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cami040405 · 1 month ago

Note

This one is solely because of a video I seen but whatever

Bo reacting to his s/o, who knows nothing abbot cars, convincing him to do her oil change but when he checks there’s just… like no oil and she’s like “I keep my car CLEAN >:)” as if he’s not horrified

Oneshot: No Oil, No Problem - Bo Sinclair x Reader

Summary: When Bo checks your car for an oil change, he finds the engine bone-dry—and learns you “cleaned out the dirty oil” to keep things tidy. Horrified, Bo launches into a dramatic, sarcastic lecture on how engines actually work and somehow still ends up holding you close while questioning all his life choices.

A/N: I loved this request, I confess that it took me a while to write it because I also had to take some private lessons about cars (With my father who, not ironically, is very similar to Bo explaining things). But I loved writing this oneshot, I hope you like it.

You'd always admired Bo’s hands.

Grease-stained, scarred, a little calloused — the kind of hands that could rebuild an engine or snap a neck with equal ease. Maybe that’s why you asked him to check your car’s oil. Not because you thought anything was wrong, exactly. But because watching him work always did things to you.

And Bo? Well, he always got a little smirk when you asked for help. Grumbling like you were inconveniencing him, but already reaching for his rag and heading outside like some backwoods grease god with a martyr complex.

“Could you do my oil change, babe?”

That was how it started.

“You just got it done a couple months ago,” he muttered as he walked toward your car, swiping his cap off to run a hand through his hair. “Ain’t no reason it’d be—”

The moment the hood clicked open, he cut himself off.

You leaned beside him, smiling proudly, as if you were about to be knighted for vehicular responsibility. Bo pulled the dipstick out, stared at it. Eyebrows drew low. He wiped it clean, stuck it back in, pulled it out again.

Still nothing.

“…The fuck?” he muttered.

You tilted your head, chewing your lip in what you hoped was a cute way. “Is that bad?”

He looked at you like you’d asked if gas was optional.

“Bad?” Bo’s voice dropped low, dangerous, with a hint of what-the-hell-am-I-dealing-with rasp. “There ain’t a drop of oil in this goddamn thing.”

You beamed like you’d passed a test. “Right?! I noticed that too.”

Bo froze.

Slowly, painfully, like someone in a horror movie realizing the monster was already in the house.

“…You noticed?”

“Yeah!” you said, nodding confidently. “I saw it was all dark and sticky, and it didn’t smell good, so I cleaned it.”

Bo blinked. “You… cleaned it.”

“Mhm,” you said, holding your hands up like you were revealing a magic trick. “I keep my car clean.”

There was a long, long pause.

You watched Bo take a slow step back from the car, eyes wide, nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge. His mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again.

“…You cleaned out the oil.”

“Yes.”

“With what.”

“I dunno. Paper towels, I think? And I used some soap around the edges—”

“Jesus CHRIST—”

Bo’s voice cracked mid-word, hands flying up like he couldn’t decide whether to strangle you or hug you out of sheer disbelief. He pointed a shaking finger at the engine.

“You can’t—you don’t just CLEAN the oil out, baby. That ain’t how cars work!”

“But it was gross!”

“IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE GROSS! It’s engine oil! Not perfume! It don’t gotta smell like goddamn lavender, it’s there to keep the whole damn engine from seizin’ up!”

You blinked. “…Is that what the loud knocking noise was last week?”

Bo’s whole body jerked like someone just threw cold water on him.

“Oh my fucking— YES. That’s your engine begging for mercy. Screamin’ to God, hopin’ someone with sense would check on it!”

“But I asked you to!” you defended, pouting. “So technically I did do the right thing.”

Bo stared at you, jaw slack.

“Oh, sure,” he drawled, voice laced with biting sarcasm. “Sure, you’re a real damn hero, sugar. Maybe next time you’ll ‘clean’ the brake fluid out too. Or flush the transmission with lemonade. Just polish it all up till the car dies sparkly and stupid.”

“…Would lemonade work?”

Bo looked like he aged ten years on the spot.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. He looked so betrayed, but also weirdly impressed that someone as pretty as you had this much chaotic energy rattling around in your skull. You leaned against the car, eyes bright.

“I was just trying to be proactive!”

“Proactive?! You’re gonna be walkin’ if you keep bein’ proactive like that.”

You reached over and poked his bicep. “C’mon, you love fixing stuff.”

“I love fixin’ machines, not acts of sabotage disguised as maintenance.”

Still, he was already pulling his ratty oil jug from the garage, grumbling the whole way.

“This thing’s lucky it didn’t throw a rod. You’re lucky I love you more’n I love sanity.”

You grinned, eyes glittering. “Aww. Bo Sinclair, protector of dumbasses.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, pouring in the oil with a practiced hand. “But next time? You even think about goin’ near an engine with a paper towel, I’m takin’ your keys and lockin’ you in the damn shed.”

“Hot,” you said casually.

He gave you a look. “You’re hopeless.”

You kissed his cheek, leaving a little smudge of lip gloss behind.

“And you’re stuck with me.”

He sighed.

Yeah. He was.

But God help your car.

It took Bo all of five minutes to change your oil. Not because it was an easy job — oh no — but because he was fueled entirely by rage, disbelief, and the desperate urge to make sure you never, ever did something that stupid again.

By the time he’d slammed the hood down, wiped his hands, and kicked the oil jug back toward the garage, he had That Look on his face. The one that usually came before a lecture, a storm, or him throwing a wrench across the room.

And sure enough, he crossed his arms, stared you down, and said:

“Sit your ass down.”

“…What?”

He pointed to the old wooden stool next to his workbench. “Sit.”

You blinked. “Are you… are you giving me a car lesson?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Damn straight I am.”

“But—”

“You lost the right to argue when you windexed your dipstick, baby.”

You snorted. “I didn’t Windex it.”

“You cleaned it with a Lysol wipe. Don’t split hairs with me.”

With a dramatic sigh and a secretly thrilled little flutter in your chest, you plopped down on the stool. Bo stood behind the bench, rummaging through some old paperwork, muttering to himself until he found what he was looking for: a stained, half-torn page from some ancient car manual, and — God help you — a pen.

“Lesson one,” he grunted, slapping the page onto the bench. “This’s your engine. It’s got moving parts. Fast ones. Metal on metal. Friction. Heat. That’s why you need—say it with me—oil.”

You blinked. “…O…il?”

“Goddamn genius,” he muttered.

He uncapped the pen like a teacher about to ruin someone’s Saturday morning, and started sketching a lopsided engine block, complete with dramatic arrows and what you thought were pistons, though one looked suspiciously like a hot dog.

“This,” he said, stabbing the paper, “is where the oil goes. It keeps all them little parts movin’ smooth. Without it, they grind together. Get too hot. Snap. Crack. Boom.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

“That knockin’ sound you heard? That was your car knockin’ on death’s door.”

“…But it’s fine now, right?”

“It’s fine ‘cause I fixed it.”

You shrugged. “That’s why I asked you.”

Bo’s hands dropped to the bench with a loud thud, and he let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a full-body exorcism.

“Woman, you got one brain cell, and it’s takin’ a nap!”

“But a very clean nap.”

Bo squinted at you like he was mentally bracing for your funeral.

Then he pointed the pen at you, slowly, like a knife.

“You are banned from opening that hood. Ever again. Matter fact, I’m tapin’ it shut. Supergluin’ it. Don’t even look at it. If the check engine light comes on, you tell me. If it makes a funny noise, you tell me. If a single fluid drips, squeaks, smells weird, or explodes, you tell me. You do not clean it. You do not guess. You do not touch anything that requires more than windshield wiper fluid.”

You raised a finger. “Can I clean that?”

He looked at you for a long moment. Then sighed and muttered, “God help me, yeah. Just… supervised.”

You smirked. “Yes, Mr. Sinclair.”

That earned you a glare and a finger wag. “I ain’t kiddin’. You scared the shit outta me. You keep runnin’ a dry engine and I’ll be buryin’ you with the damn thing when it dies.”

You stood up, stretching with a satisfied little smile, walking around the workbench to wrap your arms around his neck. He tensed, still bristling with mechanical fury, but his hands automatically settled at your hips.

“But you do love me,” you said sweetly.

“I love a challenge,” he growled.

You kissed the corner of his jaw. “I’m your favorite headache.”

“You’re my whole migraine.” But his grip tightened a little, and his voice softened just enough to betray him. “Don’t mean I want you stranded on the highway ‘cause you wanted to play house with your oil filter.”

You grinned. “So… when’s lesson two?”

He huffed. “Lesson two is me takin’ your keys for a week.”

“Rude.”

“I’ll give ‘em back when I stop havin’ nightmares about you puttin’ bath bombs in your radiator.”

“…Oh my God that’s such a good idea—”

“SIT DOWN AGAIN.”

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livindeadgirlgrav · 1 year ago

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Hi, i was wondering if you could do a Michael Myers, Otis driftwood, The sinclair twins and The grabber x Reader, but the Reader is kidnapped or is cornered by them, and with no options left, they Surprise attack with a smooch!!!

Of course!! Thank you for the request! Also I love your profile pic its so cute!

Warning: Violence, slashers, kidnapped, kinda NSFW, blood, gore, slasher things, overpowered, mature themes, Stockholm syndrome,

Michael Myers

Since Michael has kidnapped you, you have become use to him towering over you and corning you but he usually would turn around and leave after a few minutes but today he wasn't moving a muscle. In fact he kept getting closer to you. Forcing you to back up into the wall. Starring at him you watched him become inches away from you, lowering down to become inches from your face. Forcing you to stare into his dead eyes through the eye holes of his mask your eyes glanced down at the lips of the mask and before you knew it you threw your arms around his neck and smashed your lips onto his. You held onto him tightly as he sprung up faster then his typically movements. Michael quickly grabbed your arms forcing you to let go. As your feet hit the floor your furrowed your eyebrows at him, upset at the lose of contact. Michael quickly left the room, he was more confused than he had ever been.

Otis Driftwood

You had been stuck in Otis's bedroom since the first day he kidnapped you. Otis has tortured you for weeks now, but it wasn't as bad as what you seen him do to other victims within the house. Besides you were the only victim in his bed now...which is scary by itself. Today was like any other, you woke up chained to an empty bed. Sitting up you rubbed your sleepless eyes and pulled at the doll like dress he forced you to wear. You hated it, it was short and itchy but it was better then being naked all the time. Your head shot towards the door as you heard him barge in carrying a unconscious girl in his arms. You sat up on your knees looking to see who the girl was. "Who is she?" You asked a bit demanding. Otis shot his head up at you. "A new pet.." You widened your eyes and quickly stood up on the bed and shook your head. "No! Get her out of here!" You shouted. Otis chuckled a bit watching you before turning and placing the girl on a chair, tying her up. "Otis get her out of here." You demanded stepping down off the bed. Before you knew it Otis grabbed your throat and forced you back onto the bed. Falling down you caught yourself on your elbows. "Now listen mama, I don't rightly care for your attitude." He stated shaking you a bit. "Maybe I need to remind you about your place here hm?" He asked but seeing that his threats weren't phasing you made him more mad. Otis pulled his bloody knife out from its holster on his hip but before he could do or say anything you grabbed his hair by one of your hands using the other to balance yourself on the bed. Pulling him down quickly you smashing your lips onto his. Otis didn't pull away he chuckled into your kiss as he kissed you back roughly. Before you knew it your dress was being cut off with his bloody knife. Once your dress was off he pushed his knife onto your neck. "Come on mama, lets finish what you started." He stated as he ushered to his belt with his free hand. Quickly nodded you did exactly what he wanted, your fingers undid his belt with ease. Otis was a bit shocked by your eagerness but he wasn't about to stop you anytime soon. But he did know one thing your lips were much sweeter when you kissed him willingly.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent favored you ever since you rode into town. He actually thought you would have wanted his twin brother more than him but when he saw you running into the wax museum trying to hide within his work he felt a sense of happiness he had been searching for. So when he came out of hiding, gently pushing you into a corner of the museum, smiling a bit to himself when you didn't shout out a blood curling scream. "Help me." You stated softly starring at his waxy face. Vincent tilted his head in confusion. Weren't you scared of him? Vincent grabbed your hand and pulled you into another room then through a door and down the wax steps. Pulling you into his workshop. Luckily there wasn't any projects down there at the time. "You make them?" You asked softly as you looked around. Vincent stared at you before walking closer towards you. "T-That man out there is trying to kill me.." You stated as you watched the man. Vincent pointed to himself. Shaking your head you stated. "No, not you. The mechanic, I think his name is.." You stopped trying to think before you knew it you were pushed against the wall. "Hey?" you stated looking at the man. "I'm sorry, thank you for helping me." You stated before kissing the man's waxy cheek. Vincent quickly backed up and stared at you. Starring back you watched him point towards a bed within the corner. Nodding you walked towards the bed and sat down as you watched the man nearly trip up the stairs and slamming the door.

Bo Sinclair

Bo chased you down and jumped on you like he's down countless times to several different victims. The more you squirmed the more he liked it. He flung your small figure over his shoulder and carried you into his shop and down to his little makeshift dungeon. Bo slammed you down into the chair in the center of the room and was surprised when you didn't fight back or tried to get up and run. Regardless Bo still tied you down with duck tape. You breathed deeply trying your best to calm yourself down. Bo quickly grabbed your jaw and forced you to stare at him causing you to whimper a bit. Bo smirked a bit as he stared down at your lips. "Look at the way those lips curve." he stated in his deep country accent. Without thought you leaned up and smashed your lips onto his, Bo didn't stop you and didn't push away he simply kissed you back a bit rougher then you were. As you pulled away Bo bit your bottom lip and tugged it a bit before letting go and pulling away. He watched you lay your back down against the chair, once again Bo smirked and chuckled. "Don't you worry darling we'll get there. Just gotta be patient girly." His words made your face heat up turning your glace away from him, he chuckled and stood straight. You eyes wondered you him, watching him grab his keys and head to the door. But before closing said door he glanced up at you with the most lust filled eyes you've ever seen. You knew exactly what was gonna happen once he got back but for once you were excited to see him come back.

The Grabber

Sitting on the mattress you stared at the door. Today was the day you knew it. You knew you had to get out of there. Feeling yourself slipping into what felt like madness. You were so strongly conflicted, you despised your captor but in another light you were weirdly attracted to him. You liked the way his hair framed his masked face, you enjoyed the way his fingers moved and how comforting his presence could be. You picked at the skin on your fingers thinking about how soft his lips were before being interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking and opening. You watched him walk in with a tray of food. The same as always eggs and a soda. "I made you some breakfast." He said like every other day. You nodded and walked over towards him. He looked down at you, watching how your eyes glanced at the stairs behind him. He tilted his head a bit. You could have swore he read your thoughts because as soon as you darted behind him he dropped the tray and grabbed you up. But to his surprise you didn't fight him or scream. He growled and walked towards the mattress but as he tried to throw you down he noticed how you hung onto him. He pried your hands off of him. "Stop! Don't!" You shouted as you fell to the bed but you quickly grabbed his shirt pulling him down a bit just to wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips onto the masked lips. Kissing him you didn't care that it wasn't his actually lips. This was still him and you loved it. The grabber was taken back but he let you kiss the lips of his mask. Once you stopped and pulled away looking at his blueish brown eyes. "Don't leave me." You stated as you hugged him. Albert furrowed his brows but he let you hug him placing a hand on your back.

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Wellll thank you for reading! And I hope you guys enjoyed! I loved this request! Thank you again for it! 🖤🖤

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