He stops at the edge of the yard. “Hey listen. Lemme go change outta these clothes, then why don’t you and I sneak over to that lil meadow on the east side o’ town? Do a little catchin’ up.”

“That sounds lovely.” You start towards the house.

“Ah-ah, why don’t you wait here? I’ll just be a minute.”

You frown innocently. “But Lester, it’s hot.”

“Well I’ll grab you a drink and bring it back out with me. I jus’ don’t want you gettin’ sidetracked is all.”

“Okay I guess.” You shrug your bare shoulders.

“Be right back, sweet pea.” Lester kisses your cheek, immediately turns bright red, and practically leaps up the front steps and into the house.

Today has been quite the success so far, you think as you kick at the edge of the lawn with a sneakered foot. You’ve been in Ambrose and involved with the Sinclairs for a good while now; it’s nice to know you can still fluster them when you feel like it.

You wait around for a fair few minutes before the front door opens and Vincent steps out, beckons you. “Hey angel, why don’t you come inside? I’m almost done with lunch.”

“Aw Vinny, that’s so sweet of you. But I told Lester I’d wait for him to finish changing.”

“C’mon, you know he’ll be a while. He’s got no concept of time.”

“You’re right about that. I am pretty hungry.”

You climb the stairs, step inside. Vincent shuts the door. Your eyes fall on Lester, who hasn’t even changed yet, standing next to Bo, who has his arms crossed over his chest. Vincent comes up behind you, weaves his strong arms around your waist, holds you against him. You furrow your brow in mock bewilderment. “What’s going on, guys?”

“You’ve been a regular little cocktease all day, that’s what,” Bo says.

“Me?”

“Yeah you.”

“It ain’t fair,” Lester pipes up.

“Prancin’ around all day lookin’ like that.”

You can’t help but smirk and shrug. “Sorry.”

Vincent drops his hands to your hips, pulls you a little closer. You feel a half-established erection pressing against your ass.

“Well, lucky for you, we’ve all come together and decided on a solution,” Bo announces, moving leisurely toward you. “You wanna put on a show, darlin’? We’ll let you put on a show.”

A thrill shoots through you. “Well I suppose that’s only fair.”

“More’n fair, I think,” Bo says as he squares up in front of you.

The first press of Vinny’s lips to your neck sends chills down your back. Bo takes your chin in his hand and bends to capture your mouth. You feel Vincent suck at the thin skin behind your ear, relishing the salt of your sweat.

Already your brain begins to fray with the input of so many sensations at once. You put one hand over Vincent’s, grip Bo’s shirt in the other, and have almost forgotten there are three Sinclair brothers when you feel a gentle brush of fingers on your left thigh, then your right, and then Lester’s hands are beneath your skirt and sliding your panties down. You wonder where he can possibly fit in this arrangement for only a second before you feel his tongue on your sex.

A hopeless moan escapes your throat and Bo breaks your kiss. You open your eyes and note with satisfaction that his face is flushed beneath that smug expression.

“I sure do love seein’ you flustered, darlin’.”

“Right back atcha, sugar,” you say.

Oh, but he does love a spitfire. He seizes your lip with his teeth, running his thumb over your collarbones. Vincent slips the straps off your shoulders and continues his adoration of your skin. Lester, ever the dark horse, already has you unsteady on your feet with long, slow licks. You weave your fingers through his hair and arch your back as Vinny’s deft hands slip beneath the fabric of your dress to cup your breasts.

When you cannot possibly hold yourself up any longer thanks to Les’s ministrations, they disentangle themselves for a brief, heartbreaking moment so you can weave to the couch. You ease yourself back against Bo’s chest, let him hold your wrists in place around his neck, all but trembling with anticipation as Vincent positions himself at your entrance.

“Now darlin’,” Bo murmurs in your ear, “I don’t want poor Les feelin’ all left out here. So why don’t you keep your eyes on him while Vin makes you feel real good, alright?” You nod desperately, lock eyes with Lester, who winks at you. Bo cups your jaw, thumbs your lip. “An’ I’ll be right here, makin’ sure you know what a good job you’re doin’, what pretty sounds you’re makin’. Does that sound okay, doll?”

You open your mouth to respond and Vincent, ever the opportunist, picks that moment to ease himself into you, all the way, an inch at a time. The whine this elicits from you is positively wicked and you hear Bo chuckle against your temple.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so much fun.”

As Vincent picks up the pace, hands running over your legs, you do your best to keep your gaze fixed on Lester, whose hungry expression leaves you feeling a whole new level of naked. All the while Bo pours a steady stream of praise and filthy commentary into your ear, rutting against your backside as his twin draws a series of sinful sounds from your lips.

Eventually Vincent trades Bo and Bo trades Lester, and you have the unique and genuine pleasure of experiencing the techniques of each one of them in quick succession. Somewhere along the way you are lost in oblivion, your body electric, lavished in kisses and caresses and admiration from all sides.

When at last you are spent and so are they, Bo brings you a glass of water, Lester plants a tender kiss on your brow, and Vincent carries you up to bed.

And that sundress sits in a heap on the floor, forgotten for now, until the next time you decide to capture your lovers’ attention.

#poly sinclairs #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #house of wax fanfiction #bo sinclair fanfiction #vincent sinclair fanfiction #lester sinclair fanfiction #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #asks #anon asks

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kerokreature · 1 year

Text

Some Sinclair Headcannons since I have brain rot

This is for the Sinclair brothers x chubby!reader (gender neutral but with Afab)

CW: Mentions of weight, use of the word fat, body dysmorphia, mentions of eating insecurities

NSFW WARNING, THERE WILL BE NSFW AHEAD

Enjoy

Bo Sinclair

He is 1000% a chubby chaser

This boy likes em thick, it’s the “more of you to love mentality”

He will be so touchy feely, really he will be groping your tummy, running his hands up and down your curves like he’s sculpting a vase (not that Bo is the artistic type)

He wants his face buried between those thighs

He loves running his calloused hands over any stretch marks you may have, brushing over them as he works his way down

He’s going to make sleazy comments the whole time but when he leans in to your ear, his fingers tracing from your neck to your tummy. Hands pausing to grope your softness before his fingers push further to please what waits between your thighs- he almost almost sounds like he’s worshiping you when he says your beautiful and that all of you is his.

He would be so lewd with his teasing, nipping and biting at every stretch mark, softly and then more roughly squeezing at your body, especially to part your thighs for him. He loves when he can take hand fulls

All of you is gorgeous and fucking sexy to him

I Picture bo as the type to be into having his partner wear specific things for him (maybe it’s the control) and he would lose it when you do

He would praise every curve and where he can and can’t see certain things in what you’re wearing

“God Almighty Darlin’ that just looks perfect on you.” “Wow sweetheart, look at those curves.. can’t wait to unwrap them.”

Afab body mention ahead

He would grope you constantly, if you don’t want your chest groped he would back off a slight bit, but he’d want to use them as a pillow.

He’d want to press his fingers into your stomach, just below your navel until it hurt. God would he push on that spot (fertility or no) because that’s especially His

The way he would squeeze your thighs as he parts them. His groping would be especially rough as he holds one up to your chest before digging his fingers right into your core, greedy, starving, only stopping to tease that bundle of nerves so he can wrench more moans from your pretty mouth

Fluff continuation but about insecurities

If you’re insecure about eating in front of him because of your weight/shape etc. he would literally just feed you.

Spoonful by fucking spoonful and he might even praise you and run his hands over whatever it is you’re insecure about for good measure

Your Are His fucking perfect little lover, even if he torments and insults you it’s never ever about any of those insecurities

If he catches you staring in the mirror mentally beating yourself up, you’re going to catch him being soft

Hugging you from behind, gently whispering all the things he loves that you hate, tracing his fingers over you to show just where he means

Doesn’t matter if you think you’re heavy you’re getting pulled into his lap and he’s going to hold you like you’re nothing.

Yeah he’s likely teasing you during, Bo is just insatiable that way

Lester Sinclair

Oh boy he is also absolutely a chubby chaser, this boy is licensed by the damn state to be a chubby chase

He’s a pudge connoisseur one could say

Fuck is he gonna stare, but not rudely. He’s going to look at you like an august sunset. He’s going to gaze at you like you stepped out of a fairy tail. (He might even give Vincent a run for his money there)

He’s shy at first, or maybe less shy more just taking his time, but once your both comfortable he is on you.

When he’s tired after a long hard day you’re his pillow, the moment he’s out of the shower he is cuddling you and touching your skin

Less lewdly then Bo but he will have his hands on every part of you. Kisses pressed to each stretch mark, he’ll have to stop himself a thousand times from getting a bit rough but

God does he want to squeeze and grope and push into all of your plushness, he wants to feel you and trace the beauty that is you, he wants to worship you, praise you

And in the right light you can see he inherited Bo’s possessive streak. The way he pulls you in, eyes moving down your thick frame, the way his crooked grin spreads haphazardly across his face, chin jutting as he runs those work calloused hands over your thighs, that head tilt as his eyes narrow and sharpen. You can tell he’s thinking about how every curve is his.

But god would he still be gentle, agonizingly gentle

I Picture him with an oral fixation also so you’re getting kissed, licked and anything he can get his mouth on is going there

“you taste mighty sweet y/n” “goodness you’re soft, I can’t seem to keep my hands off of you my baby.” Between kisses and nips you can hear him whispering your name.

Afab body mention ahead

Your nipples, always, even if you’re uncomfortable with your chest he’ll coax and whisper to you as he kisses and licks over each mound of flesh before pulling your sensitive buds into his mouth, teeth brushing them but never too hard

Kisses and nips and licks would be trailed down your body, over each stretch mark until he’s parting your thighs, nipping and sucking the flesh once he parts them, teasing his way towards your core.

BOY IS A M U N C H OKAY?

His tongue would trace over that bundle of nerves and he would begin, every fold is claimed by his tongue as he pushes your thighs around his face.

And I mean he wants you to smother him with your thighs, taking you tensing and locking them around his head as a sign he’s treating his lover exactly as they deserve, and god he’s going in for the kill, he wants you trembling and orgasming on his tongue

Fluff continuation but about insecurities

You are perfect in his eyes but he knows how much it hurts when you hate how you look

He would hold you in the mirror, guide your eyes away from where you’re looking at yourself to look into his eyes instead

He’d remind you that you’re perfect to him, his hands carefully touching up and down your ribs to your hips

If you’re insecure about eating he’d softly reassure you, he’d tell you you’re perfect and have nothing to worry about

He’d remind you if anyone said anything he and his brothers would take care of it

He’d coax you with your favorite foods, he might even gently hand feed you

More oral fixation at play, he loves watching you eat, your lips move, he’s wild about it

Vincent Sinclair

Not necessarily a chaser but he adores your form

To him you are the work of Tiziano Vecelli

You are warm and all soft curves, the way your plush form interacts with the bed, with the linens

He draws and paints you regularly, he hangs them in his room, the basement, maybe even in the Museum

He watches, he gazes, at first he doesn’t touch. To him you look so soft and plush and strangely fragile that he could never, he’d ruin you

But when his fingers grace your skin he runs them over you like he’s sculpting you himself, like he’s memorizing every curve and angle, where your ribs curve into your hips, the way your stomach moves under his hand, the way your thighs curve into calf. Each of your fingers, your wrist, the curve of your upper arm and how it becomes bone at the shoulder, your neck, under your chin, your face

His fingers are so delicate as they dip over every curve, hill and valley, over your navel under your stomach, and of course between your thighs

Explores there for an eternity, picturing a thousand sunrises and sunsets as his fingers knead and rub at your inner thighs, pressing into the plush and soft flesh

His hands work over the curve of your ass, fingers dipping in to that crease where it meets your thigh

At points his fingers are so gentle it’s like he’s touching rice paper

He signs sweet things you, a bit hurriedly since he wants his hands on you. “Beautiful” “soft” “work of art” “adore” “mine” “love” nothing long enough to keep his hands away

Afab body mentions ahead

He can’t help but trace his way back up to your chest, his hands massaging the mounds of flesh there, fingers tweaking against your nipples, he’s likely enamored

But he just as quickly makes his way back down, running two fingers over your labia in long broad strokes, delicate and attentive

He’ll part his fingers to push down on either side of that bundle of nerves, tracing circles around it, your moans are like the swell of violin to him he barely dips his fingers inside, finding that spongy spot and pressing before he moves again

He has to feel you under him, all around him, throbbing on him as your thighs wrap his waist. He’s surprisingly rough now, pushing into you with resounding slaps, groping your sides a little less gently, the whole time his eyes bore down into you

He needs you on him just as much, no he doesn’t care if you think you’re heavy he’s placing you up on him himself, guiding your hips rhythmically, his hands tracing up as he gazes at you like you’re a marble statue

You’ll be wracked with orgasms, he needs to see, needs to feel just how your body moves and trembled as you finish, over and over again

Fluff continuation but about insecurities

He refuses to give you the opportunity to be insecure.

Or at least he tried to shut it down before it can happen

There’s so many paintings and sketches and even small carvings of you now, and he doesn’t think anyone should see you in any other way

If he finds you mentally picking yourself apart in the mirror he holds you, removing his mask to remind you that everyone is insecure sometimes as he signs sweet praises to you

If he sees you being insecure about food he’d sit with you through your meals, he wouldn’t look if you didn’t want him to

But he thinks you’re beautiful no matter what you’re doing and he’d let you know.

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a-writer-on-elm-street · 1 year

Text

Distraction

pairing: vincent x gn!reader

summary: in which vincent provides you with a distraction when you're struggling with self-harm urges.

warnings: mentions of self-harm, hurt/comfort

a/n: so this is kind of self-indulgent but i hope people like it! <3

Your chest ached as you cradled the small piece of metal between your fingers, every part of you wanting to press it into the faded lines that marked your wrist. You felt so weak sitting here like this, on the edge of your bed with a blade hovering over your skin again. It had been months since the last time this had happened, since you'd given in to the urges, and here you were, desperate to see blood spilling from fresh wounds once again.

Just as you were about to press the cold metal into your skin, you heard somebody come in the room, their footsteps heavy against the wood floor. And when you looked up, your heart felt like it was going to break in half, because there he was, standing in the doorway as his gaze focused in on the blade in your hand.

"Vincent." You choked out, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you looked up at him. You never meant for him to walk in on you like this. He was supposed to be downstairs.

He didn't say anything as he slowly approached you, crouching down in front of you as he curled his wax crusted fingers around your wrists.

You hadn't actually had a chance to do anything yet, but he was still able to see the faded scars etched into your flesh and the blade in your hand. Anybody would be able to figure out just where this was going.

"I'm sorry." You finally said, a tear escaping your eye as you stared down at his hands around your wrists. "I just need a distraction."

He retracted his hands from your wrists then, bringing one hand up to brush the hair away from your face, before silently nodding. He carefully took the blade from you, setting it down on the desk near the bed, and then he helped you up, lacing your fingers with his as he led you towards the hatch in the floor.

"You're taking me to the basement?" You questioned, your voice merely a whisper as you allowed him to help you down into the tunnels.

You weren't sure what exactly he had in mind, but you followed him through the dark regardless, your hand warm in his as you walked beside him.

After a few more minutes of walking, you finally reached the room in which he made his wax sculptures, and there was already one of his projects waiting. It looked like he'd already begun working on it.

"What are we doing?" You asked, unable to stop your lips from forming a smile as you looked at him.

He didn't respond and simply guided you over to the half finished sculpture, handing you what looked like a carving tool.

"You sure you trust me with this?" You grinned, taking the tool from him.

He nodded, gently turning you around to face the sculpture, his chest to your back as he placed his hand over yours, showing you how to do this correctly. You could feel his hair brushing against your neck as he leaned over you slightly, guiding your hand over the hardened wax, the tool clutched tightly between your fingers.

"Thank you." You smiled, feeling ten times lighter now as you watched your hands gliding over the wax. You couldn't have asked for a better distraction.

[Main Masterlist] [Vincent Masterlist]

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair oneshot #vincent sinclair hurt/comfort #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair fanfic #vincent sinclair fanfiction #vincent sinclair fluff #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax fic #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher fanfic #slasher fic

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fandom-imagines · 2 years

Text

Random word prompt - Why (v.s)

i'm currently working on a series of word prompts. feel free to send in a word and a character and i will write something based on the word!

fandom: house of wax

pairing: vincent sinclair x reader

prompt: why

Why?

Vincent was often left wondering why in many scenarios.

Why isn’t this working? Why doesn’t this look how I want it to? Why does she love me? It really depended on the day. Although, the main question in his mind would be why does she love me?

It wasn’t that he doubted her love for him, no, not at all, but he did wonder why. He wasn’t the best-looking guy, at least in his eyes, and he didn’t exactly provide the best company according to him (and his brother), but she still loved him, nonetheless. Even on his bad days, her love never faltered, and neither did his.

He loved her with every bone on his body and nothing could ever change that, nor did he want it to. She was everything to him: his love, his muse, his everything. No matter what happened, no matter what others said, he would always love her, even if others asked why.

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creepswrites · 11 months

Note

Dear, writter

May i've a request for Thomas hewitt, Bubba Sawyer,bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, and Vince Sinclair, With a hot wife fem reader, I want to see their life being a father to a hot fem reader. Because that is my dream. 💫Fluff💫

Please.... Your writing is so gorgeous 💋💋 master 🌹🌹🌹

Thank you so much

From your followers:

@kawaistrawberry21

awww i'm glad you like my writing!! hopefully you enjoy this :D

SLASHERS with a F! S/O who is their hot wife

THOMAS HEWITT

Everyone in town was shocked when you and Thomas got married

Thomas included but he never said anything about it

His family thought you were way out of his league, Hoyt was never afraid to comment on this to your face

But you love Thomas, he was a good man

So when he'd finally, finally, proposed to you, of course you'd said yes

When he found out you were having his child? He was over the moon

Luda May was almost as overjoyed, already making arrangements for the baby's room, making clothes, etc

She couldn't wait to be a grandmother and Thomas couldn't wait to be a father

When the baby's due date was getting closer, you could tell Thomas was nervous about if the baby would come out looking like him

But you reassured him that, no matter what your baby looked like, you would love it the same way you loved him

He was good with the baby, so gentle and patient, always happy to help when it cried

If Hoyt ever tried to give either of you a hard time, Thomas actually violently defended you, sometimes tossing Hoyt across the room with one arm

He'd never let anything hurt you or your baby

BUBBA SAWYER

Like Thomas, everyone was surprised when you and Bubba got married

Though his family were far more excited about it! After all, their brother was quite the catch

You got along well with his family even before you moved in, with Chop Top and Nubbins always commenting to Bubba how lucky he was to have such a hot wife

It always made your husband get all flustered, babbling soft nonsense. He was cute

When you got pregnant, Bubba and the Sawyer family were over the moon

Family was extremely important to them and they were happy for you and Bubba

When Nubbins made a very ugly little hat for the baby, you accepted it but told him gently it'd be too big for their head but that you'd grow into it. He was excited about that prospect

Chop Top and Drayton helped Bubba set up the nursery so you could just relax

And when the baby was born, Bubba was so scared of holding something so fragile and precious

But you helped him, guiding his arms to hold the baby, and he was in shock and awe

He'd never thought he'd get married, much less to someone as gorgeous as you, and have a child together

Bubba was a nervous father, usually letting your kid get away with anything so you had to be the rule-setter when it came to the kid

His brothers were menaces when it came to babysitting their niece or nephew

But both you and Bubba were happy. He'd protect you both, no matter what

BO SINCLAIR

Honestly? This was a major win in Bo's mind

If you think he doesn't show off for you, you're wrong. That man takes every opportunity to

He also definitely flexed to his brothers about scoring the hottest wife ever

Of course, his brothers were very nice and respectful with you, though Bo wouldn't let them be too friendly

He's got a jealousy streak

Whenever visitors arrive to Ambrose, he's always got his arm around you or bragging about you when you're not around

He's whipped, you've got him wrapped around your finger

But when you tell him your pregnant, you're shocked at how scared he becomes

Of course, he doesn't show it visibly, but you know your husband and you can tell when he's nervous about something

Eventually, when he starts trying to pull away from you, you corner him and make him talk

Some yelling and fighting ensues but he caves, confessing he's scared he wouldn't be a good father. I mean, he didn't exactly have the best role model and he didn't want you or your babies to suffer for it

But you reminded him you were in this together and he'd relax a little

You had twins, because of course you did, but this only seemed to make Bo all the more anxious

He didn't exactly... know what to do with a baby? He'd never really been around infants so he's looking to you for help on this one

When they're a bit older though, he'll let them hang out in the auto shop with him when he works

One day you come home to find him asleep on the couch with the twins curled up on his chest and you just melt

He's a good dad and a good husband

VINCENT SINCLAIR

Vincent was shocked you'd said yes when he proposed

He didn't consider himself attractive in the slightest but you said yes?!

I mean, you were stunning, he'd stared at you constantly even when you were dating and it certainly didn't stop when you were married

Bo and Lester were definitely jealous, teasing him to see him get flustered over how lucky he was

Unlike Bo, when he found out you were pregnant, he was excited

Nervous, absolutely, but everyone is nervous when they're having their first kid

He's so wary for you though, nearly had you on bedrest the entire pregnancy because he feared the worst

One time he caught you standing on a chair to reach something and he nearly had a conniption

But the twins came - because of course they were twins - and were healthy and beautiful

Vincent is so gentle with them, like they're the most precious things in the world to them

He makes little wax sculptures for their room to decorate it

Definitely encourages and supports creative hobbies for the kids! He gets them finger paints and crayons and the like

You've woken up in the night because of the babies crying but Vincent is already up, ready to help

Vincent's mastered carrying them both with an arm each and its very cute

Sometimes you catch him holding one of the twins and humming softly to them as they sleep in his arms, just swaying together in the kitchen

You feel so lucky but he feels even luckier to have you and your kids

LESTER SINCLAIR

Lester is by far the most... stable? So you'd been instantly drawn to that about him

He'd always get so flustered, bringing you flowers and blushing like a madman while you were dating

It took him the longest to propose to you though, he always felt like you were waaaay out of his league

Visitors came and would gawk at you and he'd feel a twinge of jealousy at the reminder that yeah, you could have anyone

But he did propose to you and you said yes because you wanted him, not anyone else

Neither of you had any shame in PDA, often holding hands or kissing in front of visitors

You lived with Lester and Jonesy in a little house on the outskirts of the town, surrounded by trees and very peaceful compared to the horrors of Ambrose

It had actually been Lester who suggested having a kid or two running around. After all, he had two older brothers so he was used to that business in a house with lots of people living in it

Over time, the two of you would have two kids, but they weren't twins

Lester was a good dad too! He was attentive and loving but he didn't let them get away with too much

He'd teach them how to shoot when they were a bit older because it was a fond memory he had with his own dad

Of course, Lester didn't have the best dad to draw comparison to

But at least he knew what not to do. Surely that counted for something?

You'd come home from working a short shift to find Lester and the kids playing in the backyard, running about with Jonesy as they played soccer

Both you and Lester would do anything for your kids and you knew he'd do anything for you

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #house of wax #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #the texas chainsaw massacre #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface x you

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kiss-theggoat · 4 months

Note

Gonna need a part two where the slashers realize their s/o is alive >:’(

Slashers Fix You Up

Slashers Included: Thomas Hewitt, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Asa Emory, Michael Meyers, The Sinclair Brothers

TW: Violence and Gore

Thomas Hewitt:

The wound to your stomach was deep. It tore through deep tissue and muscle, but lucky for you, Thomas knew exactly what to do.

Not only had he been stabbed like that, but he’d become really good at sewing and stitching up human skin.

You woke up, feeling groggy, but immediately recognized the basement you were in. You laid on Tommy’s workbench, shirt off and torso numb.

When you looked down you saw Thomas hunched over you, huge hands trying hard to delicately sew you up, fingers covered in your blood.

You whispered to him, and you could’ve sworn you saw his heart skipped a beat. He jumped up, immediately grabbing the side of your face with relief written all over his face, eyes wide and breath heavy. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost you.

Billy Loomis:

Nothing when like it was supposed to that night. Sydney got away, Stu stabbed him too hard, and the worst of all…he stood above you, watching your blood pool on the hardwood of Stu’s living room.

He bent down, putting pressure on your wound while looking around the room, taking deep breaths and trying to think rationally…he needed to get you out of here. He quickly lifted you, trying to ignore your pained groans. He hated seeing you like this.

The moment he got your arm around his shoulders and your feet on the ground, he heard them…sirens. He was conflicted. Relief washed over him. He knew you’d be getting help soon but…if he didn’t run…Syd would tell them everything. He’d go to jail, be found guilty for murder.

In that moment, he didn’t care. He helped you limp towards the front door, pushing it open. You’d lost too much blood…you didn’t even realize that Billy was sacrificing himself to save your life.

Stu Macher:

Stu watched his entire world fall apart when Billy stabbed you. He watched you fall, holding your gushing stomach, blood seeping from between your fingers.

He rushed to your side, hands covering your wound as he laid you back onto the ground.

“Just look at me. Don’t worry, keep looking at me.” He refused to let you look at your wound. He didn’t want you to be scared about how hurt you were. He lifted your hands to inspect your wound…he sighed in relief.

“It’s okay baby…the bleeding is slowing down…you’re gonna be okay…”

Asa Emory:

Asa never expected you to fall into one of his traps. He was beating himself up about it, but there was no time. He lifted you onto his operating table, covering your entire body with gauze.

He started slow, sutures and thread in his precise hands. You were covered in deep wounds, caused by rusty nails…he whispered his apologies, holding one hand as he poured antiseptic over you. It burned, it was unbearable…but you trusted him.

He carefully sewed each wound with a single suture, making sure to reassure you and stop the bleeding whenever it happened. It took him hours, but nothing would stop him from fixing you. Fixing your skin, fixing his love.

Michael Meyers:

For the first time in his entire life, he felt guilt. He felt a storm of emotions, but as he stared at your knife wound- the one his dumbass caused…- he knew it wouldn’t kill you. He’d never felt so terrible and so relieved in his life.

He quickly scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom with shaking fingers. His hands had never shaken before…

He slammed open your medicine cabinet, hard enough to crack the glass, and popped open the first aid kit, sending gauze and band-aids onto the bathroom floor. You’d patched him up plenty of times so it should be easy…right?

Six butterfly bandages, four bandaids, and two complete rolls of gauze later, you felt like you might be suffocated by the first-aid supplies but…he’d tried his best. And, you weren’t bleeding anymore.

Sinclair Brothers:

The blow to the face had broken your eyebrow and sliced your skin, and the fall to the floor left you with a concussion and a sprained wrist. Vincent carried you downstairs gently, knowing he had the supplies to fix you up in his workshop.

All three brothers stayed by your side, and you were never alone over the course of the next week, especially while you were sleeping, until your concussion headache finally went away.

Your face was bruised and swollen and it hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, especially the cut on your eyebrow.

But, every morning when you walked downstairs, you received a kiss on the eyebrow from each Sinclair brother, and they all treated you like you were made of porcelain, even Bo.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #stu macher #asa emory #the collector #michael meyers #bo sinclair fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #lester sinclair

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semiweirdshipper · 1 year

Text

Slashers' as fathers with a child/reader. (Comfort drabbles for anyone like me who has daddy issues).

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

I'm a little embarrassed that I made this but I can't deny that it does comfort me and make me feel better. If it makes you happy as well, then I'm glad. Thank you for reading. I hope you have a nice day.

...

Freddy

He was sleeping in his bed when he felt something nudge his arm, the soft callings of your voice quickly rousing him from his slumber. "Daddy? Daddy, please wake up."

Paternal instincts demanding that he instantly wake to check and see if you were okay, Freddy sat up and opened his eyes. Immediately the sight of you standing beside the bed in your pajamas with a sad, frightened look on your face greeted him, and he reached out to gently brush a hand through your messy hair.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Is everything okay?" He asked, gazing around for potential danger.

You whimpered, your little hands anxiously fiddling together as you say sadly, "I... I had a nightmare and I... I got scared."

Relaxing a bit, Freddy sat up all the way in bed and lifted his arms out towards you, "Oh sweetie, come here."

Stepping forward and lifting your arms, you whimper whenever your dad pulled you sideways onto his lap and held you close. He kissed the top of your head and gently patted your back. "Thought I told you not to be having those?" He mumbled.

"I know, but... It was so scary and I-I didn't like it," You whined, burying yourself into the divine safety of his chest, his scent familiar and comforting.

"Shh, shh," Freddy rubbed soothing circles against your back while hugging you securely against him, always prepared to fight all of your demons away- even if your demons were as simple as nightmares. "It's okay, sweetie. You're alright. Daddy's got ya. Everything's gonna be okay."

"Ok..." You whisper, still snuggled against him. He was so comforting and safe. "Daddy? I'm thirsty. Will you get me some juice, please?"

"You want juice?" Freddy tickled your nose causing you to giggle, "Hm?"

"And a story?" You smile at him hopefully.

"And a story? Well, aren't you spoiled," Freddy smiled back and leaned down to nuzzle your forehead, "Sure, sweetie, let's get you some juice."

Grinning at his compliance, you lean forward and give him a big hug. He hugs you back, and it feels so nice and comforting that you feel as if you could go to sleep right then and there.

Freddy holds your hand as he takes you to the kitchen to get you some juice. Then he grabs a book from a shelf and sits down in his arm chair with you sitting in his lap with your blanket and juice in clutch. He reads to you the short story as many times as you want until you've finished your beverage and declared that you were tired again.

"Can I sleep with you, daddy? Please," You ask, fidgeting in the hopes that you wouldn't have to sleep in the dark alone by yourself again tonight.

Freddy doesn't have the heart to tell you "no", so he nods and ruffles your hair, "As long as you promise not to have anymore nightmares. Promise?"

"I promise, daddy," You say happily, crawling into bed with him and immediately going to snuggle into his chest, "I love you."

Freddy kisses your head and tucks you both in with a blanket, one arm wrapping around you to hold you against him. Warm, safe, and comfortable. "Love you too, sweetie. Now get some sleep and, this time, have 'good' dreams."

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

"Hey Les, you seen (y/n) around?" Bo asked as he approached Lester's truck.

Lester gave him a look that he came to dread. "Yeah, they're on back with Vincent. Why?"

Relieved by your assured safety, Bo placed his hands on his hips and stared hard at the ground. Guilt chewed on him like a hungry wolf, and shame became a permanent dark cloud hanging all around him. "I-I messed up, Les," He admitted, shaking his head.

Lester raised his eyebrows in suspicion, "What'a ya mean?"

"Yesterday, I... I messed up," Bo huffed, dragging a rough hand through his hair, "An' now they ain't talkin' to me, and I... I just... Uh."

"Oh, so that's why the little critter wanted to spend the night," Lester chuckled and petted his dog's head fondly, "An' here I was hopin' I was the new favorite uncle. Guess I ain't, huh?"

Bo ignored him as he thought about what happened yesterday. He had been angry for reasons unrelated to you, and when you had tried to get his attention he snapped and yelled at you. Even though "what" was all he yelled, he could still tell how much he scared you and hurt your feelings. Now you wouldn't go around him. Gosh, he didn't mean to do it, he just... He was just an idiot.

Lester frowned at him as if noticing his distress, "Well hell, if it's botherin' ya to the pits then why don't ya go talk to them? You are their daddy after all, ain't ya?"

Yes. Yes he was your dad. And no child should ever have to be afraid of their dad.

Making his ultimate decision, Bo adjusted his hat and began stomping away, "Gotta go."

He found you in the house eating snacks with Vincent. When you noticed he was there, you looked at him and then quickly bowed your head like... like you were afraid of him. And it broke Bo's heart. Good grief, what had he done?

Pulsing with regret, guilt and shame, Bo slowly approached you and knelt down beside your chair, "Hey there, little critter bug. What'cha eating?"

You were hesitant, keeping your face averted as you timidly mumble, "Grapes."

"Ooh, yummy, can I have some?" He lifted his hands out, uncertain of where and when he should start explaining himself.

Sadness and uncertainty decorated your face as you lifted out the bowl to him. Vincent seemed to understand what his brother was doing, and he stood up to leave and give you some privacy.

As he ate some grapes, Bo was surprised to hear you quietly ask, "Daddy... Are... Are you still mad at me?"

"Oh..." He straightened his posture, set the bowl aside and reached out to gently grasp your shoulder, "Oh, (y/n), I was never mad at ya, I just... I was just havin' a bad day and I..."

Bo sighed, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently in reassurance, "Look, critter bug, I didn't mean to yell at ya, and I definitely ain't mad at ya. I just... Daddy made a mistake, and I'm so, so sorry, (y/n). I promise... I'll never yell at you again. I promise."

Your eyes glistened as you looked at him as if in debate. Bo's throat was dry as he waited for your reaction, the negativity and guilt nearly driving him insane.

Instead of saying anything, you spread your arms and lift them upwards. Bo sighed quietly in relief and went to scoop you into his arms, his aching chest slowly beginning to calm down. He still felt guilty for how he made you feel, and he wasn't lying when he promised that he would never ever make you feel that way again.

Michael + Aunt Laurie

You were both trick-or-treating and having a good evening on Halloween. Michael alternated between carrying you on his back, on his hip, or simply holding your hand while walking. It warmed his heart to see how happy and excited you were, your candy-bag becoming overloaded with sweet treats.

He decided to stop at Lauries for a quick break and some refreshment. You ran back out while he was still inside. It only felt like a minute before he followed your footsteps and soon came to a scene that made his blood boil and his eyes widen.

You were laying on your back against the sidewalk, small, frightened cries spilling from your lips. In the direction you were staring, Michael caught a glimpse of a group of teenagers quickly running away. They must have done something to you. But what?

"D-daddy," You cried as he quickly walked over to you, and you skittered to get to your feet.

Michael barely got to check you over for damage before you were wrapping your arms around his waist and crying into his belly. "They pushed me and stole my candy," You whined loudly against him, "I-I just wanted to be friends, b-b-but they stole my candy. Ehh, daddy, daddy, what do I do? They stole my candy."

Anger invaded every nerve within Michael's body as he held you close protectively. How dare anyone treat you this way. How could they? You were the nicest, sweetest little angel. What was their problem? Michael's eyes burned with the memory of those teenage scum and the direction they fled.

Hearing your loud sniffles, Michael gently coaxed you back and knelt down. Slipping off his mask, he reached out, cupped your cheek and used his jumpsuit sleeve to wipe away your tears and snot. Then he used sign-language to ask if you were okay.

You nodded and cried in great sadness, "But they stole my candy. Wh-why did they do that, daddy? I-I just wanted to be friends."

Michael quickly explained to you how those teenagers were obviously bullies. This same experience happened to him too when he was your age. Everything was going to be alright. They would get you more candy. Calm down. Everything was going to be alright.

Slowly you began to calm down, your sobs and whines diminishing. Michael pulled you into his arms and hauled you against his hip so that he could take you into the house. You stayed attached to him the whole time, and he refused to let you go. Frustration still burned inside him, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to protect and comfort you/his child.

Laurie was there to save the day, thankfully, offering you all of the candy she hadn't yet given out and putting on a fun movie for you to watch.

You were snuggled up against your dad on the couch, your mood significantly eased as he rubbed your head and back and offered you pieces of candy. For the most part you forgot about the incident, but Michael certainly hadn't.

Let's just say that, by tomorrow, you would have your stolen candy back.

Hannibal

He had taken a leave of absence from work so that he could better take care of you while you were sick. It wasn't anything serious; just a small cold. The nurse from your school had sent you home earlier due to a sore throat and a fever. Hannibal had rushed to get you as quickly as he could.

Once he got you home, he had you take a bath and get dressed into your pajamas. You complained of throat and stomach pain, and you had irritated sinuses. He gave you some medication and told you to lie down while he made you some special soup that would soothe your tummy.

As he was cooking, he heard your tiny footsteps echoing from the hallway, and he turned to see your sleepy figure approaching, "Daddy?"

"Yes, my child, what is it?" He asked, setting his cutting knife aside.

"My tummy hurts so bad," You pouted, your voice beginning to sound scratchy, "And I don't feel good. I wanna be with you."

Hannibal grabbed a kleenex from the counter and knelt down to gently clean your messy nose, "I know. And that is precisely why you should be sleeping."

"But I can't sleep," You whimper, looking at him with sad, tired owl eyes, "I wanna be with you. Please, daddy? Let me stay with you."

Hannibal tilted his head at you, his brows lifting in debate. While he would rather you be getting some decent rest, he knew that you were young and still filled with energy even whilst you were sick. He didn't have much left to do cooking wise either, so he figured that having you stay around wouldn't harm anything.

"Alright then," Hannibal leaned forward and picked you up, swiftly positioning you on his hip and supporting you with one arm so that he could use the other to cook with.

You held onto his neck while resting your head against his shoulder, your eyes mostly shut as you listened to the sound of his heart beat. Safety and warmth enveloped you making you feel much, much better than what you had before. Your dad was always so cozy and comforting.

Hannibal was able to finish cooking dinner with you on his hip the entire time. Once it was time to eat, he set you down on a chair and made you a drink and a bowl of soup. You ate quietly which worried him a little, but he knew it was just because you weren't feeling good.

"Feeling better?" He asked when you were finished.

You smiled and nodded at him, "Mhm, it was real yummy. Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome, my child," He reached out and gently squeezed your cheek before taking your bowl and cleaning it, "I don't suppose telling you to get back in bed will do any good, will it?"

Your pitiful whimper was enough of an answer. Hannibal chuckled, dried his hands and went to pick you up again, holding you close as he carried you to the living room. "A movie it is then."

"Can Will come over?" You asked, grinning.

Hannibal gave you a look, "I'm beginning to believe that you're not sick at all."

...

All good fathers' should fight their child's nightmares away, not be the reason why they have them.

#slashers #slasher fanfiction #reader insert #child reader #Platonic love only #Not romantic #bo sinclair x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #freddy krueger x reader #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #Father & child relationship #michael myers x reader #Slashers as dads #Comfort drabbles

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small-sinclair · 21 days

Text

Musical Muse

Vincent Sinclair x reader

House of Wax Slasher band!au

Tw: Vincent was in a fire (he’s okay), some hints at sex but nothing graphic described, let me know if I missed anything!

A gift for @im-his-druidess and au by @arkunder

It was Vincent’s first night home for a 7-month-tour around North America. Late night FaceTime calls, texts messages, postcards, poems— it was good to see him home. The penciled in a two-week break for Lester’s doctor appointments and for a mental break. It was good to rest and sleep in for a moment. All three of them needed to recover from the accident—

He takes a deep breath and let it out slowly. He won’t dwell on it. Not now at least. Lester is safe and Bo’s hands were healing. That’s all that matters now.

Vincent tried to be quiet when he entered. He hung his base on the hook and stopped to look at the photos of you both. One of you two in the studio, another in a band shirt, and a lovely one of you and him at the alter, saying your vows.

As soon as he heard your footsteps flying down the steps, he felt his heart pull. “You’re home!” You shouted smiling, leaping up.

He threw his duffel bag on the floor in the doorway just in time to catch you. He spun you around in the air, smiling under his half wooden-plated mask. He blushes as your kisses littered his half-shown face.

“I missed you!” You yelled, giggling as he lowered you back to the floor. He rests his forehead against yours and held your hips just memorize you once more. “I really missed you, Vincent.” You lift your hands and hold his face. “You were gone forever.”

He nods in agreement. He didn’t want to sign anything, not just yet. Vincent didn’t want this moment to be over. Having you back made his unwritten melodies complete and he could hear notes play as he takes you in. You are his muse for most songs after all.

He took your hand and guided it to his mask, gesturing to you to take it off. Your feather-like hands took off his mask slowly and he closed his eyes, shivering at the cool air. His mask hung in your hand, and you smiled when you saw his face. He’s just as beautiful as the day he left you. Your free hand held his scarred cheek, his head leaning into your touch, while your eyes tracing every bit of him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your hand, then ending with your lips. He pulled away before holding you close to deepen his kiss.

He has time to make up. Seven whole months without your touch, your embrace… he is a sinner. Your sinner. His deity. He has to find forgiveness.

With ease, he lifts you up, carries you with his arms under your legs, and heads for the bedroom down the hall.

~~~~~~

As you slept on his chest, Vincent held up his song book, writing silently, as a watched eye on you. Your shoulders were bruised with his love and affection like his. He only wanted to be closer to you and more. What praise can he give but love for you?

A song will do.

A song just for you so others can sing praises of you, be followers of you, but none will ever be as faithful and loyal as him.

He hummed the chorus one more time before closing his book just in time for you to wake up. He sat his book aside and laid flat on his back. You nuzzled into his neck and left a small kiss over his adam’s apple. A relaxed sigh escaped his throat as he threw his head to the side.

“Did you miss me?”

He nods, tracing his answer in your skin, ‘Yes.’

“Bed was too cold while you were gone,” you noted, his thumb gently making circles in your back. “But sleeping in your shirt’s comforted me.” You drew a heart in the center of his chest. “I took care of the plants, too. The cactus gave birth so there’s baby cactuses. Guess that makes us grandparents or something.”

He smirks and chuckles.

Silence was warm and comfortable between you two. The soft thumping of his heartbeat made house feel like home again. “…I really missed you,” you murmured. You felt Vincent’s lips in your hair as he pulled you closer to him. In a way, that was him showing that he’s here and you’re safe. “For a while, I went crazy thinking you weren’t coming home. I saw the fire at that wax museum you and your brothers were playing, the wax falling Lester’s back, and they got a video of your mask melting…” your voice trailed as he stiffened at the memory.

If the silence is too loud, he can still hear his baby brother’s voice screaming in pain and agony. Bo and he made dirt out of the inferno, but Lester was trapped, scared and alone. He remember he took off his mask before running back on Bo’s heels; his mask felt too heavy to wear that night. He still sees how bright the orange and yellow flames were as Bo moved wood and metal off his back. He ended up burning some spots on his hands but he doesn’t care. He was just as desperate as Vincent to get their brother out. Each twin took an arm and raced out with him before the museum’s gas could explode. Bo and he cradled their brother then paramedics rushed to his side and took him to the hospital.

He remembered how the world of heavy rock and metal was quiet for the night.

That’s why Bo canceled two weeks of interviews that night, 16 days ago, so they can recover from everything.

He gripped your body tighter and held you closer. You figured he must’ve been scared because he didn’t give you room to wiggle or move. Your hands held his arms and closed your eyes. “I’m happy you’re okay and safe. I’m happy and thankful.”

Vincent made a soft noise, agreeing with you.

“Just want to stay like this and cuddle,” you said, not asking. Luckily he nods in agreement, lifting the blanket up higher over your shoulders.

He didn’t want anything else but this. Vincent wanted you in his arms, in his heart, engraved into his mind. He’ll finish the song and draw a picture of you to put up in the bus. For now, he’ll focus on you and the reality of this feeling.

The sunset over the town like a dream.

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frracturedjaw · 1 year

Note

Hi Hope u already did one but maybe s/o sleeping without pants because it's hot af and I am dying here :,)

Have a great day/night/morning :D

unspecified so i just did a few short ones for bo, vinny, and tommy.

warning(s): a little suggestive in some places

a/n: sorry this took nearly four months teehee

bo sinclair

* he could care less about nudity. he grew up with brothers, louisiana is hotter than hell. he gets it. however…

* he sees you half naked in any context and his mind is already going two hundred miles an hour into everything he wants to do to you. zero filter zero hesitation.

* assuming you’re already asleep, he’s not going to act on those thoughts. but he’s definitely chewing his lip and gripping the front of his jeans like the pervert he is.

* when you groan and twist around on top of the sheets, something changes, though.

* he’s still imagining himself pressed up on you. but he’s thinking more about how your legs would feel tangled up with his own.

* the twin pumping of your hearts. the feel of your breath fanning across his chest. each other’s hands curled up into one another so hard that his knuckles get sore.

* he wants the marks he leaves on you to be not from his tools, his pliers or his tape or his knife, but from him. his skin on yours. the pressure of your weight on him.

* you wake when he drops his belt and it clinks loudly in the little bedroom. there’s a mild panic in your expression that makes his chest twinge.

* but when he slips into bed and you shift to press the entire length of your body against him. when you fit your chin over his shoulder and hook a leg over his hip. when your breathing returns to the slow in, pause, out.

* that night he dreams of the usual things. his parents, the tourists, the museum. but also of you. just you.

* you making breakfast

* you sitting on the back porch

* you laying with your head in his lap

* for the first night in a very long time, bo sinclair sleeps peacefully.

vincent sinclair

* you’d been wandering around the basement all day in an effort to stay cool, but all the hot wax made it fruitless. eventually you’d vanished upstairs to one of the empty bedrooms.

* he comes up to find you later on, finally peeling off his sweater and tying his hair back for a moment of relief.

* he walks into the bedroom and freezes at the threshold.

* you look straight from a botticelli painting. you look like Bouguereau. you look like Picou and Matisse and Klimt

* you look cut from marble and silk cloth, crystal and soft earth and sun

* you look like sky and sweet and home and being held and warm breath and moving water.

* his breath hitches when the bed creaks under his weight.

* he counts. you breathe two, three, four long lungfuls of the cool blue night air. then you reach up at him.

* vincent gathers you in his arms like you’re quicksilver. like you’re going to dissolve through the bed and deep into the earth if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. like he’ll die without you.

* (he’s convinced he might)

thomas hewitt

* he’s wracked with guilt when he first walks in on you asleep without all your clothes on. Luda Mae taught him better than this.

* but… you’re in his bed.

* he has half the mind to go sleep on the couch, but the heat would be even worse downstairs.

* he says a quick prayer for forgiveness and walks in with his eyes averted and does his best to go about his business getting ready for bed.

* he himself usually sleeps in just a shirt and boxers, but for whatever reason, you doing the same feels… intimate. you’re not exposed in that way, but at the same time, it’s still vulnerable.

* after standing (looming) over the bed for longer than is probably appropriate, he eases himself into bed beside you.

* his eyes wander to the tender apex of your thighs, admiring the soft flesh usually hidden from sight

* you adjust in your sleep, rolling to your back. he watches the lengths of muscle in your legs flex, then relax. your shirt rides up somewhat, revealing more supple skin

* he squeezes his eyes shut and leans back. he shouldn’t be taking advantage of the situation like this. if he has any respect for you, he should be showing it here.

* he tucks his hands underneath his legs for good measure and examines the speckled darkness behind his eyelids until sleep finds him.

* naturally, he wakes up the next morning with you on top of him.

* your head is turned to the side, your ear to his chest. your limbs have fallen to either side of him, but his shirt is clutched tight in one of your hands.

* where your skin meets his, he doesn’t feel the usual startling, crackling sensation of being touched without warning.

* he just feels warm. weight. the pink mark on the side of your face where you’ve been pressed against him makes his mouth twitch with a smile.

#slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #house of wax #thomas hewitt #slashers #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader

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adalwolfgang · 11 months

Note

Yandere Vincent w an AFAB or GN reader? Romantically, ofc (I’m a simp lmao)

so y/n has a bit of a struggle w a victim in Vincent’s art room and ends up ruining one of his carving tools (so she basically just brutally murdered the victim) and Vincent was late to the action, but got to see the after math

and he thought that only added to her attraction. Like, omg u used one of MY tools?? So kind of u to bless me w ur murderous tendencies. Anyways, the reader apologizes and.. yea

(Idk what should happen from there like what’s goin on but could u elaborate on that idea, maybe change it around and make it something less awkward?? Thanks man, love ur writing!!)

Yan!Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Soft!Yandere (sorta), blood/killing/violence, (Name) is there own warning.

"YOU MOTHERFU-” you curse out as you leap over one of Vincent’s art tables toward a victim.

Currently you were trying to take care of one of the victims who wandered from his group of companions and down to Vincents basement. He started to make a quick beeline for the stairs. With one swift motion, you grab one of Vincents shaping tools and yeet throw it toward him with all the force you can muster. The tool immediately piercing his skull, and his body going limp on the ground.

You let out a sigh of relief. A cheeky grin appearing on your face at the small victory. Your ears perk up when you hear the stairs creek as someone walks down into the basement. You were about to grab another one of Vincent's shaping tools, in case it was another victim tourist. You immediately toss the tool to the ground once seeing who it is.

"Oh, hey Vince! Look what I did!" You state proudly, motioning to the lifeless body at the edge of the stairs.

Vincent cocks his head to the side as he stares at the body. He doesn't move a muscle for a good minute. Your smile never falters when you see his eyes crease up through his mask. He was smiling.

There's an awkward silence as he steps over the body and closer to you. Incasing you in a comforting embrace. He starts checking over you, to make sure you didn't have any scratches or bruises.

After a few minutes of him checking you over, you break the silence. "I'm sorry for dirtying up your wax carver." This makes him stop in his tracks as he raises his face back up to look at you. He starts shaking his head quickly before signing.

"Do not apologize. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me. I should've been here to help protect you. But, from the looks of things, you can do that just fine."

This causes another smile to appear on your face as you both hug each other firmer. He begrudgingly pulled away from the hug after hearing Bo's callings from upstairs. He takes a step back before pulling out his camera and snapping a photo of your kill. He wanted to keep a photo as a memory of you using his tool to take out someone. He then turns back to you, encasing you in another quick and final embrace before rushing back upstairs to take care of the remaining victims.

A/n: Please let me know if you want me to add more to this story or leave it as is. My mind went blank toward the end of writing it.

#x reader #reader insert #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slashers x reader #slashers x you #slashers x y/n #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #Vincent Sinclair x y/n #yandre #vincent sinclair fanfiction

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sunkendreams · 4 months

Note

Can I ask for a Vincent Sinclair smut PLZZZ🛐🛐 (I love him sm)

redamancy.

➾ pairing ; vincent sinclair x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 4.4K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), fingering (f!receiving), dry humping, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, making out, scratching, rough sex, slight breeding kink, vincent is pretty obsessive/possessive, darker vincent, choking

author’s note: I haven’t written for vincent in a hot minute but boy, this was a perfect way to get back into it! I plan on writing another bo/reader/vincent thing at some point and more bo/reader. Trying to ease myself back into all of this! Thank you all so much for your love and support!

Hot pearls of pale wax trickled from the numerous candles littered throughout the basement, basked within an orange glow. It only served to add to the warmth of the underbelly of the House of Wax, temperatures maintained to prevent any form of melting. Vincent had learned to temper it all over time — control the heat, master the atmosphere.

A silver scalpel idly shaped a column of wax, something that would soon join the displays up above. His movements were methodical, purposeful — he was a perfectionist. Every stroke had to mean something, appear flawless and without any imperfections.

He’d been making up for imperfections all his life — even still, Vincent was continuing to work himself ragged, to further his mother’s work. Perhaps, someday, it would make him more worthy in her eyes.

Footsteps reverberated throughout his underground mausoleum of wax, and he knew that it was you. Bo rarely, if ever, came downstairs, and his gait was often far more purposeful and aggressive than yours could ever be. He was hunched over his desk, guiding the flickering flame toward the wax, letting it melt and bend.

Vincent carefully began to mold the wax, shape it to whatever he pleased. It was a statuette, meant to resemble that of a serpent. Using the edge of the scalpel, he quickly carved in intricate designs as the surface began to cool, brushing off any excess with the pad of his thumb.

You quietly crept through the basement, making your way toward Vincent’s coiled frame, perched within his rickety chair. You always enjoyed watching him work — his artistic talent was mesmerizing to behold. With a light shrug, you tugged your robe around you, feet absorbing the warmth from the concrete floor.

It was common for him to wake up sometime in the night, leaving the space beside you to work. Sometimes, it was the only thing that could quell the raging thoughts inside of him, or the one activity that took his mind off of everything. Vincent could think of other activities to distract himself, but you needed to agree to it, too.

The cold dusk of Louisiana couldn’t reach either of you — not here, not in the warmth of the basement. It was akin to a sanctuary for you, this wax cathedral built to destroy and to create anew. There was something so fascinating about this place, something hauntingly beautiful and macabre all rolled into one.

“Hey,” You murmured, lazily rubbing at the back of your neck. His shirt clumsily hung from your frame, the robe haphazardly tossed over the garment. Vincent regarded you with a tender look in his eye, countenance shrouded by that familiar waxy veil. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Vincent shook his head, dark tresses idly brushing across the back of the woolen sweater he wore. You were often amazed at his heat tolerance, wearing thicker garments in a sweltering basement. He turned slightly within his seat, an open invitation for you to come and inspect his work.

There was a point in time where he had little desire for you to see any of his projects, but that sentiment had drastically changed. Vincent valued your admiration above all else. He turned the partially-finished serpent over, noticing your look of recognition and delight.

“That’s a basilisk, isn’t it? It’s beautiful so far.” You gently traced your index finger along some of the scales Vincent had carved into the surface. The initial grogginess of slumber was beginning to wear off as you stood at his side, gaze flickering toward the assortment of art tools, wax, and glowing candles.

“It’s for you.” Vincent’s hands moved sluggishly as he signed, feeling your fingertips grace his shoulder, nails idly raking across his back. He shivered, enjoying the light sensation of your touch, knowing that it was bound to contort and twist into a different sort of feeling.

Your lips curled into a smitten smile, teeth absentmindedly toying with your lower lip. “For me? Are you sure?” It belonged in the House of Wax, amongst all of his other sculptures and pieces of art. However, you weren’t about to stop him from his sentimental gesture. You loved everything he’d made for you.

With a brief nod, Vincent placed the statuette back down onto the debris-laden desk, swiping at a fine layer of wax flecks with his hand. Along the mantle situated above his workbench, you noticed a weathered photograph, partially obscured by a series of half-destroyed wax masks that he’d worn at one point or another.

Admittedly, you hadn’t seen the picture before — and you had memorized every square inch of this place by now. “Hey,” You motioned toward it, pointing at the obstructed photograph with visible intrigue. “What’s that?” You inquired, head cocking to one side.

Vincent’s jaw tightened, posture becoming somewhat stiff and rigid as he deliberately removed the picture from behind the masks. He’d forgotten all about it until you pointed it out — a sliver of him wondered why he’d even kept it at all. He cradled the tattered, dusty photograph within one hand, brows furrowing together.

It was Trudy Sinclair, forever immortalized within one still image, holding a very young Vincent, whose countenance was indistinguishable — marred and torn from his conjoined state with Bo. Her expression was arguably the kindest it had ever been, gazing down upon the near-infant Vincent with a look of fondness.

Even through the faded granules of color, you were able to make out the affection she held for him. Your heart clenched within your chest, primarily out of empathy for Vincent himself. Despite all his talent and efforts to regain some favor in his mother’s eyes, part of her would always see him as some disfigured freak, doomed to be trapped behind that wax mask.

Wordlessly, Vincent offered you the photograph, letting you inspect it for yourself. You treated the object like a priceless relic, gently turning it over within your hands. It pained you to know the fate that had inevitably befallen the Sinclairs — locked within a household filled with vitriol and parents whose passions often overrode any love they might’ve had for their children.

“This is Trudy, isn’t it?” You uttered, watching as Vincent’s head bobbed up and down in a stoic nod. Bo had received the short end of the stick when it came to Trudy’s love, but things were far from perfect with Vincent, too. “I’m sorry, Vincent.” Your voice barely drifted above a whisper, lips curling into a sympathetic frown.

His shoulders sagged in a gentle shrug, taking the photograph from you before placing it behind a cluster of half-burnt candles. “Nothing to be sorry for. You can’t change the past.” Vincent signed, concentration turning to you, instead.

He’d spent most of his life wishing that he could change his tumultuous childhood — he’d stopped long ago. He and his brothers would always be chained to Trudy, and there would always be a certain level of loyalty to her, even in death.

“I understand, Vincent.” With a soft murmur, you gently rubbed at the back of your neck, trailing your fingers across his spine. “Come back to bed with me?” You asked, head canting to one side. Vincent reached for your wrist, gingerly cradling it between his fingers, stroking along your forearm.

He wasn’t tired, but Vincent didn’t want to leave you alone, either. He moved up from his chair, lean musculature towering above you as he kept hold of your wrist, fingers drifting to twine around your hand. The two of you retreated into the alcove that served as his bedroom, if one could call it that.

The mattress was littered in blankets, indents visible from where the two of you slept. He’d fixed it up with doors that folded shut, similar to that of a closet. You settled back down, Vincent right beside you as he tugged you close, letting you lounge against his chest.

You sat up just a little bit, enough to see his masked countenance. “Could I ask you something?” Your voice was nothing more than a tender whisper, and now that you were awake, a string of thoughts began to nag at the back of your head. Pillowtalk with Vincent often became very emotionally-charged.

“Anything.” Vincent nodded as his hands moved, propping himself up enough to look at you, too. He had told you about his life some time ago — the intricate details and his own sentiments on the matter were left out and simply implied. You were a precocious and inquisitive individual, but above all, you were empathetic.

“This,” With a feather-light caress, you traced your finger along the cheekbone of his mask. “Why do you still wear it around me?” Your inquiry was innocuous, spoken out of genuine concern instead of malice or confusion. Vincent had shown you his face once before — and it never bothered you. It wouldn’t bother you.

Vincent’s throat became tight, jaw unusually tense as he attempted to muster up a feasible answer. It was an anchor for him — one way to feel less like a monster and a freak. “Habit,” He signed, but he knew better than to give you a false response. “I don’t want you to feel guilty or pity me.”

Your brows furrowed together, visage contorting with a look of mild confusion. “What do you mean, Vince?” You wondered if you’d done something wrong, stomach swelling with a wave of anxiety, but he seemed to catch this. He pressed a finger against your lips before he began to sign in a flurry of animated hands.

“I don’t want you to pity me for how I look. I’ve spent my entire life being looked at like a freak — like something fragile, something to feel sorry for.” Vincent finished with finality to it, hoping that you would understand why he continued to wear the mask. He knew that you still loved him, regardless of how he appeared.

“No, no,” You uttered, sitting up enough to stare at him, hands gently splayed across his taut chest. “When I saw your face, that night in the kitchen — the only thing that I saw was a survivor.” His eye sparkled whenever you spoke, hanging upon your every word. “You’re resilient and you’re talented, Vincent. You’ve never been a freak.”

It was the first time in his life that someone labeled him as a survivor — he hadn’t thought of it like that.

Most of his life had been about preservation — keeping the Sinclair name alive, to continue his mother’s dream, keeping Bo and Lester safe. Vincent hadn’t considered that his face was also a sign of resilience, of an endurance that even he wasn’t fully aware of.

You felt his hand reach for you, cupping your jaw with calloused, roughened digits, the practiced hands of an artist. His touch was filled with both adoration and a dark yearning, thumb sweeping over your lower lip. “You mean everything to me.” He signed, and you knew that he meant it wholeheartedly.

“You mean everything to me, too.” You murmured, careening into the warmth of his embrace, lips pursing to kiss the pad of his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” A breathy, passionate sigh left you when he coaxed you closer, slotted against his musculature.

His hawkish eye picked you apart from where you sat, the distance slim between the two of you. You were vaguely aware of his obsession with you, disguised as protectiveness and adoration — Vincent often made it explicitly clear that you belonged to him, drew a line in the sand with Bo over and over again.

As you lavished him in kind, tenderhearted words, Vincent’s innate possessiveness over you seemed to flare to life, malignant and very much alive. You were tethered to him until the end of time — a pretty, iron-wrought cage, inescapable — and admittedly, you didn’t want to be free from it at all. You stopped thinking that way a long time ago.

Vincent exhaled, dragging his hand across the slender expanse of your neck, digits exploring the canvas that was your flesh — all belonging to him. “You’re mine.” He signed, staking his claim for the hundredth time. Even through signing alone, his nature was desirous and rapacious.

Long before he’d entered this relationship with you, he was very indifferent towards you. It stemmed from insecurities, from rage, and from confusion — girls were always Bo’s forte and never his. Having you, something to covet, something to protect and to keep, Vincent was always worried that he’d lose it.

You nodded, breath hitching within your throat when he traced the pad of his thumb across your pulse point. Your heartbeat had climbed to erratic, excitable heights, mouth somewhat dry as he applied pressure underneath either side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” Parasitic — you leached from him, and it always took your loneliness away. You used to hate him for taking away your friends, but it almost felt like a wandering dream that didn’t feel real. Ambrose was where you were meant to be — meant to be with Vincent. You empathized with him, surrounding him with your affection and comfort.

A rugged huff emerged from the depths of his throat, feeling you climb closer, gaze glazed-over with desire. Wordlessly, Vincent removed his mask, placing the waxy veil aside as his mouth clamored for yours. The kiss was blistering, full of a rather oppressive possession and greed — he felt entitled to you, in some depraved sense.

Reciprocation made him giddy as your lips eagerly pressed against his, responding with a desperation that nearly bordered his own. Vincent squeezed your jaw, other hand relocating to slip underneath the baggy shirt you wore, brazenly groping at your breasts.

Your fingers scraped through his hair, digging into the base of his skull as he coaxed you down against the mattress. Vincent crawled on top of you, mouth briefly disconnecting from yours before he crashed back into you, parting your legs with his knee.

A low, raspy grunt escaped him when your lips continued their relentless assault, mouth parting to allow for a sloppy kiss. He was needy, desperate to feel you as he rucked your shirt up with one hand, fingertips tracing across the plane of your stomach. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine, arousal pooling between your thighs.

Heat blistered between the both of you, an amalgamation of desire, want, and the emotion of your charged conversation moments prior. Vincent savored it all — it still didn’t feel real sometimes, being physical with you. Some time ago, he felt unworthy, too horrid and too scarred, but you changed everything.

You changed the way he touched you — no longer hesitant or wrought with deliberation. He felt like a god, capable of conquering anything — even you. Instead, each touch was charged with lust, and the sensation was beyond mutual as you slipped a hand underneath his sweater.

Vincent was made of taut, sinewy muscle, littered in plenty of scars. His broad shoulders tensed when your hand pressed into the nape of his neck, toying with the collar of his sweater. In one fluid motion, he lifted it up and over his head, discarding it toward the foot of the bed.

He lifted two digits toward his lips, pressing them upon his tongue as he coated them in saliva. Vincent’s eye glistened with a ravenous sheen, fingers drifting toward the warmth between your legs. He brusquely shoved your panties aside, dragging those fingers along your slit, peppering your jaw in kisses.

“Vincent,” You moaned, feeling him cage you against him, arm bracketing you in, keeping you for himself. It was explosive — everything felt hot, as if the both of you were running out of time. “Touch me.” Your voice was high-pitched with a sense of urgency.

Your hips jolted forward, chasing after the friction his digits provided, feeling his mouth press hot kisses against your sternum. He branded you with his embrace, hoping to make it permanent — a mark, something that bound you to him. His lips sought to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth, suckling on the sensitive bud.

At last, he gave into your breathy demands, slotting his thumb against your clit as his middle fingers explored your cunt. An elated sigh escaped you, knees squeezing at his waist, hands splayed across his shoulders. He looked immaculate beneath orange candlelight — a deity of wax, perfection immortalized.

A ripple of bliss consumed you, body keening and arching into Vincent’s touch. His fingers lightly traced your core before dipping inward, forcing his way inside of you, feeling your cunt clench pathetically around his practiced digits. He lavished your breasts in a flurry of attention, throat echoing with a hoarse grunt.

Scars were crisscrossing all over his body, remnants of his victims that left their mark. Bullets, stab wounds, the diagonal, uneven slashes of knives and sharp objects. His skin served as a canvas for chaos, and you traced your fingertips over a livid mark on his chest.

Vincent shuddered, rutting his fingers inside of you before withdrawing halfway, finding a steady rhythm to piston in and out of your aching heat. He kissed his way back to your mouth, lips crashing into one another as he pressed against you. You could feel his erection snug along your thigh, prompting you to squirm.

You needed him terribly, unable to vocalize that want unless it was through a mess of needy moans. With a gentle shove, your lips tangled with his, tugging on his mane of dark tresses. Vincent huffed, digits curling into your cunt, eliciting a simpering cry from you.

He watched you through a lustful stare, glazed-over with rapture, drunk with desire. Vincent kissed at your throat, teeth teasing your flesh, feeling you roll your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Need you inside of me,” Your voice emerged as a hungry groan, clawing at the muscle of his shoulder. “Please, Vincent.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t seen you quite like this before — tangled up within your own need, aching for him in ways you hadn’t felt before. Vincent was delighted to oblige you, feeding off of your desire like a leech.

“How?” Vincent signed, and that singular word seemed to set off some chain reaction. Your stomach sloshed with anticipation as you rolled over onto your abdomen, able to hear the audible hitch in his throat, a raspy grunt tearing past his lips.

Vincent slipped his fingers from your cunt, digits coated in a thin sheen of your arousal. He grabbed at your hips, chest reverberating with a low rumble as he tugged you back against him. The metallic rattling of his belt sent shivers down your spine, able to feel the heat of his cock press against your slit.

“Vincent,” You moaned, and that was enough to get his blood pumping, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline as he let the head of his length slide through your slick a time or two. A soft yelp tore past your lips when he pushed himself inside of you, hunched over you, flesh feverishly warm.

A hand gently held the back of your neck, thumb grazing over the slender muscle of your jugular. His face was buried near your shoulder, tresses sweeping across your exposed back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He filled you in a way that you never thought possible, causing you to whimper.

With a sharp thrust, Vincent began to invade your cunt, somewhere between tender and rough. He was always sporadic and unsure when it came to pace, but you thoroughly enjoyed the unpredictability. His cock lewdly slapped into your cunt, followed by the sound of his ragged breathing.

Wax-laden palms skirted across your body, one hand grappling at your hips while the other gathered at the nape of your neck. You huffed, face partially pressed into the mattress, body contorting and submitting to him as you had many times before.

You were perfect — his paramour, his muse.

A twisted desire began to wash over him like a tidal wave, borderline insidious as he rutted into you. Vincent’s love might’ve been perceived as sweet on the surface, yet it often veered off into a very vitriolic obsession. He wanted you all to himself, as much as humanly possible.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, full of a lustful fervor. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

He brought you back against him, caging your back to his chest as he rocked onto his knees. Taut, muscled biceps locked around you as he pistoned into you, cock reaching new depths until he couldn’t go any further. Vincent’s mouth clamored to your neck, kissing and biting wherever he pleased as he kept you snug against him.

“V—Vincent, shit,” You stammered, the newfound position taking you by complete surprise. A sensation of sheer want flooded through you, coupled with overwhelming arousal. He filled you completely, flesh dewy with a layer of perspiration, black strands stuck to his temples from exertion. “Please cum in me.”

Another hoarse, throaty grunt ripped through him, hands relocating as one palm groped at your soft, pliant breasts. The other had a mind of its own, snaking to the cleft between your thighs as he toyed with your clit. Euphoria gripped you then and there, causing you to squirm and writhe with pleasure.

Again, Vincent locked you in against his chest, huffing into your ear, biting at your jaw as he filled you up. Part of him wanted to devour you, but the added heat and friction, the swiftness of the moment was enough to make him exert all force.

If he could, he would’ve gladly drowned himself in you, let himself float away within your very presence. Even covered in a veil of sweat, your scent was saccharine, accompanied by his own musk from the cling of his clothing.

Vincent felt you reach for his hand, digits curling around his wrist as he played with your clit, hoping to get you to your peak, right alongside him. His palm wandered from the plump flesh of your chest toward your throat, wrapping around until he applied pressure along your windpipe.

Within the stifling warmth of the basement, the only sounds that reverberated throughout were your moans and his occasional grunt. Vincent’s breathing was heavy, chest heaving against your back. You moved with him as best as you could, nails digging crescents into the taut tendons of his forearm.

Arousal sat heavy within the pit of your stomach, thick and viscous. Vincent was relentless and unyielding, continuing to pound away at your cunt, gently squeezing underneath your jaw. The combined pleasure that assaulted your clit and throat were preparing to send you cascading over the edge.

“M’close,” You huffed, feeling his lips meet the dip between your neck and shoulder, face buried there as he rutted into you. Everything felt incendiary, as if you’d been set ablaze, only to sink further into the fire. He touched you as if you were molded from obsidian, covetous and desperate for you. “Vincent!”

He never slowed, still pounding away at you, cock unable to go any further before he pulled out just a little bit, only to shove himself back in. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his features, forehead pushing into your shoulder, still clutching at your throat.

You belonged to him — you always would. There was no one else for you, only him.

Vincent huffed, teeth sinking into your flesh until he slammed into you one last time, painting your insides with hot, virile ropes of his seed. He continued to rub circles around your clit, dragging you toward your peak. Your cunt clenched around him, eliciting a throaty groan from him as you came.

A myriad of moans and sighs escaped you, shivers rolling down your spine as your thighs twitched, ecstasy flooding throughout your body. Vincent soothed any bites over with kisses, staying in you for a moment longer until he reclined against the mattress, taking you with him.

You were on top of him, layered in sweat and his cum, palms spread across his chest. Vincent stared at you with complete and utter devotion, gently tucking away any strands of hair that were stuck to your temples.

“You’re perfect,” Vincent signed, tucking his thumb and forefinger beneath your chin. The sienna glow of waning candlelight flickered throughout your shared space, basking you in such an atmospheric light. “You look perfect like this.”

There was a darker undertone to his sweet words — and to him, you did look divine this way, covered in his seed, wracked with want for him. Vincent cared very little for moving in that moment, content to stay with you in the oppressive heat of the basement.

With a soft caress, your fingertips swept across the scarred part of his jaw, mouth clamoring for him in another kiss. He didn’t protest, hand slipping toward the base of your skull, coaxing you closer to him.

“I love you,” You murmured, watching the way his pupil dilated with understanding. “M’tired.” You sank down into the mattress, still staggeringly hot with no sign of changing, either.

Visibly, you were spent, exhilaration and your post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate into exhaustion. You smiled, laying down at his side instead, head curled toward the broad expanse of his shoulder. He locked an arm around you, caging you in, nowhere else to go — it was where you belonged.

There was nowhere you could go where he wouldn’t follow.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #house of wax smut #house of wax fanfic #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #sunkendreams masterlist

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visceravalentines · 2 years

Text

A Matching Set of Spoons

Poly!Sinclairs x GN!Reader

Rating: Teen (SFW, lots of swearing and some mention of sexual activity)

Length: 1.1k

CW: none, just that sweet sweet fluff

I wrote this in a rush last night and it gave me so many goddamn feelings I had to share it right now. Bo can't sleep. Turns out he's not the only one.

Tagging a few moots who deserve special Sinclair cuddles! (Happy to untag you, just lmk.)

@cypressnmarigolds, @ajokeformur-ray, @moon-of-desire, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @wasteofanarrow, @slasherlouvre, @papikuai, @myersmeadowarchive

Some nights, the Sandman skipped right over Ambrose.

This was one of those nights. Bo lay spreadeagled in his bed, the comforter discarded long ago, the top sheet tangled around one of his legs. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted a sandwich. He wanted to go the fuck to sleep, but that was evidently out of the question.

The moon was blinding, sneaking through the curtains to fall directly on his face. He was too hot, too cold, Goldilocks all over. Maybe he needed a drink. Maybe he needed a fuck. He thought of you in the room down the hall.

Surely you were asleep. You had to be; it was the middle of the night. Any reasonable individual would be asleep at this hour. But what if you weren’t? What if you were also tossing and turning, alone in your bed, that t-shirt of his you stole to sleep in riding up a little higher every time you rolled over?

Goddamn, he had it bad. He was half-hard already.

Bo ran a hand through his wavy locks. It couldn’t hurt to go check. Just to see if you were asleep or not. If you were, he’d leave you be. Maybe he’d snuggle up to you for a while, see if that lulled him into dreamland. But if you weren’t….

He sat up, swung out of bed, adjusted himself in his boxers. In the light of the moon, he picked through the maze of shoes and laundry that carpeted his bedroom floor. Probably he should do something about that soon. Bo pulled his door open and peeked into the hallway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Your room was down at the end of the hall. He crept towards it, trying to be silent. When Jonesy wasn’t in the basement with Vincent she slept with you, and the last thing he wanted was to spook her.

A creak from the staircase behind him spooked him so badly he nearly jumped out of his skin. Bo spun around, fist cocked, ready to break someone’s face. His brain froze, malfunctioned as it tried to make sense of the hulking, hairy shape shambling up the stairs, lit by a weak and flickering light, some literal actual boogeyman in his motherfucking house except it looked a lot like –

“Vinny?” he hissed, peering into the black. “What the fuck are you doin’?”

His twin shuffled toward him, cupping a candle poured into a small mason jar in one hand. Vincent signed lazily with one hand, Same to you. It’s 2 AM.

“I know it’s 2 AM. Why are you creepin’ around the house like a damn haint?”

Vincent flipped him off.

Bo rolled his eyes. “Well you scared the bejeezus outta me so that feels like my business.”

Vincent pressed the candle to his bare chest with a forearm so he could sign with both hands. The sweatpants he wore to bed were hanging off his hips. Maybe I felt like an evening stroll. It gets hot downstairs.

“Well, grab an ice cube and shove it up your ass, maybe that’ll help.”

Now it was Vinny’s turn to roll his eye. What’s your excuse, you piss the bed again?

Bo scowled. “I was just goin’ to check on [y/n]. Thought I heard a sound comin’ from their room, that’s all.”

Vincent slowly tilted his head, eyeing his brother. …you horny bastard.

“Hey now. Don’t you go gettin’ the wrong idea.”

It’s got.

“I am tryin’ to protect this house, and here you are accusin’ me of indecent behavior.”

I can see your damn dick.

“Fuck off, Vinny. Evenin’ stroll my ass. You were sneakin’ up here hopin’ for a little action yourself, admit it.”

I would never.

“You sure as hell would, we have the same brain, asshole.”

Shhh, you’re going to wake them up.

“Now wouldn’t that be a shame. Don’t change the subject, Vin.”

I am not discussing my sex life with you.

“Ooh, did you hear that? That was an admission. Besides, I already know all about your sex life.”

“Guys?”

The sound of your drowsy voice from the other side of the door froze their bickering. Bo glared at Vincent, who glared back and waved at his brother to open the door. He obliged, and both twins peered into the room. You sat up, hair messy, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Jonesy lifted her head from her place at the foot of your bed.

“Hey, darlin’, did we wake you? Sorry ‘bout that.”

“What’s…going on?”

“Nothin’, just…havin’ a friendly family dispute.”

“…in the middle of the night?”

“No time like the present.”

On your far side, a lump stirred in the bed, and Lester appeared from underneath the covers, squinting at his brothers. “What the hell is this, a surprise party?”

Bo and Vinny at the same time said, “Lester?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“This is fuckin’ stupid,” Bo complained. “You’re not even supposed to be home ‘til tomorrow.”

“Cry me a river, honeysuckle.”

“Okay, okay, everybody…calm down.” You shook your head. “What do you guys need?”

Bo wanted to –

Bo shoved Vincent. “We couldn’t sleep. We thought you…might be up.”

“Well, I am now.”

Both twins winced. Sorry about that.

Peace was a thing of the past. You sighed, slumped forward, patted the mattress next to you. “Come on in.”

Are you sure? Vinny said as Bo shoved past him without hesitation, making a beeline for the bed.

You gave him a sleepy smile. “Yeah, get over here.”

Lester squawked as Bo bodyslammed him. “I did not consent to this!”

“You consented to it when you was born last.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bo, you’re gonna kick Jonesy!”

“Sorry, darlin’.”

Vincent hiked up his sweats and set the candle on your bedside table. He sank down onto the mattress and curled up on your left, settling in as littlest spoon. You tucked in against the smooth skin of his back. Lester buried his face in your hair and Bo, the biggest spoon, snuggled up tight against his youngest brother, reaching an arm across to rest his hand on your hip. Jonesy grumbled, scootched back into a comfortable position with her head on Vincent’s feet, and fell asleep almost immediately.

One big disaster family.

“Goodnight, y’all,” Bo whispered.

“Bo, is that your dick?” Lester exclaimed.

“Shhhh,” you giggled.

Vincent blew out the candle.

#house of wax fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction #vincent sinclair fanfiction #lester sinclair fanfiction #slasher x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #jonesy sinclair #poly sinclairs

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