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Okay, house of wax was pretty great, not better then house of 1000 corpses but great.
Spoilers ahead(obviously)
Key thoughts:
-I still wish we saw more of Vincent, but whatever.
-I wish they touched on their backstory more, it was really interesting and it would have been really cool to see the story played out rather then just be monologed(referring to the scene where Bo tells the story about his parents). It genuinely would have been nice to see more flash backs like the beginning. Like it would have been interesting to see flash backs to his mothers deterioration as a person.
-the cinematography was great, the shot with cutting the wax babies was such a fantastic story telling device and personally made the story click
-I loved the practical affects, very glad they avoided using too much cgi for what gore there was in the movie.
-though theres no denying that the cgi got rough in the end with the melting wax building. But again the movies from 2005, and still ultimately cgi is expensive and if not done just right is becomes glaring. So I'd say the only really bad scene is when your watching the wax building melt itself from the outside.
-I wish Lester was more involved. It would have been interesting to see what role he played in the family dynamic.
-I'm still not 100% sure why they started killing people. I think it's because Bo is a lunatic and is manipulating his brothers, but again an hint of explanation of how someone gets to the point of trading people in wax would be nice. Though maybe they included it and I just missed it, I dunno. Update: currently watching the movie again. And I heard a line that I missed before or misinterpreted. Bo talked about finishing what mom started which implies there mom started the killing. But it still would like it to be clear why she started to kill, was it the cyst in her head? Like give me a lil more here.
-I usually don't really like the victims in the horror movies, not outright hate them, but just indifferent, but I rather like the male and female survivors(yes I have already forgotten their names).
-I loved the connections that would be made throughout the movies, like how things mentioned or would happen would connect to the later events. For example the one of the survivors at the start(who is a twin) talking about being an evil twin to his sisters good twin, which parallels the fact Bo is the literal evil twin to Vincent's 'good' twin.
-the characters felt pretty flushed out(other then the killers), the victims/survivors felt like real people for the most part and it felt like they had real chemistry.
-To be honest I liked how the survivors/victims didn't feel like they had classic 'horror movie' syndrome, their reactions felt fairly realistic, albeit a bit calm to the creepy ass town they were in.
-the sets in this movie were amazing, again I wish we saw more of it, especially with Vincents workshop, I would hav liked to see more of his process, because I have some questions about the logistics of his work.
-Lester as a character, like I said feels unexplored and left me wanting to see for of him in a way that was very unsatisfying.
-Bo by the end I kinda fell back into the 'meh' camp with him because his motives to me still felt so unclear which just in general made him feel like a murky character.
-I deeply want more of Vincent, he is by far the most interesting character in the entire show. Love him to death, very sad when he died.
Edit to add: Whats the point ultimately here? Why make all these wax figures? Just to have them rot here alone dusty? Everything again just kinda feels murky and I just have a lot of questions still.
Overall good movie, but I'm gonna have to watch it a few more times before I think about writing for it
okay it's 5:36 in the morning I think I'm going to sleep now.
Been reading more and more posts about how people think Vincent would have a more similar personality to Bo, and it got me thinking:
Vincent having a high sex drive and being charming AF-----
● Who's to say that Vincent can't schmooze you out of your pants? He knows every pickup line in the book and grew up reading/watching romance novels/movies- so he knows how to be smooth and romantic
● Is actually super flirtatious and often makes the first move. He's planning dates (even picks out your outfits) and is spontaneous. Has backup plans in case there's any hitch
● It's like he knows all the right things to say- and he keeps note of how receptive you are to what he does. He's paying attention to everything from your body language, to your tone of voice
● He's cheeky. Pinching your butt/thighs when he walks past you- always needs to keep his hands on you in some way. He's a great kisser and has you dripping in seconds
summary: vincent isn't very happy when you pay him a visit at his work place…
tags: angst with a happy ending, kinda misunderstandings, established romantic relationship, turks!vincent, careful & protective!vincent, petnames
you would've hoped that your boyfriend would be at least a little bit happy to see you, when you showed up at his work place to visit him. but vincent didn't look happy at all to see you. he seemed… a little bit annoyed, as he approached you, wiping that smile off your face right away.
“you shouldn't be here.” were the words he greeted you with. you tried to remain cheerful, but it was hard when he was so quick to complain.
“i'm happy to see you too, vincent.” you replied sarcastically, with the sweetest smile you could muster. “how has your day been?”
“i mean it.” vincent doubled down, ignoring your question, as he gently grabbed your arm and led you to the side, away from the prying eyes of his co-workers. “you shouldn't be here.”
“are you embarrassed to have me visit you, vince?” you sighed, begrudgingly following vincent.
“that's not the problem.”
vincent sighed and paused. both of you knew that part of this was because he was embarrassed. he had never introduced you to the other turks and you weren't even sure if he ever mentioned you to them.
“it's not safe for you to be here, honey.” vincent got a little softer with you as soon as the two of you had found a quiet place to talk, out of sight from everyone else. “this isn't the type of job where you bring your partner. the less people know about you, the better, as it'll only put a potential target on your back. you understand that, don't you?”
“i just wanted to see you…” you sighed softly, avoiding to confirm vincent's question. you knew his job was dangerous, but you hadn't really thought that far ahead. you just wanted to spend his lunch break with him and have some more time together…
“i know, sweets” vincent gently placed a kiss on your forehead and ruffled your hair. “how about we go out for lunch, just today? and every other time you miss me and want to see me, you just let me know and i'll try to finish my work early that day. sounds good?”
you slowly nodded and vincent smiled softly, before grabbing your hand.
“then let's go, honey. and stay near me, alright?”
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Pairing: Vincent Whittman x Weather Girl! Reader
Tags/ Warning: Masturbation, dry humping a pillow. MINORS DNI
Summary: It's a hot summer night, and Vincent humps a pillow while the weather girl does her segment.
A/N: I don't know why this title is reminding me of the days when I did Kumon. The reading booklets always made me differentiate between weather and whether. Like, duh. I know the difference? I'm trying to get better at writing smut for Kinktober 2026. I wonder what kink I should practice next
The summer heat wisps across his body, pulling beads of sweat that roll down the peaks of his skin, and dampens his body further.
Fuck!
It’s too hot.
Vincent Whittman traces the edge of his shirt. His bottoms have already been discarded, thrown far away at some corner, and leaving him in nothing but his boxers and shirt. It could burn in Hell for all he cared.
It’s too simple to breach a hand underneath. It’s even simpler to brush a thumb across his skin, taking the moment to feel that slickness from the sweat.
There’s something freeing about the way Vicent practically rips the shirt away from his body. The small breeze wisping around chills his skin. It’s a breeze of tingling coldness that shivers up his chest, and settles deep into him.
It was a mistake to live in a city so hot. It was a mistake not investing in something the cools him down. It was a mistake to flip open the television, and land on the news, a recording of the day’s program accompanying all those who melt under the summer heat.
The voice of yours was the first thing Vincent noticed. It’s simple to slide his eyes all the way to the side just to catch a glimpse of you from his bed. You’re pointing at a bunch of numbers, talking about the heat index with that . . . that bright eyes . . .
The second thing that Vincent notices is the hardening erection that’s beginning to stretch his boxers. The tip of his cock pushes against the cloth, demanding to be know, demanding to be coaxed, demanding to be touched.
Vincent slides his eyes towards the television once more, where your bright eyes shine despite the fact that you were doing something as simple as the weather.
It was a little repulsive to see you so content with being a weather reporter.
Vincent could never allow himself to just be.
There was always something better, somewhere brighter.
Yet you, and that eager attitude of yours, shined throughout it all. Vincent wants to make those eyes of yours shine with tears at the though of him, at the though of his touch, his fingers, his cock.
Vincent returns that hand on his stomach, feeling the slickness of his sweat against his palm. The longer you talked, the longer that voice of your echoed around him, the lower his hand slides until the weight of it coaxes a hot breath from his lips.
It felt good, but it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t you.
That groan turns into a moan when Vincent lies on his stomach. If he angled his hips just a little higher, just a little deeper into the mattress . . .
The sound of your voice pushes his hips deeper, easing a pressure that’s been slowly building. There’s a part of him that wonders what it’ll sound like when you gasp his name. The most obscene things would spill out of that mouth of yours. Vincent just knows it, because he knows you and those bright and eager eyes of yours
Vincent takes a pillow and pulls it closer to him. The weather won’t last very long. It will end soon and—
Fuck it.
It’s too hot to properly think beyond those beads of sweat rolling down his back.
Vincent could almost imagine that those were your fingers trailing down, scratching his skin with the tips of your nails. It’s simpler now to push the pillow right on his cock, budling the cushioning together just so that it presses on his cockhead in the most delicious way.
The first thrust of his hip presses into the pillow with a weird angle, but Vincent focuses on the sound of your vice, barely registering the words you were saying. It’s a laugh that spills out of your mouth, and Vincent humps the pillow just a little harder, rutting into it like some wild animal.
The mind is a very generous thing.
It offers images of you underneath him, his name spilling out of your lips as Vincent drive his cock into you, just as he’s doing to his pillow. You’ll be much softer, much wetter, much better than anything he could ever dream off.
The moan that’s ripped out of his throat, and it sounds a little too much like your name.
It feels a little too good.
The wet patches of his precum coat his cock, and the deeper he ruts into the pillow, chasing that sweet release, the more it spreads. On his boxers. On his sheets.
It’s hard to process the words you were saying. Hard to see anything except the swell of your back, the bite of your lips, the scrunch of your face as Vincent pleasures you again and again and again.
Your voice echoes into his room, into his mind. “As a special someone always likes to say, trust me with your weather.”
Vincent comes against his pillow before he could fully process what you said. Damp patches spread across his boxers and transfer into his pillow.
It doesn’t stop there, not when Vincent reaches lower and fists his cock.
♡Summary: Vincent is a man who always gets what he wants. And, now, he wants to start a family with you. The only problem is that you're terrified of childbirth. So, he has to go about it a different way.
⚠️: Vincent is a manipulative asshole. But he loves you. Some angst. Brief smut. Hurt/comfort. Very short description of nausea (just used one word, "heaving"). Nausea as a symptom is talked about. Vincent talks shit about other people's kids.
♡A/N: Inspired by an anon on @6esiree blog. If you haven't, you NEED to read all of their fics. They're so good!!!
Famed television star Vincent Whittman ponders this while glowering at the flimsy paper cup in his hand. A curled lip and narrowed, mismatched eyes are reflected back at him. The sight ripped in the water, imperfect. He sneers and hands the full cup to a faceless intern speed walking by, not a care given over throwing off the rhythm in their stride.
No possible way he could trust the pipes in this old building. Vincent was certain those outdated pipes ferrying briny water were the reason why everyone in the studio was acting so odd. Not a singular moment of peace would pass before some forgettable employee shoved a picture of their snot-nosed brat in his face. Seriously, was it being your ugly kid's picture to work day? Did one of those useless interns forget to give a memo of this?
"Isn't my Margaret just adorable??"
"My little Timmy is such a talented artist!"
If they asked Vincent for his honest opinion (nobody will), he'd say your Margaret ain't winning any beauty contests, and little Timmy should learn that sharks don't have bright purple fins. How stupid is that? Someone needs to tell Timmy to pick up a book before drawing such inaccurate, ugly depictions of sharks. Those beautiful creatures are interesting enough the way they are. No need to give them such a gaudy color change that doesn't even make sense. Honestly, Vincent had half a mind to-.
The train of thought going full speed in his head derailed. Vincent inhaled, held his breath, and exhaled. If he wanted to go on an hour-long tangent about the public's perception on sharks, he'd have to wait. There was a different matter at hand to focus on. It being, when did everyone in this network have kids?
Typically, during work hours, the topic of children was minimal. Vincent could count on one hand the number of times someone droned on and on about their brats. That number, however, had increased dramatically this week. All of a sudden, every rando in the studio had a picture, shitty art, or graded homework to show off.
"Isn't Susan just darling in her Sunday best!" (Hopefully, Susan has a nice personality.)
"You know, they say Ben could be a lawyer some day. Just look at those straight A's!" (Your son is in kindergarten. It's not hard to get an 'A' in "art".)
"I have to frame this drawing Robert did of our family! How cute is it?" (Wow. Turns out, it's not easy to get an 'A' in "art" after all.)
After some careful thinking, Vincent discovered the culprit of this kiddy takeover. The water. It's hotter this week, hotter than normal, and everyone has been drinking that poisoned water more than usual. The real truth was he just never paid attention to anyone but himself until now. But the nasty water made more sense in his mind.
"Vincent! Come and take a look at this!"
Both of his producers were waving him over. Vincent's shoulders dropped, his tense muscles finally loosening. Finally, a conversation that didn't involve whether or not he thought someone's sweet Betty would make it in the entertainment industry (she wouldn't). Standard talk between his producers involved ratings and a reminder to keep up the steady rise in viewership. It was predictable, nothing he wasn't prepared for. With a chuckle he walked, his leisurely stride was as cocky as ever.
"Let me guess. Viewership increased by 5 percent again, huh?" That question was purely rhetorical. Vincent was fully aware of the steady increase in his numbers ever since he took William's job. That guy was never gonna make it in the late night talk show scene. Too boring. He did the studio a favor.
As Vincent approached close enough to peer at what he expected to be the newest ratings in one of his producer's hands, he blinked a few times and readjusted his glasses. His eye twitched as he bit back a groan threatening to spill out. This had to be a prank the studio was playing on him.
A picture of a little girl, no older than 5, playing in the sand was in his producer's hand. Steven, the one holding onto the photo, chuckled, fully unaware of Vincent's growing exasperation. "Ain't she a cutie? Wife took the picture while I was at work last week." He tucked it away in his breast pocket, but not before giving it a kiss. "My Nancy's gonna be a knockout one day. Breakin' all the hearts on the block."
Joseph, his other producer, clapped Steven on the back. "Did a nice job, makin' that," he commented, taking a drag from his cigarette, "I know my boy Dennis is gonna be all over her one day." Both of them laughed their asses off at the prospect.
Any word that came out of Vincent's mouth was not going to be a kind one. He did what he forced himself to do every time a higher up said something ridiculous and pointless, smile and nod. Worked like a charm every time.
Steven was satisfied with his lackluster response and clapped him in the back. Vincent stopped himself from stumbling forward and held onto that signature smile. "So, how about you?" Steven asked, glancing away for a moment to snap his fingers at an intern. Said intern came running in seconds with a full cup of water in hand.
If it was possible to burn a hole in that crappy paper cup, the water would've spilled out from how hard Vincent stared at it.
Joseph rose a brow and followed Vincent's gaze. "You alright, Whittman? Need some water?" He offered, raising his hand to snap his fingers.
Vincent flinched and coughed into his fist. "No. No, absolutely not." His lip curled at the thought of drinking that water.
Neither one of them commented on his odd behavior. "As I was saying,-" Steven took a sip of that poison - "you and misses thinking about having any kids?" He inquired.
The same charm that landed him on every TV screen, amongst other things, slipped on. "Oh, well, you know how it was with a growing career." Vincent shrugged nonchalantly. "Me and the Misses agreed that it would be better to wait until everything settles down." Just another one of his skills coming into play, his silver tongue.
Neither one of you actually wanted kids. The topic had been broached before, but then never again after both of you shared your respective reasons why. You were petrified of childbirth. Just the thought of being all alone, surrounded by medical staff you barely knew sounded traumatizing. Not to mention all the complications that could come along with it. Vincent's reason, though he'd never admit, was more superficial.
He didn't want some snot-nosed brat stealing all your love and attention from him. Babies need love and care 24/7. He hated the thought of a pesky rascal monopolizing all your time and leaving none for him. You were his beautiful, amazing wife, and all of your focus should be on him. Always. No, that trail of thought was not obsessive. It would just be odd to say it out loud. Saying he didn't want kids because he is needy for his wife's attention would damage his brand.
Joseph scoffed, a sly smirk on his face, as he handed an unlit cigarette into Steven's outstretched hand. "That so?" He asked, giving Steven a quick light. "Poor woman is gonna be waiting a long time." The two of them laughed at Joseph's little quip.
Steven took a drag and blew the smoke out. "Don't take too long. Don't want her to dry up, huh?" He nudged Vincent with his elbow and absentmindedly flicked the end of his cigarette.
"He's right!" Joseph added in between laughs. "You know how it is with women. Time is ticking. And your wifey ain't getting any younger."
Vincent bit his tongue and forced out a strained chuckle. He was just forced to listen to these stale men insult him, his wife, and idly flick cigarette ash onto his shoe. The two walked off without another word, not even a wave of their hand. That charming smile that enchanted millions morphed into a scowl the moment those two were out of sight. "Bastards," Vincent mumbled while kicking ash off his shoe.
Those two outdated bastards had some nerve, but Vincent refused to dwell on it. He had a show to put on, and their days were numbered anyway. He chuckled and let his gaze fall onto the mic sitting on his set desk. Despite the excitement tickling his skin, something was gnawing at the back of his mind.
It was normal for a husband and wife to have kids. More than normal, it was expected. Vincent's brows furrowed as he watched everyone around him continuously gush about their average kids. An unpleasant feeling he hadn't experienced since upgrading from nerdy weather man to loveable late-night host returned. Alienation.
Why should all these faceless nobodies get to have all the fun? Most of the men here who had kids didn't even come close to being half the man he was, and they were still the patriarch of their respective households. They couldn't command a room like him, fat chance they're able to command their family. If Vincent had a family of his own, he was sure they would sing his praises. Why shouldn't they? He was on every television screen in this country, breaking barriers and pioneering the industry into a new era of entertainment.
Vincent's head shot up like a lightbulb shined bright over his head. A smirk slowly spread over his lips. Now, that's an idea that would boost his public image. He could picture it now, his darling housewife, swollen with his child with him by her side, attending to her needs. The public would eat that up.
"Oh, what a swell husband."
"Wow, look at the wife. She's glowing!"
"I hope I have a husband that sweet one day!"
There was just one hurdle he had to jump over. His wife. Fortunately, the hurdle wasn't too high, and there was an easy fix to this predicament. It might involve some deceit if you didn't comply, but you'd understand. He's your husband, after all, he knows what's best.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
"Oh, hon~ey! I'm home~!"
Vincent stepped through the threshold of the lovely home his wife cared for and breathed in the delicious smell of her cooking. What a doll you are, coming from the kitchen to the door to greet him. If everything he planned in his head came to fruition, little footsteps would be joining you.
"Welcome home, darling. How was work today?" You asked, helping remove his coat to drape it over your arm and take his briefcase. You pecked his lips, turned away to hang his coat up, and placed his briefcase right under it.
A comforting warmth bloomed in Vincent's chest. His beautiful wife was so good at caring for him. It would be a disservice not to provide such a nurturing woman with children of her own.
Vincent grabbed your hand and pulled you in for one more kiss. You giggled and stepped away from him. "Tell me about your day while I finish up dinner," you said, grabbing his hand to lead him into the kitchen.
This sight in the kitchen was something he should've been accustomed to by now. You, in your beautiful dress and cute apron, working around the stove to provide him with a nutritious meal. The expression you had was so sweet and carefree. Vincent could only imagine how much sweeter you would look with his child sitting on your hip. He was determined to make that imagination a reality.
"It was an interesting day," said Vincent, walking to stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. "Something must've been in the water, I swear. Everyone was showing off pictures of their rug rats every five minutes." He rolled his eyes as he listed off every picture, report card, and shitty drawing that was shoved in his face.
You giggled when he finished his rant. "Really?" You asked, grabbing a spoon at the side of the stove, "Ben is in kindergarten already?" You dipped the spoon in and slipped it into your mouth.
Vincent blinked and stared into the side of your head. "Wait, what? Since when have you ever paid attention to that stuff?" He inquired.
You hummed and smacked your lips together after your taste test. You scooped the spoon in again and held it up to Vincent's lips. "How could I not? John tells me about him every time I visit you," you explained. Your tone read like it was common knowledge, and Vincent was ridiculous for not knowing.
Perhaps it truly was safe to drink the water, and Vincent was just too full of himself to notice until now. He didn't dwell on that. The thought immediately escaped his mind when your food hit his tastebuds. Amazing as always. His future children were going to love your cooking the same way he does.
"Yeah, sure." He brushed it off and stayed wrapped around you. "Hey -" he placed his head on your shoulder for a better view of your face - "you ever think about what our own kids would look like?" He asked. His tone was soft and slow, like he was approaching a spooked animal.
It didn't matter how nice and sweet he sounded. He still felt your muscles tense under his touch. You had been plating dinner like normal until his words had interrupted the flow of your movements. "Um, I-I don't know." You shook your head and resumed busying yourself with dinner.
Vincent chuckled and readjusted his hands to rub his thumbs into your hips. "Come on, I bet they'd be pretty cute, right?" That question was purely rhetorical to him. Of course, his children would be cute. They would be a perfect mixture of both you and him.
The laugh you let out was strained. You didn't say anything else and pulled away to walk the full plates into the dining room. Vincent followed right behind you. "Don't ignore me like that, doll. It was just a simple question," he defended, walking with his hands raised.
You didn't meet his eyes or even acknowledge him as you set the plates down and organized the utensils. He watched as you frantically circled the table like a shark until you were satisfied. When you slowed to a stop, you cleared your throat and finally met his eyes. "Come and eat. We don't want it getting cold." You took your seat and said nothing else.
Vincent, after a moment of processing your actions, sat down beside you and took your hand before you could grab your utensils. "What? Did I rattle your cage over a silly question?" He lightly scoffed and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.
The hand nestled in his remained stagnant. You stared into your plate. "Vincent, stop it." You ripped your hand away and grabbed your utensils. "We've had this conversation already. We don't need to have it again."
Vincent sat back in his seat and laughed. "Okay, okay. No need to flip your lid. Just an innocent question." He rolled his eyes and began to eat.
You smiled at him, a forced one. "It's okay. Let's just eat," you said simply.
The rest of the meal was consumed with small talk. The two of you spoke of your respective days, sans the irritable talk of children from Vincent's work. Despite the easy conversation, there was a lingering tension in the air. That tension settled deep in his gut along with your cooking. He had tried to be considerate and do it the easy way, but clearly, you weren't receptive to it. You'll understand in due time.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
Patience is a virtue. That specific phrase had been burned into Vincent's brain since he began his career. Everyone has told him at one point that getting what you want takes time, but Vincent wasn't one to wait around for fate to give him what he desires. If he wanted something, he would take charge and grab it.
Typically, his plans moved along fairly quickly. Sure, the planning was meticulous and fairly detailed, but it usually wrapped up quickly. This current plan was a different kind. There was no need to stalk his victim and find the right moment where they're isolated. He knew his current victim intimately.
"Oh, fuck! Vince!"
There was a delicious arch in your back as he hit that sweet spot inside you. This position, you in his lap with him thrusting up into you, worked like a charm. Whenever Vincent needed you delirious and off your guard, he just had to coax you onto his cock like this. "Feel good, baby?" He asked rhetorically, knowing you weren't in the right mind to answer. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, pushing himself deeper into you with an arm tight around your waist.
With how deep in pleasure you were, you could only moan his name and futilely attempt to match his rhythm. "Feels fuckin' good, huh?" He moaned into your skin, "gonna feel even better after I fill you up." He stopped your movements and held you tight against his chest while moving you to lay back on the bed.
Your legs were wrapped around his waist until he grabbed you by your thighs and pushed them down into a mating press. Your soft walls constricted his cock at the feeling of this new angle. "O-Oh, shit..." You moaned breathlessly, hands clenched into the sheets.
"I know, baby. I know," Vincent whispered, his thrusts short due to how tightly you gripped him. "Almost there. I can feel it." He grit his teeth, jaw clenched as your pussy sucked him in deeper.
"Ah! Vincent!" You gasped, head thrown back with your hands still holding onto the sheets as you reached your peak.
Vincent's hold on your thighs faltered as your pussy pulsed around his cock. "Oh, fuck!" He cursed, falling forward with his arms braced on either side of your head. With one last half-hearted thrust he cums deep inside you, each flutter of your pussy milking him and surely pulling his cum deep into your womb.
Both of your bodies shudder against each other simultaneously. You raise your arm shakily and tap Vincent's shoulder, a quiet signal for him to pull out. Vincent laid himself against your chest and assaulted your neck with kisses. "Not yet, doll," he whispered in your ear between kisses, "just a little longer."
You could barely muster a small noise of acknowledgment, you nodded and went limp. Vincent smiled at you and continued with his kisses. "Thank you, baby," he whimpered.
Any other regular person would feel immense guilt. Maybe a small part of him should. In your mind, Vincent is staying inside you for comfort after a long, hard day. In reality, he's trying to keep any sperm he can deep inside you in hopes it reaches your womb. But if it doesn't this time, it's fine.
It was bound to happen at some point. There was nothing stopping your body, not after he had replaced your birth control with prenatal vitamins that appeared similar. Plus, he hasn't been keeping track of your cycle for nothing.
He would just have to wait for the next opportunity. All he had to do was bid his time.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
A full month has passed. A whole month of Vincent staring at the calendar, fucking you practically every night (not that he minded), and watching your every move afterwards. He was watching you now, sitting at the small kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you cooked breakfast. He mulled over the calendar in his mind. If his calculations were correct, your period was about a week late. But that's nothing to be excited about. Apparently, that can happen to women all the time.
Vincent grumbled under his breath and kept his eyes on you. Nothing about you had changed as of late. He went over the list of symptoms the older women in the studio spoke of. No nausea, no weird hormones, your boobs clearly weren't sensitive (he would know). No point in asking you, you would start to suspect something if he asked that unprompted. All he could do was wait.
The sizzling sound of bacon hitting a hot pan dominated the quaint silence in the kitchen. Vincent breathed in the savory smell and leaned back in his chair. He supposed there was always next month.
"Oh, shit-!"
A hot pain scraping over the stove caused Vincent to sit up straight in alert. His eyes followed you as you ran out the kitchen with your hand over your mouth. He stood from his chair, mug clattering loudly against the table when he put it down. "Honey! You alright?!" He asked, stumbling behind you.
The bathroom door shut loudly behind you with the lock clicking right after. Vincent was left standing outside, jiggling the handle and knocking on the door. "Hey, honey? What happened?" He demanded. He pressed his ear against the door.
The only response he got was you, most likely hunched over the toilet, heaving. If he pressed his ear harder onto the rough wood of the door he was positive you were crying too. A heavy pit weighed on his stomach at the noise. "Doll, come on." His tone was low and soft. "Open the door. Let me help you." He tapped his knuckles against the door.
The inside of the bathroom went quiet. After some brief silence, he heard a flush and then the sink running. You slippers shuffled against the floor, the shuffling became louder the closer you came to the door. Finally, the lock clicked and the door slowly swung open to reveal you. A sharp pain stabbed his heart at the sight of you.
Your face appeared sickly and sweaty, arms limp at your side with red-rimmed eyes.
"Oh, baby." He pulled you into him. "What happened?"
You appeared unsteady in your feet as you lightly swayed. You laid your forehead to rest against Vincent's shoulder. "Probably just a bad stomach bug," you mumbled, rubbing your forehead into his soft robe.
Vincent rubbed your back and held you tightly. "You should go to the doctor, doll face," he suggested, "want me to come with?" He pressed a kiss to the side of your head.
You immediately lifted your head up and shook it. "No, no. The studio needs you right now," you answered and laid your hands to rest on his shoulders, "after what happened to your producers it's important for you to be there."
Vincent hummed as if thinking it over. "If you're sure..." He shrugged and nudged your head to rest onto his chest. What a sweet wife you were. Caring more about your husband's livelihood than your own wellbeing. He would be sure to make this situation worthwhile for you.
Thank goodness you couldn't see his expression at the moment. You'd see the wide, giddy smile on his face. He looked like a child would on Christmas morning. If his personal theory on why you were sick was correct, all of the puzzle pieces he had carefully laid out were finally falling into place.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
A week has passed since your visit to the doctor's office. Vincent had attempted to ask how it went many times, but you had given the same vague answer each time. It didn't matter how many times he questioned you, your response and tone remained the same.
"Oh, it was nothing to worry about."
You never looked him in the eyes when you responded.
Vincent continuously mulled over your recent, strange behavior as he sat at his new desk. His new work load as a producer and television personality kept him at the studio later than normal. Due to this new schedule, it was difficult to discern how you were truly feeling. From what he could gather from the limited time he spent at home, you were most definitely different.
You had tried to hide your recent changes from him, but he was a perceptive man when it concerned you. In the early morning, when you assumed he was asleep, you would run into the bathroom to throw up. Along with that, your mood had shifted. You weren't outright rude to him, he was your husband after all, but you had gotten snippy with him.
"Ugh, seriously, Vincent?! I told you to clean that up!"
The final nail in the coffin to him, were your sensitive boobs. You had been refusing to get intimate with him for that reason. As much as he respected and loved you, that was pissing him off.
"No, not tonight, Vince. I'm a little sensitive. My monthly must be starting soon."
Vincent scoffed to himself. There was absolutely no way all of these sudden changes were due to your "upcoming" monthly. He went over that same list of symptoms he had been given mentally.
Nausea, specifically in the early morning. Check.
Mood swings. Definite check.
Sensitive boobs. Unfortunate check.
A hefty sigh escaped Vincent as he slouched down in his chair. He undid his intricate bowtie and glanced over to the stack of paperwork waiting to be completed. Who knew once two producers "mysteriously" kicked the bucket the workload of both would pass to the next? In hindsight, that was obvious and there was no point in bitching about it now. They were already dead and buried. Lazy bastards.
The sudden tight clench of his jaw from a forming snarl placed pressure on his teeth. It was impossible to focus on this meaningless work when his wife was hiding things from him. At this point, enough was enough. He was going to get to the bottom of this mystery, even if had to call the doctor and demand answers. You're his wife, you shouldn't be hiding things from your husband. He was the man of this house. The one who provided. What would you be without him?
Those thoughts stayed swirling in his head as he drove home.
The moment Vincent finally stepped into his home, he expected to smell the delicious, familiar smell of your cooking. However, there was nothing. There was no noise, just an unsettling silence. As he walked through the home, there was no sign of you anywhere. The last place to check was your shared bedroom. The only time Vincent has found you laid in bed at this odd hour was when you were sick.
Vincent's eyes widened as he rushed into the bedroom. Laid on the bed, faced away from the door, was you. He walked to you and kneeled down by your side. Your eyes were closed and your breathing was evenly spaced. Your slumber seemed peaceful, but Vincent could see the tears staining your cheeks.
"Hey, doll. I'm home," he whispered as he rubbed your arm to coax you awake.
You didn't respond positively to his gentle caress. You grumbled and pressed your sleeping face into your pillow.
Vincent could only chuckle and kiss your head. "Hey, come on," he mumbled, "I wanna see my darling's beautiful face." He continued moving his hand up and down your own.
You released one more adorable noise of discontent and finally gave Vincent the pleasure of seeing your beautiful eyes. You appeared slightly groggy for a brief moment, but immediately sat up after processing Vincent was the one who woke you. "Oh god, I fell asleep, didn't I?" You drawled, voice rough with sleep.
Vincent sat at your side and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "It's okay, honey," he reassured with another kiss to your head. "But, are you alright?" His brows furrowed as he stared down at you.
You stared up at him, confused, but your expression quickly shifted. It was as if everything you had been feeling before your nap hit you all at once. Your nose scrunched and tears filled your eyes. "Oh, Vinny," you whimpered, looking down at your lap, "I don't know what to do."
Vincent tensed as you began to cry. He loathed seeing you cry. He had always said you were too pretty for tears. "What are you talking about, doll?" He asked.
The question remained unanswered as you cried harder. "P-Please, don't- don't leave me." You spoke those words in between sobs from behind your hands.
"Hey, dollface, calm down-" Vincent wrapped both of his arms around you- "That's not gonna happen." Several kisses were planted onto your head. One of his hands came to rest under your chin to nudge your head up gently. "Come on, talk to me," persuaded Vincent.
The tears streaming down your cheeks became heavier as you focused on his eyes. "Vinny, I'm so sorry," you sobbed and hiccupped, "I-I'm..."
Vincent felt his heart begin to beat a mile a minute at your hesitation. Any excitement, no matter how small, was smothered and kept in check. But, despite not wanting to get ahead of himself, goosebumps born from anticipation spread over his skin. Was this it? Were you finally going to say the words he had been dreaming to hear all month?
"I'm pregnant."
Every single living being on the planet stopped moving. Somehow, after you let out those words for the universe to hear, everything froze. His expression turned vacant, stoic. This wasn't a dream. The feeling of your warm skin under his hands felt real. It helped ground him. It was real. It was finally happening. Do dreams really come true? Were those fireworks going off?
You interpreted Vincent's stillness and silence in a negative way. Your cries were directed into his chest. "Please, please. Don't leave me, please," you begged as you held onto his blazer.
Vincent shook his head to snap himself out of his trance. He held you tightly against him and slowly rocked you from side to side. "Hey, baby, it's okay." He rested his head atop yours. "I'm not leaving."
You curled into him, nuzzling your head into his chest. "Bu-... But-" you sniffled- "you said... you didn't want this. And now, I ruined everything," you blubbered and gestured to your belly as you spoke.
Vincent whispered comforting words into your hair and continued rocking you.
"I don't even know how this could've happened." Your expression turned pensive. You were probably mentally checking back on all the pills you had taken until now, wondering if you had somehow missed a dose.
Vincent forced his body to remain relaxed. If he let anything show now, that could possibly tip you off. He pressed a kiss into your hair. "Well, you must have forgotten a dose, you goof." He chuckled lightly. "But don't worry, it's gonna be okay, baby."
One of his hands drew a soft line down your body until it reached your stomach. "I'll always take care of you." Those words were said with his warm hand resting your belly. A silent promise to care for the new life forming in there.
based off of sabrina carpenter's my man on willpower
angst. romance. emotional neglect. vox being emotionally unavailable. val as your best friend. confrontation. reader finally snapping at vox. cussing. grammatical errors ahead! (i didn't proofread it properly.)
[synopsis] it's been a long time since you got in a relationship with vox, but for some reasons, his self-restraint towards you is getting out of hand you started to question if he's still into you.
˙⋆✮
the night was still young, yet this was already getting old for you.
"would you look at that, huh? something came up at work." vox mumbled as he dodged your leaning figure.
it was like this every single time you try to show even just a bit of affection, and tonight was unlike any other night.
you watched him get up, change onto his suit, and leave the room without even kissing you goodbye — or to the very least, saying it.
that was your last straw.
for weeks, you have been trying to get vox's attention — begging for the bare minimum at the very least, but no, he kept on bailing you out.
he kept making excuse about how 'he has so much respect for you that he couldn't afford to do such thing' or 'something came up at work.'
you groaned as you dialed your phone to call valentino. you had to tell someone about this as it's been killing you internally.
"let me guess, he bailed on you again?" valentino's voice came through your phone, he sounds amused already.
you scoffed, standing up from your bed as you started pacing the room.
"for the nth time," you groaned mid-sentence, feeling frustrated about vox. "fuck-I can't even remember when was the last time he even looked at me without acting like I'm some kind of curse picture."
val chuckled at your complaining, "So what now, baby? You gonna keep begging, or finally do something about it?”
"I don't know, val. I've been doing every single thing to get his attention and nothing seems to work on him."
you stopped pacing as you approached the edge of the bed, sitting on it.
"he's acting as if I'm the least sought after girl here in hell, and it just sucks."
"because he's a complete idiot, querida—like, actually brainless at this point." Val scoffed through the phone.
"I swear if I see him, I'm saying something. Where is he, anyway?"
you heard soft ding on val's end, but didn't mind it at first.
"some emergency at work." you told him
"emergency at work?" he repeated, dragging the words out with a hint of questioning in his tone.
"yeah, that's what he said."
"huh.."
"what?" you raised your brow, confused at his reaction.
you heard an amused scoff on his end.
"no way."
"valentino." your patience was almost running out because of the suspense.
"querida..." he started, an amused tone still evident on his voice. "you are not gonna like this."
"just fucking spill it out, val!" you quietly shouted, feeling your stomach drop as you brace yourself with what he's going to say.
"I just got a message from your very hardworking and very busy boyfriend."
your grip on your phone tightened. you hummed, indicating that you want him to continue.
"he said he wants to meet me... at the bar."
"you're shitting on me, val."
"I wish I was." you can hear the amusement in val's voice as he continued "timestamp's fresh too, a real urgent business huh?"
you hung up the call. you lost it. you angrily stormed off the room—you already know which bar val was talking about.
when you entered, you saw him at the corner, chilling like he didn't have a single care in the world.
it's as if he didn't leave someone all by themselves, questioning their worth—wondering if he even wanted them anymore.
your chest tightened. this was your emergency, huh?
vox didn't notice you there at the bar until you were standing directly over him.
"having fun?"
he froze when he heard your voice. he stared as he stood up to face your figure.
“Y/N–baby, I told you I had work. of course that wasn’t a lie. things are… complicated right now.”
"at the bar?" you eyed the glass he was holding. he chuckled, placing it down.
“multitasking, my love. even overlords need to decompress. you're reading too much of this. snap out of it"
he tried to reach for your hand, but you refused to touch him. how ironic.
"oh cut the bullshit, vox." you started. the sheer venom in. your tone made him flinch.
"i've spent weeks begging for at least a crumb of your time, but you would just dismiss it every single fucking time—and I tried to understand you, but I've had it."
you took a slow breath, looking at him up and down, feeling disgusted. you were now questioning why did you even waste your time on such man.
vox looked at the surroundings before pulling you somewhere quiet.
"it's not like that," what was once his confident posture broke down as he begged for your forgiveness.
"baby, I just needed some time to breath. you're always there, and if it hurt you then I wanna say so-"
"what, say sorry?" you interrupted him. "if you felt fucking bad, you wouldn't have kept doing it."
"you're the media overlord, and for some reasons you can't even communicate your own feelings to me?"
there was silence. but then, vox stood straight then looked at you with his brows frowning.
"do you have any idea how much willpower it took for me to walk away every night? to keep my hands off you so i didn't lose my focus? it took me every single strength off of me so I had to prioritize my work over you-"
"It didn't take shit!" you cut him off. "do you even hear yourself? you're blaming your lack of control on me like I'm the one responsible for your attitude."
you were heartbroken. he couldn't even tell you what was the reason he was doing it. he was just putting the blame on you, it was tiring.
he realized what he had said to you, his gaze softened.
"I was trying to protect-"
"yourself." you cutted him off "you're not protecting me, you're protecting yourself."
"it's just tiring that I would pour everything to someone who's not even willing to do the same thing." your voice broke, it was frustrating. but you stood strong.
"so no—you don't get to come crawling back now that I'm done with this."
you walked away from him, your back facing him as you hid the tears running down your face as you tried to stay strong.
you didn't hear footsteps behind you. no signs of chasing you. and even at that moment, he chose to stand still.
somehow, that told you everything that you needed to know.
