Vincent Whittman NSFW Headcanons
~* 18+ Content. MDNI - I present to thee - a very toxic Vincent before you all *~
Warnings: Manipulation, murder, baby trapping, threats of suicide. Do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.
πΊ When Vincent sees you for the first time, a sick and twisted obsession begins over you in secrecy. He finds it genuinely fascinating how fucking beautiful you are, especially because you don't even see it. When you walked into the studio, all shy and smiling like an idiot at him as you passed his notes for that day's topics. Your eyes were so full of life, void of any evil. You were pure. Even the way you tucked your hair behind your ear drove him insane. Such delicate little hands. So small compared to his own which he immediately noticed as you handed him those fateful notes. Oh those fated notes which happened to be you typing up that day to be delivered promptly to the murderous Vincent Whittman. Fate had been most cruel to you. You didn't know it yet, but your life was now officially ruined - because once Vincent sees something he wants; he will have it.
πΊ Vincent remains his charming self at the studio. He can't have you or anyone else suspect anything. He had an elaborate plan to make you his. He couldn't risk scaring you off by simply hitting on you. Yes; he's handsome, charismatic, confident and a rising star. The odds of you rejecting him were slim... but not zero. That was a risk he just couldn't take. He needed certainty that you would fall into his trap for him. One night, after everyone has left the studio, he stays behind, faking his exit so you wouldn't suspect him following you. After all, in your mind, he left earlier. Right? He stalks you quietly as you walk home. Pretty girls like you shouldn't be walking home alone at night, he thinks to himself. Not in that dress. Anyone could easily have their way with you. Gosh you were lucky to have such a kind and caring man watch over you as you so carelessly walked through the darkness of the alleyways. For fucks sake, you don't even look over your shoulder as you slot your key into the lock of your front door. He cursed to himself with a devilish grin. He already loved you so much - you were making things so easy for him. You kept one window on the second floor slightly ajar. I mean, you were practically begging for him to break into your house.
πΊ He enters your house the next day whilst you're out. He doesn't break in - he slips in. No sign of forced entry. He wanders around your small home, intrigued by every detail. He studies your family photos, reads the letters you've received, touches the bedsheets of where you slept... this is when he acts upon his sick thoughts. The first thing he commits to is finding your dirty laundry. He finds a beautiful silky pair of black underwear. He presses it against his nose and deeply inhales. Fuuuuuck... there's no way he could back out from his plan now. Not when he knows how insatiable you smell. He lies front first on your bed, your panties pressed against his erection as he dry humps your crumpled panties into the mattress, imagining his cock sliding between your folds. He grumbles. Whimpers. His imagination was wild, something he was proud of. Especially for moments like this. He'd feel himself close to his climax so he would stop, just to prolong his pleasure. Vincent had to fully imagine himself making love to you. What he would do to try and win you over. Practise for the real thing if you will. He would then lift his head, still slowly humping the mattress but he brought your panties to his face again and he began to lick and suck at the crotch of them, tasting your remnants left behind. He moaned into your dirty panties, picturing how perfect your pussy would taste. He could feel himself coming. He would momentarily panic, not wanting to come over your mattress - because then you would know someone had been here. Quickly, Vincent sits up on your bed and pumps his cock with your underwear encased in his hand as he curses out loud. His cum would soak your underwear, completely painting them white.
πΊ This became a ritual for Vincent. He finds himself sneaking into your home every time you're out to deposit his cum into your dirty underwear. And then take a couple home for good measure. Then a wicked idea came over him. He had checked your underwear drawers and noticed you had only one clean pair left which you would inevitably wear for the next day. That was a given thanks to him stealing your underwear secretly and with you being so busy with work, you couldn't keep up with washing your laundry promptly. Not when Vincent was asking for more of your lovely assistance back at the studio, getting you to stay behind night after night to run errands for him. He got your clean underwear and made sure to come in them. A beautiful damp white patch would form - a silent note to you that he had been there. You would have no choice but to wear that pair for work. He salivated at the thought of your pussy juices mixing with his cum as you strutted around the studio. Maybe you would be too stupid to notice. Vincent eagerly sat in the newsroom, ready for you to hand him his notes that morning. He needed to see for himself if you were wearing them. As you went to hand him his notes, he deliberately let them slip through his fingers onto the floor, preying on your politeness. His eyes glint with wickedness as he watches you bend over to pick the paper up--- only to have a blush spread over his cheeks as his eyes wandered up your skirt. You hadn't fallen for his trick. You were not wearing the spoiled underwear. In fact, you weren't wearing any. His cock became instantly hard. Turns out you did have some brains and decided not to wear the suspiciously creamed underwear. That night he jerked himself off for hours in the privacy of his own home, praising you for how much of a 'smart girl' you were. Gosh you were beautiful AND had brains. What a fucking turn on you were to him. And it had completely nothing to do with the free view of your slick.
πΊ Now he had to be smarter. He knew there was a gala ball coming up. Lots of dancing and flinging beautiful ladies about. You would absolutely NEED to wear panties for that occasion. So Vincent tries it again. This time he removes your pile of clean underwear, hiding them all but one. You were going to be home soon to get ready for the gala... he had just enough time to soak your underwear with his cum again before slipping out to make his own way to the event. When you got home, you felt a strange eerie feeling as you looked at your only pair. You could have sworn you washed a fresh load of underwear that morning... why was this pair so sticky? Was that your slick from that morning and you accidentally threw it back into the 'clean' drawer? You couldn't remember. You were already running late... you had no choice. At the gala event, Vincent watches you from across the room. He sees that your expression seems... uncomfortable. He grins. He knew you were wearing them. A welcoming shock wave runs up his spine, envisioning how his cum was sliding around against your perfect pussy. It turned him on how you were completely unaware of how much he had invaded you. He would steal a dance from you that night, feed you cocktails and offer you a ride back to your home in his limo. In your tipsy haze, you hear him whisper something that doesn't sit right with you. "You smell so pretty..." You brush it off, saying it's your perfume but he corrects you. "It's not the perfume, sweetheart." That was the night the smallest seed of your fear for Vincent was planted. Even when he so kindly walked you up to your front door, before you could close it, he shoved his foot in the small gap. You slowly turned around and saw green and blue gems, evilly glinting at you under his now messy charcoal hair. You felt like you were being pulled into some kind of trance... "Have a good night, sweetheart." He kissed your cheek. You snapped out of the whirlpool of chaos you were about to fall into and smile shyly - like you always did. "So pretty..." He whispered, loud enough for you to hear. "Be careful around here... I've heard there's some weirdo following women home."
πΊ Oh how genius Vincent was. Not only were you slightly frightful of him but your fear for other mundane men was greater. He knew you would cling to him now, needing a protector that would scare those predators off. You just had no idea. Vincent Whittman was the apex predator. He was the shadow that followed you home. The rising star offers to drive you home and you accept. He does this every evening for you - h o p i n g - you would invite him in. But you had brains remember? You knew there was something not quite right about your handsome boss. You would let him kiss your cheek but would close the door gently in his face. He couldn't press. He couldn't scare you off. But he was so close to having you. Vincent needed one more plan and then you would be his. Your kindness was your weakness. This is why he studied the weather forecast and waited for the night where there would be heavy rain. He also conveniently didn't bring his car to work that day. He walked you home, giving you his expensive jacket to use as shelter over your head. This resulted in Vincent being soaked to the bone by the time he walked you up to your front door. He was counting on your warm heart. Surely you acted with your heart instead of your head? Oh boy was he right. You fussed over him, inviting him inside until he was warm and dry. Until it stopped raining. "Sweetheart, it's forecast to rain all night." He had you in checkmate. Of course you let him stay the night. He said he would sleep on the couch... oh dear... he left his wet jacket on there though. Looks like he can't sleep there. Thank goodness you were so thoughtful. Innocent. You let him share your bed. His twisted mind couldn't allow him to be a gentleman anymore. When you stepped out of the bathroom in your nightgown, nipples poking through the fabric and was met with his shirtless chest? You fell into the chaos as you accepted his starved kiss.
πΊ Vincent's kisses are wet and messy. Each time you would pull away to breathe, almost always there would be a thin string of saliva between your tongues. His hands needed to touch your neck and face, holding you there so you could subtly feel his strength, knowing you couldn't end the kiss until he was done with it. His kisses lasted minutes. Never seconds.
πΊ The first few times you both had sex, they were filled with gentleness, yearning... dare I say even love. He'd eat your pussy. Finger you whilst he was your big spoon in bed. Be so careful as he thrusted into you, hooking your leg over his shoulder as he dug his thumbs into your pelvis. And he would pull out. Vincent was content in what you both had at that moment. No need to rush into starting a family just yet---
πΊ He killed the milkman for speaking to you a little too long on your porch.
πΊ Mailman meets the same end. Why did his thumb have to brush over your finger like that?
πΊ Vincent so sweetly lets you move into his large home. You just weren't safe when there was murders happening on your street. He told you he could not lose you too. You settle in so nicely. You both leave for work together and go home side by side. You had been performing so well at work too! Vincent was happy for you. Until he wasn't. It meant you got more male attention. More introductions. More opportunities. What the fuck do you mean they want you to work for them instead? He can't have that. No no. Looks like he's not pulling out tonight.
πΊ 1000% the type to baby trap. When you tell him the news of your pregnancy, he acts so happy for the both of you... really he's fucking stroking his own ego on how smart he was for ensuring your future together. There's no way you could leave him now, right?
πΊ He wasn't certain though. He bought an expensive diamond ring for you ages ago but now was the perfect time to propose. He does it live on air. He needs the public to support him, view him as such a wonderful soul. Someone to t r u s t. More importantly - to back the fuck away from you. What a romantic guy. Oh and there's no need for you to work anymore. He manipulates you into giving up your job. You're going to be his wife and mother to his child. You belong in his house, in the kitchen and on his bed.
πΊ you're married within weeks. He gets the wedding televised. He needs the world to see who you belong to. The ceremony isn't in just an ordinary ol' church. "Think bigger, baby. Think brighter." You both get married in a fucking cathedral. You're dressed in a gown that rivals the Queen of England.
πΊ At any event he brings you along to, he keeps you glued to his side, it's almost suffocating. "This is my pregnant wife." He needed to emphasise that part. It was like it was more important than the marriage. Oh but it most definitely was. It was his subtle way of telling men that he was dicking you down and only him.
πΊ You give birth to a son. Oh how perfect was Vincent's life. A wife and child. A family to come back to. He convinces you that a second child would make him over the moon, told you it was only fair your son had a playmate. He didn't want him to be an only child. You were hesitant, content with just your son and husband- oh too late Vincent's already pressed deep into you.
πΊ Vincent was the top star in the States. He could focus on his cult more now that you were secured in his life. Two babies you were looking after at home, always serving him a hot meal after work and you would so happily spread your legs for him after the kids were put to bed. There's no way you would leave him... Right? Seriously though. Right? Wait a minute... you're beginning to argue with him now. Telling him he's too engrossed with his work. That he's not being a good father. Whoa whoa what? You're going to stay round your parents with the kids tonight? Now Vincent panics. His hands claw at your dress, trying to get you to look at him. You don't. Fuck his heart is racing. You're being serious this time about leaving. Since when did you wake up and remember you had free will? He's on his knees now, still not letting go of your dress skirt. His voice is shaking... he's actually crying? "Don't go, baby. I love you and the kids so much..." He holds onto your hand and places it against his cheek, looking up at you with glassy eyes. "If you go, I'll kill myself." Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces. You didn't want him to die. Oh don't worry... he knew this. Your kindness had always been your weakness. Instead of leaving that night, you were on the floor having your cunt being devoured by a teary Vincent Whittman. "Please forgive me, baby... I'm sorry..." He murmured between sloppy kisses on your clit. It had been so long since he ate you out like this, preferring a quick fuck in the kitchen after dinner whilst the kids played upstairs. You came so hard but he still kept feasting on you. Apologising over and over again. You tell him through your whimpers that you forgive him - but it's not good enough. He needs to be certain that you won't go. Vincent turns you into a babbling mess, making you come from his tongue over and over again. Your heart is bleeding for him as he love bombs you. In fact YOU end up apologising to him for not being 'understanding' enough. He was such a busy man, working so hard to support his family. How could you make this man cry? So so heartless of you... the only right thing to do was let Vincent come in you multiple times that night.
πΊ Every night you now have to reassure him that you won't ever leave him. When you closed your eyes, his pearly teeth reflected off the blank television. He had broken you. You were shards that he could keep locked away, forever to keep.
πΊ A couple years have passed and you have three children with a fourth on the way. Vincent stuck the final nail in the coffin by getting his children to utterly adore him. Every night he came home they would run to him, tell him how much they missed him. Therefore if you ever EVER dared to leave him again... well, let's say the children wouldn't be on your side. But you knew this. You had come to accept this life as Vincent's prisoner. This toxic game of manipulation. All you had to do was love him. That's all he ever wanted.
πΊ Your shackles were broken the day Vincent died. You were free from his spell. You were all heartbroken... but your eldest child took it the hardest. Some nights, you would catch your son staring at a blank TV screen... Nothing to worry about. Right?