#bo sinclair fanfic

[small-sinclair]

Smut below. Never written smut so be nice—

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader

⚠️NSFW 18+ ONLY⚠️

Okay but—

Bo telling you how much he doesn’t deserve you, whispering it against you ear, as he thrusts hard and rough, tender and lustful, deep inside you. He knows he’s the worst and he knows he’s a monster; he doesn’t deserve you.

His rough hands by your head as he takes the pace painfully slow, rutting fast, then slow again. He kisses your neck then your shoulder. His heart hammers at your whimpers and moans. He doesn’t want to be near your, but he wants to be beside you. He can’t imagine himself without you in his life anymore.

“‘M no good, no good,” he breathes heavily as his pace quickens. His hands hold your wrists above your head as he angles himself to hit your g-spot better, the spot that makes you unravel like yarn. “God, you deserve better… so-so much better. To-fuck— to perfect for me.”

He watches your eyes roll back as you come close to your fourth or fifth climax, but he won’t stop because he’s too lost in his own need. Sometimes, he’s scared of himself when he’s lost like this because he doesn’t want to hurt you too bad, but the bruises he leaves behind on your thighs and kiss-stained mark on your neck does something to him.

His other hand roams up and down your body, feeling your chest and sides. Marble statues are jealous of you. He leans down and kisses hard and long, taking your lips in like it’s the last water in the world. He loves the way you call his name and kiss his skin. He goes faster and faster, lifting you up as he does and uses you as a fuck-toy. He holds your back and supports your head as he hears your pleas to slow down but he can’t, he won’t. His eyes burning with flames that were never blown out. He feels how you clinch and how you squirms as he chases his high.

“Never been good for your body. Never-never been good for your hands,” he grunted as he feels your hands around his neck for support. “Never been good for your love. No good for you! You’re too-too perfect. Too innocent and pure-pure for me.” His hips rolling into yours. “Fuckin’ perfect. Too perfect for me.” He bites your shoulder as he slams himself in you unapologetically. He tastes your blood and can feel your heart in his teeth and it makes his eyes roll. “I don’t deserve-deserve your fuckin’ pussy. Don’t deserve how tight it is— shit. I don’t deserve you.”

With one last hard thrust, he feels your walls clinch around him. He hears you moan out his name like a prayer to an elder god, but he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve your voice saying his name like that.

He comes closer to you as he pushes his seed deep inside your body, feeling it mix with yours. Slowly, he lays your body back down into the mangled sheets and kisses the bite marks he left behind. He breathes deeply out and shivers when he breathes in. His callous hands run over your skin as he lets go of you. He doesn’t want your hands over him but he craves it like a drug.

“No… shit, no good for you,” he repeats as he rests his head against yours. “Someone’s better than me.” He leans into your hand and he marvel that if feels like the finest silk. “Fuck, I love you.”

He’ll slowly pull out once he feels your body relax into the blankets and pillows under you. Bo’s not one for aftercare, but his hands smooth your legs and sides, kissing the handprint bruise on your hips. And you see his body in the dim moonlight, and you can see his scars from the past and from the fights. You see how tired his eyes are and how much he’s love struck with you.

As he climbs out of bed, your hand catches his and he kisses your knocks before letting go. Hes right back with a cold wash rag and some lotion. He kisses your body tired until your numb from his love. He washes your body and sings praises to you, calling you his, calling you perfect, calling you darling. He lotions your legs, arms, and throat, and he’s being so gentle with you. When he’s done, you rust on his chest and trace his scars.

“…if you keep lovin’ me like this,” he says in a husky voice, “I’ll never let you go… never let you leave me.” He’ll look down at you then kiss your head. “Never leave me.”

You’re too tired to answer as you rest your head over his heart. You belong here in his arms and he’ll never let you go. Not for a second.

[lilmoonbunny]

Crush; Bo Sinclair

Bo has a crush, but so does Lester.

Warnings: Jealous!Bo, swearing.

Bo Sinclair was an asshole, anyone who knew him knew this fact, however, there was a side of him – albeit rare – that could be kind and loving, although, there was only one person who he deemed worthy of this side.

Y/N was everything that Bo was not: sweet, kind, caring, and loving. She was any man’s dream. Perhaps this was why Lester craved her, much to Bo’s dismay.

Whilst Bo’s initial craving for her was lust, it soon transformed into genuine feelings, something which terrified him. He didn’t believe that he could love, nor did he think he was worthy of being loved.

“Bo,” Y/N whined, capturing the mechanics attention as he lay beneath a truck. She watched as the man rolled out to look at her, oil clinging to his face.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I’m bored,”

With a roll of his eyes, Bo pushed himself back underneath the truck, turning his attention back to the job at hand. He enjoyed her company he truly did, but there were times when he couldn’t stand to be around her. It was nothing personal, he just didn’t know how to control himself.

The revealing clothes that she was wearing in the summer heat left little to the imagination and Bo almost wished he could take a picture of her, capturing her in all her glory, not that he would ever admit he saw her that way to anybody besides himself; he often struggled to admit it to himself.

He could feel her eyes on him, although he didn’t know why she was so focused on him, but it made it hard to focus. What was supposed to be an easy job was suddenly made harder with her focus solely on him; he almost felt insecure. Almost.

Bo knew he was both attractive and charming, but when around her he couldn’t help but wonder if she saw him the same way. In fact, that was something he pondered often. She was Vincent’s friend, that was how he came to know her and how she ended up residing in Ambrose after a ‘complication’ with her previous partner.

He remembered the nights she spent crying whilst Vincent comforted her, both with hugs and pats on the head which Bo found odd as Vincent was not one for physical touch. Bo would never admit he was jealous, and besides, he wasn’t aware of his feelings then.

The feelings came rushing to him one night as he found her in the kitchen. She was making a coffee after giving up on sleep a little after her breakup. Tears stained her cheeks, be it from the bad memories or the breakup itself, and Bo couldn’t remember the last time he had cried or seen somebody cried; maybe it was Lester when they were younger, he wasn’t sure.

“Sorry,” she had apologised to him. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Bo hesitated for a moment, something that he wasn’t used to. Sure, he had talked to her a few times, but rarely alone. He wasn’t big on conversation with new people, let alone friends of Vincent.

“It’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Came his response, shocking them both.

“Are you sure?”

“Course, s’pose it’s your house too for now.”

Little did he know, she would become a permanent resident in the Sinclair household.

“Thank you, Bo,” she smiled sweetly at him, and despite the tears staining her cheeks, he found her beautiful. He knew in that moment that he wanted her in more than a sexual way.

“Why are you staring?” Bo asked from beneath the truck.

Y/N paused for a moment, mouth opening and closing as she struggled to form an answer. “Admiring the view, I guess.” She said with a shrug and Bo could feel his cheeks warming but he simply blamed it on the heat; ignorance is bliss, after all.

Never in his life had he thought he would feel this way and it was terrifying to say the least.

“Oh, hi, Lester!” Y/N grinned, unable to see how Bo’s eyebrows furrowed and a frown formed on his lips. “How are you?”

“I’m all right, Y/N/N. How’re ya?” Bo could hear the smile as Lester spoke and his frown grew.

Y/N’s attention turned from Bo to Lester, red dusting her cheeks from the summer air, and maybe because she was called out for staring.

“I’m good! Me and Bo are just working. Well, he’s working and I’m just sitting here.” A giggle fell from her lips and both the men’s hearts warmed.

As Lester and Y/N’s conversation continued, Bo found himself zoning out, anger forming in his chest. He hated them interacting, having known about Lester’s feelings for his ‘crush’ for a while now. Even if Lester wouldn’t admit it, Bo knew; he always knew.

Rolling out from beneath the truck, Bo spoke. “If you two want to carry on talking, can you do it somewhere else!?” He snapped, immediately regretting it upon seeing the way Y/N’s face dropped. He did debate apologising, but his ego was too big to do so.

She paused for a moment before lifting herself to her feet, silently nodding before walking away, Lester following like a lost puppy.

Bo’s anger continued to fester for the rest of the day, even as he entered the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Hi, Bo,” Y/N greeted him, but it went ignored as Bo removed his boots.

It was safe to assume that Bo was in one of his usual bad moods and Vincent had signed to her that it was best to ignore him when he got like this when she first came to stay. It was the unspoken rule of the house, so she turned her attention back to the television in front of her.

Bo, of course, was paying attention and seeing that Lester had left had his bad mood calming slightly, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. A quiet sigh of relief was next, although it went unheard by the woman that held his affections.

 “I see your little boyfriend left,” Bo broke the silence.

“Boyfriend?”

“Lester.”

“He’s not my boyfriend…?” It was safe to say that Y/N was confused.

“He seems quite smitten on you.”

“I don’t see him that way.”

Bo relaxed some more and this time it didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, nor did his dilated pupils. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what that meant.

As she stood up, a plan formed in her mind, but if she was wrong about this, she risked ruining everything, including their close friendship.

What is life without a little risk? She reasoned with herself.

Bo watched her as she moved closer, eventually standing in front of him and toying with the collar of his thin jacket, fixing it despite knowing that he would remove it soon.

“There is somebody I see that way, though,” she said, looking up at him with a coy smile that had Bo’s heart racing.

“Is that so?” He muttered, watching her closely.

“Yeah,” her smile grew, hands reaching out to grasp his face, taking it slowly and gently so that he could pull away at any time.

But he didn’t pull away, in fact, he couldn’t resist any longer and his face dived down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.

She could taste a mix of cigarettes and beer on his lips, but it wasn’t something she minded; it was very Bo and she loved him for who he was, flaws and all.

Whilst her hands gently cupped his cheeks, Bo’s reached out to lightly grasp both her waist and the back of her neck as he continued to kiss her. It was something he didn’t want to pull away from. The sensation of her lips on his and his hands on her had his heart beating a million miles per minute and the feeling itself gave him a high better than any drug ever could.

When they separated, Y/N’s gaze turned downwards, a dark blush coating her cheeks.

“I didn’t know if that was a good idea,” she admitted. “I’m hoping it was.”

Bo paused for a moment, feeling as though he was unable to speak. “I think it was,” his voice was quiet yet filled with emotion which was unusual for the man. “As long as you liked it, then I think it was, at least.”

“I did like it,”

Bo smiled, and whilst it was a small smile, it was noticeable to her.

“So did I.”

[sunkendreams]

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.”

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

telling the slashers you want to crack their skull open and look inside

mentioned: bo sinclair, otis driftwood, baby firefly, vincent sinclair

warnings: mentions of knives, mentions of death, just the reader being a little bit morbid as you can tell from the title

a/n: so this is kind of inspired by the song 'inside your mind' by the 1975. i just wanted to write how the slashers would react if their s/o were to outwardly tell them this cos i think it would be funny

bo sinclair

when you say this to bo, it's when you're both lying in bed together

you're head is on his chest and you're thinking about how little he tells you of what goes on in his head

"sometimes i want to crack open your skull and look inside," you say to him

now, he knows you would never do anything to hurt him and if you ever did, he could easily overpower you, but that doesn't mean he isn't unnerved by your admission

he's never heard something so morbid come out of your mouth before, so he's definitely thrown a little off balance by you saying it

"i shoulda kept your mouth glued shut," he eventually sighs, although he still isn't 100% sure you aren't actually going to attempt it

otis driftwood

you're sitting together in his room watching tv when you say this to him

you're not really paying much attention to the tv, mostly because you're wondering if you could ever possibly guess some of the thoughts that pass through otis's mind

over the time that you'd been together, it had become obvious to you just how intelligent and creative he was and it honestly made you curious to know what was inside his mind

the moment the words leave your mouth, otis is immediately reaching for his knife which prompts you to assure him that you don't mean it literally

you tell him that you just want to know everything that goes on inside his mind to which he kind of just looks at you with a slightly horrified expression on his face

"if you even attempt to come near my skull, i'm puttin' this knife straight through your fuckin' throat. got it?"

baby firefly

she kinda relates

although she quickly goes on a tangent about when she actually looked inside someone's head one time and saw what was there

she's blissfully unaware of how utterly grossed out you are as she gives you a vivid description of what is actually inside someone's mind

it ultimately ends with you no longer wanting to know what's inside baby's mind because you'd simply be too disturbed to find out

vincent sinclair

you're watching him work when you suddenly say the words to him

he's quite alarmed at first, unsure about whether or not you actually mean it

he doesn't really move or anything, he kind of just stands there motionless, watching you nervously

immediately noticing his unease, you clarify that you admire his creativity and are simply curious to see what goes on inside his mind

he's flattered by this but he doesn't offer you a response and just turns back to his work, letting you watch him again in peace

[Main Masterlist]

[6lostgirl6]

Taking Care of Him When He's Hurt HCs

Requested by: @rottent33th

How about the Sinclair Brothers with a spouse that is constantly worrying over them? Like they come home a little bruised up and are immediately rushed and taken care of.

TW: Cursing

Bo Sinclair

With his duty of dealing with troublesome people passing through Ambrose, getting hurt in some way can occur.

As Bo's fiancé, you have already experienced a few instances of Bo returning home with something bleeding, broken or bruised.

However, that doesn't mean that your worry over him has lessened.

In fact, it increased ten-fold when he once returned home with his shoulder completely out of his socket.

You could become a full-time nurse with how much you learned from taking care of your future husband.

You would never forget the very first time he came home hurt and wounded.

You spent the day watching television while Bo was down at the gas station, however when it started getting dark, you began to worry.

Usually, Bo would be home before dark because he knew that you would worry about him if he didn't. Therefore, something must have happened.

You sat up and began to pace a little, watching the door and hoping he would turn up and say that he just 'lost track of time.'

However, you were wrong when your spouse practically slammed himself into the house and roughly land against the wall, gripping his side.

Your eyes lazer-focused on the blood soaking through his fingers and mechanic suit and you immediately acted.

"What the hell happened?!" You demanded, rushing over to him and trying to pull his hand away to assess the damage.

"Fuckin' bitch stabbed me!" He replied, pulling away from your touch and heading towards the kitchen. "This group was damn-near worse than yours."

Yes, once upon a time you were an actual victim of your current fiancé when your group stumbled upon Ambrose and wanting to take a break from your road trip. When you were the only remaining survivor, Bo found you interestimg and actually spared you, keeping you to himself.

The rest was history.

"Please, let me help you!" You followed him and urged him to sit down. "Baby, you're bleeding!" You exclaimed, grabbing his bloody hand and making him look at you.

He paused, staring at you while tears began to form in your eyes. He hated when he made you worried and upset. Which was why he wanted to take care of it himself and lay down for a while before seeing you again.

He stared for a moment before giving a small sigh. "Course, darlin'." He replied, sitting down on the stair when you pulled it out for him.

You knew that Bo didn't like asking for help or admitting when he needed it.

Therefore, you weren't that offended when he didn't want you helping at first.

You looked at the wound and luckily it wasn't too deep and didn't hit any major organs.

You proceeded to clean off the blood and disinfect the wound, causing him to wince slightly.

As an apology, you leaned in to give him a small kiss which he gladly returned, gripping the back of your head eagerly.

Pulling away, you wrapped the wound and helped him into your bedroom to change and relax for the rest of the night.

"Thanks, Darlin'." He muttered, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to him, closing his eyes for a much needed sleep.

Vincent Sinclair

You have constantly warned Vincent about the dangers of working around hot wax since you discovered his hobby when you both first got together. 

Vincent is such an sweet fiancé, but you worry that he would eventually hurt himself. 

Vincent is such an sweet fiancé. He always listened to your concerns and reassures you on your worries. 

Whenever he would return to the basement to work on his sculptures and/or turn people into them, you would meet him at the door and remind him to wear goggles and protective gloves for his hands. 

While Vincent finds this extremely dearing to have you, his spouse, constantly worry for him, he always reassures you in sign language and temple kisses through his mask that he’ll be alright.

After all, he has done this since he was a young boy and as a beginner getting hurt was more common. Now, as a grown man, accidents rarely happen. 

With a small sigh and smile, you reluctantly let him return to the basement to work on your own chores around the house to kill some time. 

After a few hours, Vincent was working without incident and he was looking forward to teasing you that he managed another day.

However, since he was too buys thinking of you while moving around his work station, he didn’t notice the fresh liquid that coated the floor that was still in the process of dying up. 

Yes, he slipped. 

In the process, he tried miserably to grab some leverage to catch himself which only resulted in only bringing his equipment down with him to the floor. 

The crash shook the entire house.

The crash sent you into autopilot as you rushed towards the basement and down the stairs to make sure Vincent was alright. 

Upon entering, you quickly noticed your fiancé on the ground, struggling to pick himself up while surrounded by his equipment and practically covered in wax. The drying liquid coating his hands, and part of his neck while his apron and long-sleeved sweater protected most of his torso. 

“Vincent! Are you okay?!” You asked, rushing over to him and lowering yourself to his slowly rising figure, gripping his arm as he finally situated himself onto his bottom rather than his back. 

Vincent could only reply in raspy breaths, instantly informing you that he got the wind completely knocked out of his lungs from the impact. Luckily, he didn’t need to speak to communicate with you. 

“I’m okay.” He shakily signed, “Just a little sore. I can’t really breathe.” 

Your eyes softened, placing your hand on his chest and gently rubbing the ruined cloth of the sweater covering it, hoping to offer some amount of relief. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we can get you upstairs and I’ll take care of your hands when you’re ready.” 

After a few more minutes, he was finally ready to head upstairs to receive some medical attention from you. With your help, you brought him up the stairs and into the kitchen, prompting him to sit down while you grabbed the first-aid kit. 

Helping him remove his apron, you went ahead and cleaned off the hard wax from his hands and parts of his neck. Luckily, the burns weren’t too serious so you went ahead and cleaned the slight burns and applied some ointment. 

You went to grab him a new sweater and helped him replace the ruined material of his old sweater and threw it away. It needed to be replaced anyway. 

Meanwhile, Vincent brought himself over to you and wrapped his arms around you from behind, a silent way of thanks and appreciation for taking care of him. 

Lester Sinclair

You and your future husband live just outside of Ambrose, living a rather quiet life with the occasion of Lester helping his brothers keep the roads looking presentable for future kills.

Since Lester tends to give people rides to Ambrose, he doesn't get into trouble very often.

However, you can't help but worry that Lester could run into people that might take advantage of him.

You were in the middle of feeding the dog when you heard the distinct sound of your fiancé's truck rolling into the dirt driveway.

You smiled and patted the dog's head before stepping inside and the smile dropped from your face from what you witnessed.

Your fiancé exited the truck, refusing to look you with a bruised eye, shirt ripped at the collar, and jacket covered in dirt.

The dog came out to greet him, barking excitingly while Lester bent down to pet him.

You felt tears form in your eyes as you quickly walked over.

"What happened to you?!" You asked, kneeling down and gently pushing the dog away to get a better look at your future husband. "Baby, look at me."

Lester glanced towards you before looking away in shame. "I'm sorry..." He mumbled, "I don't want ya to see me like this."

You shook your head before cupping his face, making him keep focusing on you. "Baby, don't hide from me. What happened?" You asked, stroking his cheek while looking over his bruised face.

"I picked up some people few miles back. They saw my ring and kept makin' jokes. Said some bullshit about you and I saw red." He replied, before covering your hand with his own still on his cheek. "They fuckin' kicked my ass, baby."

You felt the tears return before pulling him close, sniffling as he returned the embrace. "Are you okay though?"

"Yeah...just my ego is a bit bruised." He replied. "I don't want ya thinking I can't protect ya..."

You chuckled softly and pulled away slightly. "Baby, I don't want you to protect me. All I want is for you to be okay and safe."

You played with the golden band around his finger with a small smile. "Let's go get you an ice pack, okay?"

Lester let out a small smile and nodded. "You always know what to say." He replied before following you into the house.

After grabbing an ice pack from the fridge, you quickly placed it on his sore eye before giving him a small kiss on the forehead.

Giving him a moment to himself, you went to the phone plugged into the wall.

It was time to give Bo and Vincent a much needed call.

Nobody fucks with their brother and gets away with it.

Taglist: @ghoulgeousimmaculate @patient1666074  @rottent33th @slaasherslut

[delusionally-loveless-by-choice]

Random Bo Sinclair Headcanons!!

authors' note: these are def just personally influenced, and if im being honest this was in my drafts for like.. a year and a half I think, and well I wrote it in the dead of night and was emotional and delirious. anyway, if u like any of these or wanna discuss his pass leave a note or reblog!!

Bo likes reading—mostly nonfiction but he has read a good amount of fiction when he gets his greasy hands on them. He needs glasses to read sometimes. reads when he isn't busy, andusually is before before (if he isn't drunk lol)

He likes to sketch—in his childhood Vince was the artist, just naturally good at it. His parents hoped Bo could have an artistic talent as well, but soon gave up when they realized he was too much to handle. Bo always liked to randomly doodle when he got bored. Likes to doodle whatever he can, in his youth it was usually just funny sketches of people that he'd make fun of

Has a great ass singing voice—first heard him humming in the garage to some song. Later that day after Bo n u got a couple of beers down, the music was low and playing and you heard him just belt it out. Sure it mostly comes out when he’s drunk but gad damn . You just egg him on because you need more bo singing voice.

He likes a lot of alt music. Loud shit. Metal. Rock. Etc. But he’s also secretly into classic romantic shit., (to me personally just the vibe of romantic older music, but im bad w names so like idk songs like put your head on my shoulder dunno)

He has like only three different caps that he circulates through. Theyre all dirty so help him out here, gift him a new one or help him wash them bec them caps are dirty as shi

He just has stickers and he puts them almost everywhere. In certain spots on the truck, in the garage, on his tool box case, etc. Some are from the people he and his brother catch, and others are ones he's gotten on his own over time (there's a sticker in his truck that is most definitely a hello kitty sticker, he denies it was him but he stuck it on when he was plastered and is unable to rip the sticker off its place)

Never learned how to ride a bicycle. Him and his brothers not having the best upbringing, they never really got those bonding moments. I imagine one day after finding a bicycle, and assuming you know how to ride one, he just looks at you as if you discovered a new planet. he never considered that other people knew how to ride those things. So surprised and impressed. He wont ask you to teach him so you kinda have to like coax him to try it. Would definitely get frustrated. I also imagine that if theres a possibility of kids, and he sees you teaching them how to ride a bike he would definitely be holding back tears when he sees you teaching them how to ride a bike (he'll join in bec he wants to learn too but he'd just stand on the side until you tell him to try it)

loll I edited them but I wrote these so long ago and many are def jus self-indulgent . fucj it they head canons for a reason ;)

[halloweenbitch2764]

Slashers with s/o who sews for a living

Sure! Since you didn't request anyone in particular I picked a few :D

Slashers x Reader Who Sews For A Living

Bo Sinclair

Your sewing just makes Bo feel like your his little housewife

He sees it as a feminine hobby (even though it's not, he's just misogynistic)

He loves when you come down to his shop and work on it while he works on his latest vehicle

He'll make sure you aren't watching him before he starts watching your handiwork

He thinks the designs look nice

He'd never say it though

He likes that it helps bring in an income

Though he wants to be the main provider and is as far as killing and stealing go

Overall enjoys it but will never tell you

Brahms Heelshire

He loves to watch you sew

He knows it takes much skill to sew, much less being so good you can do it for a living

He likes when you let him pick out a pattern to do

He definitely has one of your works in his little living space

After the routine for the day has been *mostly* completed he'll just lay his head on your shoulder and watch you work

May even ask to try it some time

It reminds him of his mother

Michael Myers

Doesn't really like it or really hate it

He likes that it seems to be a relaxing hobby for you

Doesn't really care that it brings in money

He can always kill and steal for money if he needs to

He'll watch you do it ever so often because he thinks it's interesting how many patterns and types of stitches you know how to do

Overall, isn't a huge fan but doesn't despise it either

[fluffy-little-demon]

Birthday Love

Bo Sinclair x Fem!Reader

Fluffy birthday thingy I wrote for myself with a bit of implied smut at the end I love this gif 💕

The sun coming through the curtains, filling the room woke you up. In an attempt to ignore it you turned to go back to sleep only to find you were alone in bed. You let out a small grumpy noise but decide to get out of bed anyway. With half closed eyes you grab your husband's t shirt off the floor and make your way downstairs.

Once you were downstairs and in the kitchen, you see Bo standing over the stove in nothing but boxers. You were more awake now, Bo saw you before you had the chance to speak.

"Yer supposed to be in bed baby doll" wagging the spatula at you.

You went to wrap your arms around him from behind nuzzling your face into his back a little. "I'm sorry bunny, the bed felt empty without you. I could go back upstairs if you want."

"It's alright darlin, we can just eat down here. Go sit down baby." With a kiss on the head you go sit on the couch. You didn't turn the tv on like you normally did, instead you turned to watch your favourite cooking show.

Couple minutes later Bo came over with a tray holding a cup of tea, a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, waffles and a card.

"Thank you baby, this looks delicious."

"After you've eaten I can give you one of your presents."

"Oh you mean that thing you do with your tongue." Raising a eyebrow

"You know it baby" winks and smirks in a playful way.

You kiss the tip of his nose "Sounds like a plan"

"Happy birthday darlin" Bo says as he pulls you in for a very passionate kiss.

[fandom-imagines]

Bad idea, right?

Fandom: House of Wax

Pairing: Ex!Bo Sinclair x Reader

Warnings: Exes-to-Lovers, implied nsfw, mainly dialogue, reader doesn't know about Ambrose, not proofread.

Inspired by bad idea right by Olivia Rodrigo!

Seeing the name ‘Bo Sinclair’ pop up in her phone a couple of months after they had officially ended things was not something that Y/N expected during her night-in with her friends.

As the four of them were seated around her best friend’s coffee table, the loud text-tone of Y/N’s phone broke the conversation that they were having and at first, she seriously debated ignoring it.

“It can’t be anybody important,” she said to the group. “It’s probably just my boss asking me to work a shift tomorrow!”

The three girlfriends giggled, each raising their eyebrow in a questioning manner.

“Just answer it!” One said, tossing the woman’s phone to her, one which she caught with expert accuracy.

“Fine.” She huffed, a sound which was cut short when she read the texters name.

Thankfully, nobody noticed the way her eyes widened in both shock and confusion, the emotions intensifying the moment her phone began ringing.

Bo Sinclair is calling.

Answer.        Decline.

It was at that moment Y/N realised that she had never changed his contact image. It was still a photo she took of him whilst they were drunk in Ambrose.

“Sorry,” she muttered to the group, leaving the room to answer the call.

It was as though her body was on autopilot as she answered the phone, his name falling from her lips just as easily as it had when they were a couple.

“Bo? I haven’t heard from you in a couple of months, is everything okay?” Y/N asked, assuming it must be bad for him to call her. After all, he was the one who broke up with her after they had an argument about him keeping secrets from her.

The line was silent for a moment, and she wondered if he had changed his mind, realised his mistake, and hung up. That was, until he spoke.

It wasn’t anything huge, just her name, but it was enough to have her heart racing, past feelings resurfacing at the sound.

“That’s me,” came her response, a forced chuckle shortly following.

“You should come over.” He said.

“What…?”

“You heard me.”

The door to the room she was previously in opened, startling Y/N. She knew then that she had been caught, cheeks flushed and hands shaking; she simply prayed they wouldn’t judge her too much.

“Y/N?” Her best friend asked, smirking as she took in the appearance of the woman on the phone.

“Think about it, Darling. I’ve texted you my new address.” Were Bo’s final words as he hung up the phone, the device suddenly feeling one-hundred times heavier than before.

“Is everything okay?” Rachel, her best and closest friend, asked with concern. “Who was that?”

With a harsh swallow, Y/N spoke. “That was Bo.”

“Bo? As in your ex? What did he want?”

“He wants me to go over, just moved or something.”

“At this time? You can’t seriously be considering it, Y/N! He’s your ex-boyfriend, for crying out loud!” Rachel exclaimed in shock, remembering how heartbroken her friend was when Bo broke up with her.

“Yes, I know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?” Y/N asked. “I only see him as a friend!” The biggest lie I ever said, being her immediate thought after she finished speaking.

“You can’t be serious?” Rachel was clearly unimpressed with Y/N’s choices but knew she was in no spot to say anything; everyone makes bad choices. “It’s a bad idea, right, but I can’t stop you.”

With a smile, Y/N spoke. “Fuck it, it’s fine.”

With a smile on her own face, Rachel repeated her words. “Fuck it, it’s fine.”

*

As she reached Bo’s new house in Ambrose, she hadn’t expected him to be stood at the door with a small smirk, giving her reason to believe to he had been waiting for her to pull up.

“What did you tell your friends?” He asked, widening the door for her to enter the house.

“That I was going home to sleep,”

“Well, you never said where or that you were in my sheets. I guess you could say you just tripped and fell into it.” He joked, still smirking.

“Seeing you tonight, it’s a bad idea, right?” Y/N spoke aloud, watching the way Bo’s smirk widened at her internal debate. “I should probably not.”

“Fuck it, it’s fine.” He said, as though he had heard the previous conversation with Rachel.

Watching Y/N stood in front of him once again had Bo’s chest feeling a way that he wasn’t used to feeling. He didn’t miss her, no, no way! He only saw her as a friend, somebody to hook up with! The biggest lie he ever said.

Y/N watched as he stared at her, seemingly too deep in thought to even notice her moving towards him. Judging by the way he flinched as her hands landed on his shoulders, she knew he hadn’t been paying attention at all.

Bo, who was now well-aware of her touch, leant in to connect their lips, his arm wrapping around her waist in an instant. The feeling of her lips against his after months apart had both parties reacting in ways that they didn’t know were humanly possible.

One of Y/N’s hands moved from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers interlocking with his hair, tugging sharply as Bo bit on her lower, drawing a moan from her. Bo’s free hand reached to toy with the fabric of her shirt, tugging it over her head.

“Should we go upstairs?”

*

Neither of them knew how to react.

Bo, who wasn’t exactly the best at expressing his emotions, watched as the woman he still loved prepared to leave. He didn’t want her to but didn’t know how to express that without seeming ‘weak’.

“You don’t need to go,” Bo muttered, almost too quiet for Y/N to hear.

“What do you mean?”

With a sigh, Bo knew he had to tell her the truth, no matter how much he didn’t want to. “I don’t want you to leave. Not again.” He admitted, cheeks warming at the confession.

“You… don’t?” She asked him, genuine curiosity and confusion in her orbs. “Why?”

“Because… Fuck are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what, Bo?”

“Because I still love you, okay!?” He yelled, and he was grateful that Vincent was visiting Lester that night. “I mean, fuck, I’m- I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I was scared what you would say if you knew the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“Everything! The town, Vincent, Lester, me…. If you knew the truth, you’d never look at me the same.”

As Y/N stared at him, concern evident, Bo winced slightly. He wasn’t exactly used to expressing his emotions, especially not these types of emotions, but as she moved to sit beside him, he couldn’t stop the words leaving his lips.

“Please don’t leave again, Y/N…”

“I won’t, Bo, but only if you tell me the truth.”

[its-monster-mash]

Didn’t Your Momma Ever Tell You not to Talk to Strangers

Bo Sinclair X Reader - Part Three

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Rough Sex(Consensual), Allusion to past non-con(not with Reader)

Part One Part Two

You stir awake, confused with your body aching, in an unfamiliar bed. The last night’s events come back to you when your eyes settle on the man sprawled out on the bed next to you.

Bo.

He looks so peaceful, almost angelic where the light peeks through the heavy curtains and illuminates him. You can’t help but to lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

A sharp inhale, and a soft sigh, and he’s settled deeper into sleep’s embrace. For a moment, you think about settling back into the blankets yourself—it would be so easy to settle into the crook of Bo’s arm—but you’d skipped lunch yesterday, and then missed dinner in favor of satisfying more urgent hungers, so the treacherous bastard that is your stomach forces you to stay awake.

Still though, it’s hard to tear your eyes away from him, now that you have a moment to take in his form in relative stillness.

You know it’s rude to stare, but there’s no one awake to catch you now, so you let your eyes wander over him unreserved—more studying him than anything. Your breath catches in your lungs when you get a good look at his wrists—you’d thought you’d seen scars, but you’d been so preoccupied with the rest of him last night that you didn’t really let it sink in.

You can tell by the thickness and coloration that these are old scars, and you shudder to think of what exactly could have done that to him.

He lets out a small whimper in his sleep, and that reminds you that your little habit is still fucking creepy when the subject of your fascination is asleep—perhaps moreso.

He makes more small sounds of distress, and you wonder if maybe you should wake him—would that be more kind than letting him sleep?

Probably not—he exerted himself quite a bit last night, taking you through round after round of sticky, sweaty, bloody sex—honestly you’re surprised the two of you aren’t sticking to the sheets right now. Smoothing the mess of his hair out of his forehead, you lean in to press another soft kiss to the clammy skin there, and you’re relieved to see him calm, relaxing back into a deep sleep.

Food.

The cavity inside of you aches from the emptiness, and it’s loud and insistent enough to take precedence over the ache of your muscles, and the bruises he’s left all over your body like a lover’s lipstick.

There’s an old Korn shirt folded up beside your pillow that most definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep—you figure Bo must have left it there for you. You don’t bother to go and find your bra, pulling the soft-worn shirt over your head like a trophy.

Damn.

It’s been a long time since you’ve worn someone else’s clothes, and you relish the way it feels against your skin.

No sense in bothering with bottoms—the shirt is long enough that you’ve worn dresses shorter than it—and you doubt Bo will complain if he’s got easy access when he does wake up.

Especially if he comes downstairs to find you fixing the two of you some breakfast.

He laid down a few ground rules before you fell asleep in his arms last night—you could help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you made enough to share, but under no circumstances were you to go in the basement or to go outside without him.

You’d made fun of him about his Mysterious Basement, and something strange flashed across his eyes before he explained that there was a lot of dangerous old equipment down there that he didn’t want messed with—and that the locals are not the friendliest with outsiders, so it’s just best that you don’t go tryin’ to explore the town without him.

He didn’t need to explain himself to you, though—you’re plenty happy to follow his rules since he’s kind enough to let you stay with him after shit hit a boiling point with Tasha and her annoying little boytoy.

It was her that wanted him to come along after all—but all he’d done was bother you.

She had the fucking nerve to be mad at you for it.

You look forward to stopping in to see Bo every time you make your bi-monthly road trip, but yesterday you’d hoped that reminding Tasha, and Corey, of your crush on Bo would get them both to lay off—but Corey pushed you over the edge.

Maybe Tasha was right—maybe you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger; Bo is still technically a stranger to you, after all—you don’t even know his last name.

But if you’d stayed, you couldn’t guarantee that you’d behave—at least this way you could stay in a house with someone you want to trust—rather than getting kicked out on the side of the road after you inevitably wiped that smirk off of Corey’s face.

You don’t think of yourself as particularly violent—but there’s only so far you can be pushed before something snaps in you, and you know it—it’s just safer for everyone if you stay here with Bo until Tasha can come back without him.

But none of that’s important right now.

Now the pressing issue is getting yourself acquainted with his kitchen—first thing’s first—you’d better get it cleaned up before you start digging around for ingredients. It feels a little tacky to get cooking and then only wash what you used when he’s got so much lying around.

Ooh, better start coffee too, you might need it by the time you’re done cleaning up.

It’s not that you’re judging—you’ve seen worse messes in the college dorms, to be honest—but he never did discuss any kind of rent for your stay, so the least you can do is take care of this much.

You’re washing up the last of the mugs when the sound of the kitchen door startles you, and an equally taken aback man stands in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes that you’re sure match your own.

Bo didn’t tell you anyone else was supposed to show up, but the sheer confusion on the man’s face at the sight of you suggests he’s actually supposed to be here.

“Hey,” you force yourself to start talking, very much wishing you had bothered to find your shorts. “Uh…I’m a—guest—of Bo’s.” You’re suddenly very aware of all the bruises on your body, and you hope to god the man has the decency not to mention them.

You hold your still-soapy hand out for him to shake, and he accepts it a bit awkwardly.

“Blink twice if you’re here against your will.”

For a moment he looks serious, but at the look of utter confusion on your face, he breaks into a wide grin and an easy laugh that makes you feel a whole lot better.

“I’m just foolin’ wit’cha.” He drops his duffel bag to the ground, taking a seat at the table as he studies you. “So you’re Bo’s mysterious girlfriend—heard a lot about you—wasn’t sure you actually existed.”

“Not sure I’d use that word quite yet.” You offer an awkward laugh, turning back to the sink to hopefully hide the way the thought of being something more than just a convenient Fuck Buddy to Bo makes you blush.

“Bo would.” He grins, seeming to relish your discomfort. “Name’s Lester—I’m the baby brother.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smile at him, tugging the hem of your borrowed shirt. “I didn’t know Bo had brothers.” Of course, you don’t actually know very much about Bo to begin with.

“Yeah, there’s two of us—Vincent is Bo’s twin, but uh—I don’t know if you’ll see him any time soon.” Lester squints, squeezing his lips together like he’s suddenly not sure exactly how much he’s supposed to tell you—given Bo apparently hasn’t bothered to fill you in on much of anything.

“Why not? Is he away?” Your brow furrows; it’s really none of your business—but he seemed to offer the information readily enough.

“Vin’s shy—he’s one a’ them reclusive artist types.” He drums his fingers on the table. “He’s real talented though; got a lot a’ work down in our Momma’s ol’ Wax Museum.”

Your eyes light up, and suddenly you find yourself forgetting to be self-conscious. “No kidding; I saw the outside of the Museum when Bo drove me up here, but I haven’t been in.”

His eyes narrow on you, his expression becoming ever-so-slightly hesitant—you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t spent so much time studying body language over the years. “Just how much of the town have you seen?”

“Not a thing,” you admit. “I’ve only ever stopped by to see Bo—and last night he said he doesn’t want me going down into town without him.”

“Oh.” Lester nods slowly, like things are falling into place for him. “Okay, that makes sense.”

You’re about to open your mouth to ask more questions, when Lester perks up. “Hey, you’re the one always bringin’ Bo snacks and stuff—did I interrupt you gettin’ ready to cook breakfast?”

There it is.

“I was just getting the dishes out of the way before I start looking at ingredients.” You dry your hands off on your shirt. “Bo said I could help myself to the kitchen as long as I made enough to share.”

“Oh, so now he’s all about sharing,” Lester huffs, and you can’t help grinning at the way his arms cross like a petulant child. “Greedy bastard won’t let anyone else try the goodies you bring him.” He does his best to look all big and mean and grumpy, and you snort when you realize he’s doing an impression of Bo. “She made it for me—get your own girl.”

“Oh he didn’t,” you laugh. “That’s so rude.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’!” He throws his hands up into the air. “So—you want me to help you find anything? That oughta earn me a seat at the table, right?”

“Sure, Lester.” You smile at him, crossing your arms playfully as you picture Bo hoarding your gifts and calling you his girl. “I’ll bake some muffins if we’ve got the stuff for them—that’s a sharing food.”

“Wow, you are sweet.” He pulls over a chair to climb on, getting a better vantage point to peruse the cabinets. “The hell are you doin’ wit’ Bo?”

“Well, he’s been sweet to me.”

“Sure as hell have,” Bo grumbles, wandering into the kitchen in nothing but boxers and socks.

Your chest tightens at the sight of him, thinking about what Lester had said. “I made coffee—Lester was just helping me find the ingredients I need to make a batch of muffins.”

His expression softens, and he sidles up real close to you, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Coffee, fresh baked muffins, and a pretty girl gettin’ it for me—man could get used to that.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist. “There’s a can ‘a pumpkin in the third cabinet over.”

That’ll occupy Lester for a second; long enough for Bo to lift your shirt up for a quick peek—relishing the marks he’d left on your body—evidence that may as well spell out ‘Bo Sinclair Was Here’. He chuckles when you cover yourself back up at breakneck speed—pleased that he’s the only one you’re eager to go showin’ off for.

He takes a step closer, pinning you between the kitchen counter and his large frame—he relishes the way your hands splay across his chest when he presses a less than innocent kiss under your ear. “Sorry I forgot to tell you we ain’t alone on Laundry Day,” he whispers, his hot breath washing over your ear before he teases you terribly with a lascivious nip. “Otherwise I’d take you right fuckin’ now.”

“Still in the room,” Lester groans in mock irritation, tossing the can of pumpkin at Bo.

He’s fast as lightning when he turns to catch it, and annoyance flashes across his face. “Hey dumbass, you could’a hit her.”

“Oh no way,” Lester laughs. “You wouldn’ta let your girlfriend get hit.” He mocks Bo with an exaggerated show of over the top kissy noises, and Bo whips the can back at him.

“I’m gonna hit you if you keep runnin’ yer damn mouth!” Bo makes the sourest damn expression you’ve ever seen—not unlike a kid in full-tantrum mode—before he picks up Lester’s duffel bag and tosses it to him—a little more gently. “Go do your fuckin’ laundry—shit’s stinkin’ up the place.”

“Oh because roadkill is so much worse than motor oil.” Lester rolls his eyes, but ducks when Bo grabs a mug out of the dish strainer. “It was nice to meet you!” He shoots you one last smile before running off into some other part of the house.

“You guys are such brothers—”

You’re cut off by Bo’s lips on yours, and you gasp when he picks you up and sets your ass down right on the kitchen counter. “Sorry,” he grunts, not sounding remotely sorry. “Couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Bo!” You shriek, weaving your fingers into his hair when he pushes his way between your thighs, his hot tongue dragging through your folds and across your clit.

Your pussy is still sore and swollen from the absolute punishment it took from him last night, so you’re already overstimulated when he slips a finger inside, growling like an animal as he sucks on your clit.

You can’t help squeezing your thighs together around his head, and apparently that was the wrong move, because his mouth leaves your clit in order to bite down hard on the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

He grins when he hears you yelp.

He leans back, taking a good eyeful of you sat up on the counter, your face flushed with need—for him—with only one of his old shirts for modesty. He sees something in your eyes that he’s never been able to simply take from the victims he’s had before.

You want him, and there ain’t a lick of shame in your eyes about it.

He rubs the already bruising spot where he’d bitten you with a careful tenderness, and you hum. “God, you’re just so damn good for me.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You’ve spent exactly one night here—he knows it’s not the time to be laying it on so thick. You ain’t like the other girls—you still like him by choice—he doesn’t want to fuck that up by letting you know just how much of an effect you have on him. How much he’s fixated on you from the very beginning.

He doesn’t want to give you that kind of power over him—he can’t afford to give you a knife to twist.

But God help him, there you go twisting it anyway.

He’d been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t noticed your soft hands creeping up to cup his cheeks—fuck—you always look so fuckin’ sweet when you hold him tender and look into his eyes.

He’s terrified you’re gonna look right into his soul, and that you won’t like what you see.

“Wanna be your good girl,” you whisper, your lips ghosting his before you take his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh Sugar,” he groans, moving his hand between you to rub your clit—taking back at least a little control. “You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You whimper so sweet against his lips, and he drinks it all in. He kisses the corner of your mouth, the curve of your jaw, your throat—lower and lower until he’s once again settled between your legs.

You deserve this. So good for him. The longer he can keep you dumb for his touch the longer he can keep you here and drag out the illusion that he’s the man you want, the man who makes your heart flutter with something other than fear.

Two fingers—you’re already wet enough that he ain’t bothering with just one—curl against the sweet spot inside of you, and your hands are back in his hair as you squirm in his grasp.

“Want you to look at me,” he growls against your clit, before his tongue darts back out to trace his full name.

God.

There’s a desperate hunger in your eyes when they meet his, and he knows that the tears of pleasure pricking at your lashes are all for him.

“Fuck, Bo,” you whine, wriggling your hips against his face. “Gonna cum.”

“Come on, Baby,” he grunts. “Le’me have it.”

He’s utterly transfixed by the way you try to keep your eyes open when you lose control of your body—like you want to see the man between your legs as he laps up your sweet juices.

It’s a big fuckin’ ego boost, and it goes straight to his head.

Suddenly, he’s standing, looming over you and wrapping a hand around your throat while the other keeps on pettin’ your sweet pussy.

“Bo, please,” you whine, your thighs trembling from the overstimulation. “It’s too much.”

“Bo, please,” he teases you, though he gives you a break long enough to pull his cock free from his boxers, sliding it through your slick before smacking you a couple good times against the clit. “You want this cock, honey?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders while your eyes fixate on where the head of his cock just barely dips into you.

“Words, Sugar,” he insists, the hand on your throat moving to cup your jaw to force you to look him in the eyes. Mistake. His heart flutters at the look of utter need you give him. “You want more than just the tip, you're gonna have to remember your manners.”

“Please, Bo,” you beg, your lip quivering pathetically as you try to will your pretty little head to form thoughts. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Need.

He can’t help himself from sinking into you—‘Need’ feels like a good word when he’s buried deep in the warmth of your sex. He kisses you hard, and he knows damn well his grip on your jaw is gonna bruise—but as long as you keep clinging to him for dear life and moaning so pretty in his mouth he can’t be bothered to care. His tongue traces the curve of your lips, before plunging past your teeth to dance against your own.

“You like tastin’ yourself on me, Sweetheart?”

You nod, stealing another kiss like you can’t help yourself before deigning to speak. “Fuck, Bo, yes.”

One of your hands snakes around to squeeze his throat, and the growl that escapes him is nothing short of feral.

For a split second, he’s enraged that you’d fuckin’ dare, but the manic lust on your face as you choke him is so damn hot he nearly busts right there.

Instead, he pulls out of you, ripping himself from your grasp. You let out a ragged moan from the loss of contact, but he doesn’t give you enough time to be disappointed before grabbing you by the back of the neck and slamming you face down against the table, giving your ass a good hard smack with his free hand.

God damn you’re a filthy slut—wriggling your ass back against him like you’re desperate for it.

Lucky for you, you’re not the only one who’s nasty.

He rams his cock back into your heat, his grip on your neck still forcing your face down into the table as he chases his release like a beast in rut.

He growls in your ear, more animal than man, before taking the lobe between his teeth. “You’re mine, you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Bo!” You shriek, the coil at the core of your pleasure threatening to snap.

“Say you know you’re fuckin’ mine,” he growls. “‘I’m yours, Bo.’” His other hand slips around you to palm your clit roughly, too roughly. “Say. It.”

“I’m YOURS,” you all but sob as you come undone around his cock, body all alight from the too-intense pleasure.

He’s not far behind—his thrusts become erratic, and he doesn’t even care about dragging it out any longer as he explodes inside of you, panting like a dog against your shoulder as your bodies melt into shuddering spasms.

“Damn fuckin’ right.”

He allows himself to slump back into one of the kitchen chairs, dragging you with him with his cock still inside you.

You take his hand to your lips and kiss his knuckles. His heart lurches in his chest.

“Fuck, Bo.” You lean your head back against his shoulder, smiling at him with that blissed out and dumb look on your face. “That’s one way to work up an appetite.”

His hand snakes up to squeeze your titty through his old shirt as he laughs, burying his face in your shoulder.

He can hardly fucking believe you’re real.

[small-sinclair]

For you

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: mention of blood, gore, Bo being obsessed with reader, mention of him wanted to drink blood, he’s a bit unhealthy, beheading in graphic detail!!!! (Maybe you can read this as I’m being a vampire if you squint?)

Let me know if you want more Obsessed!Bo Sinclair!

When he found you bleeding on the floor and crying in the House of Wax, he felt his heart shatter. He felt as if his world was falling apart because he couldn’t keep you safe.

“You’re hurt,” he whispers silently to himself, pain in his voice. There’s still blood in his hair from the latest kill, but the wild and untamed eyes turned worried and hurt when he sees your leg scrapped. Though it wasn’t it big or major, you still cried from the pain.

He knelt next to you and caressed your cheek. He thumbed away the stray tears that fell, and it felt like acid burning through his skin and bones. “Who did this to you?” He asked gently, his voice mixed in venom and silk. “Who did it?”

You leaned into his touch. “It doesn’t matter—“

“Sweetheart,” he starts, lifting your chin with his hand. “Tell me. Who did this?” You could see blood and red starting to fill his blue eyes. “Point to me where he went.”

You didn’t need to tell him anything as he heard the girl running away screaming from Vincent. He looked at you then at Vincent, and he slowly raised your hand to kiss it. His lips were soft and cracked against your skin. “I’ll be back, my sunflower,” he whispers in your skin. “I promise. Her head will be yours.”

He doesn’t let you say anything else as he stands up and leaves. He’s a hunter, born and raised. The taste of blood and bone will be forever stained in his teeth and tongue.

“She’s mine,” he hissed at Vincent as he walked past him, stealing the dragon-headed knife handle. He knows the girl can’t leave. She’s trap in this maze his mother created.

He’s like a wolf approaching a rabbit as he enters a room. He sees the girl trying to escape, and he only smirks. He loves it when they run and escape. Bo drew closer to her, the knife tight in his hand until his knuckles turned white. Flashes of you crying and bleeding in front of him made his heart burst and boil. The cries from the girl muffled away in his ears and her pleads go unheard. With a mighty shove, he had her on the ground. She coward away from him but he stood over her. He could see her lips moving, but her words didn’t reach him.

The only thing he heard was your broken sobs of pain and the acid tears that touched his skin. You’re his sunflower, his deity, the one he’ll hunt for. He felt like he failed you when he saw you hurt. Your tears and blood stained on his paints. He’s not worthy of your blood. He can’t be. The more he thought about you crying, the more he wanted the girl gone. He didn’t her in town. He didn’t want you to see her ever again.

He raised the knife high and brought it down. He felt the skin and the blade cutting, but it wasn’t fatal. He stabbed again and again, over and over, until she laid barely breathing and tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt the warmth of the blood on his face and smiled like a devil. He twirled the knife with his fingers and brought it over the girl’s throat, cutting it deep. Even when dead, he didn’t stop. He cut deeper and deeper under her head was clean off. He grabbed a fist full of her hair and lifted it high. He tilted his head to the side and examined the girl and her face without a care in his eyes. Bo stood with her head in his hand and walked back where you were.

Vincent was next to you as he helped bandage your leg. He frowns when he saw you, but his smile returns. He felt like a servant bring an offering to a royal as he came closer with the girl’s head hanging from her hair in his hands. He promised to bring you her head, and he was going to keep good. He would carved your name in his skin with a rusty spoon if you ask him— no, command him. You’re his everything, and he’ll serve you until the bitter end. He’d lick your blood off the floor and worship the ground you bled on if it pleases you! The very thought of it made his heart flutter just a bit along with the idea of you letting him taste your blood. He wanted to feel closer to you… he wanted to know how you would tasted.

He stands a couple feet away from you when he falls to his knees. You look over and horror fills your eyes once you see the girl’s lifeless eyes looking at you. You want to scream, but you can’t. You couldn’t.

Bo place the head between you and him as he lowered his head to a bow. “For you,” he says in a low voice. “Her head as promised.”

You can’t speak as you look at the head then back at Bo. He’s done it. He’s gone to far in loving you that it’s become unhealthy. The puppy blue eyes that he flashes, the hearts dancing in his eyes, and the sweet rose petals and daisy voice no longer feels safe. He did this for you.

Just.

For.

You.

Sickness fills you but your eyes roll back and you fell in Vincent’s arms.

[mammamiagoth]

Pulp | Bo Sinclair x Reader

warning: smut, subby bo, handjob, edging, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, no mention of genitalia/gender neutral, bo refers to reader as mama (no mommy kink tho), fluffy ending.

a/n: i found this in my drafts and was possessed by the horny spirit to finish it and i’m not mad about it. i do mention bo being bound bc it’s hot and i wanted to and he loved it so don’t come for me.

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” you coo, your breath ghosting over Bo’s bounding pulse, the thick chords of muscle tensing at the sensation.

You hadn’t lied, he really did look beautiful— body bound and pliant, his skin balmy with perspiration, pupils blown from the combination of lust and desperation he was drunk on. Hours of edging had worn him out, his pleas for release morphing into frayed syllables, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Does my pretty baby need to cum?”

He can only nod in response, his hips rutting into your palm as you stroke him at a torturously slow pace. You delight in the way his cock twitches at your dulcet tone, your words giving him false hope, but Bo knows better than to think you’ve had your fill.

The languid momentum you’d built up did little to satisfy him— it was by design, every touch purposefully pushing him toward the precipice of relief, only for your hand to recede.

You see the bob of his adam’s apple, his voice coarse when he grits out “baby—fuck— baby please,” pathetic in his attempt for your mercy.

You only smile cruelly in response, amused with the man beneath you, but you remain intent on breaking him. Fingers lithe as they tease his aching cock, up and down with a noncommittal grip that makes him arch upward.

“If you keep that up, I might not let you cum at all.” The words are sadistic but your features remain soft as ever, a syrupy sweetness in your tone that could rival honey.

The click in his jaw is unmistakable, reminding you of just who you’re dealing. You revel in the fact that only you can reduce him to tears, have him impotent to your every whim with a single look— probably less.

You hear him mumble through clenched teeth, an apology, barely coherent with the way he’s fumbling his words.

“What was that, handsome?” You tenderly stroke his chin while your other hand grips his girth at the base with enough force to have Bo lurching forward.

He recovers quickly, though his voice is noticeably strained when he speaks again. “I’m sorry, just— please, mama, I need it so fuckin’ bad,” his baby blues finally spilling over in time for you to lick away the briny trail.

This was the Bo you loved the most, submissive and malleable. None of that macho bullshit— you’d never cared for it much anyway. He was so much more than that, and hell, he did apologize…

“Oh honey,” you mock but begin stroking him more purposefully, his breath hitching in relief. “I’ll let you cum, you just gotta tell me who’s cock this is.”

He looks at you, steeling his visage before answering “it’s yours, mama. All of me, it’s yours.”

And with that, you move to straddle him, your panties pulled to the side as you lower yourself down with a strangled “fuck.”

Bo looks a mess, a moments notice from spilling inside you and the sight alone is nearly enough to send you over the edge. He says nothing as you grind above him, letting you take from him, completely at your mercy.

“I’m so close, Bo,” you cry out, making sure to meet his covetous gaze, “but if you don’t cum with me, you don’t cum at all.”

At the sound of his strangled moans, you clench around him, creaming his cock as he writhes in desperation. You almost miss it with the way your ears are ringing, hours of built up tension leading to this singular moment, his face contorted in pleasurable bliss as he spills inside of you. The warmth pulsates and envelopes you both. You let your head fall to his shoulder, hands wandering down to release his binds. Bo wastes no time to pull you into his chest, a steak of dominance you let him indulge in.

“Damn, mama,” he rasps, lips pressed to your head. “You drained me fuckin’ dry.”

You can’t help but giggle, satisfied and sated to the bone when you see how fucked out he looks. His eyelids flutter, heavy with sleep. It’s endearing, the way you can render him dazed, forever under your thumb when everyone else remains at arms length.

“Come on, big guy,” you yawn, letting yourself melt into the man beneath you. “Let’s go to bed.”

[cherry-cola-on-ice]

Tender Moments with Bo Sinclair

Speed running this bitch because @brandnewhuman is back!

Fixing things. Listen it does not matter if you are the world's most mechanical genius for the sake of this man's ego pretend like you know shit about cars. Hand him the wrong screwdriver. He will as gently as he is possible correct you. But it's worth seeing the smile on his face when you act like you're amazed.

Baby Jane. I'm 85% sure that what happened to Baby Jane is the only movie that ever plays in that theater. I'll give it to them it's a good one. But once a week both been take you out on "date night". This consists of going to said theater coming back to the house and eating whatever microwavable meal he has.

Gardening. Again someone please give this man (or really this entire household) a better diet. You'll find that bow surprisingly has a very adept green thumb. So good in fact that he has been known to grow you whole bouquets of your favorite flowers.

Sexy times. Like rz!Myers, intimacy is a key part of your relationship. But unlike Michael, most times Bo will not be satisfied with non-sexual touches. If you're comfortable with it, that is. He loves that you chose this, you chose to be under him, on top or next to him. He can force someone to hold his hand, but this is different.

Words. Bo, and his brothers, have unfortunately learned that I love you isn't always the definite that it should be. Trudy no doubt said this time and time again. Always with a empty air about it. So when you first told Bo you loved him, he laughed, cruelly. Not at you but at him. Give him time, say it often enough and he might begin to believe you.

Stargazing. Bo knows the best spots in Ambrose to see the stars. He's sat there by himself for years and now he's not alone anymore. He looks like a child on Christmas day, driving you up to the perfect spot. He's done research and even had Lester get intel outside of town. Tbh, he's too busy looking at your face to watch the meteor shower.

Your song

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Your First Time With Them

pairings: vincent x reader, bo x reader

warnings: smut, handjob, unprotected sex, A LOT of fluff on vincent's part (in my opinion)

a/n: bo is REALLY growing on me. and also, vincent's part isn't so much their first time, more like first time being intimate because i thought it was just too tender to take any further lol. but i hope you like it <3

Vincent Sinclair

When you first started spending time with Vincent, he wouldn't let you so much as hold his hand. He'd spent so many years with only his brothers and his dog to keep him company that he'd forgotten what it was like to feel the touch of another person, a living one anyway. It was months before he finally allowed you to be closer to him, only ever flinching if you gave him no warning before touching him.

But when he finally does become comfortable enough to be intimate with you, it's when you're lying in bed together one morning. You'd been in this arrangement for a couple of months now, since Vincent had finally started to be okay with you seeing his face behind the mask. You were still asleep when he woke up, so he rolled over, gently tracing his fingers along your arm.

You groan, slowly peeling your eyes open before turning to face him, noticing the crooked smile on his face when you do. You're still getting used to seeing him so comfortable, so happy.

"Mm...you're beautiful when you smile." You mumble, bringing a hand up to brush the stray hairs away from his face.

He simply stares at you for a moment, before leaning forward and gently pressing his lips to yours. It's quick and it's over within seconds, but it surprises you nonetheless, because this is the first time he's kissed you like this. This is the first time he's kissed you.

You're unable to wipe the grin off your face then as you shuffle closer to him in the bed. And that's when you feel it, his hard length pressing against your stomach. You smile, looking down between you before looking back up at him, his mouth still twisted into a tiny grin.

"Is it okay if I...?" You ask, looking back down between your bodies, your hand already ghosting over his erection.

He gives you a small nod before your hand finally lands on his clothed cock, and he lets out a quiet gasp as you palm him through his boxers. You shuffle even closer to him under the covers, carefully slipping your hand inside his underwear, and you press a light kiss to his lips, the motion feeling foreign to both of you.

Vincent swears this is the best thing he's ever felt, your hand moving up and down his aching cock, whilst you both lay practically pressed together, his forehead resting against yours as his eye flutters shut.

And he doesn't feel like signing it, so he mouths 'I love you' against your mouth, hoping you understand.

"I love you too." You mumble against his lips.

Bo Sinclair

When you first arrived in Ambrose, Bo knew there was no way he was gonna let his brother have you, he wanted you all for himself. And he was surprised when you decided to stay without him having to use force. Bo's spent most of his life alone, never really getting close to anyone. The only person in his life who's ever stuck around is his brother Vincent, so he clings to you like a bad smell, terrified that you'll leave, although he doesn't tell you that.

It doesn't take long for you both to get intimate with each other. Bo's very sure of himself, so there's definitely no insecurity on his part. He comes home one day, still riled up from chasing some new victims through the town, and it doesn't take him long to start suggesting ways you might be able to make his day better.

He's slouched on the couch beside you, his hair practically dripping with sweat as he grins at you, his hand reaching over and landing on your thigh. "Come on darlin', you know it'll be worth your while."

It doesn't take much convincing before he has you straddling his lap, his hands roughly gripping your waist as he leans closer to you, his hot breath fanning over your lips. You can already feel his erection pressing into your clothed cunt, and it's driving you crazy.

"Fuck, you're an asshole." You sigh, your hands desperately gripping his shoulders as you begin to grind your hips over him.

"You're still here though, aren't ya?" He smirks, dipping his head down to drag his lips along your jawline.

"Jesus Christ, Bo." You groan, reaching down to unbuckle his belt, your fingers desperately working to get his trousers open.

He's still smirking at you as he helps you out of your jeans, dropping them to the floor along with your panties. And he wastes no time in pulling his aching cock out, guiding himself towards your entrance before sinking inside.

He leans closer to you, groaning as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hands desperately gripping your waist as you begin to move your hips over him, his cock effortlessly sliding in and out of you.

"You feel fuckin' amazing." You moan. "But for the record, you're still an asshole."

He simply chuckles as he thrusts up into you. "Noted."

[Main Masterlist] [Vincent Masterlist] [Bo Masterlist]

[toxicanonymity]

Michael Myers in Ambrose

2k words | Michael Myers x f!Reader | NSFW

It's International Fan Works Day Feb 15 with the theme of crossovers. This puts Michael Myers in a House of Wax AU where Bo Sinclair wears a one-piece mechanic suit and Michael needs a new one.

Michael hangs Bo's jumpsuit over the bed of the truck, then unlaces his own boots and steps out of them.  When Michael stands back up, he unzips his own jumpsuit.  You're captivated.  His big arms emerge and you can see his pecs under a navy undershirt similar to Bo's. They both look slutty with their muscles stretching their too-small shirts. 

Michael rails you after the gif while Bo is unconscious. And you do enjoy it.

18+ Noncon, manhandling

If you already read this unabridged & unbetaed on AO3 I'm sorry it was so bad lol.

If you're wondering about the logic of Michael being there, originally the bf was John Tate from H20 and y'all were on a road trip and Michael followed but it was a hot mess.

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

"Ya need a fan belt. . . Is that so?" Bo smiles broadly and looks down, bemused. His sleeves are rolled up and his bronze forearms flex as he crosses his arms.  "Where'd your boyfriend go?"  

"He went for help. He thought he saw someone in the wax museum, so he followed them in." 

Bo looks at you like that's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.  "And he left you all alone here,  huh?"  He turns his head and spits out his toothpick, then steps even closer, closing the gap between you.  He smells like sweat and oil and man.  He cradles your chin with a grimy hand.  Your lips are only a few inches from his. "How bad do you need it?"

The blood drains from your face, then shamefully pools somewhere lower.  You say nothing.  You  look over your shoulder like your boyfriend is going to come back any minute.  On the back of the pick-up truck, a sticker catches your eye, the silhouette of a pin-up with her knees spread. 

 "He ain't coming back, darlin," Bo says, grinning.  His pearly teeth are quite the contrast to his dirty face.  "I'll help you out though, I will," he says softly.  He brings his lips to your ear, pressing his cheek against yours.  "Just be a good girl for me."  That sends a tingling rush to your core and you're frozen. Your heart races. 

Bo pulls back to see your facial expression.  He laughs to himself then looks you up and down again, letting the silence linger. "Okay, I can get you a fan belt.  I was just fixin’ to close up, though,"  he says. He goes to the rolling door and starts to close it, but it gets stuck.  His uniform hugs his shapely ass as he bends down with it and tries with all his weight. The door won't close, though.   

A large, rough hand stops the door at the bottom.  Then, the hand begins to push it back up.   At first, you assume it's your boyfriend, until you see the huge work boots.  Bo struggles against the hand and you can only see little by little.  You can tell from the legs it's an imposing man.  Bo grunts as he pushes it down.  The door creeps up a little more and you can't help but notice whoever he is is packing.  He also seems to be another mechanic, but something is strange.  One side of his suit is tattered and covered in something. 

The door keeps lifting, revealing more of this huge man - his broad chest, a thick arm.  One side of his collar is popped and the other is glued down by a mess of wax.  Bo gives up and  watches the man in awe, hands on his hips, waiting to see what he wants.  The door finishes rolling up, and instead of a face, you see the mask of Michael Myers. He should be dead, but the sinister air about this man leaves no doubt in your mind that it's really him.    

Michael stands patiently with his hands to his sides and subtly wiggles the fingers of one hand.  Bo looks confused.   Maybe the folks out here in Ambrose hadn't even heard of Michael. Michael turns toward you.  

Bo says, "Hey man, who-" but Michael cuts him off with a huge hand around his throat, then forces him against a wall of tools.  Bo reaches out and grabs a huge wrench off the wall and his  forearm flexes desperately as he thumps Michael in the head with it.  Michael staggers back, disoriented.    

Bo lunges for you and to your surprise says,  "come on, Darlin" as his large, dirty hand grabs yours.  He covers your body and tries to get you to the office door.  

Michael grabs Bo by the fabric of his suit and throws him against the truck. They struggle, but Michael puts Bo in a sleeper hold until his body goes limp. He's unconscious.  

Michael seems to have forgotten about you.  You stand there frozen, afraid to make any sudden moves.

Michael pins Bo against the truck with his hips and starts undressing him, exposing Bo's tan, muscular biceps.  Michael has the jumpsuit half off him when he lets the dead weight slump to the ground.  He takes off Bo's shoes and removes the jumpsuit completely.  As the jumpsuit slides over Bo's boxers it briefly hitches on what appears to be a massive erection.  Michael had to have felt it against him when he pinned him to the truck.     

Bo is left with only a navy undershirt and engorged boxer briefs.  With his arms and legs bare, you're struck by how strong he is. If Michael was able to overpower Bo with relative ease, he could surely snap you in half like a twig. 

Michael hangs Bo's jumpsuit over the bed of the truck, then unlaces his own boots and steps out of them.  When Michael stands back up, he unzips his own jumpsuit.  You're captivated.  His big arms emerge and you can see his pecs under a navy undershirt similar to Bo's. They both look slutty with their muscles stretching their too-small shirts. 

When Michael lowers the zipper below belt-level your eyes are drawn back to his crotch.  You feel a pang of anticipation in your throat.  He pulls down the jumpsuit and, oh my.  His underwear is tight enough to leave no doubt that he's very aroused. Something flutters in your core. He lets the jumpsuit fall to the floor.  

Michael lazily takes Bo's uniform off the truck and starts putting it on.  He has to push down on the hardness of his briefs with one hand to be able to zip up.  God, that makes you so wet. He's left with an obnoxious bulge.  The arms are a little tight on him, too.  Your unwelcomed arousal intensifies.  Finally, both his hands come to the collar and pop it up so it frames the mask.  He looks so imposing and striking that you audibly gasp.  

Michael abruptly looks in your direction.  You think about running, but you don't move.  He  walks toward you slowly.  You can't take your eyes off his bulge.  He seems to notice, because when he stops within arm's reach of you, he looks down at himself before he looks back up and grabs you by the throat and jaw.  

Michael lifts you several inches off the ground.  You try to scream, but you're choking.  He pivots toward the back of the pick-up truck.  Your limbs flail as he holds you with one hand and uses the other to unlatch the tailgate in one swift motion and put it flat.  He slams you face down onto the bed of the truck. You get up on your knees enough to start  crawling away, toward the cab of the truck, but you don't get far before he jerks you back down toward him.  His hands wrap around your hips and pull you to the edge.

Your shirt rides up and cool metal chills your abdomen as Michael slides your thighs off the tailgate and your feet kick for the ground.  He unbuttons your jean shorts then sends them to the floor.  You try to move, but a massive hand on your back slams you back down as his other hand gropes you and the pressure of his middle finger wedges your thong into your ass. He pries your legs open from behind. 

Your drenched thong barely covers anything.  Michael easily pushes it aside.  You feel his digits slide against your folds and you're humiliated by how wet you are.  A thick finger plunges inside you and you grunt.  He fucks you with two fingers for a few seconds then withdraws his hand and begins to unzip himself.  At the sound of his zipper, your cunt thirstily replaces whatever moisture he took with him.  You silently curse yourself, then accept you're going to need it. 

You're face down on the bed of this truck, ready for the taking, and you can feel Michael Myers looking at your exposed ass like a piece of meat.   You glance back and see his jumpsuit fall down and hang around his ass.  Then, within seconds you feel his shaft pressing hot and hard against your crack. I mean, rock-hard.  His jumpsuit presses against the back of your legs.   He spreads your  thighs with his knee and lays a massive hand on the small of your back, holding you steady on the flatbed of the truck.  You tilt your hips to give him better access to your cunt, telling yourself it's that or your ass. 

A few seconds later, you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.  It's big.  You feel it against your inner thighs, too.  He huffs as he pushes the head inside and you wince as it stretches you. .  The stretch initially hurts, but you're so wet that it starts to feels good.  You can't deny part of you wants to be filled even more. He puts both hands on your hips for leverage,  then shoves more of himself inside.   He pauses for only a second then jerks you back on his shaft and sheaths himself entirely in your poor little cunt.  He retreats a little, then thrusts again, hitting that spot deep in your core.  Your shirt rides up more and your belly button ring scrapes against the metal of the flat-bed.  

He reaches down and grips your thighs.   He holds you face-down like a wheelbarrow at the end of the truck, using your thighs to pull you back deeper, harder.  You slide against the cold metal, your belly button clinking.  Each thrust seems deeper than the last until he can't possibly fit any more of himself.   He fucks you slowly, and you feel a knot forming in your core.  You find yourself actively meeting his thrusts.  He speeds up and you feel hotter, weaker, more desperate, ready to unravel.  You're on the edge of climax when his hands tighten around your thighs and you're jolted back into him, harder than ever. 

The tension in your core explodes all at once.  As you see stars, you clench tight around him, your whole body tensing every few seconds.  Then, as you're still riding guilty waves of pleasure, you feel him pulse violently into you, and you're pumped full of his hot cum.  Michael breathes heavily in his mask.  You lie there weak and deflated, catching your breath.  

He shoves you almost all the way back onto the bed of the truck for safe keeping while he zips up. Your feet still dangle off and you're still face down.   You hear a series of loud thuds as the truck dips under his weight.  Michael stands still, feet straddling you. You finally flip over on your back and watch him loom over you.  He crouches down between you and the cab of the truck.   You lift your chest and head up and he grabs you  under the armpits and drags you, leaving a snail trail of cum, until you’re up against the cab.  He gently positions your legs so you’re in the same pose as the pin-up silhouette on the sticker.  

-

Michael leaves the garage wearing Bo’s uniform. Your face is hot and your eyes well up, but you stay posed like that for some reason. After a few minutes, you hear rustling from the ground and finally leave the artful pose to get on your knees and peer over the side of the truck

Bo is alive.  He squints up at you and brings his hand to the back of his head.  "What happened, Darlin'?" You feel the strangest urge to take care of him.  

-

[bloodskipper]

Bo Sinclair x reader | Hell or High Water | Pt. 18

CONTENT WARNINGS: kissing/making out, sexuality, cigarette smoking

Sneaking in and out of Bo’s room became your new favorite pastime. 

In-between your daily boring duties, you and Bo would tacitly grab each other’s attention with a wink or a smile or quite deliberately brushing past one another’s hips on your way to separate destinations (he’d always turn to watch your ass as you left). Sooner or later, you knew you two would end up in an empty house, Bo’s bedroom door cracked open, a mix of sweat and hands and breath enveloping you.

Bo’s fingers were forever stained with motor oil, but it never mattered, especially when he was frantically unbuttoning his shirt, his lips still focused on yours. Pinning you against the wall with one hand while the other crept inside your shirt, your back arching in response. A devious smile would spread across his face while he ran his tongue along his lips.

“I know what you need, baby…” 

Before you knew it, your clothes were scattered on the ground, you and Bo gripping each other in a frenzy. Pleasing you seemed like second nature to him as he knew when and where to lay on the pressure or barely graze your skin. 

Keeping your secret wasn’t difficult, but you played the part well.

One particular evening, you were washing dishes in the kitchen sink when a pair of arms snaked around your waist, grabbing you tightly.

“Hey, pretty thing,” Bo whispered, his warm lips quickly moving down to kiss your neck.

You grinned and wriggled from his grip. “Be careful! What if-”

“Y/N!” Lester called as he plodded in, work boots leaving a trail of mud through the front of the house.

Turning with a wince, you whined, “Man, I just mopped!”

“That’s why I was calling your name, honey-bun.”

He nodded his chin toward the mop bucket and slipped out of his shoes over to you and Bo.

“What do we got goin’ on here?” Lester’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean!?” shot out of your mouth.

Bo slid a toothpick in between his teeth and cooly leaned against the counter. “Ah, I was just tellin’ Y/N a little bit about cars, in case we ever want ‘em to fix up the truck.”  

“Hmm,” Lester breathed. “Well it just so happens a headlight’s out. Ya get that far yet?”

“No, sir,” you chuckled, turning back to dry a plate.

Lester slapped his knee and hollered, “Hoo-wee! Now that’s what I like to hear. I always like an open mind.” He peered out the window and turned to you.

“Looks like we got a little bit of daylight left. I can take ya out front and give ya a pointer or two, just you n’ me.” He batted his eyelashes and shrugged cutely.

You dried your hands, shooting Bo a questioning glance; he replicated your look and shrugged.

“Sure, why not.”

Lester grabbed two beers out of the fridge, handing one to you and leading you out of the house. He popped the hood and got out a flashlight.

“Here, hold this,” he instructed.

You snorted. “Tch, you sound like a dad.” 

“Just do it.”

He reached inside to disassemble the necessary components, explaining every step in excruciating detail.

“... so here’s the bulb. See? The filament’s busted. It ain’t good… Y/N, are you listening?”

“Yep, got it.” You swore you had just fallen asleep standing up.

Lester sighed. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Say, did you finish your beer?”

A few drops of liquid swished around in the bottom of your bottle. “Yeah, almost.”

“Need another?”

Red flag: why was Lester being nice to you?

“No… I’m good.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. “Okay, well… if ya ever wanna learn more about cars, ya know my number.” He nodded with an earnest smile before heading back in.

Your head swam for a moment as you looked back at the truck’s hood, Lester’s tone uncomfortably mixing with the sight of the oily machinery. The sound of a lighter flaring caught your attention.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Bo took a drag off his cigarette and kissed your cheek from behind. Crickets chirping and Bo’s presence always made nights feel extra-special.

“Learn anything?”

With a confused expression, your eyes darted around the machinery within the front of the truck.

“Uh… no. Not really.”

Bo scoffed. “Yeah, Lester’s never really been much of a teacher.”

“Then I guess I’m just stuck learning from you.” You scrunched your nose at Bo playfully. A cigarette between his lips, he pulled you into a sweet hug around your waist.

“That’s right, honey. Me, and only me.”

The inflection on his last sentence melted you deeper into Bo’s chest. He never missed a chance to rouse you, whether it be with his words or his touch. 

“Should we… head up to your room?” you whispered against his neck.

Stomping out his cigarette, he looked at you with a smirk. “A little eager, ain’t we?” He chuckled and gave your hip a squeeze. “No. I got a better idea.”

Your hand soon found its way in Bo’s, and he led you down the driveway into the middle of Ambrose. The power was off in the town for the night, making the sky’s dark background pop against the glimmer of stars. Your pace gradually slowed until you were at a full stop, gazing in awe at the beautiful sky above.

“Wow,” was all you could quietly say.

Bo stayed silent, draping an arm over your shoulders, lightly tracing circles on your arm with his thumb. Pulling you close, he rested his lips on your head to pepper in a few tender kisses.

“Mmm, it’s nice to see this… with somebody else.”

The humid summers of Louisiana were emphatic with nature, the chirping of frogs and crickets blending into the buzz of cicada wings. Bo surprised you with a spin and a dip, softly whistling “Southern Nights” by Glenn Campbell. Time in Bo’s arms was always perfectly spent; the energy that radiated from him during your secluded moments filled the space around you with nothing but comforting bliss.

With another glance up at the sky, he turned back to you. “It’s gorgeous, but it ain’t got nothin’ on you.” You laughed as he started burying kisses into the curve of your neck, pulling your hips closer to his. 

“Now who’s eager?” you giggled. “We’re in the middle of town. How obvious is that?”

“Just a liiiittle longer, honey pie...”

Bo eased you backwards onto the front door of the mechanic’s shop, its darkness especially enticing, considering that’s where you had first met one another. His lips met yours in a sugary kiss laced with more desire than you bargained for. One of his hands pinned you against the door while the other found its way to your lower back, over the stretch of your hips. You couldn’t help but close your eyes as they rolled further back into your head, your tongues circling the other’s. Bo slowly licked the inside of your lips and looked at you.

“I can’t get enough of you.” 

He ran a hand through his hair and stared at you.

“Darlin’, I don’t know what I was doin’ here without you all this time.”

You grinned and planted a kiss on his jawline. “You don’t have to know.”

He returned your smile and went right back to work, his touch encouraging chills across your body. It was impossible not to let your hands wander around Bo with sweat dampening his work shirt and hair.

With a swift reach for his keys, Bo unlocked the shop’s front door and led you inside. Bright moonbeams glowed through the back windows, barely illuminating the outline of the room’s fixtures. Obviously Bo knew every step in and out of that shop as he insisted you up against the front counter.

“Maybe we can finally finish what we started back at the House the other night.” Eyes softening, he brushed the tip of his nose against yours.

Truck lights briefly flooded the shop through its large front windows, causing you and Bo to freeze in your tracks.

Bo haphazardly shoved his shirt back into his jeans before smoothing down his hair in the process of meeting his brother outside.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on with you?” Bo shakily called out to him. Lester’s expression was painfully cloudy.

Bo watched him as he stepped out of the truck and slammed the driver door. 

“There you are!” Lester’s voice held the slightest tinge of annoyance. 

Clearing his throat, Bo took a few steps toward him. “Where else would I be?”

Lester frowned, shrugging off his brother’s weak attempt at a joke.

“Listen, I need to talk to you about somethin’. It’s Y/N.”

-

Wow wow wow!!!! Lester is thinking up something... but where's old Vince in all this?