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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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slashersidewhore · 6 months

Text

Slashers! HC how you first meet them pt.2

Slashers x f!reader

Includes Bubba Sawyer, Bo Sinclair, Art The Clown, Stu Macher

Warnings: mentions of murder/violence, some stalking/harassment (not by slashers), ill intentions, pre-relationships, reader is a bit self deprecating, shitty friends

Bubba Sawyer

Of course you’d been dragged on a girls trip, and of course the minute the engine blew in you were shoved from the back seat onto the side of the dusty, gravel road, laughed at and told, “go find a mechanic”

God forbid your so called friends, which now you were rethinking the decision to even be here and with them, chose somewhere to travel where there was actual cell service

So here you now were, standing on an old porch that you weren’t even sure was properly attached to the house barely kept upright and covered in chipped paint

“Hello?”

A few more knocks on the creaky front door echoed out before your patience ran out, turning the handle and finding it to be unlocked

“Uh, hello? If I’m breaking and entering just let me know but this place seems abandoned”

You cupped your mouth and spoke, just to cover all your bases in case you were actually entering someone’s home, although the cobwebbed walls and moth bitten carpet spoke otherwise

“This isn’t creepy at all…”

Wandering aimlessly through the houses threshold, you searched for something that you help back on the road where all your friends were waiting

Or maybe you were just hoping this would buy you time before you had to walk 4 miles back to tell them you came up with nothing, no mechanic, no help

Your eyes glanced across the room, taking in all the items scattered about, some miscellaneous and some meticulously placed

Then your curious gaze landed on an ash tray sitting beside a moldy plate of what looked like some kind of meat

Although the fluffy possibly-poultry wasn’t what alarmed you, the smoke filtering from the end of a half smoked cigarette resting on it did

“Boys, we’ve got a fresh one”

A deep voice hollered, a rough palmed and smelly hand slapping over your mouth to muffle the hale scream that had popped from your lungs due to shock

Before you could even think to fight against the obviously strong body pinned to yours, you were being dragged towards an open basement door and thrown down the narrow, wooden staircase like a rag doll

“Take care of er’ will ya?”

The voice of your captor yelled down from the top step, slamming the door behind himself and surely locking it in the process

Disoriented and nurses a now slight headache, you mustered the energy to prop yourself up, hazy eyes bouncing about the room before they landed on what could only be described as a large, terrifying figure standing a few yards away

He wore a stained and tattered apron, brown stains you were hoping were dirt and not dried old blood

One hand gripped a cleaver, whatever he was chopping up before you entered the basement sat mutilated on a work bench, the stench of iron heavy in the air

Despite all that, the man seemed frozen, staring back at you through the eye holes in a poorly sew together mask

“I didn’t even wanna be here,”

You started before you I could stop yourself

“My so called friends dragged me out of my room a few days ago for a last minute road trip, and of course when one of them decided to bring their fuck ass car without checking it out first, it literally gave up on itself and then I get sent out to look for help but guess what! We’re in the middle of nowhere so I found this house and well it’s your house so that’s just my luck”

The man only blinked, body language clearly taken aback that you weren’t screaming bloody murder

“Just, if you’re gonna kill me, can you at least knock me out first so it doesn’t hurt?”

A loud knock at the door startled the two of you, followed by the man from earlier noisily coming down the stairs

“Why haven’t you taken care of er’ yet bubba?”

The man didn’t yell but he definitely sounded upset by this turn of events

The other man, who you now knew was called Bubba, shuffled awkwardly in his spot, rubbing the back of his head before robotically motioning to you, still sat on the floor

“You like er’ huh?

You watched the exchange quietly, although unable to contain the confusion set on you’d features

“Fine, but she’s yours to deal with, you remember what happened last time we took in a stray”

At that you pointedly turned around, staring up at the man that regarded you in terms like you were a dog

“Well I’m not a stray, technically you kidnapped me-“

Bo Sinclair

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in this seemingly abandoned town, one minute you were checking the map for your exit and then you missed it

Now you were here, coming to a stop as you realized you needed gas and weren’t anywhere near the hotel you had booked for the night

You definitely weren’t getting the rooms deposit back

Pulling into an empty parking lot, you pulled your phone from the passenger seat only to come up dry when the cell service was next to nothing

Then, before you could warn your heart not to jump out of your chest, a knock on your side window pulled a startled yelp from your throat

A man, not too old but not young either, stood on the other side of the car door, neutral expression morphing into a cheesy smile when your gaze met his and exchanged a few seconds of awkward, panicked staring

Brows raising in realization that the stranger, while sketchy and probably holstering a gun, could maybe help you figure out where you were and where to go

Opening the creaking door to your vehicle you pocketed your pepper spray just in case before hoping out of your seat and into the chilly night air

“You lost?”

“No, I intentionally ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere”

The man chuckled, albeit seeming taken aback by the brash sarcasm about your current situation

“Well good thing you ran into me, little lady”

The man who still carried about like this predicament was the most normal in the world smiled wider when your face pinched up in confusion, placing an open palm out to you

“I’m Bo, and you are, darlin?”

“Someone who knows not to shake hands with a complete stranger”

“Feisty”

“Oh, I’m getting there”

Despite the night breeze tickling the hairs on the back of your neck, you couldn’t help but enjoy the slight banter you were getting into

Although probably dangerous and wildly crazy to be out so late just walking around, this Bo character as charming, and something about his stare was growing increasingly comforting

“You know people don’t usually show up here, especially at night, all alone”

“But do they at least have gas in their tank? Because that’s already one up on me”

Bo threw his head back, whipping his hat off to push back the hair that fell towards his forehead in the fit of deep chuckles

“I’m normally not too inclined towards outsiders, but if you’d like a room for the night, I’d be happy to oblige little lady”

Art the clown

You strode through an alleyway, hands in your jacket pockets as you made your way back home

It was just your luck that the last night plans your friends picked for Halloween happened to be a party at the house of a guy you don’t even know

Especially your luck when only 20 minutes in you were all already abandoned, you’d ride gone and with it your phone charger

Thus, you nursed a bruised ego in a pirate costume, clutching your phone with one hand even though the battery was lost past dead

“Hey you!”

A distinctly male baritone called out from behind, you sped up not bothering to turn and face whatever stranger wanted a late night chat in the middle of an empty, dark alley

“Well that’s not very nice!”

The man responded to himself, deep chuckle furrowing worry lines between your brows

Just your luck, just your damn luck

Turning the corner to what could be described as more favorable to due the abundance of street lights and open space, the lack of people still has your nerves on overdrive

That was until you nearly ran smack into a body around the corner

Although expecting a gasp in surprise or shout in anger, all you received was a shocked expression, one such as a mime would use

Whoever this man was, was clearly wearing a very intricate costume, clown makeup done to the 9’s and a fully tailored suit to match, with a hefty, tan bag slung over one shoulder

All of your courage of wanting to leave this awful situation, and fear of what would happen if you didn’t took hold, before you knew it you were panicked and leaning forward, watching with just as much curiosity as the clown eyed you

“Listen you don’t know me, but there’s this guy following me and if you could just pretend to be, I don’t know, a friend, I would appreciate it”

The clown seemed to understand immediately, bright grin tossed on his features as the stranger that had previously had your full attention came to a stuttering halt

“Lady, I was talking to you back there”

“Oh! Sorry I just was meeting with someone and well, here they are!”

You laughed nervously, awkwardly leaning into the clown and patting at his shoulder, gazing at the stranger, you saw a look of terror cross his face right as he stumbled back a bit

“Yeah, got it”

And then he was high tailing it back the way he came

Glancing back at the costumed man you stood alone with, you caught how his face held a look of something utterly terrifying before he caught your eye, cheesy grin returning

“Thanks..”

You questioned for his name, grinning softly at the way realization of your ask spread across his face

Hand motions went left and up, down and right, then he paused, pulling the bag from his shoulder to rummage through it, pulling out what could only be described as junk, metal and rusty and junk none the less

Although the way he motioned to the item, placed it in your open palms and played a scene before you, you took to guessing

“Metal?”

“Sculpture…?”

He moved his fingers like a painter would stroke a canvas

“Art?”

That single word had the clown clapping his hands, tucking his body with a faux bow like you’d discovered something only a genius could

Laughing something genuine for the first time that night, you pondered if you should just take your chances and leave for home, or stick around a bit more with this concerning but most definitely interesting person

“So.. what else do you have in that bag?”

Stu Macher

Being the new student in a town where everyone already had friends, or at least those they only socialized with, was difficult

You’d only been here a week or so and you already wanted to move again, alas, that wasn’t exactly up to you

All you could do was hold your head high, and suck up the annoying situation you’d been tossed into

Now, a new school was bad enough, imagine your surprise would you found out there had recently been a string of grisly murders, unsolved and rampaging

Which is why you’d been an outcast since you’d appeared, like they all assumed it must be you, the murders starting, you arriving, it all was too much of a coincidence, despite the fact that it was

“Look at her, I’m telling you that girl gives off crazy”

Off handed comments like those weren’t unusual, yet today, after switching to a new class because of this exact issue, you’d had enough

“I bet she’s the killer”

“Oh yeah? And what’s your evidence?”

The girl gossiping with her friend abruptly stopped her ‘private’ conversation when she heard your quip

“Excuse me?”

You stood, in fact you stood so fast it made the chair screech across the floor, catching the attention of the rest of class

Luckily the teacher had stepped out and you could finally say what you needed without worry of authority looming over

“You know, if I’m supposedly killing students, like you say I am, why so proudly speak about it around me?”

You strode up to her desk, arms crossed with a look of disdain

She seemed taken aback, lips moving like a fish and head bobbing as she glanced between you and her friend

“Well, I-“

“If you really think I’m doing all this, why would you piss me off?”

The girl was at a loss, face paling as you simply said what you needed, before turning and grabbing your bag right as the bell went off, students funneling out behind you

Opening your locker, you startled when a body came crashing into the locker beside yours, arms crossed and looking at you with squinted eyes yet a wide grin

“So you’re the new girl?”

He wasn’t half bad looking, in fact, you found yourself heating up the longer he gazed down at you

He had this odd air about him, like someone holding too many secrets and hiding them far too out in the open, something that only seemed to allure you further

“And a murderer, haven’t you heard?”

You joked, taking out your next classes books before shutting the locker, the look on this guys face was utter curiosity, something you hadn’t received yet while being here

“Of course, just let me know what days you spree so I can avoid staying in”

Not gonna lie to y’all, I was so focused on getting this posted I haven’t spell checked or done a once over, there will and most likely are errors!

#slasher #slasher x reader #art the clown #art the clown x reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #Bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slashersidewhore #slashersidewhore fics

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loveandmurders · 6 months

Text

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

Hello everyone! First, I really want to thank you all for the love you gave to the first part of this story (that you can find here). 😍🥰

It made me so happy but also very anxious about this next part haha! I planned 3 parts in total (a fourth maybe, if you ask for it), and I do hope you'll enjoy this series as much as you did at first <3 <3

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of stalking, kidnapping and murders, morally grey reader, reader getting angry, sad and feeling guilty, some strong words, dark!brothers, very brief mentions of sexual desire and activities

Lester was good at following people without them to notice him, even if there was no one else on the road. He knew the roads by heart and his hearing was sharp, so he could guess where a car was without being right behind it. He actually parked near the forest and simply closed his eyes to guess which roads you were taking. He guessed you were at the campsite; a lot of tourists stayed there too. You were making things very easy for him and he thanked his luck. When everything seemed quiet again, he walked through the woods, just to make sure he was right and indeed, he found you sat with your people. You were five in total, but you all looked too gentle and soft to really be a problem for him and his brothers. He watched you, hidden behind a tree. His heart was clenching at the sight of you laughing. Even if it wasn’t with him, just hearing this beautiful sound once again was making him thrilled. He couldn’t wait for his hands to roam your body like they used to either.

He let you eat with your friends and he let you fall asleep under the bright sky full of stars. He saw you chatting a little while with one of the boys of the group and he had to admit he really didn’t like it. He didn’t know if he was your boyfriend or not, but he was definitively jealous. And he would need to talk about it to the twins so they could get rid of the man. Actually, he wanted everyone dead as quickly as possible, because you didn't belong to any of them.

He texted the location to his brothers.

Soon enough, the three men were towering over your group, their whole being finally calming down: you were back in their life and they weren’t going to let you go anymore. They couldn’t believe you were finally there and they didn’t attack your group right away. They wanted to enjoy the calmness written all over your face first. They always thought you were looking like an angel when you were sleeping. Vincent tried to memorise the scene so he could draw your sleeping form under the moon. Bo almost smiled, so relieved you hadn’t disappeared forever. Lester was the only one growing impatient. The twins knew things weren’t going to be too pretty after they kidnapped your group and they didn’t want that. They wanted to go straight to the moment where you would allow them to show you tenderness and to pleasure you. It was going to be so much work, so they wanted to enjoy the peace of the moment.

If only you had never left them; things would have been so much better.

If only you hadn’t decided to camp so close to Ambrose, you would have been safe.

Deep down, you knew you should have asked your friends to drive away as far away as possible, but you didn’t.

Because you didn’t want your friends to worry about anything and to ruin the nice mood.

Because you knew it was useless; the Sinclairs were hunters and they never let go of their prey until they had it.

Because you wanted the brothers to force you back into their lives, even though you would rather die than admit it.

You knew it was over when you woke up, in the middle of the night, feeling watched. You also heard quiet footsteps all over your group. You could have grabbed the little knife you had in your bag, or you could have screamed to wake up everyone, but you didn’t. You simply waited. You didn’t want the Sinclairs to have to hurt your friends or yourself. Maybe especially yourself.

You still jumped when you felt a hand over your mouth and you looked up. You recognised Bo’s touch on you and tried your best to not start crying out of fear. The man shushed you into your ear, before he took into your delicious scent.

“Shh, sweetheart, won’t hurt ya, 'kay? No need to make things difficult” he whispered to you and you nodded which made him smile “Atta girl” he praised you.

It was then you noticed two shadows moving over your friends. You weren’t too sure what they were going to do to them. You started to panic and tried to get away from Bo’s touch. “We won’t kill them. Yet. We’re just druggin’ them so we can brin’ them to Ambrose with us” Bo explained to you. You calmed down but you still shook your head at that. “I know ya want them all safe and sound, but we can’t let them go to the police, so they come” Bo replied and you heard the venom in his voice. He couldn’t hide the jealousy and the rage of his girl loving other people than him and his brothers “Time to go back to sleep, princess” he mused and you tried to fight as he pressed a tissue over your face.

You didn’t struggle for long before everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes again, you felt like you were back years ago. You were laying down in the guest room in the Sinclairs' house; a guest room that was actually yours because Trudy insisted for you to leave your belongings there, as it was your second house. It wasn’t like the Sinclairs were inviting anyone else at home anyways (or that anyone wanted to sleep in their house either). Your parents weren’t too happy about it, but you often slept there. The room was still the same with its pinkish walls and the cream furniture. Drawings were on the walls. You almost wondered if you were going to be late for school before you realised what truly happened.

The Sinclairs kidnapped you and your friends.

You tried to sit up but you realised one of your hands was cuffed to the bed frame. You cursed and tried to get your hand free until you heard footsteps in the corridor. You stopped breathing, waiting for someone to enter the room. Your heart was hammering inside your chest. You wanted to believe it was all a nightmare, and that you were going to wake up soon.

Bo cracked the door open and smiled when he noticed you were awake.

“Hello, doll,” he hummed as he entered the room.

You finally could have a good look at him and you had to admit he became as handsome as you thought he would be. You looked away, afraid of what was going to happen to you, afraid of him. Your whole body was tense and you cursed yourself for having tempted the devil like your mother asked you not to. You had been so so stupid.

Bo walked to you before cupping your face to force you to look at him. He had lost his smile. His thumb gently stroked your cheek. You tried very hard to not start crying. Or to not lean into his touch. His skin felt so warm against yours.

“Please, Bo. Let us go” you whispered. You noticed that the man’s jaw tightened. It was clearly not the first words he wanted to hear from you after all this time.

“Trust me, no one’s leavin’ no more” he harshly replied and tears fell down your cheeks. It calmed him down “Ah baby” he shushed as he knelt beside you to kiss your tears away. You hated how much you loved to feel his lips on your skin once again. “Ya’re meant to be a Sinclair, ‘s fate bringin’ ya where ya belong. And we’re all gonna take an extra good care of ya for all the years we had to go through without ya” he continued as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You want me, keep me and let everyone else go, please. They have nothing to do with this.” you begged again. Bo sighted.

“Ya shouldn’t’ve left Ambrose, doll. Now ya have to pay the price for it” he simply shrugged and got up. “Gonna bring ya some breakfast, baby, I’ll be back” he added and left the room.

You cried even more, knowing you wouldn’t be able to reason with the Sinclairs. You hoped your people were still alive so you could help them to escape, even if it meant you would stay at Ambrose forever.

You were tugging on the handcuff again when you heard the door being opened a second time. You looked up to see Vincent watching you from the entrance. He looked like the shy boy you met the first time. You swallowed hard. You wanted to ask him what he did with your friends but you realised you were too afraid of the answer, so you stayed silent. Vincent finally moved closer to you and knelt in front of the bed. His fingers gently traced your face, as to memorise the change in your features since last time he saw you. You let him do it and closed your eyes. He removed the tears with a sad pout concealed behind his mask. You could pretend you were still a teenager, and Vincent was quietly flirting with you through tender touches.

You opened your eyes again when you felt the masked twin grab your free hand. He removed enough of his mask to press your palm against his scarred skin. You could have stayed immobile, but you didn’t. You gently stroked his cheek and he hummed in approval, his eye closed in well being. It felt so good to finally get your touch back.

“Hi, Vinny” you whispered and he looked up at you with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He kissed your hand. “Not gonna hurt me, right?” you asked, just to make sure. The man instantly shook his head. “Not gonna turn me into a wax statue either?” you added with a bite of your lips. Same answer. Relief flooded through you.

Forever love you. Missed you so badly. He slowly signed to you, as he wasn’t certain you still remembered ASL, but you did.

You didn’t have time to answer before Bo entered the room with a trail of food. It smelt good; you could already recognise his signature pancakes. Vincent stood up as Bo put the trail on the nightstand.

“Gonna untie ya, but nothin’ stupid, girl” he warned you and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You weren’t too sure how you could be any more stupid than you already had been. What were you thinking when you decided to bring your friends so close to Ambrose? You wondered if deep down you hadn’t wanted this. “Y/N” Bo groaned and you simply tug on the handcuff. “Hey, don’t hurt yourself now!” Bo exclaimed as his hand flew on your wrist and you stopped tugging.

“Untie me then” you replied and Bo let escape a little smirk

“Ah yes, ya’re so hot when ya’re all bossy, ain’t ya?” he teased as he removed the handcuff from your wrist. You didn’t reply because you refused to acknowledge him flirting with you, like he used to. You massaged your wrist as you sat up.

Knowing they weren’t going to hurt or kill you, appeased you a little and you thanked Bo for the food. You actually ate it with appetite, even though the twins’ stares were making you feel uncomfortable. They both sat, on a chair or on a desk, staying silent. They shared looks from time to time, but you tried your best to not mind them.

“Are they dead already?” you suddenly asked, because you needed to know

“Who?” Bo asked back, feigning innocence

“My friends” you groaned, your stomach twisted in worry. Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten before asking this question, you thought.

“No idea who ya’re talkin’ ‘bout” Bo shrugged.

You had a very bad feeling. You turned your attention toward Vincent, who tried to look away from you.

"Vincent." you simply said "Are they dead?"

Vincent hesitated about what to say. In the end, he slowly nodded at you.

You got up and threw the plate on the wall in one swift and yet brutal movement. The porcelain broke as you started to angrily scream at them.

“Fuck! Fuck you all!” you cried out as both the twins got up. Bo tried to sit you back on the bed but you shoved him to the side. You grabbed Vincent by the shoulders “I swear to God, Vincent, if you fucking turned them into wax statues, I’m gonna burn down your cherished House of Wax to the fucking ground!!” you yelled even more.

Vincent’s eye widened and he thought about the four bodies he had already prepared to turn into statues. He quickly nodded though. He had no desire in upsetting you even more. And god forbid the twins to think how hot and attractive you were when you were so angry… If only you weren’t mad at them.

“How ‘bout ya calm down?” Bo grumbled but it only angered you more

“That I calm down? That I fucking calm down? You killed my people!! And then you wonder why I left Ambrose and never came to you all?” you screamed. Your words hurt Bo a lot more than he could admit so his own anger rose inside his chest

“Oh yeah? Well it’s funny ‘cause I ain’t rememberin’ ya carin’ that much about the killin’ before! Ya knew what mother and father were doin’ and it didn’t stop ya from livin’ with us most of your time!” Bo argued back

“It was different, it was your parents! I thought we could all live away from this mess, but no, you both decided the mess was worth it!” you continued

“It was the only life for us, and ya know it!” Bo replied as he gestured at Vincent who looked down

“You scared me off Ambrose” you cried out

“But now ya’re back and ya’re never fuckin’ leavin’ ever again! Ya’re ours, don’t ya know it, Y/N? Ya gave us everythin’ and we gave ya our souls in exchange! Didn’t ya enjoy flirtin’, kissin’ and havin’ sex with us? Or maybe ya were just a whore” Bo replied and you slapped him.

You didn’t even realise what you did, you just did it. Bo pushed you on the bed and Vincent quickly stopped his twin from coming closer to you. But you weren’t afraid. You couldn’t be afraid of the people you truly had loved the most in your existence, and who had always been eager to do anything for you.

It was why the brothers loved you with such fierce passion; you had the strength to call them out on their bullshit and to make them obey. They were wrapped around your little finger, but it came with a cost: they would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you theirs.

“Is that what you think of me? Great, Beauregard! But it can’t hurt me more than what you just did to my friends! And then you dare tell me you love me?” you said as you sent a glance at Vincent who felt like you pierced his heart with a dagger “It ain’t love, that might be why I ran away from you all! I shouldn’t’ve come back to the South of the country. Stupid fucking bad luck!”

Bo was about to reply to this, even though Vincent was trying to calm him down, but the door opened again. You saw Lester entering the room with a worried expression written all over his face. Things were really not going the way it was supposed to, he thought. He had heard you arguing with Bo from downstairs and he hoped he could put everyone back in a good mood.

But you couldn’t even stand looking at him after what happened. You got up once again and pushed the twins away from you.

“You know what, get all the fuck out of my room!” you yelled and you continued to push them toward the door. Once they were all out, you slammed the door shut and fell on your knees as you silently started to cry.

Taglist : @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21 ; @thatbitchanna27 ; @robin-the-enby ; @i-like-horror-andshitt ; @cecilwritesstuff ; @delusion-is-convenient ; @artificialintestines ; @sugarrush-blush ; @crypticlxrsh ; @g0thl3zz ; @katerinaval ; @oneofvincentscandles ; @limehaspassed ; @sillylittlereader ; @mommymilkerfanclub ; @oranedgp ; @mottysith ; @partlyvee ; @gorewhore123 ; @mrstargayen09 ; @aesthetic-bitches-tum ; @mfnqueen1 ; @etheralrue ; @nanami-kento-simp ; @bluekuu ; @excusemyrandomramblings ; @fluffy-little-demon ; @oneofvincentscandles ; @domoron ; @narcolepticduck

(I really hope I didn't forget anyone! <3)

PART III

#house of wax x reader #bo sinclair x s/o #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x s/o #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x s/o #lester sinclair x you #lester sinclair x reader #poly!sinclair x you #poly!sinclairs x s/o #poly!sinclairs x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher x you #slasher x reader #poly!slashers x you #poly!slashers x reader #poly!slashers x s/o

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f1nalboys · 5 months

Text

Did You Mean It? - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!AFAB!Reader

WORD COUNT: 819

WARNINGS: nsfw, breeding, dubcon, daddy kink (bo refers to himself as daddy multiple times), mommy kink (bo refers to reader as mommy once but not sexually, just in reference to becoming a mom), talk about getting pregnant (bc duhhh), some teasing from bo. kinda proofread. lmk if i missed any tags!

Bo’s tongue runs along the warm flesh of your neck as he pumps his cock inside you. Your body was beginning to ache, your leg muscles cramping from the position he’s held you in for the last half an hour. “F-fuck,” Bo grunts, his breath warm. His voice cracks as he speaks, his hips sputtering. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, gonna cum nice and deep inside you.”

You wince at a particularly deep thrust, your hole clenching tightly around him, and he mistakes it for affection. He always did. You did too sometimes. You feel the hot breath of his laughter before you feel it rumble from his chest, your legs thrown over his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s right, darlin’. Daddys got you, he’s gonna fill you up nice and full, let you carry around his seed. You want that, right?” He asks and you cry out, the stretch of his cock almost too much. You’re not sure why it still hurts after all this time, but a part of you wonders if you like the pain a little too much to accommodate it. “You wanna carry my baby, darlin’?”

Your eyes widen as he asks, feeling his cock twitch inside you. He never spoke like this. In the entire time of you being here in Ambrose - was it weeks or months? Maybe a year? - Bo avoided the topic of family like the plague. You remember asking him once if he ever wanted children, and you remember how hard it was to sit afterwards. His thrusts speed up and you cry out in pain, his cock ramming into you with renewed fervor. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly and he grunts, the noise low in his throat. A growl. A sharp reminder of who he is.

“Yeah? You fuckin’ want it too, don’t you? Right, Y/N?” He asks, grunting in between each word. He moves his head from the crook of your neck, a flash of appreciation in his eyes as he takes in the hickies and bite marks he had littered across your skin. His blue eyes are dark when he looks at you, sweat glistening off his forehead. “Say it. Say you want my baby and I’ll fuckin’ give it to ya’.” He says and you know he’s close.

You realize you are, too. It was so much easier to feel your own pleasure when you knew Bo was feeling it too.

“I… I want your baby, Bo. Please.” You stammer out, panting. It felt like the pleasure had hit you out of nowhere, knocking the wind out of you, making you feel all of it at once. There was no growing pit in your stomach and no warning. “Holy shit,” you say, eyes widening as you look up at him. He smiles and you wonder briefly if you’ve ever told him how handsome he was. “I-I’m gonna cum.”

Bo moans, his hands grabbing ahold of your face to keep you looking at him. “Good. Fuck, fuck yeah, cum around my cock, sweetheart, milk me.” He shudders, his eyes squeezing shut. “A-Always heard that it sticks better when you cum too.” He says before he groans loudly, pushing the entire length of his cock inside you as he cums. You feel him spill inside you, gasping at the sheer amount, before your own orgasm rips through you. He whimpers, a noise you rarely got from him, as your pussy clenches around him, making sure you got every drop. “Fuck, you’re so god damn tight.”

Bo catches his breath as you ride out your high, grinning down at you in a way that makes you close your eyes, embarrassed at the intensity. You grunt when he moves your legs off of his shoulders, your muscles tense as they flop back against the bed, his cock still stuffed inside you. “Did you mean it?” You ask quietly, your voice unsure in the dark room. You don’t need to open your eyes to see Bo tilt his head to the side, humming. “About… about giving me your baby?”

His laugh makes you shiver. His finger runs down your cheek as he tsks, mocking. “Aww, are you worried I was lying, darlin’? Worried daddy wasn’t gonna make you a mommy, that I wasn’t gonna give you a baby?” He asks, his voice cruel and low. Your eyes open to look up at him and they widen slightly; you had expected a cruel and teasing grin, but the look on his face was far softer than you had come to know. His usual frown lines were smoothed over, a small smile on his face. He leans down, kissing gently along your cheek and jaw before he settles them right next to your ear. “I meant it, sweetheart. And I’m not done just yet.”

His hips rock forwards slightly and you whimper from overstimulation, your cunt pulsing.

“I’m gonna make sure it takes.”

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #bo sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #how 2005 #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n

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kitkathatesu · 28 days

Text

Got My Baby Cryin’

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bo Sinclair x Fem!reader + mentions of Vincent

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓?: ✔️ @whatitshouldvebeen hope you like it pookie, sorry it took so long😗

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: NSFW❗️SMUT❗️dub/non-con, (DON’T READ THIS IF THAT IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU) ❕MDNI❕Use of degradation & praise, (mostly degradation sorry) mentions of blood & violence, pet names, canon!Bo, Stockholm Syndrome type situation, sub!reader, possesive!Bo, Dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), p in v, spit play, hatefucking

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Vincent decides to use you as his “muse” for a new wax figure in the Museum, and though it may be a sweet gesture to you Bo doesn’t think so. Not at all, and it’s obviously your fault. So who better to punish than you?

☽♢☾

You’re in the kitchen cleaning up after a night of blood pools and broken glass. One of the tourists who’d decided Ambrose was a cozy spot to fill his tank found out rather fast that it comes at a cost. His life being the payment.

Vincent’s sitting across the room from you at the table, his one blue eye seemingly studying your movements with a slight tilt of his head. His fingers toying one of his many sculpting tools between them, gaze burning into you. The silence deafening while you sit there on your knees, crimson spattered rag in hand scrubbing the creaky floorboards.

“You wanna take a picture Vince?” You snicker. Glancing up to catch his reaction but he’s stood upright now just inches away from your kneeling figure. “Goddamn!” You gasp, your hand pressed tightly to your chest.

“Didn’t even give me a chance to breathe! You’re seriously the fastest fucker I believe I’ve ever met.” You squeak playfully, Vincent’s grunt of approval making you giggle.

You’ve grown quite close to all three Brother’s, Lester a little less than Vincent but Bo more than either of them. And he makes sure the others know just how 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 you are. Your desperate cries for benevolence etched into the walls from the night he caught you lingering around longer than you should’ve. The scars he left then now littering your body and mind for as long as you can remember.

Your eyes fixated back to the task at hand. Fingers beginning to ache at how hard you’ve peeled the desaturated blood off the floor, you can’t help but wonder how many more will seep away to nothing more than a stain in the rotting wood beneath you. You shake your head, the thought rattling around for a moment but dissipating shortly after.

“Hey Vince, care to grab me another rag? This one’s about to start ripping at the seams-“

You practically choke on your words at the sight of Vince now knelt down in front of you, his smooth hand caressing the flush that’s crept onto your cheek. His thumb gently tracing the lines that are naturally imprinted into your skin as you sit there frozen.

Dumbfounded, you reach up and place your hand atop his. Searching for an answer internally and externally, 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜? Hopefully nowhere close to what you suspect considering his hobbies.

“Uh, Vince?” You ask softly, a lump formed so tight in your throat that you feel like you’re suffocating. He just stares back at you like every word you’ve spoke has fell upon deaf ears.

He signs “You’re lovely. Would take forever to sculpt such a pretty thing.” His demeanor flashing something more than just curiosity causing your jaw to tighten.

“Could use some practice if you’d care to pose for me. Be the perfect muse.”

He continued on, only increasing the gnawing anxiety in your gut. Among the flustered butterflies smacking against your rib cage. You knew Bo would be pissed if he ever caught wind of this, hearing or let alone walking in and seeing it for himself.

“Vince..” You pause. Your eyes flickering to the right, then the left. 𝙊𝙝 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩.

Bo’s face is contorted with anger as his slanted figure stands positioned against the doorframe pulling you back to reality. You hurriedly push yourself off the floor, Vince scurrying backwards as Bo chuckles to himself. His presence unabated as it fills the room.

“Well, what’do we have here?” He mocks. Glaring at Vince first, then turning his half lidded eyes to meet yours, shooting daggers right through your chest.

Your heart pounds. His pupils are swallowing his irises whole. Used to he could disguise that look pretty well, but you’ve grown all to accustomed to the predator that’s always preying on you. The man who’s marked you in more ways than one that’ll last a lifetime.

“Bo, I can explain-“ You stammer. Voice barely amounting to a whisper but it’s silenced completely as Bo cuts you off.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bo barks, his voice gruff and threatening as he points a finger to you, daring a word to fall from your lips as he lunges at Vincent. Making him stumble back against the wall, his head hitting first as Bo’s hands clutch his shoulders to stand him still.

“You wanna explain yer’self?” Bo grumbled. “Or do I gotta beat it outta you first?” His fingers grip the fabric of his Brothers sweater, pulling him forward then ramming him back into the wall with a loud thud.

A muffled wince of pain strains behind Vincent’s mask, he raises his hands in reticence. Trying to deescalate the situation.

“Didn’t mean nothing by it. Only using her as means to create better, more realistic figures.” He signs. His one eye searching Bo’s for some sort of understanding, but all he gets is a sneer. Bo’s lip curling up into a cocky smirk as he drops Vincent’s shoulders.

“That so?” He snorts. “We both know that’s a lie. You’d be on’er like flies on shit if I’d let cha’ ya fuckin’ pest. Now git. I said git!”

Vincent storms out of the room and Bo runs a grease covered hand through his hair, a sadistic cackle bouncing off the walls as he turns around to find you cowered in the corner. Your eyes wide with fear as he saunters over.

“Awh, sweetheart. What’sa matter?” He taunts. Bending down in front of you, his cologne and the smell of whiskey flooding your senses. You try to find the words to say but they’re stuck. You’re stuck, you can barely think straight.

“I asked ya a fuckin’ question.” He snarls. His calloused hand claws at your jaw, his fingers digging into the fat of your cheeks roughly pinching your lips into a pout.

“I’m sorry- I just, I can’t..” You trail off, voice shaky as Bo’s hot breath fans over your face. His hand pulling you closer to him by the grip on your cheeks, a choked back whimper crackling in your throat.

“Can’t what?” He asked softly. His tone condescending but dripping with that honeysuckle Southern drawl that makes you weak in the knees.

Bo’s sharp tongue darts out to wet his lips and your eyes follow its movement. Nothing ever goes unnoticed when it comes to you like a cat with a mouse, he’ll let you think it’s safe to stray away and as soon as you do he’ll pounce and sink his teeth in without warning.

He taps your lower jaw with his fingertips. Your eyes squeezing shut as he leans in, his nose gently brushing against yours.

“Cat got your tongue? Or you jus’ too busy thinkin’ bout Vince ta’ spit out an answer.” He tsks. Tongue clicking against his teeth as he jerks you upwards. His hand now snaked around your neck. Your feet slightly coming up off of floor. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you girl. Don’t get all shy now.”

You cough against the rigidity of his fingers delving into the sides of your throat, your eyes popping open and heartbeat thrumming in your ears, his lips now hovering above yours. You clasp your hand around his wrist as he peers down at your unnerved expression. A smug grin plastered on his pretty face.

“Bo- Fuck, please just stop.” You pant, each breath you take shorter and shallower than the next. A low sigh pulling from your lungs as he closes his hand tighter around windpipe. You swear you could hear it crunching.

“Don’t think I will darlin.’ As a matter’a fact, think I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, staring up at him through heavy lashes as your peripherals cloud with hazy darkness. A subtle pulsing between your legs causing you to shift, embarrassment bubbling up and spilling over as your body reacts to him, knowing it’ll only betray you further if you fight.

“You’ve been misbehavin’ a lot these past couple days sugar.” He purrs against the side of your face. His free hand coming up to grapple the dip in your waist causing your thighs to squeeze together a little too fast. Bo chuckles through gritted teeth.

“Think it’s time ta’ remind ya’ what happens when I let ya’ off yer leash. Since you’ve bitten off a bit more than you can chew.”

“I’ve not done anything, was just trying to clean. Honest.” You bleat. Tears trickling down your face. The thought of what he’s planning on doing to you raiding your already tattered mind. “Please- Don’t hurt me.”

Your lower lip quivers as his eyes glaze over you, your cheeks flushed a deep red and chest heaving. Awaiting your punishment as he stands there menacingly.

You can’t help but gawk at him. He’s got such pretty eyes, and his hands are so experienced yet 𝙨𝙤 deadly. Who could 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙮 resist? You’re acclimated to this place, this man. You have nothing left to lose and nothing more to gain.

“S’a shame ya’ gotta be so desperate when I’m not around. Can’t leave ya’ alone for a second without you missin’ having one in ya.” He slurs, his jaw tightening as he pushes his lips against the shell of your ear. Tongue tracing it lightly causing your body to shudder.

“My Brother can’t fuck you as good as I can”, He husked. “And I’ll be damned if I sit back and watch him try. ‘Specially when yer’ eager to please.” That snarky smile forming against your skin. “Nothing but a fuckin’ whore.”

Your heart is hammering. Legs wobbly, you’re lightheaded and on the brink of passing out as his fingers dance against your pulse points. But a piercing shot of air fills your lungs suddenly causing you to sputter and choke as he releases you. Your feet plant flat on the ground, hand frantically lacing itself around the handprint that now sits like a necklace on your throat. His hands falling at his sides, tucking into his pockets with a huff.

“I don’t think of Vince that way!” You yell at him, your voice broken and dry in your throat. Bo’s brooding facial features making your skin crawl as he rakes over your unsteady figure. “Yeah?” He belts out. His head dropping down and back up with a sadistic cackle. “Bet yer’ soakin’ wet right now.”

Your stomach drops and your legs nearly give out. You 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 if he was to reach his hand between your legs and touch you right now his fingers would be drenched.

Bo inhales deeply through his nose. Letting out a long, breathless, sigh. “I can smell you. Ye’ ain’t hidin’ nothin’ from me.” He uttered. A growl rumbling in his chest as one of his hands fists your hair gripping it hard between his fingers. The weight of his body now flush against yours.

“Every. Fuckin’. INCH of your body is mine.” Bo snarled. His breathing loud and rugged, fuming with whiskey and desire. His grip on your hair stiff as a board, your scalp stinging from the force of him holding your head back.

“Bo- Bo, I’m sorry please? I’m yours, only yours.” You plead. Tears sliding off of your cheeks. The salty streams glistening down your neck and chest, staining your sternum. What a mess you are already. 𝙋𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.

Bo’s jaw cocks open like a boa constrictor and his tongue drags a long hot stripe up your jugular, catching your fear on his tongue. A groan seeping out of his mouth like blood from an open wound. Your teary eyes and battered body only making his already hardened cock strain against his zipper.

“That tight lil cunt between yer legs belongs ta’ me too. Ain’t that right honey?” He cooed. “So pretty when you cry’fer me like that.”

𝙁𝙪𝙘𝙠. He’s got you. He has you right where he wants you, where he always has you. Right on the edge of insanity and serendipity. You break pathetically at the slip of his knee between your legs, his muscular thigh pushing up into your core. The friction of his jeans alone makes you whine but it’s effortlessly snuffed out as Bo’s lips crash against your own.

Your head is fuzzy and your limbs are numb like venoms slithered beneath your skin through his saliva. Disintegrating you from the inside out as your lips move on their own accord.

“Yes Daddy.”

“You’re disgusting ain’tcha?” His eyes blown wide with lust and his hands full of rage he yanks you by your hair that’s tucked into his fist with one swift motion turning you around.

Your back arches and your face slams against the wall, the taste of copper filling your mouth. Bittersweet as Bo’s free hand slides up the back of your thigh, your ass pushing back against it as his fingers hook into the fabric of your shorts pulling them to the side. Your body shifting at the chills that rip their way up your spine. 𝙍𝙪𝙣 𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙧𝙪𝙣, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙧.

“Look at that.” Bo panted, watching the arousal that’s bubbled and seeped out from your core spread and string to the outside of your lips with each buck of your hips.

“Fuckin’ pathetic ain’t it? Getting all hot’n bothered by someone who kills for a livin’?” He chided, his middle finger swiping through your folds in a downwards motion grazing your clit. “Y’should be ashamed of yourself girl.”

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚. You should be fighting this, fighting him. Running as far as your tired body could carry you, but no. Instead a moan rolls off of your blood slathed tongue earning the tip of Bo’s ring finger circling the edges of your entrance. “Please?”

“Please what?” Bo asked well aware of the answer. His one digit quickly turning into two as he pushed them inside you down to the second knuckle. Angling them upwards, rubbing against that spongy spot that has you speaking his name like a prayer worthy of an altar.

You squeaked in response. Hips plummeting backwards to plunge them as deep as they’ll go, your walls fluttering around them. 𝙍𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛, 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛, 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛.

“Ah ah!” He scolds. “Who the fuck told you ta’move huh?” You pout as your desperate attempt to give yourself what you didn’t ask for comes to a halt. Bo’s left hand vigorously rips itself from your scalp, scraping his jagged nails down your spine as he traces the vertebrae, a bruising grip now glueing you in place.

“Dirty fuckin’ slut”, he groans. “Fucking yer’self with my fingers like a bitch in heat.” You revel in the disgusting sounds of your juices splashing onto his wrist as his fingers twist inside you. His voice cracking you open and leaving you helpless. The pleasure that’s jolting through you lights you on fire, your legs trembling and your stomach tightening. Unable to fight the biting urge to be filled to the brim with him.

“Oh my God- I want your cock. Need it.” You babble, almost incoherently as your moans turn into sobs. Bo hums low in his throat adding a third finger and you clench hard. The agonizingly slow stretch of your walls making you mewl. “That’s right sweet girl. Let me hear ya’ beg proper.” He licked his lips and spit a wad of saliva onto your cunt. Pulling his fingers out to smack through your folds harshly, eliciting a string of curses to fall from your swollen lips.

Your legs buckle as your knees go to give out but Bo catches you by your hips. Your head starts to spin as the sound of his zipper sparks every nerve, every fiber of your being. You tilt your head back to catch a glimpse of him, his eyes lock onto yours and his eyebrows knit together. “Fuck you lookin’ at me for?”

Your jaw quivers with adrenaline as your head is slammed into the wall once more. Fingers digging into the supple flesh of your love handle, his cock now pressed firmly against your pussy from underneath. The tip grinding against your clit with ease as he collects your juices by rocking his hips back and forth slowly.

“I know why”, he rasped. “Cause yer a cock hungry whore. Ain’t that right sugar?”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Whad’ya want?”

“Want- I want..” You stutter and before you can even think a loud, pornographic, moan echoes out of your lungs as he pushes himself inside you with one deep thrust. Your walls clenching as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, the pain and pleasure sending you into a frenzy. “Oh- Oh my fucking GOD! Bo, Bo, please!”

You could cum right here but you know better. You know the fullness you feel right now will cease and the emptiness that gnaws at the back of your skull will replace it instead.

“Ah fuck, that’s right honey. I’ll be your God.” 𝙎𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙡, 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙢𝙮. “Pussies s’fuckin’ good baby.” Bo groans and your head starts to pound. His fingernails biting at the skin on your hipbone as he picks up a relentless pace, your ass bouncing off of his hips deliciously with each thrust. Face repeatedly scraping against the withering wood pricking the rosy parts of your cheeks leaving them hot and raw.

He reaches his hand to your mouth and you open. Tongue darting out to wrap around his fingers but he jolts his hips upwards and you cry out. His middle finger hooking into the side of your jaw, stretching your mouth out as he fucks you stupid. “Fuck, fuck-“ Your eyes flutter shut as fresh tears fall and he wipes one off with his thumb. The taste of his skin setting your twisted desire for him into overdrive and your stomach churns as the familiar coil starts to tighten and thrash through you.

“No use in cryin’ bitch”, he growled. His balls slapping against your clit and his head now resting in the crook of your neck from behind, his canines scraping your pulse that vibrates against his lips. “Wasn’t sad when Vince was on his knees drooling all over ya’, or when he touched you. You fuckin’ liked it.”

Your pussy throbs and your hands grab at the wall in front of you helplessly. Nails chipping and teeth baring as he pounds into you. You’re not going to last much longer. How could you?

“No. No, no-“ You sob and he rips his fingers from your lips roughly, slathering your own saliva all over your face. Clasping his big hand over your mouth and nose, your eyes roll back and your cunt coats his cock in spurts as he slams his hips into you. 𝙄𝙣, 𝙤𝙪𝙩. 𝙄𝙣, 𝙤𝙪𝙩. Hard and deep strokes till your body goes limp and your moans turn to mush in your brain.

“Shut yer fuckin’ mouth cunt. Open up wide for me. 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙝 just like that.”

Bo almost whines as his thrusts become sloppy and your juices drip down his thighs. His own orgasm picking him to pieces as you suck him in so eagerly. Regardless if you want it, he knows you can’t deny him. You 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 deny him. You’re his and 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 his and he’ll make sure you never forget it. If he has to shatter every sliver of hope that you cling too by God he will. And you’ll beg him for more each time.

“S’good for me when ya’ wanna be baby,” he cooed. Making your heart sink and your body ache to be anywhere but here in this moment though you yearn for it when he’s not looking. Fucking stupid fuck.

He kicks your legs open farther with the toes of his boot thudding against your ankle. Almost knocking you off balance as he jerks you back into him, you can feel his cock pulsating as he finally paints your walls white with his cum. Your body basically lifeless as he ruts inside you, mumbling curses and sweet nothings into your ear. And no matter how much you plead with yourself to remember who he is, the invisible noose he has tied around your neck reminds you who you belong too. Who you’ll 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 belong to. You’re swallowed whole.

Bo pulls out and immediately tucks himself back into his boxers as you stand there with his spend dripping out of you and onto the floor, inner thighs slick with a disgusting mixture of your cum and his. “Get cleaned up”, he grumbled. Throwing a random dirt tinged rag onto the floor in front of you.

“Want yer ass back in the kitchen in 5 or I might have ta’ get Vince back in here. Show him how a real man takes care of what’s his.”

With a wink and a satisfied grin Bo disappears into another part of the house. Leaving you in the same way he found you. Weak at the knees and starving for something to heal the wounds you mindlessly reopen every time he’s around.

#slasher fandom #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #bo sinclair #slasher x reader #slasher x you #house of wax 2005 #slasher fucker #vincent sinclair #going feral #brain rot #slasher smut

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toxicanonymity · 6 days

Text

THE WAX JOB

PAIRING: Bo Sinclair x f!reader WC: 1.3k words | MASTERLIST WARNINGS: I8+ Dark. Noncon/dubcon (captivity), you're into it, as usual with mine. sick & twisted use of wax. PIV, creampies, breeding, forced pregnancy, lactation, dark caretaking/mild dark fluff. Started as HCs. End note. NOTE: Inspired by the 30-second scene at 3:10.

Breeding you is something Bo must do, like a farm chore. He keeps you locked up in the basement and visits you at the end of each day. You're kept on a worn medical chair, similar to what you'd find in a dentist's office, but roomier. Each evening, you hear him roll the garage door down upstairs, and it makes your heart flutter. Within a few minutes, his heavy footsteps echo down the stairs, and the jingle of his belt unbuckling. Sometimes a groan of fatigue.

He stares you down hungrily as he approaches with slow steps, tan hand flexing as he rubs himself. His strong forearms are smeared with motor oil from working in the garage. He takes you to the bathroom and watches you go, then puts you back in the chair. Manhandles you if he has to. Sometimes he stops to take a polaroid.

He stands at the foot of the chair and lifts his trucker hat to wipe his brow with the back of his wrist, then pulls the hat down into place again. He takes off his boots and tight jeans, casually talking to himself about the day and how pretty you look.

He spreads your legs. You fall into a trance salivating over the shape in his boxer briefs as he climbs onto the chair with you. He shoves his underwear down under his balls, and holds his cock in his hand, squeezing it a few times as he ogles your body. Shame heats your face as you watch and yearn for his thick, veiny cock.

In the first days, he keeps you gagged the whole time, but once he sees how much you enjoy it, he wants to hear your pretty sounds.

He pulls your dress up over your tits - no panties. allowed. He wets his lips, and smiles darkly to himself at the sight of your glistening cunt.

As he notches himself at your entrance, sweat drips off his face. Your lips part as he begins to push in. He bottoms out with a groan. He stays there and twitches inside. Without moving yet, he mutters, "gonna be such a pretty mama," and runs his thumb over your lips.

He grunts as he fucks you, and each thrust shakes the chair and makes it squeak, echoing off the walls. Sometimes he's rough. Sometimes he's slow.

He braces a forearm above your head and his sweat wafts from the darkened pit of his uniform.

With your cunt spread open around his cock, your mouth falls open with a moan. A salty drop rolls down his chin and lands in your mouth.

After a minute, you begin to whimper and squirm as you approach your climax. The basement is dusty and humid and you're sweating.

"You're gonna cum for me now," he pants, and you spasm. "Yeah, cum for me, darlin'," he whispers darkly, and it sends you. Your hips lift, your body jerks, you moan as your walls choke his cock, and he chuckles, "good girl. . . That's my girl."

He becomes more vocal as he fucks you through it. Sighing, grunting, moaning, "Good g---oh, baby."

"Ugghh---Here we go, darlin'," he mutters as he nears his peak. He groans unrestrained as he bottoms out and pulses warmly, heat spreading deep in your cunt.

He stays all the way inside and with his face inches from yours, he admires your features. He gently wipes the sweat from your brow, then slowly thrusts again as his last spasms fade. "Mmm."

Once he pulls out, he adjusts the chair so your feet are up. He calls for Lester to bring dinner down. Bo feeds you a few bites, or let's Vincent do it. Sometimes he tells you a little about his day like you're not strapped down with your legs in the air.

And then, when Bo's hard again -- which isn't long -- he goes again. And again. Until you can't physically hold any more cum.

Once you're full of his seed, Bo dismounts the chair and calls for Vincent as he pulls his jeans back on. He doesn't buckle them.

-------------

Vincent comes in with an old paint can full of hot wax and stands by the chair like an assistant. He doesn't look at you. Your legs are raised again and bo spreads your thighs wide. "Good girl," he whispers, then mumbles to Vincent, "ain't she pretty?"

Vincent offers Bo a cloth. Bo braces a hand on your mound and wipes any spilled cum off your lips, getting them as dry as he can. He reassures himself, "that's okay," as he laments the lost seed.

Then, he dips his thumb in the hot wax and Vincent looks away.

Bo brings his thumb between your legs and applies the hot wax to your outer labia, one after the other. He uses his thumb to tuck your folds inside, and then he presses your outer lips together and holds them shut like a clam.

"Little more," he urges Vincent. He adjusts his left hand so two of his massive fingers are holding your cunt shut. Then he extends his right hand toward Vincent and dips two fingers into the hot wax and dribbles some on the outside. "Good," he mutters and Vincent steps away.

Still holding you shut, Bo brings his face between your legs and gently blows on the hot wax, helping it dry. He takes his time with this, and his eyes sparkle at his work. "Night sweetheart," he whispers to your cunt and plants a kiss on your mound, then one on your lower belly.

This continues until you're pregnant.

_____________

Once you're pregnant, they let you upstairs to celebrate and Lester makes a special cake. They give you a new dress.

All three of them darkly dote on you throughout your pregnancy. You're still locked up, but you're allowed upstairs with supervision.

Bo has Vincent make a wax cast of your torso every month and they're displayed throughout the main floor of the house on makeshift pedestals. Lester is the one who's responsible for making your food and taking care of your basic needs. He's polite and never tries anything.

Bo is obsessed with your pregnant body. He can't keep his hands off you. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he'd mad with lust.

Once your milk comes in, Bo tastes it every day. He pulls your dress up over your tits and suckles sloppily at your engorged tits.

He lets the sweet breastmilk run down over the curve of your belly and he licks it up. Once he's down there he can't resist eating you out, which makes him really hard. Sometimes he does it right after dinner, while you're still in the common area. You're laid back on a threadbare couch with your legs over his shoulders. He doesn't mind if Lester or Vincent see, although they normally don't stick around to watch.

Feasting between your legs, Bo feverishly takes his cock out with one hand as he keeps his other hand on your breast. He can't pull his mouth away until he's ready to shove himself into you. He runs his tip through your folds, then pushes into you. He fucks you slow and gentle.

He briefly sucks your tit again as he fucks you. He makes sure you cum, then when he's ready to do the same, his face hovers an inch from yours. He Looks in your eyes, then lowers his forehead to yours. He groans against the corner of his mouth, then kisses you on the lips as he cums. His lips break away with a moan, then he kisses you gently as he finishes.

He cleans you up, and lets you sleep in his bed.

----------

tagging @lunitawrites my breeding encourager

Inspired by the moment from the link and a terrible product concept - I'm haunted by Mensez Feminine Lipstick, but go have a laugh if you want. notice his logo looks like a ball sack. This man actually wants us to glue our lips shut during our period. If you have Qs about the logistics of this. Please ask that guy 💀

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair smut #house of wax #slasher smut #cw noncon #cw pregnancy #cw abuse #toxicanonymity ☠️#bo sinclair x you #slasher x you #slasher fucker

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cupids-scream-queen · 6 months

Text

❛ the wax muse ❜

-> Part 2!!

-> Vincent Sinclair x f!reader

Summary: The muse of Vincent Sinclair gets her pussy absolutely obliterated.

Warnings: Sex. Surprised?

A/N: this is a part two, but it can be read independently of the first part.

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

(Tag: @l4vr0v )

You were, of course, beautiful. That much was true. Vincent had a pencil in his hand, sketching you. You were wearing nothing, your skin glistening in the light as your boyfriend continued to draw you, carefully making sure that each little touch was captured forever in the paper.

"I think you're cute when you're sketching," You commented, and Vincent looked up at you, curiously. He was wearing his mask, his hair cascading down his body like water.

He nodded, his pencil being put down. You looked at him, curiously. Bo's yelling calmed down, and you heard him stomp outside with Lester, doing God knows what. You and Vincent were alone.

"You alright?" Vincent nodded, putting his sketching supplies down. He made his way over to you, his muse, and placed a warm, calloused hand under your chin, tipping it up towards his face. You met his eyes, which weren't hidden under his mask.

He took his other hand and softly touched your breast, and your breath hitched. You still had the candle in your hand, and the live flame made you nervous.

"The candle, Vinny," You were surprised when he took the candle from you, tipping it over and watching as the hot wax spilled onto your skin. You inhaled sharply at the wax, an unusual and strange feeling. It hardened almost immediately, leaving a patch of black where it hit your skin. Vincent thought you looked beautiful.

He put the candle closer to your face, and you blew it out. He nodded, approving your actions. He took the skull from your hand (you still weren't sure if it was real or not--you made a mental note to ask him later) and dropped it to the floor, a satisfying clunck noise pervading the air.

"Vinny, are you alright?" You cautiously peered up at him, his good eye twinkling as he started to circle your nipples. A soft moan was let out, which made Vincent groan in response. He softly helped you up, your naked form beautiful to him as anything in the world as he guided you towards his bed. The twin mattress that you had spent time to fix up, replacing the old, dirty sheets with clean silk.

He put you on the bed softly, the silk feeling good against your skin. Vincent gingerly took the black blindfold from the nightstand, tying it around your eyes. He still didn't like his face--and you weren't going to push him to show it to you.

"Vinny?" You called out, and your back arched as he licked from the top of your pubic bone to your neck, his tongue leaving a trail of saliva. He kissed you, and you moved your hands to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards you. You let out a soft moan as he took your bottom lip in between his teeth, and you opened your mouth, allowing him access. He hungrily went in, his hands exploring your body, though he'd seen it many times before. You were more beautiful than any sculpture he could produce.

His hand started to trail lower, tantalizingly close to your pussy. You moaned as he pushed the spongy pad of his thumb up against your clit, your back arching again as you made your beautiful noises, a cacophony of sounds only for Vincent. It was this that he truly found beauty in you.

"Oh, God, you've gotten good at tha-" Vincent slipped a finger in, and your breath hitched as a moan interrupted your sentence. He groaned as he felt your pussy contract around his finger, and he added another one, scissoring them inside of your cunt. He used his thumb to trace patterns on your clit, causing you to flail your arms out to either side of you, gripping at the silken sheets for support.

He continued his pattern, his fingers dipping in and out of you, gathering the slick and pushing it back inside. He was good, his fingers moving at an impossibly fast rate, prepping you for what was to come. Your mouth was spilling out moans and sweet words of praise, which Vincent ate up like a starved man. How beautiful he was. How wonderful he made you feel. How much you loved him.

His fingers were still working their way in and out of you, his other hand focusing on groping your breasts, his grunting and groaning tipping you off that this was pleasurable for him, too. He gingerly took his fingers out of you, one last good circle drawn on your clit. He took his hands and grabbed onto your hips, and gently teased you with the head of his cock.

"God, Vinny, just--please, please," You whispered, your body shivering with anticipation as he rubbed his cock against you, gathering your juices and rubbing up against your bundle of nerves. He slowly pushed in, his thick cock spreading you open. He moaned as his cock slid inside of you, your pussy clenching around him as he slowly added more of him. You forgot that he was impossibly big, stretching you and filling you up.

He groaned once he was all the way in, your bodies nearly flush together as he started to pull out, before slamming back in. His fingers gripped your hips, leaving little fingerprints as you called out his name, over and over again, like some sort of prayer. He took one of his hands off of your hips, returning to tracing circles into your clit, making you moan and gasp out in pleasure.

He started thrusting more and more roughly, his mind blank with nothing but images of you, your mouth open and strings of profanities and praises falling through your lips, your arched back, your hands imprinting the sheets. He groaned as he started going faster, and you bit your lip, which drove him crazy. He started rutting more and more, desperate to fuck you. He felt your pussy squeeze around him as you came on his cock, hard.

It was enough to send him over the edge. He gripped your hip and your breast as he came, the thick spurts of hot cum coating your insides like paint. He groaned, his thrusting never decreasing in pace as he continued to rut into you even after his orgasm, tantalizing and overstimulating for you.

He slowed down, and eventually pulled out. Pressing tender kisses to your body, letting you know that he was satisfied.

"Vinny, you're so good," You praised him, and he let out a soft noise, as if to say I know.

-_-

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #slasher fucker #slasher fanfiction #slasher smut #slashers #slasher community #slasher x reader #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #sinclair brothers

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backscratches · 1 year

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'Hey, Sweetheart' part 1

The Sinclair brothers x F!child!reader (platonic)

Warnings: Mentions of death, yelling, plans of killing, Slashers, obsession

|next part|

That morning Bo had been woken up by his younger brother, Lester. It had been a call to him about the tourists he saw heading down the road to a campside. One car, couple of people, an easy job.

Bo and Vincent hadn't had tourists in the town in a awhile so the preparations weren't hard. Later that day, at the night exactly. Bo went and blew their tires. He made sure that Lester was ready to escort the couple to the town the next day.

The next day Bo was fixing a car in his garage when a couple walked up to him. They looked like a normal married couple, nothing more to him anyway. But one thing caught his eye. The woman was carrying a baby on her back.

"Hey folks what can I do for yall?" Bo asked trying to be polite. The man told him that they needed couple of tires for their car down the road and that they were in a hurry.

Bo couldn't care less about their plans to see the socker game in the next state or anything else about them. So he directed the woman with her baby up to see the famous Trudy's House Of Wax while he and the husband looked at some tires.

He didn't know what was he hoping to be done with the babe but there was no plans of keeping it either. There had been children passing through the town before but evedently there wasn't any kid wax figures.

After Bo had killed the man with a hit to the head he dragged the body downstairs to the basement of the garage and left to go up to the museum.

Now he knew what he wanted. He wanted Vincent to take care of the problem, that being the baby tourist, so he didn't have to worry about it.

But as he soon found out, Vincent wasn't just as attracted to the idea of getting rid of the little specimen. After he had killed the woman Vincent took the crying baby to his basement.

And that was what Bo had walked in on. Sweaty Vincent holding a crying baby girl in the middle of his work space.

"What the hell are you doing with that thing?" Bo asked loudly bewildered. Vincent only turned for a moment to look at him and then turned immediately back to the now fussing baby in his dry hands.

"Don't ignore me freak what the fuck are you doing with it?" Bo shouted at his twin brother or rather to his back.

"Be Quiet" Vincent whispered in his rough voice. He was observing the baby, holding her Infront of his face but after speaking to Bo he quickly moved the babe to his chest.

Holding the baby in his arms, Vincent began to slowly swing her in hopes of her falling asleep.

"The hell are you planning?" Bo asked angerly but alot quieter now.

The babygirl soon fell into a soft sleep in Vincent's hold.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of Vincent quietly cuddling to the babe, a moment of Bo trying to figure his brother out.

"I want her"

The few words that Vincent could muster with his broken face were enough for to Bo to shutdown.

He didn't want this, he wasn't ready for this and Ambrose sure wasn't a place for this.

Only if he knew how much his brother desperately wanted his own family. But his disformated face had quickly put a brick wall Infront of that dream. That hole he wished so badly to fill, that couldn't be treated even with his lovely good girl dog, Jonesy or a hundred wax figures across the town.

This beautiful baby was the most incredible thing he had ever witness even, his mothers world known wax figures couldn't bare fitness to the feeling this babe brought to him.

And nobody was going to take that away from him. Not even his twin brother.

this is my first fanfic I've ever written so yeah tell me your opinion

I will continue this series for at least a couple of parts

Please like

English isn't my first language tell me of any mistakes

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greatlydelirious · 1 year

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You can't just write "model nude for Vincent which of course led to passionate, mind-melting sex" and never mention it again! WHERE BLEASE BLEASE BLEASE

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

Vincent Sinclair x F!Reader

Ask and you shall receive!

wordcount: 4k words

warnings: fluffy smut, body worship, lovesick corny bastards

Candles sway gently as they cast an orange glow throughout the room. The darkness mixed with the low light perfectly heightens the dips and curves of your body. Bare skin sparkles and your most private areas are hidden by shadows. Enough to tease while still leaving room for imagination.

“More to the left?”

You await further instruction with bated breath. Half from the innate eroticism of what you were doing and half because of how hot the basement is. A light sheen of sweat has accumulated over your body. Although paired with the lighting it only made you look more breathtaking to the man in front of you.

Vincent turns his head to the side while silently evaluating you. Unconsciously he begins to tap the eraser part of his pencil against his masked lips. He was a true artist hyper-fixated on his craft; or as you’ve come to learn, his muse.

Often you sat with Vincent when he was carefully crafting a new sculpture or drawing out ideas that popped into his head. “Sat with” truly means he had you situated in his lap or within arm’s reach. He told you once that your presence calmed him and made him more productive. Bo grumbled about how if he didn’t know better, he would have thought you and Vincent were the ones conjoined. Not an outlandish comment since you two were practically fused at the hip.

Vincent is a man of few words and even fewer demands. Day after day he works on his projects while simultaneously taking care of you. Any need you have; he makes sure it is met. All he asks for in return is your companionship. Yet you still couldn’t stop the nagging feeling to do something more. After days of contemplation, you finally come up with the perfect way to thank him for all he does.

The idea came to you after sifting through the plethora of books Vincent had under the metal frame of his bed. It was hard to keep yourself preoccupied in the vacant town of Ambrose, so you usually found refuge in books. Most of them were older than you, save for the few Lester would scrounge up after going through the belongings of the people unfortunate enough to stumble here. By this point, you’ve read them all; some even twice.

After noticing you sighing while staring at the cracked ceiling, Vincent tugged you by his bed and pulled out the hidden treasure for you to scour through. You felt like a kid on Christmas day. Each book looked more interesting than the last. One, in particular, had you enraptured at the very first page. A picture of a naked woman was on the yellowed and slightly aged paper. She bashfully turned her face away from the camera as the only scrap of fabric on her body was a strategically held piece of sheer fabric.

“Tasteful,” You admonish silently.

Lord knows what kind of nudie magazines his twin brother Bo had. Just imagining the possibilities made you cringe. Shaking your head, you continue to skim through the intimate photography book. In between some of the pages were torn pieces from Vincent’s sketchbook that contained rough drawings of poses like the ones inside. You smile at the idea of Vincent blushing while using these photos for reference.

Of course, he uses the images for art purposes only. You blanch at the weight you didn’t even know was there, leaving your shoulders at the reassurance. Intimacy was extremely important to not only you but your relationship. Each touch expressed words that Vincent could not and would not utter. So, the thought that he would seek pleasure outside of yourself made you feel insecure.

You knew it was unfounded, but like any woman in love, you strived to make your man happy and fulfilled. The last time you brought up concerns of you potentially being an inadequate partner to Vincent, he vehemently shook his head and whined like he was the one doing something wrong. It almost annoyed you that he was so perfect. Vincent is intelligent, but not pompous. Silent, but not dismissive. Talented, but not showy. Truly a caring lover despite the dark acts he participates in.

As you reach the end of the book an anecdote gets the gears in your brain to turn;

“The foundation for any good art form is a subject to expand creativity upon. Whether that be a person, place, thing, feeling, or as this book showcases, pose; inspiration can be found anywhere. In special cases, an artist has a specific muse that sparks ideas in them. Next time you’re talking to an artist, ask them what their muse might be.”

It’s evident that Vincent makes good use of this book, but maybe you could offer him something more interactive. He wrote all the time that you are “one of a kind” to him, so using you as a reference, rather than a random woman, might work better for him. Offering this might also have the added benefit of making you feel more useful.

You close the book with a determined snap before sliding it back with the others. After taking a steadying breath you make your way toward Vincent.

When you propositioned your idea to Vincent, a deep flush immediately ran down his neck as he eagerly nodded. Ironically, now you were the one who felt flushed. How could you not when his gestures while concentrating are so adorable? Although when he rolls up his sleeves to reveal the thick veins that run from his hands to his forearms, your thoughts quickly become less wholesome.

That pencil was the size of a pinky in his large hand. Hands that made even you feel small when they roamed across your body, savoring the sensation of your skin against his. Your own gently twitch at the memory of what that feels like. With a large hand came thick fingers that always seemed to wander down to your-

A small grunt pulls you from your ogling. Looking up, Vincent shakes his head before finally taking a seat in the chair a few feet away from the worn couch you were currently lying on. The position you are in puts you on display while keeping you comfortable.

You’re lounging on your side with your left leg draped in front of your right. Your thigh kept your modesty below even if the “v” of your groin was still visible. A pillow kept your head aloft, letting you watch Vincent as he worked away. Your left arm sat atop your thigh while your right arm crooked lazily next to your head.

To Vincent, you are the most gorgeous reference he’s ever been blessed with. To you, you felt like the textbook definition of self-conscious. Although the man has seen every little inch of you during your highs and lows, you couldn’t help it. It’s vulnerable to be in your birthday suit with someone while not in the throes of passion.

However, judging by the way Vincent slightly maneuvered his hips, your gift was having a bonus effect that you weren’t the only one feeling. Time goes by in a slow crawl. The more minutes that pass, the hotter you get. Despite the warmth encompassing your body from the boiling wax in the room, goosebumps prickled across your skin.

You try to adjust yourself surreptitiously. A feat when his eyes flicked up to you every other damn second. Your fingers itch to release the ever-growing ache between your closed thighs. You almost marvel at how Vincent has managed to keep his cool for so long.

There are subtle giveaways of Vincent’s own desire. His adam’s apple bobs up and down and the grip on each item in his possession is a little too tight. Figurative floodgates open as you watch the rather large bulge in his pants strain under the zipper. Yes, you knew what you were getting into by volunteering to pose, but by this point, it was plain old torture.

In a twist of fate when you squeeze your thighs together to feel some pressure, Vincent looks up at the same time. There was no doubt he saw the way your muscles bunched. Especially since instead of glancing back down to his drawing, his eyes stay fixated on you.

The sketchbook and pencil slip to the ground as Vincent abruptly stands up. Instead of pouncing on you, Vincent stalks toward you. He soaks you in from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. Just like before you let him take the lead, not daring to move a centimeter unless prompted. Even if you want to do quite the opposite and hang onto him like a spider monkey on a tree. Each step he takes toward you makes you want to do the latter.

A calloused thumb makes perches on the much softer flesh of your cheek. Vincent gently rubs the skin there while staring straight into your soul. You answer his unspoken question by wrapping your hand around his wrist, your own thumb rubbing against the pulse point that thrummed underneath. No words were needed to communicate how much you wanted this; how much you wanted him.

Releasing your hold on Vincent, you let out a shaky breath as he trails down your neck to your collarbone, leaving heat in its wake despite his feather-light touches. He skims the side of one breast before doing the same to the other. His eyes are fixated on how your nipples immediately pucker at the close contact. The skin is taut and anticipatory.

You gasp when he rolls the bud in between his middle and forefinger. Vincent lavishes both with attention; lightly twisting and rolling them while you arch in his expert hands. When he is satisfied with how he worked you into a needy frenzy, he continues his descent down. He squeezes the soft flesh of your breasts, sides, and hips, until stalling at your thighs. Two large palms caress your trembling thighs up and down. All you can do is watch as he indulges in your body.

Despite his breath coming out in flustered pants, Vincent slowly peels your leg off the other and opens you up like he was savoring every moment. The warm air hitting the wetness between your thighs makes you flinch. Vincent darts his head up to look at you. Your face is reddened by your desire and your lips are parted so you can intake oxygen better since the atmosphere is thick with humidity and tension.

Tentative fingers slide against your folds. A grunt sounds above you as Vincent spreads your slick, marveling at how drenched you are already. When a single digit sinks into your pussy, you sigh in relief. Pent-up emotions left you needy, wanting, and craving just the slightest hint of satisfaction.

Obscene noises fill the room as a second finger joins the first. Vincent stretches you, but it’s still nothing compared to the real thing. Regardless, you’re panting by this point. Velvety walls quiver around rough skin while you cry out for more. Thankfully, Vincent knows your body better than you do. You swear you see stars when the two fingers inside you stroke your g-spot. Simultaneously, his other hand begins to work your clit. Now he was demanding with every firm, fast touch.

“Right there! Feels so good baby.” You moan out your encouragement as you quickly reach the metaphorical ledge of your fast-approaching release. Vincent hums in acknowledgment before working double time. Blessed by perfect timing, his fingers derive sinful rapture from the respective pleasure points he is expertly rubbing.

The mental foreplay earlier had you so on edge you knew you wouldn’t last long. In seconds you are cursing and moaning Vincent’s name. Your heels dig into the fabric of the couch, and you hold the forearm closest to you in a death grip as you finally give in to your orgasm. You fuck onto his fingers while you ride the waves, each new one making you shudder more than the last.

When he finally pulls out of you, you’re soaked. If you didn’t feel so good you would be embarrassed by the mess you made on not only yourself but the couch. Still dumb from your orgasm you can barely register the extra weight dipping the cushions. Vincent slings your shaky legs over his wide shoulders to make room for himself. Your legs lock tight when warm breath hits your delicate skin.

Instead of the familiar waxiness, a tangible hot mouth connects with your core. The sensation makes you cry out and scramble to find purchase. Your fingers interlace with Vincent’s long hair and when you tug, he groans, sending a delicious vibration straight to your clit. His tongue lashes at anything it can reach. “Tasting” isn’t even the right word; it was like he was memorizing every nuance.

The sight of the two you should be a painting in its own right; an erotic scene depicting a man’s face buried in a woman’s sex while her thighs clamped down on either side of his head. Maybe you could ask Lester to find you a video camera…

Movement rocking you causes you to look down. Vincent’s hips are gyrating as he humps the couch in shallow thrusts. That alone made you feel like you were on the precipice of another orgasm; and when he starts sucking your clit, it almost becomes fact. But you are desperate for all of him and you would be damned to be envious of a couch.

“I need you, Vincent.” Removing your grip on his hair, you opt to pet his head. A part of you thought if he didn’t feel your touch, he would be too lost in you to even hear your words.

One final lick stripes up the length of your sex followed by a kiss to your mound. You stare at the ceiling to pray to any God that was out there because dear Lord this man was going to be the end of you. How can he eat you out like an animal then turn around and be so sweet? The only phrase to describe what you feel is sensual whiplash.

By the time you find your bearings, Vincent is standing next to you with his mask secured back in place. However, you do notice a light sheen under his chin that makes you blush a feverish red. He wore it with pride though, chest puffed out and heaving. His erratic breathing has nothing to do with exertion, not with his stamina.

Stepping back, Vincent makes quick work unbuttoning his overalls. When you make a move to help him undress, he pushes you back down. With a huff, you don’t argue and watch the show in front of you unfold. He peels the beloved sweater off next to reveal a lean frame carved by taut muscle.

The man looked like a specially curated statue himself. All cut lines and understated masculinity. You forget how easily he can snap you in half with how deceptively sweet he was. The shiver that rakes your body is an amalgamation of instinctual fear and arousal.

Soon enough Vincent is as bare as you. Your mouth waters as your eyes move down. Vincent’s cock juts out hard and proud. You always marvel at how impossibly long and equally thick he is. “Perfect mind, perfect heart, perfect cock,” You muse in your head. The tip blushes pink as it shines with a coat of pre-cum. Nothing excited him more than tasting you.

A noise akin to a growl confirms that Vincent knows exactly what you’re thinking. In only two large strides he situates himself on top of you. Blindly his cock rubs against your folds as he cages you between his strong arms. Still sensitive and slippery from your previous orgasm, you let out a high-pitched moan when the wide head of his cock nudges your clit.

He tries, again and again, to push inside your tight depths, but you’re far too slick to give him easy passage. Vincent grunts in frustration before you take him in your hand. As you squeeze his length to maneuver him, he starts to thrust into your hand.

“Does that feel good baby?” You coo the question while making your fist tighter. Your ministrations elicit more noises from the normally silent man.

“Do you want to feel something even better?” With an emphatic nod, Vincent mewls.

In the beginning “dirty talk” made you slightly embarrassed, but when he reacted to it the way he did, embarrassing yourself was the least of your worries. Biting your lip, you help slip the head of his cock into your pussy. Just the girth of his tip is enough to make you wiggle your hips to accommodate. You push your head against the pillow when Vincent finally sinks into you. Pleasure outweighs the slight bite his cock always leaves you with.

Exhaling sharply, Vincent shakes from restraining himself to give you time to adjust; but you’re tired of waiting. You wrap your arms and legs around him like you imagined earlier and pull. “Take me. Now.” For emphasis, you dig your heels into his ass which makes another inch slide into your wet pussy.

And take you he does. Without further encouragement, Vincent bottoms out while still having more shaft to spare before pulling out and doing the same all over again. You become lethargic in your lust-fueled bliss, going lax in his hold while moaning breathlessly. In no time Vincent quickens the pace. He delves into you hungrily, taking each little morsel you have to give.

Long dark tresses act as a curtain hiding away the lovers’ impassioned faces. All you can see, and feel is the man above you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. When you think you’ve reached the height of pleasure you’re surprised once again.

Vincent folds back your left leg until your knee is next to your head. A loud whine escapes you at the surprise new position that made his cock sink into you even deeper. Vincent nuzzles the side of his masked cheek into your newly elevated foot. A deep rumble akin to a purr leaves him almost soothingly. It’s his way of verbally praising you for taking him so well. The sound is a sweet contrast to the way he was rapidly snapping his hips into you.

Each of Vincent’s breaths comes out haggard. Unsurprising given your joint exertion and the mask smothering his airflow. Although this was his normal you wanted him to be comfortable and see your lover in his most intimate state. You’ve seen him unmasked before, but it’s been ingrained in him to hide. That’s not something you’ll ever get behind.

With trembling fingers, you stroke the skin just under his mask, “Please Vinny… can you take it off?”

Your syrupy sweet moans mixed with the pet name demolish Vincent’s trepidation faster than an atomic bomb. A dull thud comes from the floor as warm flesh presses into your neck. Frenzied wet kisses smother the sensitive spot that leaves you more breathless than before. In tandem, fingers begin to sloppily rub your clit again in fast circles. Vincent shifts to support himself on his forearms to better drive into you. He was more than desperate to feel you find your ecstasy around him; he was practically frenzied.

Each gentle caress and sharp thrust make your mind begin to melt like the wax mere feet away. Your bodies felt like malleable putty. No longer are there two different people, but a beautiful combination of one. He was you and you were him.

“Oh God, Vincent please don’t stop,” The words come out slurred like you were drunk on his cock. “I’m so close!” Every time he reaches the end of your depths, his pubic bone roughly rubs your clit. It was too much; he was too long, too thick, and too good at making you lose your mind.

You cling on to Vincent like a lifeline as you come undone around him. Incoherent words string together to make a non-sensical sentence. Only your cries of pleasure are recognizable.

Your pussy tightens like a fist around his cock as each spasm makes you pull him in deeper. Vincent loses himself in you, giving four more manic thrusts before also letting go. With a strained groan, Vincent calls out your name before slamming your hips against his and shooting his release inside you. Warmth spreads in your core to a point that you feel almost uncomfortably full, but it’s an ache you welcome wholeheartedly.

For a few agonizing moments, Vincent continues to move inside you. Each extra thrust of his softening cock pumps his cum deeper and deeper. The overstimulation makes you whimper and claw at his shoulders. With one last deep thrust, he finally stills. A soft kiss is lovingly placed on your temple before Vincent supports himself back on his palms to gaze down at you.

Vincent truly was his brother’s twin. The malformed visage on the right side of his face doesn’t scare you, but only makes your heart further soften. Which at this point would mean the organ was pure liquid because of how much you love this man.

You muster a tired smile as you bring a hand to the scarred flesh of your lover. Instead of flinching away, he leans into your touch. Never did he tire of your little pets. Vincent slowly leans back down to pull you into yet another kiss. Lips and tongues dance in a languid tango backed by an orchestra consisting of light hums and deep moans. Every time you feel like you have no more energy to give, Vincent breathes new life into you.

After sharing your mushy feelings via your mouths, you both pull back panting as if you romped for a second time. The telltale twitch of his cock still buried in your pussy is evidence enough that Vincent would of no qualms with going for round two.

Sighing, Vincent reluctantly leaves you to search for a rag. It takes all your willpower not to whistle at the sight of his toned ass. “Someone call the police because this man is packing in the front and the back,” You have enough restraint to keep the comment to yourself as well.

When he finishes cleaning you both off, Vincent grabs the forgotten drawing that tumbled onto the floor. A noticeable blush spreads across his face and down his neck as he holds his sketchbook. Sitting up you stretch your hand out, “Can I see it?”

When he hesitates, you put on your best pout. “Pretty, pretty please? You can’t make love to me like that and not show me what you drew.”

Only after one more round of saying “pretty please” while adorning puppy eyes that would make even Bo falter, he gives in. You’re drowning in anticipation by the time he offers the book for you to hold. Any composure you recovered quickly dissipates. At your silence, Vincent tries to grab the picture until he sees the tears swelling in your eyes. He immediately tips up your chin expecting to see disappointment but is only greeted by adoration.

Despite the time constraint, the drawing was extremely detailed. Unlike his other sketches that consisted of haphazard lines and rough ideas, this piece looked fully actualized and it’s even shaded. To say you were impressed was an understatement. You had never seen your body look so beautiful before. What makes it all the more sentimental was knowing that’s how Vincent saw you.

A thumb wiping away your tears helps ground you enough for you to find your words, “It’s wonderful Vincent. You’re wonderful.”

Then something rare happens, Vincent smiles; a wide, boyish, genuine smile unobstructed by a mask.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

#vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #house of wax #house of wax x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #vincent sinclair #delirious masterlist

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armyangxls · 2 months

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The girliness to become obsessed with a character from a movie you're literally repulsed by and wanna throw up when seeing clips of it! And haven't even seen the movie! hahaha 😍🥰🫣💜 Bo Sinclair <<<<<33333333

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bitchyglitterfox · 1 year

Text

Saviors - Sinclair Brothers x F!Reader

Warnings: abuse but not from the Sinclairs, murder, language used against reader, Bo being out of character. Fluff, let me know if I missed anything.

A/n: this is possibly the second longest one-shot I've ever written besides petals and bullets. I hope you all like this one.

...

You, your two friends, well they were technically your boyfriend's friends and said boyfriend had decided that driving from California to Florida to go to Disney world would be cheaper and way more fun than flying. What a dumb idea that was. Your clock read just after midnight and you've made it just forty miles out of Baton Rouge when your back left tire blew on your Volkswagen minibus.

"Fuck," you moan out as you gently pull to the side of the empty road.

"What? What happened?" The sudden jolt from the blow tire woke everyone including your easily irritated boyfriend, Ben.

"I think we blew a tire so I pulled over," you say un buckling your seat belt just as you turned the key in the ignition. You open your door, the Louisiana air is sticky and wet. Of all the places to break down it had to be here.

You stop next to your back left tire and inspect it, a rusted nail sticks out of the tire as it slowly deflates. You begin mumbling swears as you open the back of the minibus searching for the spare you are more the positive you replaced when the front tire blew six months ago.

"Fucking damnit!" You place both hands in your hair giving a frustrated tug.

had already gotten out at this point and was standing next to you, his voice making you jump.

"I asked you if you had put the spare back in, god do you always have to be so stupid!" He slams his fist against the side of the minibus.

His anger makes you feel small, if there hadn't been people in the bus he would have punched you instead of the bus.

"I-I could have sworn I put it in," you say barely above a whisper.

"Yeah? You thought? Well you didn't and now we're stuck out here in bumfuck Louisiana!"

"Hey, what's going on?" Rebecca rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

"Y/n forgot to replace the spare tire and now we're stranded here til morning when another person probably comes down this road."

You look down ashamed, reaching out to grab the camping gear and flashlight. You head off the road and just want to set up camp and sleep. You've been the only one driving for the last couple of days.

"Come on let's just set up camp so we can all sleep and hopefully get help in the morning. 0 on, let's find level ground." You don't want to make Ben any madder than he already is.

Everyone gets out of the van and follows behind you with sleeping bags and backpacks, in case someone stumbled upon the bus and decided to have some sticky fingers.

Once you're all settled, you finally turn in for bed. Ben, still angry and annoyed, decided to sleep next to Rebecca and her boyfriend, leaving you alone near a tree stump. You let the tears flow freely from your tears. None of you noticed the truck slowly driving past with their lights off or the man that got out and took the spark plugs.

…

When the sun begins to rise you peek your eyes open and see everyone has already begun packing up camp, it seems they forgot to wake you. It's silent. Not the friendly enjoyable silence, no this silence is awkward, as thick as the Louisiana humidity.

You walk back to the minibus, packing everything up as they all wait for a car as they lean up against the bus. Maxwell, Rebecca's boyfriend, opens the side of the bus to sit half inside and half out.

You decide to turn the keys in the ignition to at least getting the inside of the bus cool. But to your surprise the ignition does turn over.

"What the fuck is wrong now," you groan getting back out of the car and popping the hood, "where the fuck are the spark plugs?!"

You slam the hood shut and walk over towards the trio standing outside the bus.

"Who took the spark plugs out of the bus?"

"What are you talking about?" Ben asks giving you an annoyed look.

"The sparks are missing, did you guys hear anything last night?" You ask again looking around the three of them.

However just before you can get your answer a truck comes round the bend. It's an old beat up pick up. The driver slows and stops just before you guys.

"Well howdy there? Whatch y'all doing out here so early in the mornin'?" He's a scrawny man with a cute dog in the bed and you think that makes him all the more attractive too you.

"Oh well we-" you're cut off by Ben.

"Well my girlfriend here, she blew a tire and seemed to forget to get a new one. She also says she's missing her sparks but you know how women are with cars," he says roughly slamming his arm over your shoulder, making you flinch. The stranger's eyes flickered to you softening for just a moment before going back to a stoic look and staring at Ben.

"I see well, I can take you to Ambrose, it's just 12 miles up the road, my brother owns a mechanic shop and he should be able ta help yall with yours problem. Only this is I only got room for two of ya's," he says rubbing his chin.

"Why doesn't Y/n go? It is her car after all," Rebecca says looking at you.

"I'll go too right babe? Can't have you going alone," Ben says, squeezing your shoulder painfully, you have to bite your lip from crying out.

And so you and Ben pile into who you all found out to be Lester Sinclair. He was the youngest of three.

"So where y'all from anyway? Don't seem like locals round these here parts,"

"Oh well-"

"Were from California, driving cross country this summer to go and see disney world"

You stay quiet now and just look down at your lap. You don't feel like getting Ben angry once again.

Lester looks at you from the corner of his eyes. Planning on ways to make your boyfriend shut up and let you speak for once. He had this overwhelming sense to protect you. Don't go thinking that healing black eye and the way you flinch any time that no good asshole would touch you.

that. But why did yall choose to drive and not fly? Seems like you'd saved some time flying?"

"Yeah well it seemed fun at the time until this one had to go and get the tire popped" Ben says annoyed.

"Well shit, I forgot the roads flooded. We may have to go the long way." Lester says stopping in front of the road that leads into Ambrose.

"Oh that's OK! We can walk from here, that way you don't have to worry about going an extra way," you say, smiling up at him with a genuine smile. He smiles back at you but doesn't miss the scowl on your boyfriend's face.

You wave at Lester after you've both exited the truck, you give jonesy a rub behind her ears and head over to the little step stones that have taken place in the washed out road.

"Come on, the faster we get into town the quicker we can get the shit we need and on the road again," Ben said, grabbing your arm and pulling you hard. He drags you all the way to the mechanics shop. He knocks on the front door.

"Hello! We were told you were open and could help us!" Ben yells.

…

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Bo was on the back roads talking with Lester.

"She needs our help, he doesn't treat her right neither. She's got a healing black eye and every time he touched her she flinches, and you should've seen her, she's finer than frogs' hair split four ways,"

"Hmm, and you say she's got two other with 'er? Well bring them back to Vin and he can take care of them while I go and help our visitors. You grab them sparks and hide them in the house, right?"

Lester shakes his head headed back into his truck to get Rebecca and her boyfriend.

…

Back at the shop, Ben was getting impatient and you were bored.

"I'm gonna go explore, since I'm just a woman and wouldn't know anything about cars right?"

"You don't have to be such a bitch you know," he huffs.

"Well you are such an asshole, after this all over and we're in Florida, I'm going to drop you all off and head home, beauce this," you say pointing between yourself and him, "is over. For good this time."

He back hands you hard enough to draw blood from your lip that his fist made contact with.

"Fuck you Ben!" You screech, "find your own ways to Florida you fuckwad" you walk away up towards the house of wax wanting to clear your mind and maybe have a good cry.

You are amazed when you make it up the hill to the beautiful building, only realizing as you got to the front that the architecture was made entirely of wax. You gently pushed open the door and stepped inside, giving yourself your own guided tour of the house.

Everything was beautiful and the little intimate details intrigued you.

"These look so life like, the artist must have such magical hands," you say in a hushed voice as though you were in an art museum and let's be honest here you really were.

Hiding in the shadows, watching you as you gushed on and on about his art work was Vincent Sinlair, the middle son of the Sinclair brothers and the artist behind the house of wax.

His eye stared at you as though you were a beautiful piece of art that needed to be taken care of and looked after. He silently followed you around like a lost puppy.

Once you finished admiring the art work and decided enough time had passed and Ben more than likely got the parts needed to get back on the road. You walk towards the exit when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You peak over your shoulder and you are more than certain you saw a flash of long raven hair.

…

Back at the mechanic shop just after you had left Bo's voice was heard booming from inside.

"Hold your fuckin' horses, I could hear you banging like all hell!" He opens the door with a scowl on his face, Bo hopes to see you there as well. With the way Lester was talking you up he was excited to see the beauty that was you. But alas you were there, only you annoyed looking boyfriend.

"Whatchu need?" Bo asks, folding his arms over his chest.

"My girlfriend's minibus has a popped tire and missing sparks. We need them as soon as you can give them to us. And I can make the pot sweeter," Ben says, pulling out a $100 from his wallet. You see Ben, Rebecca and Maxwell were silver spoon babies, you were lower middle class.

"Well I'll be damned. As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I'll have to check in our basement to see if we have them. Why don't you come with and we can work out the price," Bo says, making room for Ben to come in through the door. Ben walks in further into the shop not paying any attention to where Bo had moved. Rookie mistake. Bo hits him over the head and Ben is out cold.

When Ben wakes he is secured to an old barber chair under a grate in what he assumed to be the mechanic shop. He's gagged and wiggling trying to escape. He's screaming but nothing comes out.

…..

When you make it to the mechanic shop, you try the door and are happy to see it's finally open.

"Hello! Is anyone here? Ben! Where are you, you still here?" You ask out walking around, fingerings all the different products on the walls.

"Why hello there darlin'" you jump at the sudden voice behind you. You are greeted with quite the sight, a gorgeous man with a trucker hat and mechanic overalls.

"H-hi! I um, I'm looking for the guy I was with, he came here to get a new tire and spark plugs. Have you seen him?" You can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Curse your affinity for getting nervous about gorgeous men talking to you and making you lose all sense of yourself.

"That one fella with the permanent annoyed look? Yeah, I sent him on up to our house, we didn't have the right type or sparks here so I sent him up there to get help from my twin Vincent. I could take you up there if you want or you could wait here?" He says while taking his hat off and running his hand through his damp hair. It makes him look all the more attractive to you.

You smile at him, "is your brother the one who made the art in the house of wax by chance?"

"That he is ma'am, that he is. He's our own lil family artist," he says showing off his award winning smirk, now how about we get you on up to your friend? Maybe even get some food in yall too. You must be hungry." Just as the words left his mouth your stomach growled causing you to blush and wrap your arms around your noisy tummy.

You smile at him. You've smiled more around these two strangers than you ever had in your entire relationship with Ben.

"Of course, please lead the way," you follow after him and to his pick up truck, this one much nicer than the one you previously rode in only hours before. The silence on the drive to the house is silent but peaceful.

You get a better peak at him as he drives, he's attractive and knows it. His hands are big and veiny. Suddenly you are having thoughts about how they'd feel between-woah there y/n you have a boyfriend. Wait wait no you don't you broke it off with the fuckwad. Yes continue with the thought of his fingers in between your thighs as he moves them in and out of your-

"Doll?" Bo lays his hand on your shoulder startling you.

"Yes?" The blood rushes to your cheeks and head almost making you dizzy.

"I said we're here now," he says while fixing his hat and getting out of the truck.

"Oh." You peep out as you follow him into the house. It's beautiful, it's very homey and definitely has the feel that three grown men live here.

"I'll get started on some lunch for you" he says walking to the kitchen as you stand awkwardly in the living room.

There are footsteps heard coming up from what can be assumed is the basement. When the door opens you are met with a beautiful sight, a man appears sporting long black hair, half up in a mini bun. He's wearing a wax made mask. He was beautiful.

"Wow you are beautiful," you say out loud.

He head snaps towards you and he then signs 'Thank you' you smile, you took a few ASL classes in high school.

"Are you the one who made all the beautiful sculptures in the wax museum?"

'Yes, did you like them?' He signed again.

"I didn't just like them, I loved them! You have such a beautiful talent!"

'Would you like to see more?' He signs, 'I have just finished one at the workshop I have in the basement of the house of wax,'

"I would love to, but I'm only in town until my minibus is fixed. It would've been a great honor to see it though!"

Just ask he was about to reply, Bo is calling you both to the dining room table.

…

The 3 of you are enjoying a wonderful meal when it's interrupted by the front door being slammed open. All three of your heads look towards and see Ben.

"B-ben!" You stand abruptly.

"Get the fuck away from them y/n! They are a bunch of freaks!"

Neither man speaks as they are stiff as a board.

"What do you mean? They've been nothing but nice to me this entire time," you say staying put.

"That one locked me up in some torture device!" He says pointing to Bo, causing you to look at him, "I think they're the ones behind the missing sparks and blown tire," this causes you to slightly step back.

"Now darlin' it ain't what you think, ok maybe it is," Bo begins looking at Vincent for help.

"Get the fuck over here now, so help me. Don't be fucking stupid!" Ben says.

"What did you say?" You look at him. Without you even realizing, you subconsciously grabbed the knife on the table. You don't even realize what your doing until you hear Bo say "don't go at the throat or head. Vinny needs those intact."

"I am so sick of you abusing me and belittling me! I am so sick of it!" You scream.

"You wanna stay with the freaks you crazy bitch? Fine you do that but dont you ever forget who owns you." He says stepping back away from the three of you. "You don't own me, you've never owned me!" You land the first blow in his stomach twisting the blade. You don't stop until Bo is pulling you off of him. Holding you close to his chest as Vincent wipes away the tears that have begun to fall. You're free, you're finally free of the abuse.

"We'll always protect you doll, always." Bo says as he holds you close and kisses the top of your head.

#bitchyglitterfox writes #house of wax x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #sinclair brothers x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #slashers x reader #slashers #house of wax #house of wax imagine

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sunkendreams · 4 months

Note

uhh asking for a request of bo and just anything that involves with duct tape 😭😭 gagging or bounding im happy either way

Also love ur work! 🩷💖

souvenir.

➾ pairing ; bo sinclair x fem!reader.

in which bo decides that he’ll take you as his souvenir — a pretty hiker lost in ambrose.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.3K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), DUBCON, drugging, kidnapping, bondage (tape and chains), restraints, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, groping, knifeplay, rough sex, p in v sex, different positions, spitting, choking, bruising, hair-pulling, scratching, marking, use of pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc.), dom/sub dynamics, begging, dirty talk, edging, creampie, unprotected sex, bo is definitely not nice in this fic

author’s note: this is definitely more of a darker fic, but I actually loved writing it ,,, nothing like gross and horny sex with bo sinclair to get the blood flowing! I hope you all enjoy! Still working on requests, I’m hoping to post a few things this week since I’ve been so busy!

Warm, glittering rays of a vibrant Louisiana sun cut through the thick canopy of trees and marshland, bathing your face in a haze of heat. It was midday — hot and sticky, accompanied by a stifling humidity that was prevalent in the South, not terribly far from a saltwater coastline.

Beneath you was the grass — clutches of wildflowers blossomed amongst strands of emerald, a temporary refuge for you to rest as you savored the outdoors. A town sat in the near-distance, baking away underneath the sun, as evidenced by the paint wearing thin and the asphalt looking gray instead of black.

You’d been hiking by yourself — that was your first mistake. Too brazen and bold enough to be without the company of your friends, and now, subject to the ire of Ambrose’s hidden devils.

It was akin to ringing the dinner bell when Lester had caught wind of your presence through the scope of a well-used Barrett. Once he’d informed Bo over a very colorful phone call, your fate was sealed, doomed to become another pretty fixture in the House of Wax.

There was no getting out of Ambrose — you just didn’t know it yet.

As the glaring sun began to slip behind the verdant canopy above you, you took it as a sign to relocate, trekking the short distance toward the quaint town. You could hear the general buzz and chatter of townsfolk, but there wasn’t a soul in-sight — the ones that were, confined to their eternal tombs.

“Nobody’s home.” You murmured, thumbing the thick straps of your backpack as you sauntered down the middle of the road, glancing at some of the vehicles lining the road. Some appeared brand-new, others showing signs of weathering.

You passed the gas station and row of various houses, making your way toward the church. The distant hum of an organ guided your path, leading you to the steps and to the devil himself.

Bo Sinclair stood in front of a set of white doors, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a bead of sweat glistening upon his brow. He wore his Sunday best to look the part, gaze flickering toward your pretty, doe-eyed countenance when you’d stopped a few feet away.

A cloud of billowing smoke drifted into the air, a thin gray wisp that dissipated into the staggering heat. He appraised you in an unusual silence, drinking you in, shamelessly admiring the way your jeans clung to your body. Bo’s own fascination was nearly palpable — he still wondered what possessed a girl to go hiking alone.

Maybe you were stupid — he didn’t think so.

“Sermon getting to you?” You hadn’t intended to come off as simpering or awkward, gesturing toward the cigarette in the stranger’s mouth. A chattering ambiance and piano music emanated from inside of the church, and you felt severely underdressed in the presence of this man — the only one you’d seen in the town so far.

A huff escaped him as he ashed his cigarette, granules of charcoal floating towards the steps. “Might need another cigarette if that’s the case,” Bo chortled, taking another long drag. He ogled you again, jaw tensing as he sized you up, unbeknownst to you. “You lost?”

You would do perfectly — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages, that much was for certain.

Bo’s mind worked differently than yours, sinister and callous when compared to your innocuous demeanor. Whilst you stood along the picket-fence, contemplating about finding a good drink of water, Bo was picturing you strapped down to his bed, clothes cut away.

“A little bit,” It was painful for you to confess to being lost, considering how many times you’d traversed the backwoods of Louisiana. The sound of your voice was enough to momentarily sever Bo’s salacious train of thought, watching as you picked at the fading paint along the fence. “Do you know if there’s a convenience store around here or anything?”

He shook his head, motioning down the street. “Closed for th’day, I’m afraid. Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” Bo asked, attempting to lay the foundation for you, building a rapport that was surely to break once he got his hands on you. It was all about the building.

You shrugged, withering away beneath the oppressive heat of the midday sun. You wondered how this man was so unusually comfortable within an all-black suit and tie. Nonetheless, you decided to be truthful. “I’m just looking for a quick drink before I hike back to the main road. I’m a little low on water.”

“If you’re willin’ to make the trek, I can take you up to my place. Won’t take long, ten minutes or so.” Bo offered, attempting to sweeten the deal. It was akin to a predator skillfully drawing their prey inward, making it difficult to resist. He took another lengthy drag of his cigarette before smashing it against the concrete with the toe of his boot.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” Admittedly, you felt intrusive — a meddlesome presence amidst a quiet, peaceful town. You felt even worse interrupting a church service, but Bo didn’t seem phased whatsoever. “I don’t want to distract you from church, either.”

Bo scoffed, lips twitching into something sardonic, one hand perched atop his hip. “Don’t think th’good Lord really cares a whole lot for me these days,” He mused, and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Let me take you up there.” He motioned for you to follow him.

Leaving the white chapel behind, you walked alongside him, somewhat smitten by his Southern drawl and charismatic charm. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow, and he promptly loosened his tie as the two of you made it toward a stretch of beaten-up road.

“Name’s Bo, by th’way. Forgot my manners.” Bo mused, making sure to really lay on the flirtation and appeal. It wasn’t hard for him to tell how flustered you were already — and he fully intended on manipulating such a fact.

“Nice to meet you, Bo.” You smiled, cordial and polite as you sauntered alongside him. “How long have you lived here in Ambrose? It seems so far from the rest of civilization.” It was out of reach, away from the rest of the world, a world that was impervious to the sinister deeds of the Sinclairs.

Unfortunately, you were now in their territory, subject to their rules and ire.

Bo chuckled, shamelessly stealing glances at you whenever possible. You were gorgeous — a looker with a sweet demeanor. He wanted to lick that sweetness right off of you, drain it all, keep it for himself. “Lived here for most of my life. Town’s real quiet, jus’ known for the House of Wax.”

Intrigue glistened upon your features, and you recalled the sign that you’d spotted during your hike — Trudy’s infamous House of Wax. The building itself sat in the distance, nestled amongst a cluster of hills. Even that seemed relatively dormant.

“It’s nice here, really peaceful. You must get used to the silence.” You replied, stepping up the incline as Bo gently steadied you with one arm. You murmured a soft ‘thank you’ as a house came into view, rustic yet large. This must’ve been Bo’s home. “Is this it?”

He motioned toward the house, wrapping his tie around his hand as he loosened up his collar. “Yeah, this is it. We’ll go on inside, you can sit an’ I’ll get you fixed up with somethin’ for the road.” Bo chimed, making his way to the front door.

Bo let you inside, gesturing toward the couch and recliner that sat in the living room. It was a very well lived-in home, but you didn’t seem to mind. You moved toward the couch, finally able to sit somewhere comfortable and relax, placing your backpack beside you.

“Thank you for doing this, Bo. I appreciate it.” You piped up, watching as he moved toward the kitchen. The interior of the home felt warm and inviting, littered with plenty of things to look at. There was ample opportunity for Bo to take matters into his own hands.

One of the cupboards in the kitchen had what he needed, a syringe filled with some strange concoction, a thicker liquid. His dark gaze darted toward you, distracted by your surroundings. Bo took the syringe, discreetly keeping it by his side as he stepped behind you, offering you a water bottle.

“‘Course. Heat’s pretty bad in these parts.” He replied, and you immediately unscrewed the lid, greedily drinking several gulps of icy water. Bo was close, hovering above you with a manic look in his eyes.

Before you had time to properly react, his hand closed around the underside of your jaw, squeezing tight to hold you steady. The intrusive, cold prick of a needle digging into your neck made you scream, but Bo had you in a rather uncomfortable chokehold.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed, stroking at your hair. Everything felt numb, and you could no longer feel anything in your arms and legs, reduced to simple tingling sensations. Your cries were in vain, throaty and hoarse as you sank into the couch, limp and lifeless. “Jus’ relax. All that strugglin’ is gonna make it worse.”

Your eyes felt heavy, beginning to close with a weight to them — the last thing you remembered was the glimpse of Bo’s insidious smirk and dark hues before you’d been rendered unconscious.

———————————————————————————

The scratch of duct-tape reverberated around the concrete cellar, obnoxiously close to your ear, causing you to involuntarily wince. The haze of unconsciousness was lifting, but that sound — it made you groan, unpleasant and invasive. You attempted to move as the heaviness wore away in your limbs, but you had no such luck.

You were in the underbelly of some cold, dingy cellar, cement walls lined in grainy polaroids, tools, and obscene amounts of sex toys. An icy, uncomfortable sensation began to pool within the pit of your stomach, and you tried to jerk against the tape around your wrists.

A strange, unsettling chill fluttered about your body, causing you to shudder. Your hiking boots were nowhere to be found, flannel stolen too, leaving you in your shorts and tank top. Something felt intrusive, as if there was an outside presence bearing down on you, crawling beneath your flesh.

Bo was standing at the foot of a strange chair, stained with months-old cruor, dressed differently than before. A pair of mechanic’s coveralls were stained with grease and oil, dark enough to conceal bloodstains. He bit at the strip of duct-tape, clutching it between his teeth as he bound you, keeping you restrained.

“W—Wait,” You babbled, and suddenly, the heightened sensation of fear and startlement blistered through you, visceral and volatile. “Please don’t do this.” Your whimpers fell on deaf ears as Bo continued his mission, sweat layered in a thin sheen along his temples.

Death in a town that wasn’t on the map was a fate worse than any other — you would rot into the ground with no one to find you, only the animals and trees would know; bear witness. You would cease to exist and become a memory, a painful one, eternally trapped within Ambrose.

“You can make this real easy on yourself,” Bo’s husky, dark drawl emerged from the bitter chill of the cellar, roughened hands sliding along your legs. “All you gotta do is behave for me, yeah?” He stood above you, a twisted version of the man you’d met at the church — or perhaps, the real him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling vulnerable and exposed in your current position. Your hands were bound on either side of you with many rings of duct-tape, legs chained to the floor, yet there was some room for you to walk — if that were even possible. You shivered, mostly from the oppressive cold of the basement coupled with fear.

“Please,” Your chest felt tight, fear unfurling from your ribcage as it spread across your body. A shudder rolled down your spine when Bo grabbed your chin, thumb stroking along your lower lip. “Please don’t kill me.”

Something about this place told you that he’d killed before — they’d been in the very same spot that you were now. A sinister, lascivious gleam glimmered within his dark eyes as they raked over your body, lips curling into a smirk.

“Didn’t say anything about killin’ you, beautiful.” Bo corrected, digits beginning to squeeze your chin, putting pressure on your jaw. “But I might change my mind if y’make this hard for me.” His other hand moved toward your shorts, unbuttoning the front as he ripped the zipper down in one swift movement.

You began to squirm, mortified and flustered as you fought against the tape wrapped around your wrists — but it wasn’t any use. “Don’t.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper as he gave you a pointed look.

Bo scoffed, head cocking to one side. “Be a shame if I gotta shut that pretty mouth of yours, too.” It wasn’t a warning, but a threat, a promise — one that he intended to make good on if you weren’t careful. “Gonna open up for me?” He crooned.

There was something hideous about him touching you — and even more so was the disgusting fact that you wanted to let him do it. He was handsome at the church, all a facade of Southern charm and debonair wit, but this was something else entirely.

With a defeated, pitiful expression, you began to part your legs, and that was akin to victory for Bo. His dark chuckle made you shiver, feeling his hand brusquely tug and wrestle with your shorts, inching them down your legs. “You’re real pretty,” He uttered, looking you in the eyes. “Prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Heat pooled within the pit of your stomach, and you clenched your hands into fists, nearly whimpering when he ghosted his fingers across your clothed cunt. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction — this was wrong, depraved on so many levels, but you found yourself submitting instead of retaliating.

A strangled whimper escaped you as he rounded the chair, standing right in front of you as he planted a kiss against your forehead. “Bet you’re all wet from this, huh?” He husked, voice kept to a low growl as he slipped his fingers into your panties.

Arousal had collected there, slick and warm upon his digits. Part of you wanted to melt into the chair and disappear, muscles tense and taut as you worked to suppress your whining.

“Fuck, look at that,” Bo sneered, greedily sucking your nectar right from his fingers, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. “Guess I was right.” His hand returned to your aching cunt, the other wrangling your panties aside, movements harsh and rough.

You hated that it felt good, offered you a sliver of relief — you wanted to scratch at your restraints, thighs beginning to quiver. A string of incoherent babbling escaped you, mumbled pleas for him to stop. It was quite the juxtaposition to your hips, which happened to lurch forward into his hand.

Bo bullied his way in between your legs, spreading you apart as he lowered himself to his knees — unexpected, but you still felt embarrassed. “Gonna have to have a taste of this pretty cunt,” With a gravelly hum, he grabbed your thighs, unceremoniously spitting a wad of saliva onto your throbbing cunt. “Don’t move.”

“Bo,” It was almost involuntary, moaning his name as you jolted forward, mouth agape. Bo’s grin felt like a hot brand against your inner thigh as he clamped his hands down into your legs, hard enough to cause bruises. “P—Please.” You sputtered.

Part of you felt terribly embarrassed for enjoying yourself at the hands of this man who’d kidnapped you, your innocence being taken advantage of. His calloused, rough hands spread you apart, broad tongue licking a stripe along the length of your slit.

Bo was eating you out like a man starved, breath hot and heavy as he savored you with his lips, tongue swirling across your cunt. His hands groped into your haunches, against the swell of your pliant flesh, practically forcing your hips to tilt into his face as he buried his head between your legs.

With a wanton moan, you slouched back into the rigid frame of the chair, listening to it creak and groan as you writhed around. The manacles that shackled you to the concrete rustled with your movements, fingers curling into your palms. His tongue was deliberate and slow, teasing you with every stroke.

You tried to smother your noises, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he was ten steps ahead of you. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” Bo stopped, ceasing any further contact until you submitted to him. “Gonna have to beg for it, I s’pose.” His sigh was theatrical and badgering, forcing you to whimper.

A simpering, choked-up noise escaped from the back of your throat, desperation beginning to mount as you jerked and jolted forward. Bo simply sat still, attempting to smother that smarmy, devilish grin of his as you shook your head back and forth. “Please keep going, please!” You cried.

Bo clicked his tongue, seemingly unimpressed and dismissive, reaching for the knife that sat in his back pocket. “Ain’t ever met a girl this ungrateful. You rather I stop an’ get this all over with?” His voice was vitriolic, full of a manipulative venom that only served to drag you deeper into his pit.

The sharp, icy blade suddenly traced over your legs, goosebumps erupting in its wake as you shook your head. You didn’t want Bo to hurt you — the idea of being harmed, of being so helpless — it frightened you. Bo enjoyed seeing that little pang of fear within your doe eyes as he prodded the tip of razor-sharp silver into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” You gasped, stumbling over your words and babbling, restless within the chair. “Bo, please! I — I’ll be loud, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.” It was a gushing string of pleas and begging that didn’t go unnoticed this time.

With soft shushing, Bo sighed, kissing along your inner thigh as he dug his nails into your flesh. It was rough enough to make you feel the burning sting of pain, chest heaving with labored breaths as he nudged his lips against your cunt again. “I think I’m gonna keep you for m’self, how’s that sound?” He uttered.

“Good, good,” You nodded. “I — I want you, please keep going.” Whatever bite and edge you had before had diminished completely, shadowed by his dark, domineering nature. It was hard for anything to break through that barrier of his. He retracted the knife, then and there.

A cajoling chuckle escaped him, one filled with mockery and a duplicitous edge as he lapped at your cunt once more. His tongue was like hot coals, raking across your slit with a wanton need, fingers grabbing and groping at the meat of your thighs.

His cock twitched within his jeans, desperate to be inside of you, make you scream. You wanted to grab at his tousled tresses or grip onto his shoulders, but the duct-tape prevented you from going anywhere, digging into your wrists.

Bo savored you as if you were some delectable meal, licking his lips before toying with your clit. His mouth was feather-light and teasing that bundle of nerves, enough to make you contort within the chair. A strangled moan left you, noisy and desperate, wrought with desire.

“Please, Bo, please,” You breathed, and when your thighs threatened to squeeze his face, he roughly pushed you apart, gazing at you from between your legs. The duct-tape chafed at your flesh, uncomfortably tight around your wrists as you writhed, hips bucking forward. “Please!” You were nearly sobbing.

All inhibitions had been abandoned — you were his now, reduced to his pretty plaything, all spread out on a silver platter. Molten heat surged through you when he lapped at your cunt, hand slipping down as he teased your entrance, giving you no warning as two digits sank into you.

A blissful whine left you, head rolling back against the chair as he nudged your clit, just enough to keep you chasing after that sensation. Bo was undeniably cruel, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud, causing you to squirm and shiver, all sound escaping you.

“Sing pretty for me,” Bo’s husky, Southern purr emerged from between your thighs, teeth nicking your thigh before he finally began to suck on your clit. His thick digits pistoned in and out of your weeping cunt, providing you with an overwhelming barrage of pleasure. “That’s it.” He huffed, lurching forward.

The rattling of chains couldn’t rip you from the moment as liquid heat coalesced between your legs, with Bo’s chin steeped in your arousal. You moaned again, flexing against your restraints, stomach churning with an anticipation that made you want to melt.

Bo grunted, greedily lapping at your sweet cunt, fingers beginning to curl into that sweet spot, prompting you to choke on any sound that bubbled within your throat. He was like a predator, with you in his clutches, a rabbit trapped within the jaws of a wolf.

With another barrage of practiced licks, he continued his onslaught against your clit, eliciting a myriad of sinful, inhuman sounds from you. Bo — it was the only word that fell from your lips like some chant, and he didn’t stop, feeling your knees buckle and shake around him.

His digits buried themselves into your tight cunt, sluggishly rocking in and out as he sucked on your clit. It sent you careening over the edge, lost to a white-hot explosion of ecstasy as you came, moaning and shivering, a complete and utter mess.

He was the devil — pearlescent teeth glinting in the low, buzzing light of the cellar. The shadows moved in a way that made him seem sinister. You were surprised that he didn’t have horns and a forked tongue, but it was likely a trick of the eyes. You huffed, fading away into your post-orgasm haze, but Bo was far from finished.

“We ain’t done just yet,” He uttered, licking his lips as he moved up from between your legs, hand gripping your chin as he dragged you forward. Bo made you open your mouth, head tilted backward as he leaned in, countenance contorting into a sneer. “Got a little gift for you, for bein’ good.”

A wad of his saliva landed upon your tongue, and you nearly choked, feeling filthy and vulnerable. His eyes glistened with an insidious shade, shadowed and bemused as he closed your mouth, forcing you to swallow his spit.

Bo was expectant, waiting for you to say something — but when nothing emerged, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Where’s your manners?” He reminded you, patting your jaw like he would a beloved dog.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, somewhat shrewd as Bo grinned, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You squirmed again when Bo began to unzip the front of his pants, breathing noticeably heavier and wrought with unrestrained excitement.

“Now,” Bo hummed, fishing his cock from the confines of his jeans. His erection was thick and heavy within his calloused palm, oozing with pearls of precum. With a step in your direction, he pressed the head of his cock against your cunt. “M’gonna fuck you right.”

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, letting out another moan as he teased your entrance, hooking his hands around your hips. Bo was rough and callous, dragging you forward as he sank his cock into you, grunting at the tightness and warmth.

Another wanton moan escaped you, back beginning to arch as he thrust forward, chest rippling with grunts and subtle growls. Lewd, crass noises reverberated throughout the cellar, the only ambiance that you could really focus on. His shadow eclipsed the stark glare of the light, gaze fixated on you.

Bo’s eyes were shadowed, brewing with something dark yet indecipherable. He began to adopt a very brutal pace, cock pounding away at your poor cunt. You hadn’t done this in so long, to the point where it felt borderline unfamiliar. You sputtered and moaned, feeling one of his hands abandon your leg.

That rough, calloused hand of his found its way to your slender neck, digits squeezing at your throat. It wasn’t particularly gentle, but not enough to completely rob you of air. You whined, unable to keep from watching the way his cock disappeared again and again into your sweet, oozing cunt.

You wanted to grab onto him, onto his arm, chest, anything — instead, you were met with harsh resistance from the duct-tape. “Bo,” You moaned, hips rolling in-tandem with his movements. Bo hunched closer, hand tight around your throat as his thumb pressed into your jugular, causing you to wince. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Bo’s voice dropped to a lower octave, cock rutting away into you with a rough, unyielding amount of force. If he went any harder, he might’ve threatened to split you in half. “Fuck, you’re nice n’tight. Can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. You like bein’ tied down an’ fucked by a stranger?” He uttered, and you began to stammer.

A wave of liquid heat burned bright within the pit of your stomach, a flame that only grew in intensity as he kept up with his brutal ministrations. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his cock at his words, causing you to shiver again. “I—I …” You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed and ashamed.

Bo scoffed, voice tapering off into a grunt as he continued to rut forward, cock buried inside of you until he could go no further. “Got you so fucked you can’t even speak,” He sneered, grip tightening on your throat. It was bound to leave some sort of mark, but you knew he didn’t care. “You gonna behave?”

Your head bobbed up and down several times over, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” You squeaked, watching with blown-out pupils as he reached for the knife, cutting you loose from the duct-tape. Though, once your hands were free, you were being dragged onto the cold concrete on your stomach.

The steely, sharp bite of the knife sliced through your tank top like butter, leaving you completely exposed to Bo, who remained entirely clothed. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine from the icy temperature of the ground, feeling his hand close into your hair as he fucked you from behind.

His cock battered away at your cunt, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. It was harsh and intrusive, digits tugging on your hair, wrangling you like you were molded from obsidian. Bo savored the sensation of you rocking back into him, thighs quivering like a leaf.

Your eyes flickered toward the muted brick wall on your left, met with a garish display of polaroids — other girls, girls like you. You had a feeling that none of them had lived to tell the tale.

A pang of dread consumed you, followed by fear — you hoped that you wouldn’t end up on that wall too, immortalized in some sick photograph. Instead, you wanted to increase your chances of survival, moaning and whimpering his name, forehead snug against the concrete.

“You wanna cum?” Bo asked nonchalantly, spoken through labored breathing as his thrusts became quick and sporadic. He was close, cock throbbing inside of you as his other hand clawed bruises and marks into the swell of your hips.

“Yes,” You didn’t hesitate, moaning again when he dug his nails into your flesh, causing you to squirm from discomfort. “Please, Bo! I want you to let me cum!” Desperation was laced within your voice, high-pitched and simpering as he let go of your hip.

“Good girl,” Bo grunted, somewhat perplexed by you. “Finally usin’ your manners.” He reached between your thighs, slathered in your slick and his precum, thumb rubbing circles into your clit. Your back began to arch, pushing back into him as he fucked you like a wild animal, chains clanking against the floor.

Pleasure rippled through you in blistering waves, coupled with the faint sting of pain that radiated from your hip. Bo grunted, breath hot and strenuous as he fucked you senseless, pounding away at your cunt with little regard for your comfort. His thumb toyed with your clit, causing you to writhe and moan.

With another harsh rut of his hips, Bo grunted, pushing his hips forward as he came inside of you, ropes of white-hot seed flooding your cunt. His brow glistened with perspiration as he pulled his cock free, leaving you with the mess of it all, haphazardly smeared between your legs.

Bo, in all his cruelty, tore his hand away from your clit, leaving you a throbbing mess, edged to the brink. You wanted to beg for him to continue, but you were spent, hot flesh soothed by the cold temperature of the floor.

“W—Wait,” Your protests were weak, but still strung-out with desperation. “Aren’t you going to keep going?” There was a little sliver of hope within your voice, but he relented, lips curling into a bemused smirk as he gave your ass a light smack.

“Changed my mind.”

You hated him.

For a moment, you saw red, frustrated without any semblance of relief, but also in misery over your current situation. You didn’t know what to do or say — and the last thing you wanted was for him to become angry with you. You didn’t want to become a permanent fixture on his wall of past trophies.

He stood up, hovering above you as you sheepishly rolled onto your back. Bo’s unsteady, dangerous leer sent shivers down your spine, watching as he stared at you for several moments. “Guessin’ you’ll last longer than the rest have,” He crooned, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. “Go on.”

His head jerked toward the chair, signaling you to climb back in. Your legs quivered in the aftermath of being fucked stupid, and you awkwardly reached for your panties and shorts, but Bo intercepted you. Wordlessly, you sat down in the leather seat, naked and entirely vulnerable.

“Keep you like that for when I come back.” Bo’s Southern purr made you shudder as you trembled, both from fear and from the cold. He couldn’t help but take a little bit of pity on you, tossing you a blanket from the old mattress that sat several feet away from you.

Something about being left entirely alone, naked and used in this basement, made you more terrified than anything else. You didn’t want to be left alone with just your thoughts. Even if Bo had kidnapped you, he was more tolerable than solitude. “You’ll come back?” You asked.

Bo huffed, retrieving his baseball cap. “Maybe,” He could see the hint of fear that had glossed over your eyes. “Maybe I’ll leave you down here an’ let you rot.” His voice was somewhat vitriolic, but undecided — part of you knew that he couldn’t leave you alone after this.

You would take the physicality over being isolated.

Silence drifted between the both of you as your legs shifted, the sound of clanking manacles providing the only bit of ambiance. Bo made for the iron-wrought door, standing in the doorway to give you one last look. Even in your disheveled state, you were beautiful — and now?

You belonged to him.

Before Bo shut the door, his lips twitched into the ghost of a devilish smirk. “Guess I’ll see you soon.”

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

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thesightstoshowyou · 10 months

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Collective

- Part One -

Vincent Sinclair x F Reader x Asa Emory

Warnings: Violence, blood, threats, brief descriptions of gore

A/N: @quiveringdeer and her headcanon machine got me thinking about these two again, so I’ve given this piece from a few years ago a nice facelift. I hope to continue with part two soon!

It’s mid morning when a man strolls into town, the unforgiving Louisiana heat already simmering on cracked asphalt. He’s maybe mid-forties, alone, and handsome in a rugged way, you’ll admit, in his work boots, double-fronted jeans, and plaid button up. Outdoorsy, you guess.

You watch him through the window as he cautiously surveys the area. When Lester had called to alert you to the newcomer, he’d sounded hesitant, or maybe uneasy. Whatever it was, it’s put you on edge already.

Sauntering out the door of Bo’s shop, you wrinkle your nose at the oppressive heat before forcing a sweet smile across your face.

“Hey there! You lookin’ fer Bo?” The twangy accent is easy to fake after so much practice. He turns to you, the cold look on his face almost tripping you up. Then, his dark eyes quickly dart from your cleavage to your face and you regain composure.

He’s only a man. Relax.

“So I’ve been instructed,” he responds to your question. His voice is deep and rich like bourbon. You’d swoon if you didn’t know he’d be roadkill before the sun sets.

“He should be back in about a half hour. Had to run to town fer supplies.” The man hums noncommittally, a displeased scowl on his face. He glances around again as you speak, studying each house in detail. His eyes are piercing, calculating. There’s intelligence there, beyond his gaze. He reminds you of Vincent.

You suppress a shudder. Best get him somewhere else before he starts looking too closely.

Plastering another smile on your face, you announce, “We, uh, have a pretty good wax museum here. I can show it to ya’ if you’d like. Keep ya’ entertained while we wait fer Bo.” The man raises an eyebrow, indicating he would rather do a million other things than look at some half-rate wax museum in this shit hole town. You can hardly blame him.

“Lead the way,” he replies, surprising you.

Alright then.

You must leave the shade offered by Bo’s shop in order to lead the man up the hill toward the museum. As you walk, he studies every building, like he’s searching for something. For other people, you wager.

Unease grows. You’re uncomfortable with this man who is obviously too smart for his own good, but you don’t have much of a choice. You have a job to do, a job that is the only thing keeping you from a knife to the gut and an eternity encased in wax.

Distract him before he notices too much. “What brings you to the area, Mister…?”

“Emory. Call me Asa.” He finally peels his gaze away from the surroundings to look at you. “Entomology conference in New Orleans.”

A bug guy, huh? Be dumb. “Entomology. Is that like, uh, snakes an’ stuff?”

“Insects,” he corrects tersely. You giggle and nod, like you hadn’t just insulted his field of expertise. You wipe your dripping forehead on the back of your arm, hoping he thinks you’re sweating from the heat and not from nerves.

Finally, you reach the museum. He pauses to give one hard look at the Sinclair house perched atop the hill before holding the door open for you. You thank him and slip inside, relieved to be out of the heat.

The museum is oppressively silent, a fact to which you can never grow accustomed. It’s a perpetual funeral, an unmarked grave commanding muted respect for its enshrined dead. You wonder if Asa feels it too.

That eerie, itchy feeling tickles the back of your neck and you know he’s close now, close enough to see you and Asa. Somewhere in the dark lurks Vincent, ready to dispatch the man at your side.

Clearing your throat, you motion to the first piece: The woman with her hand raised as if in greeting, frightful smile stretched across her face. “This is—

Your words lodge in your throat along with your heart when you’re grabbed from behind and pinned against the wall. The hand on the back of your head grinds your face into wax. Your cry of shock morphs into a choked inhale when the point of a knife is pushed to your throat.

“You’re going to tell me what you have going on here or I’m going to open up an artery,” Asa growls in your ear. Panic surges through your bloodstream and you thrash, heedless of the knife that nicks your flesh. Warmth trickles down your neck and chest to soak into your shirt.

“P-Please don’t touch me, p-please, he won’t like it, please let me go.” You drop the fake accent as you beg, tears welling in your eyes, neck straining to look at the man behind you.

You freeze when a thumb brushes over the brand on your shoulder, your damned shirt having slipped down in the scuffle. Asa traces the white scar, the dips and curves of the embellished “S.”

“Interesting,” he muses.

“Don’t—

You both hear the approaching footsteps at the same time, quick taps that disturb the hush around you. Asa reacts first. He whips you both around and you shriek, snapping your eyes shut and bracing for impact.

The crowbar stops its downward arc inches from your face. A tremulous wheeze leaves your lips as Vincent leaps back and hunches down into a defensive position. He’s twitchy, agitated, the good eye behind the mask flicking to the hands on you, to your terrified face, to Asa’s calm expression.

Asa grips you around the middle, cool steel slotting under your chin. He walks you in a half circle so he’s no longer caged in by the wax wall behind him. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you allow yourself to be maneuvered, the pressure of the blade on your flesh more than enough incentive. As you move, Vincent’s own knife swishes as it’s withdrawn from its sheath.

You both come to a stop next to one of the statues, the one of the man holding his hat aloft. You expect to keep moving, but find Asa has fallen as still as the figure beside you. His head turns and you realize he’s closely inspecting the statue. Slowly, he brings you both closer. What’s he looking for…?

With a swift kick, Asa knocks the statue to the ground. The upraised arm and the man’s head crack when the statue collides with the floor, limb and skull bouncing and rolling away. Revealed to him now are the layers of real, human flesh, muscle, organs, and bone encased in wax, preserved for all time.

For a moment, everyone stands frozen. The severed head rolls to a stop near Vincent’s boots, but his eye remains firmly locked on the knife at your throat. Your breath leaves you in a shuddering exhale.

Adjusting his grip on the blade, Asa hums thoughtfully. With the toe of his boot, he tips the wax victim to get a better look at its grotesque insides. There’s no tension in his body, no change in his slow, even breathing. He appears completely unperturbed by this gruesome discovery.

Speaking to Vincent, he asks curiously, “Are they all people?” Cautiously, Vincent straightens, tilting his head suspiciously at the nonchalant question. “Well?” Asa presses, gripping you tighter, applying pressure to the knife until you squeak.

Slowly, the wax mask bobs up and down in a nod.

“Very unique,” Asa comments. He drags you back to the next scene, a man kneeling over a woman on a sofa. As he looks over the figures, he adds, “Always a pleasure to meet a fellow artist.”

Artist.

A fellow artist.

What…what does he mean?

“And this is your muse?” His tone is mocking now, the hand around your waist sliding up to your chin to give your head a teasing shake.

Vincent growls, his grip so tight on the handle of his blade his knuckles blanche. Asa chuckles quietly and squeezes your jaw so tight you whimper. Vincent moves to take a step closer, but Asa tips your head up with the blade, pressing the point to your fluttering pulse.

“You’ll get her back, but first I need a few things from you.”

#asa emory #vincent sinclair #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #asa emory x reader #thesightstoshowyou #crossover au #flashing gif

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loveandmurders · 6 months

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

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

I really hope you'll enjoy it <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom…” you whispered

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

“Sinclairs” you instantly replied before biting your tongue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wondered if by the devil she meant Bo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But for that… he needed to find you first.

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

One day, luck seemed to be on his side.

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

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

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

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

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

Lester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a promise.

And a threat.

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

PART II

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