#bo sinclair one shots | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveandmurders · 6 months

Text

Love is insanity (Sinclair daughter!reader one shot)

Hello everyone. Today I'm posting a one shot about reader being Bo's daughter, but her mother took her away from him. Not gonna lie, this is pure angst.

Hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, no proof reading, mentions of violence, blood and death, reader is kidnapped by her mother.

You were Bo’s first thought when he was getting up every day of his life.

He wondered how you were doing; he hoped you were happy and, more than anything, he prayed for you to come back to him one day. Every morning and every night, he was going into your room. It never failed to break his heart; he couldn’t stand how empty the room was, but he just couldn’t help himself to check it because it was all he had left of you. You were the happiest thing that ever happened to him; and yet your mother took you away from him. It felt like a punishment that he knew he deserved. But it wasn’t making this any more bearable.

Your mother had done anything to survive, including marrying him. Bo wasn’t too sure he really loved her, but he tolerated her and he was enjoying her in bed. He also liked the idea to get married because he was a family man. The woman did find Bo attractive and she had been glad to have fun with him. She hadn’t cared much about the wedding, but she didn’t want to say no to a man who could kill her and ask his twin to turn her into a wax statue. The killing was bothering her a lot, and she was terrified. She wanted to get out of here, no matter how much Bo could sometimes be a nice man to her when he wanted to be.

Or when she got pregnant.

The day she told him she was, she had been very nervous, not too certain how he was going to react. Bo had looked into her eyes to make sure she wasn’t lying about it before a big smile appeared on his face. She had never seen him smiling like that before; a genuine and happy smile. He kissed with fierce passion and he started to be very gentle to her. He was doing his best to not argue with her anymore, he didn’t yell at his siblings in front of her, he didn’t allow her to do any more chores, even in the house. He was usually rough when they were having sex, but he started to be more careful. She couldn’t deny that Bo was showing a new side of his personality. He had been by her side the whole time she went into labour. And he was so emotional when he took you, his daughter, in his arms for the first time.

And then he never let you go. He stayed nice to your mother, because she was your mother. He wasn’t caring too much about her anymore, but he didn’t want to do anything that would upset you. He wanted you by his side all the time, and it seemed you did too. You were very close to one another. If your mother was asking you to come with her, you were always looking back at Bo to make sure he wouldn’t like to have you instead.

Bo was affectionate with you and he was sincerely trying to be a good father to you. He never showed you the angry side of his personality, and he never let you see him covered in blood. You were the most important person in the house. You also adored your uncles and they all doted on you. You were a Sinclair, you were their heir and they loved you so much. Your mother was happy they were all so distracted with you that she could plan an escape for you and herself. It took her 8 years to find out a way, but when she finally did, you both disappeared before Bo could do anything about it.

She left a message on the kitchen table for him to find in the morning. He had known right away something was off because she wasn’t in bed, there was no sound from the kitchen and his darling daughter didn’t open the bedroom door to greet him. When he had checked your room, it was empty and your favourite plushie - a teddy bear Lester got you when you were three - was gone. His stomach was twisted when he saw the note and started to read it.

We’re leaving and we’ll never come back. Don’t look for us or I’ll tell Y/N who you truly are. I’ll tell her what the statues she loved so much are made of. I won’t call the police on you because I’ve been part of it for a long time and Y/N needs some normality in her life from now on.

Hope to never see you again, and hope you have enjoyed your daughter’s presence till it lasted. I know you truly loved her, but she deserves better and you know it too. I’ll make sure she’ll forget about you.

Bye, Bo, see you in hell.

He couldn't express how broken he felt when he read those words and his brothers and himself looked for the two of you for weeks.

But you truly were gone.

After this, Bo had been very difficult to live with, and Lester wasn’t often home anymore. Vincent didn’t say anything and he let Bo be mad. He perfectly understood that his twin just lost his favourite person in the world and that it was very hard for him. Vincent was also very disappointed because he had started to teach you how to sculpt… They lost their heir. And Bo lost his sanity.

He couldn’t stand to see kids any longer, and Lester was always keeping families away from Ambrose because he knew Bo would have a very bad breakdown otherwise. When Vincent was asking him if he needed anything before he would go to his basement, Bo was always shrugging and saying “Apart from my daughter, ya mean?”. And there were always tears in his voice when he was mentioning you. Lester and Vincent never talked about you; you were too much of a sensitive subject. Bo was sometimes drinking in front of his TV, until he would fall asleep, so he could forget he lost the only thing he promised himself to never hurt and to always love. But how could he show you he loved you when you were away from him?

Bo was trying very hard to calm down and to focus on work and on his siblings; but it was almost impossible now he didn’t really believe in a future. You were his future. And everything was gone.

It had been ten years.

And it still hurt like the first day.

He often tried to imagine you and you were of course such a beautiful young woman now. He was certain he would have been so proud to have you, to know you. And he simply truly hoped that you had indeed a better life without him.

You would beg to differ. You had missed your dad just as much as he had missed you. But whenever you would try to talk about him to your mother, she would lock herself in her room and blast music into the speakers so loud she couldn’t hear you. She wanted to forget about all the awful things she saw and did during those years in Ambrose, and even if she loved you, she wanted to forget you were the daughter of a sadistic killer.

She was quite desperate about how you never stopped talking about your dad. She knew you had a bound, but she had hoped she would be able to break it, or at least that time would be able to. She was wrong and she was aware of it.

You needed your father more than anything. And one day, you decided it was time to get back home. You had passed your driving licence and you had some holidays before the next school year would start. You stole your mother’s car, just leaving a note on the kitchen table, like she did years ago.

Need to go see my dad. Please, don’t call the cops on me, I know what I’m doing and I’ll be back soon.

Love you, Y/N.

Your mother had no intention in calling for the cops. She drank a lot that day, terrified for you and for what you were going to discover. She was pretty certain that if the Sinclairs were still alive, they were also still killing people and turning them into wax statues. In a way, she had always wanted to preserve the happy memories you had from Ambrose. She was scared Bo was going to ruin it.

Even though you were 8 when you got snatched away from Ambrose, you remembered how to get there. Maybe it was because since then you had dreamt to come back home, or because everything in you knew how to come back there. You belonged to Ambrose and to your father. You loved your mother but it was nothing compared to the adoration you used to have for Bo. You were worrying to be disappointed - or even worse to disappoint him - when you would meet him again, but you needed to see him again.

You drove and drove for days, having quick stops at motels, until you found the dusty roads leading to your hometown. You instantly recognised them because you never stopped seeing them in your dreams. You had travelled so much on them with your uncle Lester that you couldn’t mistake them either. You continued to drive and you smiled when you saw the sign advertising the House of Wax. You wondered how it was now, because you could imagine that your uncle Vincent had worked a lot on it while you were gone. It had been ten years after all, and it saddened you even more. You wished your dad could have seen you growing up. He barely had the time to teach you how to use a gun and to fix cars; and your mom was afraid of weapons so you never touched another one.

When you arrived in Ambrose, you felt like something was off. And yet oddly familiar at the same time. You noticed blood on the ground, and you heard screams coming from the museum. You parked your car next to your father’s mechanic shop and wondered what to do. You used to hear people scream in Ambrose when you were small, even if your mother was always putting on loud music in the house for the two of you to forget about what was truly happening. You had often asked questions about it to your dad but Bo never answered you.

You got out of your car, not too sure what to do. You remembered that your dad always asked you to safely stay home when you were hearing noises in town. You had always obeyed your father, because you disliked displeasing him. But now it would feel strange to get inside the house without anyone knowing it… It hadn’t been your home in ten years. You noticed that the screams were quietening down. You carefully walked to the house. It seemed like nothing had changed. You knocked at the door but no one answered. You weren’t too surprised about it because your dad and uncles were often out and about.

You finally decided to get inside. You needed to get some glass of fresh water anyways and you thought your family wouldn’t mind. You were surprised how the house seemed unchanged from the last time you saw it. It made you feel at home right away and you smiled to yourself. You walked to the kitchen without any hesitation. You were about to open the cupboard to get a glass, when you felt rough arms wrapping around your waist and a knife being pressed against your throat. Your eyes widened and you looked up at your attacker.

“Uncle Vincent?” you whispered out and the man instantly let you go. You had recognised him right away thanks to his mask and his still long and dark hair. It really felt like you had never left Ambrose and it was nice. You turned around to face him. Vincent had let go of his knife and his hands were now on your face, softly trying to memorise all of your features.

Y/N? Is that really you? What are you doing here? He signed, hoping you still remembered the sign language. You actually took classes after you left Ambrose because you wanted to remember and improve yourself. You smiled.

“I ran away from mom, I wanted to be back home” you replied “Is dad here?” you asked before noticing the blood on Vincent’s clothes. You came closer while frowning in concern “Are you hurt, uncle?” you asked again. Vincent didn’t have the time to answer that Bo busted into the house, covered in blood as well.

“There’s a fuckin’ car…” Bo started before stopping when he saw you.

“Oh yeah, it’s mom’s… Hi, father” you smiled. Bo didn’t move at first, he couldn’t process what was going on. But soon enough, you were in his arms and he was tightly holding you against him. He thought he was going to cry with pure happiness. His baby was finally back home. Life could finally go on and be joyful. He could finally feel whole once again.

It was how Bo always imagined it.

He always thought that one day you would come back and you would learn about the killing, but you would support it. You would come living again in Ambrose and everything would have been happy once again, like it should have been from the beginning.

But it never happened.

Because the day you finally arrived in Ambrose, the House of Wax was melted to the ground because of a big fire, and both your father Bo and uncle Vincent were dead. You knew it because you didn’t find anyone in the house you grew up in or in the garage or in the church. Ambrose was truly empty and you couldn’t imagine your family leaving.

Lester found you the second day as you were crying in front of what was left of the House of Wax. He didn’t recognise you, of course, but he guessed who you were, because no one had any reason to cry here other than you. You jumped when he placed a hand on your shoulder before turning to him. You gasped his name before getting up and tightly hugging him. You were so happy one of them was still there. You asked him what happened and he told you everything.

And he told you how happy Bo would have been to know you were finally back home, because the man had never stopped thinking about you one second in his whole existence. You wished you hadn’t arrived too late. You wished he would have known that his daughter was finally home. You wished your mother never kidnapped you from Ambrose and your family. You hated her so much.

But it was nothing in comparison to what you felt against the two people who did this to your family. You promised yourself you were going to find them and give them the most painful of death. You also promised yourself you were going to rebuild the House of Wax, so Bo and Vincent could be proud of you, because you knew it was what they would have wanted.

You also knew they were going to be your first statues of wax. Lester had kept the bodies because he hadn’t wanted to leave them there for the cops to find. And he hadn’t had the strength to bury them yet. You asked him to keep looking over the bodies for a couple of days more and then you would take care of them. You just needed to kill those people first so you could focus on your art, your mind at peace.

You were so excited to see your dad again and to chat with him like if you hadn’t left the house for ten years, like if he wasn’t dead inside the wax, like if you weren’t insane.

And Lester was so grateful he wasn't going to be alone in this.

---

Taglist : @bloodmoon-bites ; @kawaistrawberry21

#house of wax (2005)#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x daughter #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x niece #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x niece #bo sinclair x you #lester sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x you #house of wax one shot #slasher x you #slasher x reader #slasher x daughter #slasher x y/n

189 notes · View notes

zapreportsblog · 7 months

Text

❝forgotten memories❞

✭ pairing : Lester Sinclair x reader x Bo Sinclair x Vincent Sinclair

✭ fandom : slashers

✭ summary : whiles out hunting Lester comes across a beaten and battered young lady in serious need of medical attention so what does he do? He takes the little lass back to his hometown to get treated by his brothers, but she happens to wake up and at first they expect her to freak out since she’s surrounded by three men but the only thing on her mind is why can’t she remember anything but her name

✭ authors note : art work by @kasiawoe found it on Pinterest also this was requested by @shadowraven-02 you sent this in to @fandomnationwhore a while back and I’m here to fulfill it since I’ve taken over doing some of their top requests :) if at any moment you wish to be untagged, do inform me as I have no problem with it I just thought I’d tag you and let you read what you sent in

✭ slasher masterlist

Lester Sinclair had always found solace in the woods. The dense canopy of trees, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the distant calls of woodland creatures were a symphony of tranquility. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could escape the demands of his hectic life and find a sense of peace.

On this crisp autumn morning, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, Lester set out for a hunting expedition. He carried his rifle with practiced ease, each step taken with a careful consideration of his surroundings. His brothers, Bo and Vincent, would join him later, but for now, he relished the solitude.

As he ventured deeper into the forest, Lester's keen eyes caught sight of something unusual amidst the fallen leaves. There, sprawled on the ground, was an unconscious young woman. Her clothes were torn, and her face was marred by a bleeding wound on her forehead. It was a sight that sent a jolt of concern through Lester.

Kneeling beside her, he carefully examined her condition. She was still breathing, albeit shallowly, which was a relief. Gently, he brushed her hair away from her face, revealing her pale complexion. Concern etched his features as he noticed the deep bruises marring her arms and legs. It was clear that she had been through some kind of ordeal.

Lester's instinct to help kicked in immediately. He knew he couldn't leave her here, injured and alone in the woods. Carefully, he reached into her pocket and found her wallet. Opening it, he discovered her identification. Her name was (Y/N), a medical student still in college.

With determination in his eyes, Lester decided to take action. He scooped her fragile form into his arms, cradling her gently. She was surprisingly light, making it easier for him to carry her. As he began to make his way back to his pickup truck, he couldn't help but wonder how she had ended up in such a dire situation.

The journey back to his home felt like an eternity, the forest passing by in a blur of green and brown. Lester's mind raced with questions, but his primary focus was ensuring (Y/N)'s safety. He knew his brothers would be just as concerned as he was when they saw her.

When he finally reached the old, rustic house that he shared with Bo and Vincent, Lester carefully carried (Y/N) inside. The warmth of the living room enveloped them, a stark contrast to the cool autumn air outside. With great care, he laid her down on the couch, his worry deepening as he took a closer look at her injuries.

Bo had been planning to join Lester for the hunting trip, but he arrived later than expected. He pushed open the creaky front door of their rustic home, a cheerful greeting on his lips. "Lester, you out here, buddy?" he called, stepping into the warm and cozy living room.

His voice trailed off when he laid eyes on the unexpected scene before him. His gaze fixed on the unconscious girl lying on the couch, her disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the familiar surroundings.

"Who the hell is she?" Bo blurted out, his voice tinged with some kind of emotion though Lester wasn’t sure what.

Lester turned toward his brother, his eyes filled with a mixture of worry and confusion. "I found her out back in the woods," he explained, "She was unconscious, and there are bruises on her, and she had this nasty wound on her forehead."

Just as their argument started to brew, the connection between the twins kicked in. Vincent, who had been working away in the basement workshop, felt Bo's growing frustration through their twin link. He abandoned his tools and made his way upstairs, his face a mask of concern. He signed, asking if everything was alright.

Bo's agitation was clear in his voice as he responded to Vincent's silent inquiry. "No, Lester here is putting us all in danger."

Lester frowned at Bo's accusation. "How am I putting us in danger?" he retorted, his voice rising in frustration.

Their argument continued, voices escalating, as neither brother noticed the subtle movement on the couch. (Y/N) began to stir, her eyelids fluttering open. She blinked in confusion, disoriented by her surroundings and the voices she heard. Her vision was blurry at first, but gradually, the room came into focus.

Vincent, who had been watching the argument unfold, suddenly noticed her awakening. He took a step back, positioning himself between Bo and the girl, his curiosity piqued. He wanted to observe her reaction before drawing attention to her presence.

As (Y/N) began to regain consciousness, she felt a dull ache in her head, which sent a wince across her features. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the room, and as she sat up, she couldn't help but notice the three men now staring at her. Their expressions ranged from concern to curiosity, and she blinked owlishly at them, her confusion evident.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice slightly shaky.

Lester, the one who had found her, stepped closer and replied, "You're in my home. We found you in the woods unconscious, and you had some injuries, so we brought you here."

(Y/N) furrowed her brow, trying to piece together the events leading to this moment. "How did I get here?" she wondered aloud.

Bo, ever the standoffish one, folded his arms and said, "That's exactly what I'd like to know too."

Vincent, who had been observing silently, stepped forward and signed a question, his hands gracefully moving through the air. However, (Y/N) was caught off guard by the unfamiliar gesture and simply responded with a confused "Huh?"

Lester quickly intervened, introducing his brother. "That's Vincent," he explained, "He was just asking if you're okay."

Still somewhat disoriented, (Y/N) nodded uncertainly. "I think so?" She winced again, a hand gingerly touching the bandage on her forehead. It was clear she had many questions, but her priority was trying to make sense of the situation and her surroundings.

“So how did you get out there.” Lester asks, he watches her brows clench and that’s when his concern deepened as he watched (Y/N) struggle to recall her recent past. He leaned closer and gently asked, "I mean do you remember how you ended up out here in the woods? You're pretty far from town."

(Y/N) closed her eyes, trying to summon any memories that could explain her current situation. However, her efforts were in vain, and her frustration grew as she shook her head, her voice trembling as she admitted, "No, I don't remember."

Bo, always quick with a sarcastic remark, couldn't resist but quip, "Does she even know anything?"

(Y/N), taking Bo's question more seriously than intended, felt panic start to creep in. She tried to think back to her life, her home, her studies, but everything seemed to be shrouded in darkness, leaving only her name as a lone beacon of familiarity. Tears welled up in her eyes as the realization sank in that she couldn't recall anything else.

Vincent, noticing (Y/N)'s distress, reacted impulsively. He smacked Bo on the arm and then swiftly signed at him, "Look, you made her cry."

Bo's temper flared. "I ain't do a goddamn thing to that girl!" he retorted, defensive.

Lester, always the voice of reason among the brothers, interjected firmly, "Enough, you two! We need to help her, not argue." He moved closer to (Y/N) and spoke in a soothing tone. "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure this out together. Take a deep breath."

He reached out to offer her a comforting hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her panic and bring some clarity to the situation.

Lester gently held (Y/N) in his arms, offering her a comforting embrace as she cried out her fear and confusion. His heart went out to her as he whispered soothing words. "It's okay, (Y/N), you're safe here. Everything's going to be alright. This is just a hiccup in the road. You'll remember, I'm sure of it."

She clung to his words, her sobs gradually subsiding. In his arms, she found a flicker of solace amidst the storm of her lost memories and newfound uncertainty.

Meanwhile, Bo's frustration had not subsided. He was growing increasingly impatient and wary of the stranger in their midst. He couldn't shake the feeling that (Y/N) was a threat, not just to Ambrose, but to all of them.

In the quiet of the kitchen, Bo took Lester and Vincent aside, his tone hushed but determined. "We need to get rid of her," he declared, his voice filled with urgency.

Lester frowned deeply, appalled by his brother's suggestion. "Bo, we can't just... get rid of her. She's clearly in trouble, and we need to help her."

Bo's eyes narrowed, his frustration boiling over. "She's a danger to Ambrose, and she's a danger to us all. We don't know who she is or what happened to her. We can't trust her."

Vincent, ever the voice of empathy and caution, hesitated. He signed his thoughts, "We need to be careful, but killing her? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

Bo was unwavering. "Think about it, Lester. We have no idea who she is or what she's involved in. We can't risk our safety, or Ambrose's."

Lester shook his head firmly. "No, Bo. I won't do it. We'll help her, keep her safe until she remembers. We can't resort to violence."

The tension in the kitchen grew palpable, as the three brothers faced a difficult decision that would shape their future and the fate of the mysterious (Y/N).

Bo's frustration reached its peak, and he reluctantly conceded. "Fine," he grumbled, his jaw clenched. "But she's your responsibility, Lester."

With those words, Bo turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind him. Vincent, sensing his twin's anger and knowing that arguing further would only escalate the situation, hurriedly followed, hoping to calm Bo down and find some common ground.

Lester was left alone in the kitchen, his thoughts swirling as he watched his brothers leave. He knew that taking care of (Y/N) was a responsibility he was willing to shoulder, even if it meant facing uncertainty and danger. She needed their help, and he was determined to be there for her, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

192 notes · View notes

spookychick78 · 11 months

Text

Bo Sinclair One Shot

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Minors DNI, Rough sex, Breeding, Slight CNC, language

It does get a lil fluffy at the end

Word Count: 2,115

You could feel him watching you from the doorway, arms crossed with that smug look on his face. He didn't believe for a second you were actually going to leave. You wouldn't. Then again, watching you stuff that backpack with such determination wasn't at all supporting his initial thought process. He let his gaze dip to try and meet yours, but you refused. Instead of giving him what you knew he wanted, you stayed completely focused on shoving everything you could fit in that bag. He let out laugh in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered, "you're serious?"

"Yep," you said shortly as you struggled with the zipper.

"You think you can leave me?" He asked with that grin he wore when he was close to losing his temper.

"Yeah, I do," you said as you threw the bag over your shoulder and turned towards him.

He was deadly quiet as you walked up to him, glaring at you from underneath those dark brows of his. You went to push past him, but he wouldn't budge. You let out an aggravated sigh before you looked up at him.

"Come on, Bo. Don't make this harder than it has to be," you said as calmly as you could manage.

He let out that humorless laugh again as he looked you up and down, contemplating, "No."

"What do you mean no?"

He said nothing in response, he just kept glaring. You shook your head at him and forced your way past, though he didn't make it easy. You marched to the front door and flung it open only to slam it shut behind you. You knew better than to even try and take the truck, that would be asking for him to come and find you. You barely made it onto the driveway when sure enough, the door opened once more.

"You just gonna walk, huh? Where the hell are you gonna go?" He yelled after you.

"I'll figure it out," you yelled back, stubbornly.

You didn't quite like the silence that followed. Bo wasn't one to simply let things go. You quickened your pace when you heard his boots on the gravel behind you. Just before you could start running, he grabbed your arm.

"You're not leavin' me, (Y/n)," he said as he forced you to turn around.

"Let go of me, Bo," you said through gritted teeth as you tried to tug your arm out of his tight grip.

That only made him pull you forward harder. You slammed against him and immediately tried to push yourself off of him. You managed to get your arm free, but then he grabbed you by the sides of your shoulders and began to walk you forward.

"What the hell are you doing?" You said as you tried to keep your feet from moving, but the gravel gave you nothing to keep yourself grounded.

"I told you," he said through gritted teeth before he slammed your back against a tree, "you ain't leavin'."

Before you could protest he quickly grabbed you by your jaw and silenced you with a kiss. You pushed him off and went to slap him, but he caught your hand in his. He smiled, enjoying your attempt at fighting back. He looked down at your flared nostrils and damn near hateful expression, amused. You could see the idea forming behind his eyes. No, not this time, you thought to yourself. You wouldn't give in like he always seemed to make you do. It was that damn smile of his, every time, the way he got off on how angry you were and the way his eyes seemed to undress you in the most delicious way. You wanted to hate him for it, but hating Bo wasn't easy. It should have been, he was a stubborn, hot headed son of a bitch, but he loved you. You knew that, as toxic as it was.

It was like he had read your mind, sensed the slight hesitation being pinned by him had brought on. His eyes stayed with yours as he brought your fingers to his mouth. He kissed your finger tips as soft as he could manage and slowly moved down to your palm.

"Bo, what are you doing," you whispered as you tried to ignore the desire that was building between your legs.

His eyes seemed darker now, they always got like that when he was hungry for you and it never failed to make you weak for him. You felt his teeth graze over your skin and the sensation of his hot breath falling into your palm as he let out a chuckle at your question.

"Whatever I want," he said in an almost threatening tone.

Before you could protest any further he flipped you around so your cheek was pressed against the bark of the tree and your back to him. You felt his hand push it's way down the front of your pants while his lips left sloppy, hot kisses on the sweat drenched skin of your neck. It didn't take long for his fingers to find your weak spot. You didn't have to look at him to know that self satisfied smirk had appeared when he felt how wet you were for him. You silently cursed yourself when a whine escaped your lips in response to the sensation of his fingers twirling little circles around your clit.

"I hate you, you know that," you said through gritted teeth as you pressed harder into his touch.

"Really?" He said, his voice husky and breath warm in your ear, "I couldn't tell."

Another moan escaped you when he slipped one of his digits inside. Your fist clenched and pressed against the bark of the tree to keep steady as he pushed further into you. You needed more, but you refused to beg. You knew it would only fuel his already overblown ego further. He knew exactly what you wanted already, no matter what you'd said before.

"Want me to stop?" He breathed, that smirk glued to his face.

He knew you like the back of his hand, knew exactly what moves to make so that you couldn't refuse him. His question was only meant to irritate you, to remind you that no matter how mad you might have been you couldn't deny him. He started to remove his hand from your pants, which caused you to whine at the loss of friction.

"Goddamnit, Bo," you muttered.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you back against his chest, "Do you want me to stop?"

You knew you couldn't hide the blatant desire that had no doubt made its way to your eyes by now. You watched him read it, but still, he waited for your answer. He needed to hear you say it, needed to know you wanted him to fuck you senseless right here, right now. And you did. That's exactly what you wanted.

"Never," you breathed as your eyes flickered down to his lips.

It didn't go unnoticed. He let out that arrogant chuckle of his as his own eyes wandered to your wanting mouth.

"'Course you don't," he practically growled before he pressed his lips against yours hard as he could.

You barely even noticed your neck aching from the angle, all you could focus on was his tongue gliding over yours and how his teeth pulled at your bottom lip in an almost needy way before he pushed you back against the tree. His hands made quick work of yanking your pants down before he freed himself from his own. He snaked one hand around to your front again while the other aligned himself with your entrance. He wasn't gentle in the slightest as he pushed himself in and used the arm wrapped around you to pull you tighter against him. Once he had bottomed out you felt his head in the crook of your neck.

"Fuck," he breathed against your skin as if he was already in shambles at how tight you were, "if this is what you hating me feels like, keep it up."

A smirk had started to curve on your lips, but he was quick to put a stop to that. He pulled out just about all the way only to thrust back in, making your expression contort into an almost pained one, but you were far from in pain. You lived for the way he filled you up, especially in moments like this. You knew he was determined to remind you that only he could make you feel like this, to remind you that you were his and only his. Not much else compared to the way Bo fucked you after a fight. His passion for you was always at its peak when he was desperate to make you stay.

You felt his hand rest on your shoulder as he began his quick pace while the other resumed drawing those little circles around your clit. They were sloppier than before, far less calculated, but it was just what you needed. One thing you didn't hate was your own ability to make Bo crumble. You got off on it, the way he just lost himself in you. As if your body, your skin and your touch was the only thing in the world that could make him fold. He may have started with control in his grasp, but you could feel the power shift now. You could hear it in the way he panted in your ear, feel it in those circles that grew sloppier and sloppier with each thrust. You knew he was making that face you loved, his brows furrowed, mouth agape, his tongue practically hanging out of it as he watched where your bodies connected in awe. It brought you to the edge just picturing that blissed out expression of his and knowing you were the one that put it there. You tightened around him, hanging off of each circle he drew. That wave was just seconds from crashing over you and he felt it.

"That's it, baby," he panted out as he leaned in closer to your ear, made his thrusts deeper, "show me just how much you hate me."

He added just the slightest extra bit of pressure with his fingers and it had you melting, coating his digits in your juices as you came for him. Your body began to tremble as he continued his pursuit for his own climax, fucking you through yours. Your moans filled his ears and with your body clenched around him, he went over the edge. He let his head fall back as his hands squeezed your hips, there was no doubt bruises would form from how tight his grip was. He let out an almost animalistic growl as he spilled into you, filling you to the brim. His fist slammed into the tree just beside your face and he stilled inside you, breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. You could have stayed like that for hours, bodies intertwined, listening to him struggle to regain his composure and fail to control his shaky breath.

"Shit," he breathed as he slid out of you, proudly admiring the sight of his seed dripping down your legs, "good luck leavin' me now."

You turned your head to see just how smug he looked with that crooked smirk pulling at his lips, "Sure as hell might be trapped," he said with a laugh.

"You're an asshole," you replied, struggling to keep the smile from your face.

He grabbed you by your hand and swiftly spun you round so you were pressed against his chest, "Sure am, but I'm your asshole. Probably for a good long while after that."

"Maybe that's exactly what I wanted," you said slyly as you stood on your toes to meet his lips.

He smiled into your kiss, "You're tellin' me you planned that? The fight, tryin' to leave, all for me to knock you up? And I'm the asshole?" He said against your lips.

"Maybe," you replied, "I'm smarter than you think, Bo."

"Or dumber," he teased.

He pulled back and lifted his hand to brush some of your now messy hair out of your face. His eyes had softened now and he took your chin in his hand.

"You coulda just asked, you know," he said as his thumb brushed your skin gently.

"It's more fun to piss you off," you said with a grin.

He shook his head with a laugh, "No shit."

248 notes · View notes

f1nalboys · 1 year

Text

Catch 22 - Bo Sinclair and Nick Jones

Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader x Nick Jones

haiiii so heres the first of (hopefully) a few poly fics!!! bex (@bisexual-horror-fan) is currently running a little something called multi-may where for the month of may, every fic she posts will be polyam focused!!! i HAD to participate and what better way to do it than w stinky bo and stinky nick?? i hope yall enjoy the surprise of nick and the nasty sick little thing i wrote here for you <3 PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS ONE GUYS!

WORD COUNT: 2526

WARNINGS: nsfw, dub-con to be safe but reader is (sadly and not really happy about it) into it, poly!relationship, toxic relationships, reader and nick used to date before ambrose and now bo is in the mix, bo comes as his own warning and honestly in this one, so does nick! oral (amab receiving,) unprotected sex, spit-roasting, heavy degradation, light praise but it's really just to make the degradation hit harder, slight humiliation, blood, biting, sadism and slight masochism, toy usage, slight dumbification, training mention (aka bo trains nick to be as sadistic as him and they train you to be good for them.) reader is called pet/sugar/freak/a good little bitch/baby/a pretty dumb thing.

It was hard to think about how exactly you got here, squished between both men with an ache deep in your gut as their hands roamed your body. How long had it been since you and he had come to town? A few days? A few weeks? Months? You weren’t sure anymore. Time in the basement had all but stopped for you the moment you had gotten strapped to the chair and it was hard for you to even think about before, especially when what was happening now was so good.

“Like that, doncha?” Bo asks, grinding against your ass, his face nuzzled into your neck. You make a noise resembling an agreement and you can feel his laugh rumble in his chest. He’s still clothed and you wish he weren’t, you wish he were naked and doing this to you so that you could at least pretend it was more for his own pleasure than yours. “Yeah, I bet you do. Like having two sets of hands on you, don’t you, my greedy little pet?”

He’s right, you do, and you hate that you do. You hate how much you’re loving this, having four hands grabbing and groping and pulling at you however they please. “They do love it,” Nick’s voice is in front of you and his forehead is pressed against your own. You blink, getting rid of the haze that had begun to collect in the edges of your vision, and are met with his icy stare. He resembled Bo here, a sharp stare with eyes that seemed to sparkle in a way that made your gut swim in both anxiety and lust. “Tell him, baby. Admit that you like when we treat you like this.”

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry. You nod and both men tsk at the same time, something you wish you could laugh at. You wish that their accidental synchronicity could ease your worries a bit, and could result in the briefest moments of normalcy. But their being in sync meant they were the same and that they had the same idea floating through their heads. Nick smiles at you, the corner of his lip curling upwards into a snarl. You’re sure Bo has a matching one.

“He told you to say it, sugar,” Bo’s grip on your hip tightens, grime-covered nails digging into your bare flesh, right over the last remnants of finger-print shaped bruises. It hurts but it was meant to. His touch was always meant to. Bo wanted the pain and pleasure to be uneven, coming in waves, making you crave the pain knowing that the sweeping and overwhelming end of the pleasure would come for you eventually. And god, did you crave that ‘eventually.’ “So… fuckin’ say it. Unless you want me to cut that tongue outta your mouth? Might do some good; you talk so goddamn much.”

“Yeah, but then how are we gonna let ‘em suck our cocks, Bo?” Nick asks, ignoring your squirming. You felt claustrophobic in between these two. Everything they did was almost too much, too intense and too rough and too hurried, but the thought of them leaving you after all this, aching for their touch, was enough to kill you. His voice was light as if he were discussing the weather with the other man and not about whether or not your tongue should be cut from your fucking mouth. “Wouldn’t you miss it, man? How warm and tight their throat is? So perfect…”

Nick drags his hands down your neck as if he were imagining you on your knees for him then and there, taking his cock like you had done hundreds of times before, some before Bo but most after. Bo liked to watch, liked seeing how he brought this sick sadistic side of Nick out. You remember the first time they both used you, when Nick didn’t pay attention to your whimpers of pain as he pushed inside, how he seemed focused only on his own pleasure, looking at you only to call you a name that you had never seen pass his lips before, the same name Bo had called you before. Pet. Bo had been watching, directing, and had met your eye after the third round with a smile. “Seems he got the hang of it all, doncha think?”

Bo hums. They had been touching you everywhere except where you needed them and you were getting desperate and they knew you were too. It would be embarrassing if they hadn’t already trained you to enjoy it. “Guess you’re right. Maybe we can get one last good one in before we do it.” He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and you yelp in pain, feeling the skin break underneath his teeth. He keeps biting for a moment longer just to hear your cries, just to smell the fear seep out of the wound before he pulls away. You look up at him, tears spilling down your cheeks, and he grins. Blood covers his teeth.

You knew if given the chance - if given a reason - Bo would be more than happy to rip your throat out with his teeth, pull and tear the muscle from your body, feel the warm blood cover his mouth and the front of his shirt, savor the taste. When you look at Nick, his eyes are on the shallow wound of your shoulder and he swallows hard, eyes trained on the blood dripping from the mark. You wonder what would happen to him if you were gone. Nick and Bo didn’t seem to interact much unless you were involved. Would Bo kill him too? Would Nick even want to live?

The idea of the two of them moving on and finding someone new to replace you fills your gut with a slow-moving panic, one that you suppose is always there inside you, just under the surface. And then Nick is looking at you and you're taken back to before Ambrose, to the guy you had thought about marrying, to the late nights and soft kisses and praise that dripped from his tongue like honey. It’s all gone now. That Nick had died the moment Bo had met him and had seen himself inside, festering under Nick’s skin like an infection. Maybe that version of Nick never really existed at all.

The moment is gone and you’re back in the dusty house between the stranger and your lover and you don't know either one anymore.

“Please,” you say and both men stay silent, waiting for you to continue. Your voice sounds foreign to you now, thrown far behind you like a puppet on a string. “I wanna be good.” Nick smiles and again, for just a moment, it’s like you’re back home with him, but then the glint in his eye is back and you know you’re so very far from home even when you’re pressed against it. “I like when you both touch me.” Your face is hot at the admittance but you’re rewarded with a soft groan behind you as Bo finally loosens his grip. Your hip feels numb. “Please don’t stop.”

“See?” Bo coo’s in your ear, pulling away from you for a second to undo his belt. The sound is Pavlovian and you whimper, falling into Nick's arms, mouth filling with saliva, ass sticking out. Both men laugh at you but you can’t bother to care now. The dam holding back your panic from bubbling to the surface had broken and you were ready to cry, to beg, to do anything and everything they asked. “Was that so hard?”

His voice reminds you of what it was like to be scolded as a child and you feel a wave of humiliation wash over you as Nick cradles your head in his hands. He presses his fingers into your neck and you whimper, pain shooting down your spine. “Doing so good,” he says, kissing your forehead. Instead of comforting you, it does the opposite, sending goosebumps up your arms. You had been in this situation with the two of them countless times and you knew better than to let Nick's praise be just that. It was always a ploy, shielding the true reason behind his kind words and actions. “Gonna let us use you, aren’t you?”

“‘Course they are, the freak.” You feel Bo’s cock press against you and he groans, cursing under his breath as one hand lines himself up to your entrance, the other pressing down onto your lower back, forcing you to bend over a bit more. Nick lets go of you and you cling to his jeans, face pressed against his crotch as you feel a glob of spit land on you followed by Bo’s thick fingers smearing it across your hole before pushing inside. The force of his thrust and the pain ripping through you at the intrusion despite all of the teasing has you jolting forward with a cry and Nick takes advantage, grabbing the back of your head and pushing you into his crotch harder. “Gettin’ off on this, fuck, they’re so fuckin’-”

Bo cuts himself off with a groan, finally all the way in, and he wastes no time in setting a rhythm. It was for his pleasure and you knew better than to expect him to touch you, not while he’s busy chasing his own high, his pants around his ankles and his blood-stained shirt in his teeth. “So fuckin’ obedient, right?” Nick finishes, letting your head go and nodding at you. Your hands are shaky as you work on his jeans, your face still pressed against the denim. “Gonna be good and take our cocks just like they were made too, right? Just like we taught ‘em?”

“If they know what’s good for them they will,” Bo replies, sentence muffled by his shirt still in his mouth. When you finally fish Nick’s cock out of his jeans you don’t wait for permission, instead taking him into your mouth with a fervor. You felt complete like this, Bo inside you, fucking you with reckless abandon, Nick in your mouth, moving with slow and deep thrusts, reveling in the feeling of you choking around him.

Drool was spilling from your mouth onto the wooden floor underneath you, dripping down your chin and chest. Your hands were on Nick's thighs in a weak attempt to keep him from plunging his cock down your throat, but you and he both knew that if he really wanted to, you’d let him. Not that you had much choice in that matter, of course.

“Could stay like this all day,” Nick grunts, tilting his head down at you to watch as you take more of his cock with each sharp thrust Bo does. “A pretty dumb thing on my cock getting split open… yeah, could do this all night. How ‘bout you, Bo?” Bo grunts in agreement, too caught up in the feeling of you squeezing around him. Nick grins, sucking in a shakey breath before pulling you off of him and bending down to be face-to-face with you.

There are tears spilling from your eyes and your lips are swollen, spit covering the bottom half of your face, and you’re looking at him with such a needy look that he almost feels bad enough to help you out. Almost. “You’re gonna play with yourself and make yourself cum before Bo and I do or you don’t cum the rest of the night, okay, baby?” He asks, waiting for you to acknowledge what he said.

“O-okay,” you choke out, hand reaching in between your legs. Nick’s eyes light up and he stands, giving Bo a sick smile before tapping his cock onto your wet cheeks. Your hand moved quickly, not moving in any particular rhythm or pattern, mouth opening for Nick. Now that your own orgasm was on the line, all three of you were doing whatever you could to cum first and you knew you were in for a long night.

The pleasure that had been building in your gut all night with their teasing finally comes to a head and you cum quickly, hands sputtering in their movement. Your eyes are squeezed shut, a gargled moan leaving your body as Nick face fucks you, holding the back of your head to keep you still, Bo and he working in tangent to keep you full at all times. Bo is the first to cum, doing so with a choked moan. He wraps an arm around your waist to keep you fully sat on him as Nick finishes deep in your throat, pulling out enough to leave the tip in so you can swallow around him.

“Good little bitch, doin’ what they’re told,” Bo finally says after Nick pulls out of your mouth, running a hand down your back in an almost soothing gesture. You give Nick a weak and pleased smile, exhausted. “Ready to switch, man?” Your eyes widen as Nick nods, looking down at you with a faux-apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, taking his calloused thumb and wiping spit from the side of your mouth. “You get to cum as much as you like tonight.” And then the men are moving positions, Nick using his slender fingers to push Bo’s cum, which had begun to leak out of your hole, back inside. Bo takes a moment to walk off, further into the bedroom where you can’t see him, and you close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of Nick behind you, touching you. If you try hard enough, you could maybe go back to before all of this, to before Ambrose and Bo and this strange relationship. Your stomach twists at the thought. When your eyes open again, Bo is there.

He stands in front of you and you look up, lip quivering at the sight of him. Bo’s sadistic smile doesn’t fade, just grows a little more knowing how afraid you were of him, of how rough he’d be. “Such a good pet,” Bo says in a mocking tone. “You can cum as much as you can.” And then you see the toy he’s holding in his hand and realize that you were about to cum until it hurt to do so. Bo hands it off to you and you take it with a shaky hand knowing that it would be your downfall tonight. “Ready?” You nod before realizing he was asking Nick and not you; you had forgotten that you were here for them, not the other way around.

“More than I’ve ever been,” Nick says and as the two men line themselves up, ready to use you the way that they had molded you to be used, you briefly wonder if you were ready. Bo shoves himself into your mouth first and you realize that no, you weren’t ready, and maybe you wouldn't ever be really ready for this, for them, but it was happening. And as Nick pushes himself inside you slowly, hands soothing the bruises Bo had left, you think that somewhere down the line, you would probably learn to get used to this.

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #multi may #house of wax #bo sinclair #nick jones #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair x reader #nick jones x reader #bo sinclair x reader x nick jones #nick jones x reader x bo sinclair #theres a niche here and i found it #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slasher one shot #bo sinclair fic

179 notes · View notes

random-imagines-blog · 1 year

Text

Cards on the Table {Bo Sinclair x Reader Oneshot}

Wordcount: 10830 Summary: You end up making your way into Ambrose - and you’re given a job? Notes: This is House of Wax so there’s definitely death, and swearing. Author Note: Okay this became like a loong passion project, I’m not sorry.

Lester noted the appearance of the car moving slowly forward along the road, kicking up dust. It was a beaut of a car, that was the first thing that he noticed. He wasn’t quite the gearhead that his older brother was, only knowing enough to know what to cut under the hood, but he could appreciate. It looked like a classic car. Something that his dad might have driven back in the day. But in impecable shape. It didn’t roar or wheeze or sputter. It purred. The second thing that he picked up on was that it was just one car, with one passenger. It was a bit disappointing when that happened. Sometimes he’d just let the sole passengers go. Wasn’t really worth it. But Bo really would love that car. It would make a great present. Better than the oven mitts that he tried to give him for Christmas the year before, and got a slap upside the head for.

You pulled off into what looked like a really quiet clearing. You were lost, exhausted, and just hoping to get a couple hours of shut eye before tackling the problem in the morning. You completely missed the truck hidden out among the trees and the brown eyes that were watching you. You tried to check your phone - no service up here. You weren’t surprised. Louisiana was notoriously spotty unless you were in the big cities. Something about all of the trees and the swamps or something, you figured. You sighed. You turned off the engine. Hopefully whatever town you find has a carwash - you hate getting your baby dirty. Shuffled back into the seat. Rolled your windows up - the old handcrank method since it was an old car after all. Rested back against the head rest and let your eyes close - and let your mind doze.

Lester was like a predator out there in the trees. Waiting until you were good and deep in REM sleep before he’d even reach for the handle of his door. One person. That might piss off Bo. Going through all of this trouble for next to nothing. You were aesthetically pleasing though. He saw a lot of girls come and go this way, usually with a bunch of friends and their boyfriends, so Lester thought he knew all about that. Bo and Vincent only saw the girls that were on the television screens. So they weren’t such good judges of real people.

He watched you sleep for another couple of minutes. Yeah, you’d make a good enough figure. Vincent had been complaining that there were more men than women now. They just didn’t come through nearly as much. Or they weren’t nice looking enough to put on in. Or sometime Bo would lose his temper and hurt them, deform them so badly that they wouldn’t make good enough figures, and then Vincent would be very disappointed. This one was good.

He lightly touched the glass of the window, his grubby fingers making little impressions on it. He hadn’t meant to go that far but you did look so nice and peaceful. So unaware of what was up to come. Ahh fuck. Oh well. You asked for it by taking the dangerous road is all. If Les felt bad about every pretty person that he sent up to Ambrose, he’d never get out of bed in the morning.

He lifted up the hood of the car quietly. Not even a squeak. He admired that in the car. He didn’t need anything other than the light of the moon and the stars above to help him rummage around in there until he found what he was looking for. He’d done this enough times. The fan belt. Always the fan belt. Why mess with what works? It was actually pretty easy to mess one up. He could feel that this one had been recently replaced and he felt a little bad before he would sabotage it. Not for you. For the car. Maybe Bo would let him drive it once in a while. Take it into town.

He finished up pretty quickly. Then lowered the hood as quietly as he could, making sure that it was nice and secure. Rubbed off any finger prints that he might have left behind with the elbow of his shirt, which was also pretty filthy but better than nothing. Back to his truck, and to Jonesy who was waiting patiently in the passenger seat. The dog gave him a lick as he started up the vehicle and made it crawl away from you, leaving you vulnerable to the night.

Ambrose seemed like such a pretty town, you had to admit. Quiet, but there was nothing wrong with that. After your car wouldn’t start, you had begun the walk and you were found by a nice redneck named Lester who offered to take you into town. There were red flags abound and you hated having to leave your car, your baby out there but he had promised you that no one really came up here and it would be safe. “Either I can drive you back with the fan belt or the mechanic can bring you himself. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be taken care of.”

He had such an earnest little face. So you tried to trust him. You kept your keys close though. Clenched in your hand so that no one would be able to get them. Unless someone hot wired your car, or towed it - though it was off of the road and hidden pretty well, it shouldn’t be, it should be alright. You had to trust that it was alright. It was the only thing that you had in this world.

“And here you go,” Lester said, stopping in front of the gas station. “‘should be in there. If not, he’ll be ‘round.”

“Thanks Lester,” You said, smiling at him. And you even pet the dog too, a little sweetheart, though mangled. You always did love animals. “It was nice to meet yah!”

“Yeah, you too,” Lester said to you, a grin showing off some badly rotted teeth. It was off-putting, sure, but you didn’t see much of a dental office being here in Ambrose. You could see just about the whole town from the gas station when you got out and had a stretch in the sunshine. Some storefronts, a church, and a building that advertised itself as a House of Wax. Now that was interesting. Maybe you would check that out before you left. You weren’t in a big hurry to get to wherever it was that you were going. You hadn’t even decided yet. Leave it to you to get lost when you didn’t even have a destination in mind.

The truck puttered off and you stood alone in front of the gas station. The sun was beating down so roughly on you, you hoped that the mechanic had something cold to drink. You’d pay him a whole ten dollars for a cool bottle of water if that was what it came down to. Anything for a parched throat. You walked up to the door and peer in through the window first. You could see what you needed in there, hanging up. Or at least, you hoped you did. It might be the wrong size. But you didn’t see anybody in there. Still, the door was unlocked so you walked into the dusty interior, looking around. Completely and totally empty. But there were a couple of chairs, so you sat your butt down and decided to wait. And dozed. It really was warm in here, wasn’t it? Just a little bit more shut eye until this mechanic came off of his break or something. Maybe he was on breakfast. Lunch?

“Well, hello there,” A smooth, southern-sounding voice said, breaking you out of the near-sleep that you had fallen into. You startled awake and saw a man standing directly in front of you, legs so close to yours that your jeans and his nice black trousers were touching. In fact, he looked very dressed up. “Now what can I do for you?”

“Are you the mechanic?” You asked, taking in the formal attire. The black suit looked like it had never seen a grease stain before. But you caught a glimpse of those hands and - yes, those were hard-working hands. You knew them well. You were a bit of a grease-monkey yourself. Yours often looked the same.

“I am,” He said, unbuttoning the jacket that he was wearing. How he managed with the heat, you didn’t know. “You caught me on an off day. I was just up at the church for a funeral. Someone very special to me passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” You said, feeling bad for interrupting just by being here. “Listen, I - I only came for a fanbelt. If I could just buy one, and maybe a cold drink off of you, I’ll be out of your hair in no time. No one should have to work the day of a funeral.”

The guy was looking down atcha, an eyebrow raised. “A fan belt? You ain’t from around here, are yah?”

“Yeah, a fifteen inch if you have one? But yes, I suppose in a small town like this, you’d know everyone. I didn’t even know this town was here. I was taking a scenic route rather than the boring highway and ended up not too far from here. And then ... I don’t know what happened. My fan belt just was - messed up. Strange since I replaced it myself not too long ago but you know how these things happen. And I’m so sorry. I’m rambling and you’re upset. Really, I’ll just be going once I get the belt.”

He still didn’t move back from you. You couldn’t even stand up for how close that he was. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, pulled one out by the teeth and lit it, right there inside of the station, not even wary of what could happen. So many containers of chemicals in here that could go up with one spark.

“You said a fifteen inch?” He asked. You nodded. “I don’t have any here, but I do up at the house. Why don’t we go get it? It’s only a couple of blocks from here.”

You thought about it for a couple of seconds. You were in a strange town. And this man, even if he was good looking, even if he did have a lot of charm to him, was inviting you up to his house. You looked at him warily. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I could be a murderer for all you know.”

A smirk spread on his face, like you just shared something that was a private joke. But then he chuckled and everything seemed to light up again. “I think I’ll take my chances. But you could just stay here and wait again for a while if that’s what you want to do... I know them chairs aren’t the comfiest though.”

He had a point there. You were aching a little from sitting for so long. So you nodded. “Alright, yeah. I could do with some stretching of my legs.” What could it hurt? It was just a couple of blocks. And there were quite a few houses from the looks of things. “How much do you think it will cost?” You asked, getting your wallet prepared.

“Ahh - twenty should be near enough,” He said. That seemed a low, but this was a small town. Perhaps they just had smaller prices. Or maybe you were just being a bit too naive. You had that tendency sometimes. You nodded, and followed him up the street, taking in the look of the town as you went. “So - you traveling by yourself?” He asked smoothly.

“Yeah,” You said. “The feeling of being by yourself on the open road. It’s just a freeing feeling, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t get out of Ambrose too much.”

“Maybe you should try it sometime. There’s a big, bright, beautiful world out there. Or at least, that’s what people keep telling me. Might as well explore it while you still have some life in you.”

He had his hands on his hips while he was walking. It made him appear more disarming that way. “Everything I need is in Ambrose,” He said. You nodded slowly, thinking that you might have touched a nerve. “You see that big house up there? That House of Wax? People used to come to see it from miles away. And Trudy was the main .. I guess artist is the appropriate word. I’m living next to what was one of the best tourist attractions in all of Louisiana. Ain’t nothing like that to see anywhere else. You wanna go exploring, I’d suggest you start there.”

“Whoa,” You said, as you came in closer to the attraction. House of Wax, written right there. “I’ve never been to one of those. Maybe I will stop in.”

Because of your interest, as you were ascending up a hill, your legs getting the work out that they needed, Bo told you the sad story about Trudy Sinclair. It nearly broke your heart, thinking about someone going through that. You were looking over at the House of Wax so wistfully - there was no way that Bo didn’t notice it. That and - you were really listening to him. He had a real southern charm about him. Something that a lot of boys down here in Louisiana thought that they had but really didn’t. It’s what separated them from the men. He stayed a few steps away from you, enough to make you feel comfortable. Not looming like boys were known to do.

His house was up behind the House of Wax. And it was a gorgeous house. All big windows. Curved walls in the front. Bo stopped by the outside of his truck, wiggled the handle and opened the door. “You can hop on in, take a seat if you want. I’ll go in, get the fan belt, and then take you back to your car. Least I can do for making you wait.”

A real gentleman, this guy. Reminded you a little of Lester who had brought you to Ambrose in the first place. “Well,” You said, looking curiously over to the House of Wax. “If it’s not too late - do you think the House of Wax is still open? I’d love to see it before I leave town. I don’t know if I’d even be able to find this place again. I just want to take the opportunity, you know?”

He gave you a glance that looked almost like approval. Like you just had the best damn idea that he had ever heard. “Go on ahead,” He said with a nod. “Doors should be open. They always are aroun’ here. I’ll get that belt, and wait for you out front, how does that sound?”

“Real swell,” You smiled. “Thanks Bo.”

The House of Wax was a real work of art. You had never seen anything like it. You were sure not to touch most things but there were some little figures that you couldn’t help but pick up. A name was written on the bottom. Vincent. “Now isn’t that cute,” You said, setting it back down. “Always liked the name Vincent.”

There was no official tour or anything. No signs which pointed which way you should go. Even with Bo waiting for you, you took your time. Circling everything. Until you thought that you saw someone outside of the window. There was a movement absolutely. Figuring that it was the man who was waiting on you, you hurried on outside. “Bo, I ‘m sorry, I -”

But you froze when you realized there was no vehicle waiting for you outside of the museum. It wasn’t Bo either. There was a large figure standing there, with hair down to the midback. You caught the glimpse of pale features before the face turned back around and the person scurried into the brush. “Hey, wait,” You said, taking a couple of steps after him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. Bo- the mechanic - he said that I could be in there. If I broke the rules, I’m really sorry-”

“Who are you talkin to?” A voice came from behind you. You turned around in relief to see Bo standing there.

“I think I startled someone. I saw them from the window, thought it was you. When I came out, he went running-”

“Oh, that was probably my brother. He’s a bit more on the skittish side,” Bo said with a grin that didn’t look as friendly before. “How’d you like the house? Real neat, ain’t it?”

“It’s beautiful,” You said, starting to gush. “I’d never seen anything like it. That woman, she was real talented, wasn’t she? I can’t believe she managed to make it all by herself.”

“Well, she had a little help,” Bo said, continuing to grin like he had just told a funny sort of joke. “So does my brother.”

Your face turned into one of confusion, all before you felt something, a fabric, go around your mouth and nose, and fell into a sleep. It was so quick, you didn’t even hear the footsteps coming up behind you.

“Ain’t they perfect?” You heard Bo’s voice. But it sounded far away. Like they were underwater. Or maybe you were underwater. No, you could still breathe. In through the nose. Out through your lips. They felt dry. Cracked. Chapped. Most of your skin did. It was really cold in here but you were covered in a thin layer of sweat - which might be helpful. You could feel restraints around your wrists but you couldn’t quite tell what they were. Sweat might help you get greasy enough to get out.

There was no response from whoever it was that Bo was talking to. But there were the sounds of someone moving around. You tried to feel what you were sitting on, your eyes feeling too heavy to open. Effects of the sedation, possibly? You remembered a cloth. Chloroform? That’s what people usually used in the movies and television shows. But why? Had you done something wrong? Were you not supposed to go into the House of Wax, even though you were invited?

It almost felt like you were on a bed of some sort. Your legs were sprawled out in front of you, which meant there was no way that you were on a chair. There wouldn’t have been enough room. Your back was up against a wall, uncomfortable. You shuffled forward a little, as slowly as you could, and then became aware of something beside you. Something alive, and warm. Short and bristled - a dog, you figured.

You wrenched your eyes open. They felt so heavy but you were managing to - and finally caught a look around the dim room that you were in. First of all, Jonesy. You were not expecting Lester’s dog to be down here with you, looking up at you, breath so hot against your neck. She let out a little whine, alerting your captors to your wakefulness. Your eyes traveled across the room - a lot of candles, two men, and a lot of machinery. Bo was grinning, adjusting the cap on his head and walked on over to you. “Well good morning there, darlin.”

“Doesn’t feel too good of a morning, Bo,” You admitted. Your head hurt from the fumes of what you had breathed in. Everything looked like it was waving rather than staying still. You were blinking profusely while trying to get a look at the man that was beside Bo. They were about the same height. Only this one had long hair which covered up most of his face. And larger shoulders. “Wha - why was I...”

“We needed a new Miss Ambrose,” Bo said, bending over, hands on the knees of his dirty jeans. He was on eye level with you now. Face to face. Letting you see the steely look that was in his eyes. “And you’re fit to be a beauty queen.”

The words should have been flattering. They were - a little bit. But it felt hard to smile when the situation seemed so dire. “Something tells me this isn’t some sort of preliminary,” You said, looking past him towards the other man. His hair was hanging in his face. Hiding half of it. The half that you could see looked very much like Bo. There was a strong resemblance. Brothers at the least. Twins maybe. Why you were looking at him and not searching for an exit, you didn’t know, but there you were, distracted by the two men. The longer haired man noticed you looking. He turned away almost shyly, insecurely.

“You’re right about that, it’s already been decided,” Bo said, clearly the talker of the two of them. “You’re gonna look real good on that stage.”

You looked back at him again as he spoke. His eyes were so pretty. So close. You could almost lean forward and bite his nose. But you refrained. You were still restrained and his retaliation would probably be brutal. “This is a serial killer thing isn’t it? Should have known. It’s always the attractive ones.”

Did that come out? Were those going to be your famous last words? It was no ‘I’m losing it’ like Frank Sinatra or ‘I’ll show you it won’t shoot’ like Johnny Ace. And the only ones who would know it were these two men. You sighed and leaned back, more against the dog, seeking some sort of comfort in these times. At least the dog wasn’t growling. In fact, Jonesy adjusted herself and laid her head down in your lap. Little ear flapping against your arm. Bo surprised you by chuckling. “You hear that?”

The longer haired man didn’t acknowledge. Not a sound. Bo was laughing again. He looked over his shoulder, daringly. The brief thought of rushing forward with a headbutt came to mind. But he turned back around, looking at you. “Now I don’t normally allow this kinda thing,” He said. “But I kinda like yah. You’ve been nice, respectful. So I’ll ask - got any last words, requests? Except not killin’ yah of course.”

Damn. “That was the only one that I could think of,” You admitted, causing him to chuckle again. You took a deep breath and tried to think. “Umm - okay. Yeah, I have a request, if that’s okay.” He nodded, giving you the floor. “Could you - maybe - take care of my car?”

“Your car?” Bo asked.

“Lester knows where it is. He gave me a ride here - but you probably already know that,” You said, sheepishly. “It’s the only thing that’s actually important to me. I restored her myself. Put all my time and money into her. So, if I can’t have her, well, at least she should belong to a mechanic.”

“It is a beauty,” Lester said, walking into the room and leaned against the door frame. He looked just as dirty as he had when he had picked you up. How much time had elapsed? Hours? Or maybe you’d been out for a day? You didn’t know. You couldn’t quite tell. “I hooked it up to the truck. I took real good care of it though, y/n. Real good care.” He gave you a grin, showing off the crooked teeth. Despite yourself, you smiled. You already resigned yourself. You weren’t much of a fighter. And like you told Bo, you didn’t have much that was important to you.

“Thank you for that, Lester,” You said, giving him an appreciative yawn. “And - can I make one more request?”

“‘m listening, darlin,” Bo said, looking amused.

“Could I just have like - a one hour cuddle with Jonesy here, if she’s up for it? She’s a real good dog. I really like her. And I promise I won’t hurt her. She just brings back good memories,” You looked away from the men, down at the dog whose head had raised up when Lester came into the room. “I won’t fight, and - I don’t think anyone would come looking for me anyway. It’ll be real easy for you.”

The large one with the hair put a hand on Bo’s shoulder and pulled him back. Bo was taken a bit by surprise and lashed out, throwing his hand away. Pushing him off. You were used to seeing violence in front of you, it was hardly a bother. But when he was pushed, the hair moved aside to reveal - wax. A wax face. You kept your gasp from coming out of your lips by loweing your head down onto the warm back of Jonesy. She smelt like mud and - wet dog. Not the best combination. But it was comforting. It kept you feeling ... secure. You were going to die. You were going to die. You were going to die. But at least you had an animal cuddle beforehand.

There were sounds of movement. You didn��t watch. You closed your eyes and kept your head against the dog. Bo was speaking back, but his tone was low. Lester too. You recognized his own particular drawl. They seemed like they were arguing over something.

But then fingers snapped in close to your face, making you startle upwards. Bo had gotten close again. A whiff of aftershave and motor oil. You met his eyes, unwavering. “Yeh can have your dog cuddles,” He said, giving into that. “And I’ll take care of your car.”

“Thank you-”

“And we’re not gonna kill you,” He finished. Your eyes went wide with delight, but then faltered. There were a lot of things that were worse than death. You could be tortured. You could be assaulted. You could be forced into listening to horrible pop music. “But there’s a catch.”

Of course there was. You waited patiently to hear, scared of what his charming voice was going to say. Be their sex slave or lure in other victims or - an array of things were crossing through your mind. When he realized you weren’t going to ask out loud, he smirked. “My brother -” He motioned his head towards the large man. “Vincent-

You gasped, making him pause. Four sets of eyes were on you now. That included Jonesy’s because her head lifted up and she was looking at you, blinking slowly after the sudden noise that you let out. “I’m sorry, I-” You said, looking back towards Vincent. “I saw your name up at the House of Wax. Your work, I’m guessing? It was really good.” And now things were flashing in your head. Putting things together. The story told about the family that owned the museum. The woman. Were these, perhaps, the kids? Bo and Vincent? Lester? The matte-ness of the side of the face that Vincent was trying to hide behind his hair. Wax. It could be wax. Which also brought to mind - you hadn’t seen anyone else since being here. Not a single living soul. No cars on the streets. No receptionist at the House of Wax. No customers at the garage. Imagination was going wild now. Could this be a - a town of wax?

Vincent stood, his feet slightly apart, hair over his face again. But he nodded. You could see the motion. That was his work. That made him seem a little less threatening somehow. How could someone who created such beautiful things, be bad?

“Right,” Bo said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t like being interrupted. “As I was saying, my brother Vincent. He makes all the wax sculptures now. And he finds you to be rather ... what’s the word that you used?”

“I think he used inspirin’,” Lester spoke up. Bo pointed at him without looking, like yes, that was it.

“Inspiring,” Bo repeated, in his not-as-thick accent. “That’s what he said. So here it is. You’re gonna stay here with us in Ambrose. No attempting to get away or I’ll be smashing that car of yours to pieces-” You flinched at the very thought, “- so don’t even go thinking about it. And you’re going to be Vincent’s model. You understand?”

“I think so,” You said, though you weren’t quite sure how you were going to model for wax. It didn’t seem as if there was much of a choice either way.

“Good. Have your time with Jonesy. You’re gonna be busy tonight.”

Bo went through the things that were inside of your car. He took out anything that might be dangerous. Anything that might be used as a weapon. So essentially, you were left with a couple of your paperbacks, and your clothing. They didn’t trust you to be in your own room so often, you were switched between the three. Bo’s room at the main house, Lester’s shack or Vincent’s workroom.

Lester was real nice to you. When you weren’t working, he’d bring you on walks sometimes. Going around the perimeter of the town. Bringing carcasses to the boneyard which stank to high heaven in the hot Louisiana sun. Jonesy usually came along for the walks, staying by your side. She took to you well.

Vincent rarely left his studio. Sometimes he would go through the House of Wax and pick something up that was no longer perfect and bring it down to work on it. You were learning from him, learning a lot. Once he realized that you were somewhat interested in the process, he would slow down and show you how it worked. He still did not talk, and he still hid himself from the world behind the hair, trying to avoid letting anyone see his wax face, but you picked up on a little bit of sign language. Enough to get what he means most of the time.

But Bo. He watched over you the most. He was the most untrusting out of the three of them. If it was his turn to babysit you, as he’d say, you were always within eyeline. When he washed your car, when he ate dinner, when he put his feet up at the end of the day and watched tv. He also didn’t really like to be interrupted in any of these things. You opened your mouth, he grunted. Speak when spoken to. But apart from that bit of your feelings getting hurt, he didn’t do anything to wound you. He never even restrained you. Not while you were sleeping, which you usually had to do in bed with one of the boys, or while they were watching over you. It was usually Bo that you had to share with. You were on more of the same schedule. At first, it was terrifying. This man had hurt you, restrained you, and was now kidnapping you essentially. You stayed awake all through that initial night and he didn’t do a thing. No moves. No touching. No hurting. He had his back to you and that was that. He snored like a dog though. Or a pig.

You found out exactly what your position was when Lester brought back word that there were going to be some people coming into Ambrose. You were hidden with Vincent right away. You sat in his cot with your legs crossed in anticipation of what was going to happen. People. Real people - and it seemed like the guys had a sort of plan for it. You were patient. You didn’t have much else of a choice. Vincent wouldn’t even let you go near the door. He watched you carefully when you got yourself a glass of water. This was a no running away sort of situation. He also made sure that you made no noise. Anything that might get their attention. And to his surprise, and your own, you did nothing but stay quiet.

“Sick a’ doin’ your job for you,” Bo said, dragging someone unconscious into the room. You remained on the bed, but looked with wide eyes. Bo just let him drop. A man. Dark hair. Quite big, actually. Bigger than Bo and Vincent. “Now I gotta go check on the girl. Looks like y/n here might have some competition for the Miss Ambrose contest,” He said, and winked over at you. The man beneath groaned, but Bo paid him no attention. “You still have my vote though, darlin’.”

This wasn’t the first time that there were these little nicknames. Sweetheart. Honey, Darlin. The last one tended to be his favorite. And despite yourself, it did make you feel nice to be called that. He didn’t use any of those words for his brothers, obviously. It felt like it might have just been for you. Only for you.

“Thanks Bo,” You said, letting your legs dangle off the bed but didn’t get up. He gave you a wicked grin and a chuckle before heading out of there, wearing some nice clothes with only a little blood upon the sleeve. Barely noticable. Vincent went over to the body, looked at it with his head tilted then picked it up. Set down on the table that was in the middle of the room. Restrained him down. The guy was starting to wake up. Bo must not have used as much force on this one as he had on you.

You got out of the bed. Vincent looked at you. You put your hands up. “I just - I want to see what you’re doing. May I? I won’t get in the way. I promise.”

His hair was over his shoulders now, showing off the waxy face. The eye holes were so dark, you could barely see anything through them. But you could feel his eyes. He nodded. You moved off to the side away from the door and took a seat in the chair. He stared at you for a full moment before finally turning back to the man that was on the table, satisfied that you were not going to be a nuisance.

Scissors went up the man’s shirt, exposing flesh. A needle jabbed into his skin. The man was groaning. As his noises grew louder, Vincent looked over at you again, like he was expecting you to have something to say about this. To try to stop him. You gave him a weak smile, and stayed in your chair.

You were curious what was going to happen. Or how this guy ended up here on the table. Who he was, what his life had been like to this point, who was the girl that Bo had talked about. Curiosity took over good sense. As long as you were here, on the chair, and not on the table, you were on good terms with the Sinclairs. That’s the way it needed to be. It wasn’t even so bad sometimes. Better for you than this guy.

Vincent wasn’t a talker. He didn’t go through his process. He cut up the pants of the man, leaving him in his underwear. Started pouring wax over -

Wax.

All of the statues that you had seen throughout the town. The exquisite faces. Some were obviously older than others, and had a more artificial look but some were impeccable. You didn’t doubt Vincent’s ability. But now you were learning. Now you were thinking. Why were there no other souls in Ambrose...

The man’s face was washed down. He was whimpering. Vincent sewed up the injuries that were on him. Bo hadn’t been kind. There were gashes on the chest, the upper arms. These could be covered with a shirt, if it had long sleeves. But you could sense how Vincent was annoyed by the amount of prep work that he had to do. Still, he kept looking to you. And then back down. That long hair. Brushing against the man’s torso as Vincent worked.

After another moment of watching, you cleared your throat. Vincent tensed, and his whole body moved towards you. The man on the table was trembling. Was looking to you for help. But instead you removed one of your hairties from your wrist, they’d been in your pack and you resumed your old habit of keeping them on you most of the time, and held it out to Vincent tentatively. When he didn’t take it, you mimed tying your own hair back. He gave a grunt, but he also took it, and pushed his hair out of the way. It still bunched in his face but it didn’t trail down as much anymore. You stayed in your seat after that, making next to no noise. Jonesy was the loudest one in the room. Making whimpering sounds.

Waxing the face - literally using wax to remove all facial hair. And then he was put into some kind of contraption. That’s when you stopped watching. That’s when Vincent would need you, beckoning you over towards the stairs which lead up to the museum. You followed, dutifully. You could hear the machines at work down there. Loud. There was no missing it.

Vincent was being more gentle than usual. He took hold of your arm once you were up, but without any real force. Just holding you out of habit to make sure you didn’t leave. Out to one of the grand rooms. The piano room. He urged you to sit down through little pushes and motions, so you did. You sat down on the bench, and then your part in this became clear. Posing. You were going to be the inspiration behind what the man down there and turned into. You had to get the position right so that Vincent could get it right for the man down there. Jesus Christ.

He put your hands on the piano keys. “I don’t know how to play,” You admitted to Vincent. You looked up in time to see the very human reaction of rolling his eyes behind the wax mask. It made you smile a little to see him look almost normal for a second there. Like an exasperated teenager. But that didn’t last long. He pushed your fingers down this time. So you did your best. You were no Mozart. No Chopin. Not even a Taylor Swift. But you could manage Chopsticks well enough. The piano was out of tune, which was why it was always music playing from speakers and not anyone really playing the piano but nonetheless, the sound echoed throughout the room. It made it sound more cheery. More alive.

Vincent watched. He was always doing that. And then he stopped you. He posed you. Like you were nothing but a doll. But he was so gentle about it now. Trusting. He posed you, raising one finger a little more elegantly, guiding your foot to the pedal underneath, pushing your head up and forward rather than looking down like you had played this song a thousand times before. He then took polaroids. Old school polaroids of everything. From the tilt of your neck to your fingers. You didn’t dare move. You held that position until you felt like you were cramping, and then beyond that. Until the moment Vincent gave that grunt that he was done. Then you were able to relax, and follow him back down to the basement. You joined Jonesy on the bed, cuddling her, putting your face into her fur and breathing in that warm animal smell. She accepted it and licked your arm back in affection.

The process continued. The pose was taken from your pictures, which Vincent carefully studied, and put onto this strange man. He was still conscious. He was still trying to speak. You didn’t give him anything to hold onto. You didn’t give him any help. In fact, you were helping Vincent a little more. Demonstrating how you had held your fingers. Getting it right. Everything was fitted and sculpted completely, and then the man was entirely covered in wax. It shot out. Covered his head. Covered his face. Cementing him, in a way, into the correct position. And though you were frightened - it was completely fascinating. Watching Vincent work. How he relaxed as he came to realize that you weren’t going to try to escape, try to help this man escape, or attack him while he was distracted with work. Vincent didn’t ask you to help you move him after everything was complete. But you offered anyway. He nodded, preferring you inside of his sight, anyhow. Especially with Bo out there chasing some girl around. The idea made you a bit ... uncomfortable. Either Stockholme Syndrome was playing at you strong or .... or you might actually have started to fall for all of Bo’s southern charm. He could be a real asshole, there was no mistaking that, but when he called you darlin with that drawl, those little flirtations, when he’d brush by you as you laid together in bed... it caused something. Something was stirring.

Jonesy followed along like a little shadow. She took to you the same as she took the Sinclairs. Like you were a new owner. The House of Wax was silent save for the footsteps of the three of you against the ground as Vincent heaved this new figure upstairs. He was strong. The man had been tall. Over six foot, you’d guess. Taller than Vincent and he loomed quite a bit. And then the addition of all of the wax on top of that. Intimidatingly strong.

The man was set in place on the piano. Everything was exactly as it should be. Not a hair out of place. Vincent stood back to look at his handiwork, examining it with an artist’s eye before finally letting out a grunt of satisfaction. The nice moment didn’t last long, though. The front doors opened. And it wasn’t Lester or Bo. Their walks, the sounds they made, they were well known. Vincent pointed towards the door to go down, and then pushed you in that direction. You didn’t need to be told twice.

Down in Vincent’s room, you waited. You sat on top of the twin bed and had your knees up to your chest, watching the door. That lasted a little while. Your breath was caught in your throat, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. You - you were innocent. But you weren’t exactly a victim, were you? In the eyes of the law, you’d be seen as an accomplice. Thinking about that, you looked around at all of the materials. Vincent hadn’t put any of them away. A real sharp knife was calling your name, glinting in the light.

The night seemed to go on forever. There were some banging noise from upstairs. Jonesy barked. Next to nothing for a little while. And then footsteps coming down the stairs. They weren’t the same heavy thud as Vincent’s. Not the slightly limping Lester. Nor the confident strides of Bo. You got up from the bed and stood near the door, holding the handle in your hands. You were trembling. Somewhere along the line, the idea of strangers became terrifying. Of being dragged out of this place, this little perfect place. The people weren’t real, but that meant that you didn’t have social anxiety, there was always seats open at the movie theater, you only had to worry about the opinions of three people who decided to keep you.

The door opened cautiously. That also was not like the boys. So as soon as you saw a figure step inside, you lurched forward, knife in hand, and stabbed it right into the jugular of the man that was walking in. Short buzzed hair. Definitely not want one of the brothers. He flailed in panic, putting his hand up to his neck where the knife was jutting out, blood already gushing down from the wound. It happened so fast. He fell into the room, down onto the ground. His eyes were on you. And they were furious. Not confused, not startled, but full of hatred. It didn’t take long for him to die. And it didn’t take long for you to take the knife out of his neck and put it back in on the other side to make sure that he was dead. He died with that red-hot look in his eyes.

Everything was back to silence. You backed up towards the bed again, your hand and wrist and your shirt having blood speckles all over. You waited. Eventually the door swung open again, but you weren’t armed, and you weren’t lunging. It was Bo, who nearly tripped over the body while jogging in. “Well, lookie here,” He said, slowing his roll. His eyes darted to you and a grin went across his face. It looked like what your arms looked like. Blood splatter. He crouched down. Put his hand around the man’s neck and gave it to squeeze to see if there would be any reaction. His fingers curled around the knife. “Look what you did, beauty queen.”

You swallowed. You held onto your legs. “I - I ... he might have attacked me, I don’t know. You said something about a girl, I wasn’t expecting a man.”

“Oh, I got her too darlin. Don’t be getting jealous now,” Bo winked at you. He wiped his hand on the man’s hoodie. The dark color covered that of the blood. “Vincent’s gonna be happy. And you’re gonna have a lot of work to do. These intruders fucked up our town. Got rid of some our long-time residents.”

“And he was the last one?” You asked, motioning your head towards the man on the ground. Bo nodded, and got to his feet, still grinning. He looked ecstatic. Like all of this had been some sort of euphoria for him.

“My my my,” He said, crossing his arms and looked at you. “Aren’t you a surprise.”

A lot of work had to be done. There was one that had been unsalvageable. You had to ride with Lester to take it down to the bone pit. You didn’t know how Jonesy could survive the stench. Your nose wasn’t nearly as gifted as hers and you were retching by the time you got close. Lester did laugh at you a bit, and then took a little mercy and gave you a bit of vapo-rub to put under your nose to make you smell something different. It helped a bit. Getting away from it was the only cure though. Lester kept giving you that shit eating grin all the way home, and you knew, with a sink of your heart, that Bo and Vincent were going to be hearing about your embarrassing reaction.

There was the posing. Long hours spent in different positions, Vincent taking pictures. Bo took an interest in watching this more recently. In fact, his eyes had been wandering to you a lot more than usual lately. He was sitting back with a beer while you stood, dancing with a female mannequin. This was going to be the man that you had killed. He was going to be standing in the same place where you were now. And there was something almost - nice about it, the more that you thought on the topic. That he’d be living forever in this beautiful museum.

“What do you think?” Lester asked, plastering up one of the damaged walls. “She look like a dancer to you, Bo?”

“Hmm, somethin’ ain’t quite right,” Bo said, making Vincent pause in his picture taking. He set his beer onto the ground and stood up, walking over. “No, no. There’s no way you know enough about dancin’ to be takin’ the lead.”

“Would you like to take my place then?” You asked, giving him a surprising amount of attitude. The brothers had become more lax around you since you had killed a man in cold blood. They gave you a little more freedom. You were allowed to drive your car through the town, but there were still roadblocks leaving Ambrose. You could do little more than small circles meant more for go-karts than a real drive, but you wanted to keep your car in working condition. And you were even allowed in the theater by yourself. But you never really talked back. The boys were harder to be comfortable around than the city itself.

“How about a lesson instead? I’m no fuckin’ model. That’s all you, beauty queen,” He stated, walking over, moving the wax woman out of the way.

“A dancing lesson?” You asked, swept up by him as he came in close. You could smell the bitter ale upon his breath. His calloused hands, dirty underneath the fingernails, took hold of yours and pulled you in close. “I’m surprised you know how to. You don’t really seem the type.”

“Now now,” He tsked. “Don’t go saying things like that, it’ll sound like you’re insultin me.” Your chest was up against his. Hie one arm went around your waist while his other hand stayed planted on yours, off to the side. Vincent turned up the radio. It was playing an old fashioned song which fit the feel of the party room. The first guy whom you had seen turned into a wax figure was still there, being the piano, looking as if he were playing it. The waltz. You didn’t know the name of the musician, but you at least knew a little of what you were supposed to do to the music.

Bo was, surprisingly, a good lead. Alright, so he had a smirk on his face which showed that he was enjoying being in control, but it was still almost a dream like moment. He stepped forward, and you stepped back in time with the music. Your bodies worked in harmony together. When you got something wrong due to inexperience, he’d give a grunt and correct you. There wasn’t any sort of compliment when you did well. Just that same smugness like he was taking the credit for it.

He finished off the dance by posing you himself. This was the first time that he had ever done it. It was usually Vincent’s hands that guided you into the position that he wanted. Bo had that same careful look in his eye, the artist examining his work, before stepping away. “Now that’s how you fuckin’ lead,” He laughed. “Bring the doll.”

“Never let him forget his fancy feet,” Lester muttered to you, making you grin as he brought forward the female doll that you had been posing with. A grunt from Vincent took it off of your face, not because he was mad that you were smiling, but any movement might mess with your posture.

“Never,” You repeated to Lester, causing the redneck to laugh.

---

Bo drank a lot. Sometimes he’d take your car to the next city over and come back with only a couple of cases of beer. He’d forget the groceries, and Lester would have to take a second trip. You learned not to expect Bo coming into the house with a bagful of groceries. Just the damn beer. You weren’t much for it yourself. The bitter taste. Even the smell of it. You were the one who often picked up and stored the empties for Lester to take back, since Bo would always forget.

It all felt very domestic. And oddly, stable. After your show of killing the intruder, the new waltzer, they trusted you more. You weren’t being constantly monitored when you walked through the house or through the town. Just as long as you were back for dinner. To make dinner, more like. You were given more responsibilities, like cooking and cleaning. ‘Because we spared you, Beauty Queen. You owe us,’ Bo was fond of reminding you.

It was often the smell of beer that announced his presence to you. When it was him that walked into the kitchen to see what you were making. It lingered like a cloud in the air, through his breath, seeping out of his pores. “Who said you could use the big knife?” He asked, grabbing it from you as you were attempting to chop up some lettuce for a salad.

“A butterknife wouldn’t cut through this,” You said, putting one hand on your hip, looking up at Bo. The burst blood vessels in his face, the redness of his nose, he’d been drinking for a while. “I need that.”

“I’ll tell you what you need,” He stated. “I need you to hurry up and make dinner, I’m starving.”

“I can’t do that unless you give me the knife, darlin,” You said, using his own word against him. He could get erratic sometimes when he drank, a little rougher, more violent. And having that knife in his hand was intimidating. He looked at it and then at you, then at the lettuce and the rest of the vegetables on the chopping board. He was realizing that you had a point. It was a whole head of lettuce. The butterknives would take an eternity. But he still didn’t feel right letting you handle the sharp knives like that. He’d seen what you could do with them.

“You just worry about the stove, darlin,” He said it right back. It affected you quite a bit. Sent a warm feeling through your body. “I’ve got this.”

You wanted to ask if he was sure but he was already giving you nudges away from the counter. The knife came down hard against the wooden board, chopping through the lettuce. Again. And again. Getting beers from the fridge, yes. Heating up microwave dinners, sure. But Bo, making a salad? That was something never before seen.

You got out of the way. He did the lettuce rather roughly. A lot of larger pieces compared to some smaller ones. But you didn’t say a word. Didn’t feel right to criticize it at this point. He pushed what he had already cut aside and you were the one to carefully reach over and put it in the bowl. The same with the rest of the vegetables. The watery scent of cucumbers and then the tanginess of dressing covered up that beer smell. He left his in the living room where he’d been sitting on his favorite Laz-e boy, watching TV. You could almost catch the scent of his laundry detergent as well, coming off of the plaid flannel he was wearing. You liked it a lot better.

You had to stop to focus on the stove. To stir the pasta sauce in with the noodles. And then started to make up the four plates and Jonesy’s bowl. Jonesy always got a portion, she was one very spoiled girl. “I’ll go tell Vincent dinner is ready-” You said, wiping your hands on a dishtowel and started to head out of the kitchen. A finger hooked into the belt loop of your pants and pulled you back, surprising you and nearly making you fall.

“I didn’t excuse you,” Bo said, pulling you right into his arms. You hadn’t been that close to him since the waltzing lesson a couple of days before. Everything had gone right back to back-to-back sleeping in bed when you shared with him. You had assumed that might be what he wanted, even with all of his flirting. But now he was sending out a different signal. He was so close. Breath against your face. Back to beer smell. “You should know better.”

“Sorry, Bo,” You said, no attitude this time. “May I go and tell Vincent that dinner is ready?”

“Vincent, Vincent, Vincent, do you love that guy or something?” He scoffed. “You gonna run off and tell Lester too?”

“Well,” You said, eyebrows furrowed. “I was planning on it, yes.”

Bo’s eyes rolled dramatically. “They’re grown men, they can get their own dinner. Fuck knows they’ve been doing it since before you came along. We had lives before you. And we’ll have lives after you.”

It didn’t feel as much like a threat as it sounded. If they were going to kill you, you figured, they would have done so by now. They had ample opportunity. Your place in the beauty pageant was still open. The new girl, the one that Bo had a hard time getting but ended up besting, was the runner-up. Vincent was working on her next. She’d have a sash and all. But they let you keep your place here, in the Sinclair house.

As long as you didn’t piss them off.

“And you’ll have a life while I’m here,” You said, cheerfully. “And that includes not letting your brothers starve, or have to fend for themselves. Did any of you even eat vegetables before I started asking you to pick them up?”

“Hey,” He said, his voice rough. He pulled you in closer. Chest to chest. “Lester makes a real mean dandelion salad.”

“I don’t know if that really counts as vegetables, but it’s better than junk food, I’m sure,” You muttered. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. His breathing was steady. “I can always put some in the fridge for them to eat later, if you don’t want to eat with them tonight..”

“Fuck, you’re just ready to please, ain’t ya darlin?” He said with a laugh, keeping you in place with his arms. They crossed around your back, resting against your waist. “If I tell you to jump, you gonna ask how high?”

Your mouth grew dry, and you felt more than a little embarassed. He was right. You would ask exactly that. “My life is in your hands,” You admitted honestly.

“That’s not the only thing,” He smirked, moving his hands lower to cup your ass. Your eyes went wide and you jumped in place, not expecting that. He laughed at you again, and gave you a harder squeeze. “You sure you wanna call up the boys and have them see you like this?”

You gulped. It was a very compromising position. Especially since you weren’t fighting it. His touch was warm and - you felt wanted by Bo. Fuck, Stockholme Syndrome coming in strong. “I - umm -” You were stammering. Not a good sign. Either you were giving in a little to their banter with little bits of sarcasm, or like he had said, easy to please. Not a mess like this. Not since the beginning. “No-” You squeaked, making him smirk all the more.

“Didn’t think so.”

Lifting you with those arms which carried so many people over his shoulder, both living and dead, he brought you up onto the counter. You were surrounded with the carrot skins and leftover little bits of lettuce but you didn’t notice them. You were looking at the handsome Sinclair who was still wearing that filthy cap that he refused to let you wash. He wormed his way in between your legs, pushing them aside with his thighs. He was so tall. He overpowered you still, even in this higher up position. He had to stop feeling you up in order to get you up on the counter, and now his calloused hand, filthy fingernails, took a violent hold on your chin, thumb pressing almost deep enough to leave a dimple.

Heart beating rapidly. What a cliche. He came in quick, and fast, knowing exactly what he wanted and taking it. The kiss was as rough as you had imagined it to be. There wasn’t much that was soft about this man. His lips weren’t waxy smooth like Vincent’s created ones. No, this was a man who sometimes bit on his bottom lip when he was getting pissed off. The mouth of someone who swore like a sailor. The mouth of someone who knew how to fucking use it. His tongue was out, bringing the taste of beer to your mouth, not just the scent of it closer to your face. And you let him. You created the entryway. You opened your mouth willingly and let him explore. There was no easing into it. He was in like a man who knew his way around.

It was rough. Your lips tingled when he pulled away. A near-painful sensation. Had he bitten you? It felt like it. Even though he left your lips, he kept his thumb on your chin, a little smirk on his features. “You’ve been waitin’ for that, haven’t yah?”

“Um-” You said, lower lip trembling.

“Don’t fuckin lie to me.”

“Yes,” You said, following his instructions. “I’ve been hoping for something like that.”

“You’re a sick puppy, ain’t yah? You see what we do here. And you still wanna be ours?”

Ours? Now that made your heart skip a beat and then struggle to catch up. Ours. The Sinclairs. You shook your head as much as his touch was able to let you, which wasn’t much, but enough to get your point across. Mouth still dry, you said, “Not ours. Only yours.”

With Bo, there was always a right answer. Everything was black and white. You either said exactly the right thing or you were in the wrong. You held your breath waiting to find out if you fucked up or not.

But that smirk turned into something more. A smile. A real Bo smile. The likes of which you haven’t seen sice he had charmed you into trusting him when you came into town.

“Fucking right, mine,” He said, and came in again. His fingers dropped from your chin since you weren’t tugging away. In fact, your arms flung around him, pulling him in closer. He put his cards on the table by instigating, and you had put yours down by reacting. It was so wrong, wasn’t it? He was a killer. Your kidnapper. But he was also the sexiest man that you had ever seen in your goddamn life. And gentle with Vincent. And a funny little shit. Fuck, you had it bad, but it felt so good.

“I see someone’s gettin’ into dessert before dinner,” A voice cackled from the doorway. Bo pulled away from you so quickly at that, it gave you whiplash. Thudding boots against the ground. Lester laughing and sounds of furniture being pulled.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill yeh’,” Bo could be heard shouting. Vincent came up to see what the noise was but quickly got distracted by the sight of all the food. You made him a plate, and he sat down, his large frame hunched while he was at the dining room table, and ignored the madness coming from the other room.

“INDIAN BURN!”

“Ahh, shit Bo, stop -”

“Say Uncle - Say Uncle -”

“I’ll never surrender!”

More furniture scuffling, grunting coming from the living room. Struggling noises. You looked over to Vincent who was eating his food slowly. He constantly wiped at his wax face with a napkin, self-consciously. “Should I go in there, do you think?” You asked him. He looked at you, straight on, eye to eye contact, which was quite rare for him. And he shook his head, no. Vehemently.

“BO AND Y/N, SITTIN IN A TREE. K - I - S - S - I - N - G!” Lester’s laugh was loud. Bo’s anger was louder. The sound of a breaking lamp now. Vincent shook his head again, but this time like an annoyed parent. You took one last look at the doorway, and then made up your own plate and sat across from Vincent. He even kicked your chair out for you, which made you smile at him. And you finally got a smile back.

It was moments like this that really made you remember that these aren’t just three men who work together. They were brothers. And they were behaving like brothers. It made you wonder what they had been like as kids - but you stopped that thought in your tracks. You had seen Bo’s scars on the rare occasions when he was wearing a t-shirt. Mostly while working on your car. The high chair with the bindings. Vincent’s poor face. It wouldn’t have been a good childhood. So maybe it was good that they were getting some of that out now.

“Yeah, we fuckin were, until SOMEONE interrupted us!”

“Shoulda put a tie on the door - OW, FUCK-”

“Gotcha Les, now you’re gonna scream Uncle.”

“We ain’t got any uncles!”

“You’re a fucking idiot, just SAY it.”

“Get off me, your fat ass weighs a ton-”

“One ... two ...”

“Alright, fucking UNCLE.”

A few moments later, both of the men came back into the kitchen, looking a little worse for wear. Hair ruffled. Clothes disheveled. Bo gave Lester a push inside, making the lighter-haired young man stumble forward towards the counter. Lester scowled, until he looked over at you, caught your eye, and winked. Instantly, you felt your cheeks growing pink, and looked down at your plate, feeling caught. Oh, these boys. Only one of them could call you theirs but you called them all yours.

#Bo Sinclair #Bo Sinclair x reader #Bo Sinclair oneshot #House of Wax #House of Wax oneshots #horror #horror oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #nonrequest #bos

86 notes · View notes

the-cannibal · 2 years

Text

Morning Sun

Bo Sinclair X Reader oneshot

No gender specified - you is used

Relationship: dating

Warnings: Bo uses the nickname darlin and calls you pretty once

Mornings in Ambrose were something you’d never get tired of. Here you laid in bed, blankets strewn all over, the sun peaking through the blinds, and your lovely boyfriend snoring away next to you.

Bo Sinclair. What a guy. Where do you even start with him?

Perhaps you should start with his good looks. Or maybe his dry sense of humor that never failed to make you laugh. Or perhaps his smooth southern voice would be a good starting point? Gosh, here you go rambling on about him again!

But it brought a smile to your face. You couldn’t help it. You just loved this man too much sometimes.

You brought a hand up to his back and began tracing small circles around. The motion slowly eased the man awake.

“Morning darlin’.” Bo croaked out, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

You smiled at the man, a light chuckle shaking your chest. “Morning love,” you placed a kiss on his shoulder, causing a pleased hum to come from him. It only made you smile harder. “I’ll go start the coffee.” You said.

“Don’t,” Bo said as he sat up. “I’ll do it. You just stay here a look pretty.” He winked at you. You rolled your eyes and lightly slapped the man.

As Bo stood up you couldn’t help but notice his clothes, or rather lack of. He was only in an old pair of boxers. You watched as he moved to the dresser to dig out some pants, watching how his bare chest reflected in the morning sun.

You hadn’t realized how long you were staring until a chuckle snapped you back into reality.

“Enjoying the view?” He teased.

You smirked at him. “I’m your partner. I’m allowed to.”

He laughed as he left the room, mumbling how he should go start the coffee before you cause him to jump back into bed after you.

You laid back down on the mattress and sighed.

Mornings in Ambrose were something.

#house of wax 2005 #x reader #bo sinclair #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x reader #oneshot #short one shot #slashers #house of wax x reader

78 notes · View notes

like-rain-or-confetti · 2 years

Text

Return Home (Sinclair Brothers x Reader)

WARNING: Mentions of drug abuse! Violence! Traumatic childhoods! Mentions of Dyslexia!

P.S. I have never taken drugs nor to I encourage them nor do I, to my knowledge, have Dyslexia. Some representations may not be accurate. Nothing on this blog is meant to upset or offend anyone. It’s only for entertainment and a story.

Jonesy jumped out of the truck as Lester shut the door after a long day of work. Night had fallen upon the town the dim lights offering merely an illumination of the surrounding areas. Jonesy wasted no time rushing to the stairs and pawing against the door. "A'right, a'right Jonesy, I'm comin'." Lester couldn't help but smile tiredly. "You hungry, girl?" Lester asked as he pushed the door open. Jonesy excitedly rushed in. "Damn girl, you are hungry." Lester called after her. "Oi! Vincent!? We're back!" Jonsey rushed back towards Lester as footsteps followed behind. Lester dumped his keys in the bowl and expected to see Vincent. Although he was caught off guard as soon as he looked up.

Vincent was not who greeted him. It was you, his older sibling. You were the second youngest of the Sinclair siblings. However you were the most estranged. The three brothers had remained in the family home as well as their mother's town of wax. As time went on, Vincent was the one who really finished the town, taking over for her after their mother died. Meanwhile, no one heard from you. For all they knew, you were dead in a ditch the night you were kicked out. You gave your parents minimal contact twice. Your vague and small responses being the only thing they got from you. They tried to reach out twice but the Sinclair’s always reckoned that you never forgave them for kicking you out. You held everyone at arms length. No one more than your own family.

"Hey Les." You said quietly. "W-Well I'll be damned. What are you doing here?" A smile broke onto Lester's face. "I didn't know you were coming." "Call it a surprise visit." You smiled back before Lester moved forward and hugged you. You gave the best hugs, that was determined when you were kids. If anyone's hugs could make things better, it was yours. Too bad Bo's way of releasing stress was violence.

As you grew older, the less of a hugger you were. Then again, your cheerful nature faded with it. Your drug problem started in your teens and when your parents found out, they were livid. However it took the day you destroyed your mother's work room and everything in it. That was the final straw. They had taken your stash and got rid of it. When you realised, you were furious. Your father yelled at you to never come back and you did exactly that, even when your parents asked you to return. It was like you had just stopped existing.

"How have you been?" Lester asked as he pulled back. You nodded with a small smile. "Good. Clean. Two years sober." Lester's smile widened. "That's great! How long you staying?" You shrugged. "I guess it depends how things go here. I heard that..." You trailed off for a moment. "...about ma." "Yeah well...that was a while ago now." Lester scratched the back of his head somewhat uncomfortable. "I know. I just...I had a lot to figure out. I wasn't even sure if I should be here now." You admitted. "I'm glad your here." Lester reassured you. "Better late than never right?" You sent him a look. "Don't think Bo will see it that way."

Before Lester could reply, there was a creak from the other room and Vincent emerged around the corner. He paused before moving slowly. You were unable to see behind his mask but his body language showed his surprise and slight unease. "Hi Vince..." You said quietly. Vincent wasn't much of a talker. He could talk but kept to very few words. It was considered difficult for him due to his scars. So his silence wasn't anything new. "God! We hoped they'd come back for years Vin, after all this time, give 'em a hug!" Lester said. You made it easier for Vincent stepping forward and doing most of the work so all he really had to do is wrap his arms around you. He seemed almost afraid to touch you. Vincent hadn't changed. After a second you pulled back, recoiling. That hadn't changed about you either. You always held back on your parents and your brothers. Once again Jonesy barked, growing excited and bounded into the room. "Hi Jonesy!" You smiled as the dog rushed towards you for pets and affection. "What the fuck are you doing here?" The room seemed to grow colder. "Hey, Bo." You said quietly. "Ain't it great!?" Lester asked. Bo scoffed. "It's been years." He said icily. "You clean?" Bo huffed, his hands crossed over his chest. "You better not have brought that shit with you!" "I haven't used in years. Get off my ass." You grumbled. "Yeah!" Lester nudged Vincent who looked at him. "Two years sober they were tellin' me!" "Will you shut the fuck up?" Bo snapped at Lester. "They could be fuckin' lyin', did you ever think of that!?" Bo turned his attention back to you. "We ain't got nothin' for you. We've got no money for you. Ma and Pa are dead. You missed the funeral." You sighed. "I don't want your money. I've got my own and I'm not using anymore." Bo scoffed again. "So why you here then, hm? What brought us to mind? Not like you cared to keep in touch any other time." "You want me to leave?" You asked sharply. "No!" Lester said quickly. "Don't...Don't be hasty!" Lester looked at his siblings. "This is what Ma wanted. She wanted (Y/N) home. The family back together!" "Yeah, problem is (Y/N) knew that and decided to hold off until she's dead." Bo snapped. You sighed. "I'll get going then. Clearly I'm just bothering you." Lester pushed Bo's arm. "Don't bother. You came all this way." Bo said coldly. "How long you stayin'?" "I don't know. I didn't make much plans. Didn't want to assume I'd be welcome." You retorted. Bo didn't answer and simply walked off.

Jonesy led you down the narrow corridor. It was covered in wax, making you wary of possibly slipping. Whilst Jonesy seemed to have no issues. Vincent turned his head towards you both. Jonesy brushed against Vincent’s leg as she passed him. “Hey Vince...” You muttered. Vincent nodded quietly to you in greeting. You looked around the dimly lit workshop that was littered with candles in all corners around the room. “Wasn’t this ma’s workshop? It looks so different from before.” Vincent nodded again as he began to round up off all of his tools. “Somehow this house looks exactly the same as it did before...yet somehow so different. This room is the most different. Ma liked everything decorated. Her workshop had that horrific flowered wallpaper that looked like something out of the forties.” You smiled. “I hated that wallpaper. Now it’s all gone.” Vincent didn’t respond. “Are you pissed at me?” You asked him and he looked for his shoulder towards you. You knew you wouldn’t receive an answer but a hint would have been nice.

After a moment Vincent shook his head and turned around. Vincent had always been the more understanding one, even if you knew he was keeping a lot of his thoughts to himself. That was just Vincent. He didn’t want to argue. Ever. You thought it best to change the subject. “Do you remember when we used to have sleep overs?” You asked. “The living room looked huge back then. You, me and Bo would sleep on the living room floor and Lester would beg ma to let him join. He was so excited when Ma finally thought him old enough to join in.” You smiled as you smiled down at Jonesy and scratched the back of her ear. Vincent silently nodded as he cleaned his carving tools of the solidifying wax. “I was looking at it earlier. I found some of your old statues. Even after all of this time, they’re still so cool.” You said as you lifted your gaze. “So you guys have been keeping this place going? You’ve definitely added to it, Vince.” He nodded in reply before turning to look at you. "Ma would be proud to know one of us carried on her work. I think she'd be glad it was you. The artist of the kids." You smiled at him. Vincent looked at you with the mention of his mother and nodded slightly, a small nod of appreciation. "You certainly did her talents justice along with your own." Vincent pointed at you. "Me? What about me?" You asked. Vincent looked for a scrap piece of paper and a pencil. 'What have you been doing?' You stood up and peaked over his shoulder. "Oh. There's really not much to tell, Vince. I got clean. I was working a few jobs to rent a place. Keep me off the streets, you know?" Vincent began writing again. 'How long have you been sober?' "Two years." You replied. "Two years and nine months, if you want specifics." 'Ma and Pa would have been happy with that. I'm proud of you.' You cracked a smile at Vince. "I don't think they'd think very much of it, not to me anyway but...it means a lot that you're proud of me, my big brother." You smiled fondly. Vincent stared at you through his mask for a moment before he turned to the paper again. 'Have you been alone all this time?' You nodded with a small shrug. "It's not so bad after a while. You get used to it." Vincent shook his head before quickly writing again. ‘You shouldn't have to get used to it.’ "Really Vince, it's fine. I made my choices and got the consequences. I'm only sorry that I wasn't around for the rest of our childhood and I'm sorry that it took me so long to get clean." You said softly.

Vincent lifted his arms slightly in question. Silently asking permission to hug you. "Oh boy, the hugging." You sighed with a smile. "Sure but it's our secret. Lester finds out you’ve had two and he'll whine for the next twenty years." You hummed in amusement as Vincent pulled you slowly into him by your shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him. The hug made you realise how much you had missed Vincent's hugs. Now that he was closer, you could hear the slightly wheeze and whistles of him breathing through his mouth. To your surprise you heard a tiny croak. "Stay." You felt the vibrations on your shoulder. You hadn't heard Vincent's voice in years and it was enough to bring a lump to your throat. "I don't know if it's that easy, Vince." You replied quietly and you felt him squeeze you slightly.

You were taking a moment of quiet in the night as you thought over your interaction with Vincent and how much you had missed him. It was interrupted by the door behind you being kicked open and Jonesy rushing past you. "Don't run off girl!" Lester called out to the dog who began sniffing the grass. You looked behind you to see Lester meet your gaze with a grin. "You not cold out here?" "This? Cold?" You scoffed. "Hardly. Isn't it past your bedtime?" You teased. "Maybe...at least fifteen years ago." Lester replied and the two of you chuckled. "So what do you think of the place, hm?" Lester sat beside you. "Some of it really hasn't changed much. Ma's workshop was completely different. I...haven't really looked at my old room though." You admitted. "Can't bring myself to look. Bad memories." "It ain't all that bad. We got good ol' Jonsey now too. She certainly livens up the place when she wants to." You turned to Lester. "You know what our childhood was like..." You looked at Lester. "It was shit." "I could imagine worse...i’d say we turned out jus' fine." Lester shrugged. "Lester, our brothers are killing people and turning them into wax figures in our ma’s honour and literally own nothing but a town of wax." You deadpanned. Lester shrugged again. "Don't explain why you left though." "We've been through this." You sighed. "Not when they kicked you out. When you never came back and didn't so much as call. They reported you missin' and everythin'." Lester pressed. "I dunno." You answered quietly. "I saw my way out and just...took it." You turned your gaze to Lester. "Do you remember what I was like with school?" "Hell yeah. That was a shit show. Pa and Ma was always on your ass." "Yeah, he thought I was lazy and a brat." You responded. "It took me moving to the big city to discover that it wasn't me being difficult. I have Dyslexia. How could our parents never have thought about that? I cried for hours because I couldn't understand math questions that were under my age level. How I was also getting through things so slow no matter how hard I tried." You nodded behind you towards the door. "Bo clearly has problems. He always did and our parents were shit at dealing with it." "So you left because of the ol' folks eh?" Lester asked. "I left because I couldn't handle the pressure anymore. I wasn't on the drugs for fun. I was on the drugs because they kept me awake so I could keep up with you guys." You huffed slightly. After a moment of silence as you sucked your teeth. You spoke. "Bo was the problem child, I was the child that screwed everything up, Vin was the golden child and you..." You paused. "...you were almost invisible, Les." You had thought it for years, remembered it for as long as you could remember but saying it out loud brought an icy chill within you. You didn't want it to be said. Now that you had said it, you wished you'd have taken that to the grave. Yet Lester remained unbothered by the statement, his expression somewhat content with it. "I still had you, Vince and Bo. Although I lost you that night Pa kicked you out. I think we all lost you." You didn't respond, instead lowering your head. Then Lester nudged you. "C'mon, let's get back inside and watch some TV whilst Bo ain't around to be up our asses about it." You cracked a small smile. "Sure. What are we watchin'?" You asked as Lester called for Jonesy. She wasted no time running back inside.

Snooping is a very bad habit and something most parents taught their children to never ever do. Bo's parents were no different in this. However they snooped to find your drugs all those years ago and if he were to believe a single word you said about being clean, he'd have no issue doing the same. He unzipped your bag and began to search.

You lashed out in rage against your parents when you recognised the drugs were gone and you did the only thing that made sense in that time. Rationale was long gone with your sobriety. You destroyed your mother's workspace and left nothing untouched.

It felt good to destroy every little bit of what had your mother's attention and heart. It felt good knowing it would hurt her like she had hurt you. However that feeling didn't stay as well as your high. Soon your body would have been itching for that high once more. Until then, you'd have to face the consequences of your actions and that same good feeling you had was long gone having since turned into a pit in your stomach.

"What have you done...?" Your mother put a hand to her chest. Hours upon hours of work in ruins beyond repair. "What have you done!?" She demanded louder this time through clenched teeth, this time almost in pain. Her heart ached for the loss of her work. In the midst of your tears you pleaded with her. "You're gonna forgive me, ma!? Please, you're gonna forgive me though!?" She didn't answer you as she held back tears of sheer heartbreak. It was that night that your father kicked you out. Your mother too upset to do much else than watch.

You found Bo leaning on the frame of the porch, smoking a cigarette, later into the night, his back to you. He did nothing to imply he knew you were there but given the state of your belongings, that didn't really matter. “Satisfied?” Bo turned at the sound of your tired question. He simply looked at you and you continued. “What? You think i don’t know when you ransack my stuff? A kind of art our family never perfected, leaving things undisturbed. Sure you put it back but it’s a mess.” “I had to be sure who came back here tonight. My younger sibling or the addict who looks like them.” Bo brought his cigarette to his lips. “I get it Bo, really I do. Given the shit i’ve done, it’s not out from the imagination.” You replied as you moved to stand beside him. "You got bigger things to explain anyway." Bo said somewhat coldly. You stayed quiet as he continued. "Ma's funeral. You weren't there. Weren't at Pa's either." "I wasn't ready." You said. "Bullshit! Ma wanted you home for years and you didn't so much as call." "They kicked me out and I was an addict. Don't kick out your kids and expect them to come running back to you. I couldn't trust them anymore." "Because they threw out your drugs?" Bo asked incredulously. "Because they threw me out!" You retorted. "Anything could have happened to me from the moment I was out that door and they fucking knew it! Not that it was much worse anyway. Our parents actually did a good job preparing me for the violence. Even you couldn't disagree with that." "For believing in discipline?" Bo retorted. "Bo..." You said quietly. "...they hurt you." "They have my respect for that now as a man." He retorted. "It's not right and it's not okay. You were a child and they hurt you. They hurt me." You said. "You and I were the problem kids remember? I wasn't good enough in school and you couldn't behave. You got scars and I got a drug problem." Bo was quiet for a moment. "So that's why you used? Because they were tough on you for school?" "I have Dyslexia. It impacts my ability to learn. I wasn't a bad kid. I wasn't stupid. If our parents paid attention they'd have had a clue, maybe even help you." "You can't-" You cut Bo off before he could finish. "Dad was a fucking doctor, Bo. If he paid attention to his kids, he'd notice that he had two kids that needed help. Instead he and ma tied you down to a fucking highchair and taped you to it. You bled, Bo. You still have the scars." You paused with a frustrated sigh. "No I didn't go to the funeral. Maybe I should have been there for you. I get that. Even you can understand that if I felt my absence punished them, they deserved it. I was hurting long before they kicked me out. That night was when they lost me for good and I was left on my own. I got out of that, without them." "Then why did you come back?" Bo asked. "Can't choose your family Bo...but I can choose to have you in my life. I get it if you don't but I'd like to know my brothers again." "Even knowing what we do?" He asked. You sighed. "Doesn't being a Sinclair mean to never have a normal life?" Bo chuckled. "Kinda does doesn't it?" You couldn't help but smile. "If you're staying..." Bo began. "you're staying. You're not welcome to come and go as you please." "I don't need to go away anymore." You said softly. "I figured everything out. All that was left to do was to come home."

#House of Wax #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #reader #one shot #oneshot #Slashers #slasher movies #warning

76 notes · View notes

aalaanaaa · 1 year

Text

One-shot vicent sinclair 🕯️

warnings: sensitive content please do not interact minors 🔞⛓️

advertencias: contenido sensible favor de no interactuar menores🔞⛓️

Jamás llegaste a sentir algo tan parecido a esto, si bien llegaste a tener pareja anteriormente, nadie llegaba a la altura de Vicent;

Tu débil cuerpo parecía derretirse en sus manos, y la peor parte de este dulce martirio era que nisiquiera estaba cerca de comenzar, esto tan solo era parte del juego previo a la verdadera diversión...a pesar del aspecto tan callado y tonto de este chico, vaya que tenía muy bien guardado este lado; cada sensible toque de sus manos de artista sobre tu piel, se sentía como una compensación por su poco hablar...vicent era la viva imagen del "A buen entendedor pocas palabras" cada toque de sus manos, incluso en lugares como tus brazos o cuello te hacían sentir un éxtasis tan grande que podrías llegar al cielo en plena vida, con él todo era tan erótico, tan lento y tan lujurioso sin necesidad de rozar aún las partes más débiles que parecía irreal. Bastaba con masajear un poco tus caderas o cuello para que tú respiración se agitara de manera inhumana; bastaba tan solo con obligarte a que lo vieras mientras te tocaba para perdieras lo que quedaba de tu dignidad.

Su respiración frenética en tu cuello, sus grandes manos tocando de aquí por allá con sutileza y lujuria, su pronunciado pecho subiendo y bajando al mismo ritmo que el tuyo, esa gran cabellera negra que amas jalar de ves en cuando y esa espalda a la que te podrías aferrar de por vida; El ambiente era acompañado de las velas de aquel lugar, que hacían más cálido el momento de ambos, un pequeño radio con música en volumen bajo, gemidos y ruidos corporales sumamente indecentes.

Jamás habías llegado a sentir algo tan parecido a esto.

🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨🖌️🎨

You never came to feel something so similar to this, although you came to have a partner before, nobody reached Vicent's height;

Your weak body seemed to melt in his hands, and the worst part of this sweet ordeal was that it wasn't even close to beginning, this was just part of the foreplay of the real fun...despite how quiet and silly this guy looked. Boy, did I have this side very well guarded; every sensitive touch of his artist hands on your skin, felt like a compensation for his little talk...vicent was the living image of "A good listener few words" every touch of his hands, even in places like your arms or neck made you feel an ecstasy so great that you could reach heaven in full life, with him everything was so erotic, so slow and so lustful without even touching the weakest parts that seemed unreal. It was enough to massage your hips or neck a little for your breath to shake in an inhuman way; It was enough just to force you to see him while he touched you to lose what was left of your dignity.

His frantic breathing on your neck, his big hands touching from here to there with subtlety and lust, his pronounced chest rising and falling at the same rate as yours, that great black hair that you love to pull from time to time and that back to which you could hold on for life; The atmosphere was accompanied by the candles of that place, which made the moment of both warmer, a small radio with low volume music, moans and extremely indecent body noises.

You have never felt anything like this before.

-lana 💟

#bo sinclair #halloween #house of wax #lester sinclair #vicent sinclair #slasher #casa de cera #slashers #slasher fucker #brahms smut #vicent sinclair x reader #Vicent sinclair smut #horrormovies #house of wax 2005 #one shot

32 notes · View notes

lostgirlfandom · 1 year

Text

Horror Masterlist

Poly!Ghostface

Billy

Stu

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Brahms Heelshire

Herbert West

#horror masterlist #scream masterlist #house of wax masterlist #reader insert #fandom imagine #gender neutral reader #fandom one shot #slasher imagine #slasher masterlist #ghostface imagine #billy loomis imagine #stu macher imagine #bo sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair imagine #brahms heelshire imagine #herbert west imagine

12 notes · View notes

urfavchaotichotmess · 1 year

Text

shows the slashers are into ;

Bo Sinclair ; My little pony, he is a “bronie”

Vincent Sinclair ; hardcore bratz lover, no one can convince me otherwise

Lester Sinclair ; buffy the vampire slayer, tell me i’m wrong

Michael Myers ; he wasn’t able to watch tv growing up but i think now it would be fosters home for imaginary friends

Jason Voorhees ; Chowder, 1000% Chowder

Brahms ; courage the cowardly dog, it’s just him. i don’t know why

Thomas & Bubba ; i feel like they’d sit down and watch anything tbh. anything you put on they would watch

230 notes · View notes

loveandmurders · 2 years

Text

2 idiots + 1 microwave = 1 fire

Hi everyone! This is the last one shot (except if you ask for more) for Sinclair baby sister!reader. If you need more context, you can go check my headcanons: Part I and Part II.

I really had a lot of fun writing this, it’s basically Lester and Reader being idiots and calling Bo for help (he’s the big brother, it’s his job to help!!).

Warning : strong language, Bo being an asshole, bad decisions.

Please do NOT try to reproduce the microwave experiment at home!

Bo was an arrogant and cocky man. As the oldest brother, he wanted to believe he was knowing everything better than his siblings, including you, his baby sister. You sometimes indulged him and let him take care of you like he wanted to. More rarely you would obey a direct order he gave you. It was secretly making him very happy when you were docile. But most of the time, you weren’t impressed and didn’t have time for his bullshit. Vincent was always watching you arching an eyebrow at his twin with quite a lot of amusement. When Bo would push the “game” too far, you would end up arguing and then Vincent would rather leave the two of you alone. He would even let Lester know it wasn’t the best time to get back to Ambrose.

Today was one of the days you didn’t have time for Bo’s bullshit. And the way he talked about Lester’s own house irked you to no end. You knew he was actually, very clumsily, trying to convince Lester to stay at the house tonight but he was really being an asshole while doing it.

“Ain’t makin’ the rule, Lester. If Y/N stays here, and not at your place, ‘s mean ‘s the better place here” Bo was shrugging and giving Lester his best “it’s-okay-if-you’re-stupid-i’m-smart-enough-for-two” smile.

The four of you were sitting at the kitchen table, trying to enjoy some family dinner. You rolled your eyes and groaned at Bo’s words. You didn’t like when he was using you like that, to coax his brothers to do something they didn’t want to.

“How ‘bout you leave me out of this discussion?” you said with annoyance and Vincent gently tucked a piece of your hair behind your hair as a way to keep you calm. He didn’t like when you were arguing with Bo, especially during those family dinners.

“Ain’t true though?” Bo insisted and you huffed again.

You tried to focus back on your food without answering your older brother but you caught a pleading look coming from Lester. He wanted to know if it was true that you didn’t like going to his place, because he loved to have you there, away from the twins, and especially from Bo who could be a nuisance.

“Ain’t true” you finally said and it was Bo’s turn to groan, as Lester seemed to be relieved.

“Com’on Y/N. His place ‘s a mess and not as safe as here. ‘S useless and there is nothin’ for ya there” he insisted and you put your fork down. If Bo wanted to play that way…

“There’s Les” you replied and Bo rolled his eyes

“But what if he’s here?” He said as the family man he was; he just wanted his siblings home. What was it too much to ask for fuck sake?

“Still givin’ me a rest from ya” you replied and earned a little snort from Vincent and Lester who got glared at by Bo.

“Hey, don’t be a smartass now. ‘M your big brother, show me some respect” he hummed with a frown. He really hated when you said that kind of thing.

“Whatever” you shrugged.

You took your fork back in your hand and thought the discussion was over. You were about to resume eating the food the twins had prepared for the four of you when you heard Bo starting to speak again. The man wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Sometimes you wondered which one of you all was the most stubborn.

“Ain’t understand” he said. You sent him a questioning look “You’d pay no rent and you’d be safe here. So why do the two of ya need to live away?”

“‘S called independence, Bo” you replied

“What if somethin’ happen to ya?” he continued

“Don’t be paranoid all the damn time” you whined in annoyance

Vincent was silently eating and praying for this discussion to be over. He knew that it would be easier if you could agree with Bo. The masked twin was manipulative so he would never tell you directly he also wanted you to stay at Ambrose, but he definitely did. But he also knew Bo wasn’t doing it right and he was worried his twin was going to say something that would push you away. You had your own character and you didn’t like to be told what to do. Lester was eating in silence too. He was trying to finish his food as fast as possible so he could run away from here.

“I think ya should both stay here tonight so ya could see ‘m right” Bo said with a smug smile and that was too much for you. You were done.

“'ve got a betta idea. Les and I will both sleep at his place tonight” you replied with fierce determination in your eyes.

Lester looked up at you with his bright toothy grin. The boy had hoped it would turn into his favour if he was staying silent. It was often working that way when Bo and you were arguing about him. Vincent tried to not show his disappointment by hiding behind his hair as he had removed his mask to eat. Of course Bo was going to fuck this up, and from having you home they were now going to have no one. Bo stared at you in disbelief.

“Ya promised to stay” he replied, his anger rising up, as usual when he was trying to hide his sadness.

“And ya promised to stop pickin’ on Les” you said.

Bo violently got up and his chair fell on the ground. He stormed out of the room and you all watched him go without trying to stop him. It was better to have him go than have him yelling at you in the kitchen. You sighed and gave an apologetic look at Vincent who sadly smiled back at you.

“Fuckin’ stubborn” you grumbled and Vincent gave you a curious look before signing :

Talking about yourself? You let out a soft laugh before shaking your head.

“Yeah I guess ‘m no betta.” you hummed before leaning into your seat. “We finish the food and we go, Bo’s already upset enough” you said to Lester who nodded quite eagerly.

He’d be happy if you actually stayed though Vincent signed again as he tried his best to fix this, even though he knew his twin went too far.

“Sorry Vinny, but as you said ’m stubborn” you replied.

The three of you finished eating in a not so relaxed silence. You from time to time heard Bo throwing an object on a wall or on the ground. He really was angry at you, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last. You could tell the next tourists who were going to stumble in Ambrose were going to have one painful death too.

You finally left with Lester after having hugged Vincent goodnight. You could tell he wasn’t very happy to let the two of you go, but unlike Bo, he didn’t push the subject and let you go.

On the way to his home, Lester was cracking jokes and being his excited puppy self. You were quite happy to spend this time with him, and you tried to not feel too guilty about what happened with Bo. Deep inside, you knew the man was just trying to show you he loved you, but your parents really fucked him up badly, like the four of you. You wondered if things would be better if you lived with him, but at the same time you weren’t sure you would have the energy to deal with his anger that often. You really thought Vincent was doing an amazing job, or maybe he thought he didn’t have the choice.

Once settled at Lester’s place, you sat with him on the couch. You chatted together for quite a long while before deciding it was time to go to bed. You wished him a good night and went into the guest room that clearly had become yours since you had left clothes and belongings there last time you slept over. You tried to rest but it seemed your mind wasn’t feeling like it at all. It was 1AM and you thought you could use a snack to feel better. You got up and were quite surprised to see Lester already settled in the kitchen with a soda in one hand. He looked up at you equally surprised before worrying.

“Ain’t sleepin’ darl?” he hummed and your shrugged.

“‘S ‘kay my mind sucks sometimes” you replied as you sat in front of him “Can’t sleep either?” you asked him and he shook his head before you both sighed.

You talked for an hour and neither of you were tired anymore. The worst was that you were slowly getting bored and you were thinking of ways to pass the time.

“You think a microwave can explode like in movies?” Lester suddenly asked you after a few instants of silence. You looked at him to see if that was a serious question before shaking your head and laughing.

“Why? Wanna try?” you teased

“‘Ve always wondered what’d happen with aluminium” he admitted and you watched him with amusement.

“Dumbass, we’re gonna burn your house down” you told him and he chuckled.

“Yeah and then we’d be forced to live with the twins” he hummed but you could tell the idea wasn’t leaving his mind.

“‘Kay, but we need to start small” you said after a moment of silence, because you also were a dumbass sometimes.

Lester’s eyes lit up with excitement. You couldn’t help it but when you were with Lester it was as if all your reason was leaving your body. Your brain too. You always had awful ideas with him, but so much fun. Since you were children, you had dangerous experiences like that with your brother, and the twins didn’t even know the quarter of it. It was for their own good you didn’t tell them anything or they would have grey hair and heart attacks.

Lester found an aluminium foil and made a very small ball with it before putting it in the microwave. You nervously laughed. Gosh, you really were stupid together but you were curious of how bad things could get. You enjoyed chaos a little too much, especially in the middle of the night.

“How long, you think?” he asked you as he turned back to you and you thought about it.

“10 sec, man.” you said, hoping it wouldn’t be too much already. “We’re gonna ruin your microwave” you added and Lester shrugged.

“‘S fine, can always buy anotha one” he replied.

You both watched the little flames appearing before exchanging a look.

“This is so pretty!” you exclaimed and Lester could only agree with you. You clearly were both pyromanes in another life.

“‘Kay, let’s put it a little longa” he said as he added another 10 seconds.

After several minutes of experiments, of course the microwave got lit on fire and you both started to run in the kitchen to stop the fire. In your chaos, you both were quite coordinated because you were used to your experiments ending like that.

“You don’t have an extinguisher?” you asked

“Nah, but Bo has one in his garage!” he replied, trying to think fast.

“Shit, calling him then!” you yelled.

You took your phone and hoped Bo would be able to arrive here before the fire got way out of control. Lester had the intelligence to turn the power off before throwing water at the fire, but it wasn’t working very well.

Bo answered almost instantly. After an argument with you, he couldn’t fall asleep if you weren’t by his side, clearly not mad at him anymore. And you weren’t home and because you were with Lester, his ego was preventing him from calling you. He was quite surprised and worried when he saw your name on his phone screen.

“Y/N?” he asked

“Oh fuck, Bo come here with your extinguisher. Quick please!!” you yelled at him through Lester’s curses.

“Shit, what did ya do again?” Bo groaned as he was already running at his garage.

“Hang up and hurry up!” you replied before putting your phone away to help Lester.

Bo was there in a record time and he was quick to put the extinguisher to good use. Lester and you both sighed in relief and sat back down at the kitchen table. You exchanged a look before laughing. Bo turned around to face the two of you with a look of pure astonishment.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked wondering how you could be so stupid when you were left alone with Lester.

“Need a new microwave” Lester commented a little bit sadly.

“I’ll buy ya a new one” you promised

“Thanks, Y/N” he smiled

“Oh and thank ya, Bo, ya were super quick and efficient as usual. The house would be burnt without ya” you smiled up at Bo. The man was trying to not show how pleased he was with your words, but he knew you were too good at having him wrapped around your little finger.

“Care to answer my question?” he hummed and both Lester and you tried to look absolutely angelic and innocent.

“We just did a little experiment” you replied and Bo facepalmed.

“Seriously, Y/N. Ain’t expectin’ anythin’ else from Lester, but ya…” he said and both Lester and you watched him with pure indignation.

“Well, maybe ‘s a good thing we ain’t wanna live at Ambrose then. Ya’d have to watch over us all the time in case we ain’t plannin’ to burn the house down” you joked and Bo gave you a “come-on” look but didn’t answer. You all stayed silent for a little moment, looking at each other.

“Ya wanna us to come sleep at Ambrose to thank ya for saving us?” Lester offered. Lester was definitively the sweetest of you all and he wanted things to go smoothly with you all, even though he enjoyed his independance, just like you did.

Bo sighed “Well, if ya both promise to go to bed yeah, I’d like that” he replied before his eyes fell on you.

“Sounds good to me” you agreed and got up from your seat. As Lester left to collect his things, you hugged Bo who relaxed a little bit.

“In the end, ya’re having what ya want” you commented and you felt him smile

“Always do” he smugly said but you enjoyed seeing his arrogant self, as everything was back to normal, like it had to. “Sleepin’ with me?” he asked, sounding a lot more vulnerable this time.

“Sure thin’” you replied right away and your big brother fully relaxed, knowing you weren’t mad at him.

You hated to admit but now you were starting to think about living at Ambrose… not that you would say anything to Bo so quickly. But maybe you could have a little chat with Vincent; surely the masked twin was unbiased on the subject, you thought…

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x sister #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #lester sinclair x sister #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x sister #sinclair brothers #sinclair brothers x sister #sinclair brothers x reader #slasher x reader #house of wax (2005)#house of wax x reader #house of wax one shot

293 notes · View notes

7sadic-writter7 · 2 years

Text

Bo sinclair y una lectora con fiebre

Amo a Bo Sinclair y esto lo escribí porque sé que puedo cambiarlo. Puedo repararlo con el poder del amor y mi fetiche con mecánicos :)

cantidad de palabras: 2770

“Fiebre de verano”

Hacía tanto calor en el pueblo, el olor de la pintura era fresco, el sol había reducido a nada los charcos de agua que había dejado una pequeña lluvia en la mañana de ese mismo día y cada media hora escuchabas una cerilla prendiendo un nuevo cigarro en los labios de Bo: Te sentías sofocada, hasta inclusive se podría decir que condenada mientras las esposas dañaban tus muñecas y la cinta gris empegostaba tus tobillos y juntaba de forma incómoda tus piernas sudorosas.

No estabas de visita en la ciudad por voluntad, habías sido retenida tras ser engañada por Lester para reabastecerte de comida antes de proseguir haciendo auto stop en la carretera; esa era una larga historia, pero para resumir tu visita a Luisiana, habías querido irte un tiempo a la casa de tus padres y en un sorprendente giro de los acontecimientos olvidaste que te encontrabas demasiado corta de dinero a la mitad del camino. Eso te había jodido y en su momento no te interesó saber cuanto ¡Pero ahora lo sabías! Vaya que lo sabías.

—No está quedando nada mal. —escuchaste decir a tu captor quien no parecía notar el horrible calor al estar cubierto por un overol manchado de turquesa, muy contrario a ti que sufrías el verano aún con una amplia sombrilla puesta sobre tu cabeza. No entendías esas cosas de Bo Sinclair, te mantenía con vida y no te dejaba sufrir más de lo suficiente: Tal vez la soledad le había afectado más de lo esperado. —¿Tú qué crees?

—Es mejor que el gris que tenía. —suspiraste comparando el edificio que Bo intentaba remodelar con el resto de los que le seguían en la calle, este iba a ser un trabajo que duraría unos meses por lo que veías en el trabajo del mayor de los Sinclair. Pero Bo insistía en hacerlo solo, lo disfrutaba así, teniéndose únicamente como un alivio para comunicarse mientras que su hermano Vincent permanecía trabajando en su taller o revisando los alrededores en busca de intrusos.

—Cualquier cosa es mejor que el gris.

—Te dije que me gustaba más el naranja. —dijiste exhausta combatiendo contra el calor que parecía quemar el interior de tu cráneo mientras que una sutil brisa hacía temblar tu cuerpo. Era una sensación rara, te sentías enferma y débil, y aún cuando querías que Bo te tratara tenías miedo; no te habías acostumbrado totalmente a su presencia o sus arbitrarios tratos, no eran mejores amigos conviviendo en sus tiempos libres. Ustedes dos eran captor y presa, lo sabías muy bien y te mataba.

Te mataba porque Bo tenía momentos en los que era muy agradable.

—La tienda ya la pinté de naranja.

—Y mira lo bonita que quedó. —respondiste tratando de no hacer notar como poco a poco te estabas desvaneciendo. No era una táctica buena, ni mucho menos inteligente, pero mantendría a Bo concentrado en sus asuntos o al menos eso era lo que esperabas.

—Sí, quedó muy bonita. —aceptó tu captor con una pequeña sonrisa. Bo siguió en su labor por unos minutos más, lo viste esmerarse en cada paso de su brocha por la pared previamente limada hasta que en su teléfono sonó la alarma de un mensaje que lo sacó de su estado de perfecta concentración. Eran días inusuales en los que el mayor de los Sinclair no tenía planeado matar chicos en su amada ciudad, por lo que selló los potes de pintura, puso la brocha húmeda sobre un periódico y se acercó a ti informándote sobre el mensaje que había recibido. —Vincent tiene el almuerzo listo, vámonos.

Bo despegó las esposas de la silla en la que te retenía y las pegó a tus muñecas dejándote con dos pares de esas cosas en tus brazos impidiéndote empujarlo y huir de él (como ya habías intentado cuando eras nueva en el pueblo), luego te tomó entre sus brazos y apoyó tu peso en su hombro como si tú no fueras más que granos de arena para él. El mecánico de la ciudad para estos momentos ya se había adaptado a tu peso y al transportarte de un lado a otro en aquel estilo te habías adaptado a Bo sin quererlo; ya no peleabas contra él o siquiera te retorcías asqueada de tener sus escurridiza manos sobre tu trasero. A día de hoy solo observabas las tiendas alejarse con el calor de la fiebre que iba creciendo e impidiendo que prestaras tu atención a los viejos posters que buscaban a una nueva (viva) y brillante señorita Ambrose para coronar.

Si podías ser sincera contigo misma el pueblo no se veía tan mal si lo comparabas con la primera impresión que tuviste de él: Cuando llegaste pensaste que Lester te había arrastrado a una zona abandonada para matarte y comerte… y en lugar de eso te encontraste a Bo y te convertiste en su osito Teddy para las 24 horas del día sin sueldo establecido. A veces no sabías cual era peor; una mano con pequeñas manchas de pintura turquesa llegó a uno de tus muslos para darle un apretón.

—¡Bo! —era un idiota, uno muy grande que se burlaba de ti cada que podía. Gustaba de utilizarse como un alivio para su carácter de patán y muchas veces resaltaba en sus bromas y toques su lado agresivo. Era un hombre muy volátil y en aquel día lo habías agarrado estando bastante de buenas, era algo que se te antojaba bastante inusual y no podías encontrar por qué el gemelo malvado de Vincent reía de una forma tan… genuina.

—No te duermas, no puedes saltarte comidas —era raro, era tan raro para ti verlo actuar tan bien por tanto tiempo cuando en tu mente seguían frescos los gritos, las quejas, las rabietas y el lanzar lo más cercano que estuviera a la mano. Se suponía que Bo te diera miedo y hasta cierto punto eso era verdad, pero otra vez tu mente comenzaba a irse por los lados que no eran y terminabas perdida en un callejón con un gran letrero neón que rezaba: Es una mala persona, pero tiene sus momentos. Sí, este Sinclair que te colocó en una silla a su lado para que comieras junto a él la comida de su hermano el artista (quien parecía que el arte voluntario escapaba de sus ágiles manos por completo) tenía momentos muy buenos como estos en los que te hacía pensar sin nada de cuidado y con extremo pudor que tal vez en un mundo menos loco y más fantasioso los dos hubiesen podido coincidir en algún bar y haber tenido este tipo de conexión romántica que aparece mucho en los libros y casi nunca en la vida real.

La mano de Bo llegó a tu cuello, te distrajiste demasiado y te perdiste por completo de las cosas que te estaba diciendo. Oh no, ese fue un grave error de tu parte, y lo corroboraste cuando al mirarlo finalmente su semblante se había tornado sombrío, tu mano tembló sutilmente dejando tu cubierto sobre el platillo que apenas habías probado.

—¿Por qué estás tan caliente? —tu respiración se detuvo durante los escasos instantes en los que te perforó con aquella mirada maníaca que luchaba por no perder el control bajo ningún motivo, el momento se había acabado. Bo dejó de lado su plato y te tocó con más insistencia, pasando de tu cuello a tu cara para bajar a tu pecho y sostenerte la mirada con severidad, estabas ida y ya no podías contenerte, tu cabeza ya no podía fingir más que podía mantenerse recta sin ayuda. —¡¿Por qué no me has dicho nada?!

Toda tu estructura tembló al recibir la vociferación de Bo quien dejando abruptamente su plato de lado jaló tu asiento más cerca del suyo. Si no fuera por qué el presionó su mano en tu mentón para mantener el contacto visual hubieses enterrado la atención de tus ojos en el suelo y suplicado porque su llama se apagase rápido, pero en sus ojos viste como la luz del día que aquel era un deseo tan estúpido y lejano como las ansias que aún guardabas de regresar a tu hogar.

—No pensé que fuera grave.

—¿No lo pensaste? —él repitió tus palabras con rudeza, como solía ser cuando algo (dígase cualquier inconveniente) hacía saltar sus alarmas y encendía su mal humor como si fuera su único método de defensa contra cualquier hecho que no se apegaba a sus planes o a sus deseos. Te estremeciste nuevamente cuando Bo se levantó azotando su mano contra la madera de la mesa —¿Para qué tienes cabeza si tu cerebro no sirve?

Por un momento pensaste que desaparecería y te dejaría sola para buscar alguna pastilla que darte, pensaste que con eso podría liberar el aire caliente en tus pulmones y tal vez recargar tu cabeza contra la superficie fría de la mesa, no obstante, el único mecánico en kilómetros a la redonda te levantó y se dirigió escaleras arriba para dejarte caer en la cama que ambos compartían. No era algo que te calmara mucho, Bo repetía el proceso que seguían cada noche al llegar su labor en el pueblo; te liberaba de sus ataduras, ponía una crema en tus extremidades para evitar/minimizar las pequeñas líneas cicatrizadas que comenzaban a aparecer en tus muñecas y tobillos y te amarraba a la cama con ataduras más suaves que sorprendentemente no te molestaban al dormir. Pero en aquella ocasión Bo se saltó amarrarte a la cama y te hundió en una gruesa manta que tenía guardada en la cima del clóset para los días de invierno.

—Quédate aquí y deja de hacer estupideces. —fue lo que te dijo para luego desaparecer por el marco de la puerta abierta, aunque no sin antes sacar un termómetro del fondo de uno de los cajones de su mesita de noche y meterlo en tu boca. Pero para desgracia de Bo no lograste seguir sus órdenes, estabas perdiendo el control de lo que sucedía en tu cabeza a la par que sentías que esta se desconectaba de tu cuerpo, sumándole a aquello que tú captor comenzaba a tardarse.

Presionaste uno de tus pies en las maderas tibias del piso de madera, no crujieron y su textura no se sintió vieja y seca, ahora que lo botanas tal vez esta era la primera vez que pisabas el suelo de aquella casa. Habías llegado una tarde, sola y sin mucho en el interior de tu mochila, compartiste unas cortas palabras con el mecánico del pueblo para preguntarle dónde podrías encontrar un servicio de transporte para llegar a la ciudad y luego le diste la espalda para mirar al gigantesco museo de cera. Qué terrible error.

Colocaste tu otro pie en el suelo, permitiéndote a ti misma en el proceso cerrar los ojos para disfrutar de aquel placer que no habías valorado nada. Cuando Bo te tuvo bajo su poder dejaste de usar tus piernas, eras su mascota de compañía y te llevaba en brazos a todos lados para luego amarrarte, seguir con su trabajo y divertirse con tu cuerpo cuando no le daban ganas de comportarse como un cretino con problemas de ira, sino como un cachondo bastardo.

Presionaste el peso de tu cuerpo sobre tus pies sin notar que tan malo era tu estado hasta que perdiste el equilibrio para terminar resbalándote sobre la cama; ahí iba tu primer intento por recuperar la independencia sobre tu movilidad entre escalofríos y un terrible dolor de cabeza. No obstante, tu cuerpo siguió adelante pese al cansancio, lograste arrastrarte como pudiste hasta el marco de la puerta y apoyarte contra este para pasar a utilizar las paredes del pasillo para el beneficio de tus fatigadas piernas, por lo menos hasta que ya no pudiste seguir adelante y tuviste que tomar asiento en el antepenúltimo escalón de la escalera; desde ahí podías ver el desorden de una casa vieja llena de libros, muebles de madera sólida y polvo hasta en el pomo de la puerta cerrada.

Estuviste ahí sentada sin hacer nada, tratando de llegar a conectar los cables que imaginabas en tu columnas: desenchufados. Sin importarte luchar por escapar, buscar un arma o lo que fuera que finalmente te sacara de Ambrose, pero no. Tú te quedaste en la escalera cabeceando por el cansancio de tan solo haberte movido por cuenta propia en un tiempo realmente largo, deberías seguir adelante con tus débiles pasos, tal vez la puerta se encontraba abierta… tal vez esta era una oportunidad en un millón. Sin embargo no moviste ni un solo dedo para poner en marcha aquella suerte de plan que solo constaba de arrastrarte hasta las afueras de la casa y rogar por ser teletransportada mágicamente hacia cualquier lugar lejos de Ambrose, del museo de cera y los tres ciudadanos que nunca empacarían sus maletas para buscar más de la vida. No tenía caso y tu cabeza lograba entenderlo aún cuando pegaba tu frente contra tus rodillas mientras esperabas.

¿A quién?

—¡Eh! ¿Qué haces allí? — A él.

Tardaste un poco en separar tu cara de su pequeño escondite, llegando a abrir tus ojos en el momento correcto; cuando Bo dejaba la bandeja llena de cosas que te ayudarían a mejorar tu pobre estado para encararte con aquella expresión furiosa que llevaba cuando las cosas no iban justo y como él lo requería. No sentiste el miedo venir al ser prácticamente devorada por esos ojos claros llenos de tantos sentimientos amargos que cualquier otra víctima se hubiese atragantado con su propia lengua, no temblaste de pavor cuando él colocó sus callosas manos sobre tus hombros, tú simplemente fuiste honesta mientras sostenías una expresión cansada, pero aliviada de ya no estar sola.

—Ahí estás. —fue lo que le dijiste con el termómetro aún colgando de tus labios resecos al hombre que ya no cargaba con su overol manchado por pintura, sino unos jeans y una camisa negra que le quedaba mejor que la mermelada al pan.

—Sí, aquí estoy ¿Acaso no te dije que no hicieras estupideces? —gruñó fastidiado quien podría considerarse la autoridad mayor en kilómetros a la redonda inspeccionando tu rostro y tratando de hallar la suficiente calma como para no zarandearte y sacarte aunque fuese un pequeño grito y quizás algunas bonitas lágrimas —¿Qué es lo que crees que haces? ¿Acaso querías escapar de mí? ¡¿Es eso?!

—¿A dónde iría? —Bo te quitó el termómetro para revisarlo y terminar dando con unos 40 grados muy preocupantes que lo hicieron maldecir por lo bajo mientras seguía escuchando tus palabras suaves y de un volumen más bajo de lo regular que le costó bastante captar. El mayor de los Sinclair debería considerar bajar el volumen de su música al trabajar —Aquí no pago renta y Vincent cocina mucho mejor que mi madre.

Bo mordió el interior de sus mejillas para no reírse de tu pequeña confesión, aunque las comisuras de sus labios se elevaron visiblemente cuando agregaste:

—No le digas a ella, se pondría furiosa.

Pero seguía molesto contigo ¡Por supuesto que lo estaba! Su ceño seguía fruncido y el plato con agua sobre la bandeja comenzaba a enfriarse mientras seguías divirtiéndote con hacerle perder el tiempo y preocuparlo con el hecho de que podrías irte en algún momento y no regresar. Bo no admitiría ni para sí mismo que le gustaba tu compañía más que el sexo que le dabas sin quejarte, llorar o intentar golpearlo. Claro, no es como si alguna de esas cosas representase un impedimento para él disfrutar sus encuentros sexuales con alguien, pero contigo cualquier cosa era mejor de alguna forma: Era agradable.

—Ven aquí, ya has perdido la cabeza por completo.

Bo tomó tus brazos en un intento por levantarte, lográndolo sin esperar a que buscaras rodearlo con tus brazos y piernas en un abrazo de oso. Era reconfortante para ambos, era válido y terminó de borrar la expresión rabiosa que era una constante en el rostro del único Sinclair en la escena. Bo te sostuvo y se permitió quedarse quieto por largos segundos mientras terminaba de procesar el hecho de que lo abrazabas con la poca fuerza que te quedaba voluntariamente y que en tu rostro se apreciaba la calma y la felicidad de ser sostenida por él: justo como nunca nadie lo había hecho desde que tenía uso de razón.

Tú realmente te habías propuesto construir tu propio lugar en su corazón ¿No es así? Bo lo permitiría por ahora y te correspondería el abrazo ¡Pero solo hasta que regresara a sus sentidos! Ni un minuto más allá de eso… ni un maldito segundo.

#female reader #one shot #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #spring fever #fluff #Bo being himself #kidnapping #stockhom syndrome #sweet bo #slasher imagines #slasher fanfiction #fall in love with slashers #house of wax

7 notes · View notes

slasherhaven · 4 months

Note

Slashers with a significant other who is a cam girl and wants them to be in one of their videos? 💃

2 posts in 2 days who do I think I am? See ya'll in a year! /j

CW: NSFW

You do Cam Work and Ask the Slashers to be in your Videos:

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is pretty conservative when it come to sex and such, but he's come around to your cam work, especially since you let him help with the details.

You like when he picks what you were or what scene you might do. You made Thomas feel like a part of it and that made him comfortable with it.

Still, he's very surprised when you ask if he wants to do a video with you. He refuses immediately and you respect that.

You ask again a while later but with more details. Like nobody would know who he was, you would keep his face out of the shot, and the two of you will do whatever he is comfortable with.

Your first video with him is of you riding him. His head isn't in the shot but the rest of his frame is. The size difference goes hard and your audience agrees.

Thomas is a flustered mess when you sit to read with comments with him. Everyone is talking about the new man in your video, gushing about how big he is and how attentive he is. Even with his size it seems your audience could sense his gentle soul, commenting on the chemistry you both have and how they would love to see him again!

Thanks to all the lovely comments, Thomas agrees to do another video even if he doesn't see himself putting his face on camera any time soon.

Michael Myers

Michael honestly does not care that you do cam work.

When you first ask him to be in a video, he pretty much ignores it.

But when you ask again some time later he doesn't see why not.

As long as his face isn't in the video or anything, you can film it, he doesn't really care.

The videos you make with him afterwards are pretty similar to your first video with him.

Usually you bent over while Michael fucks you to tears.

Michael is barely in the shot most of the time. Sometimes it just a close up on you, other times it includes Michael but only ever getting at high as his chest.

Everyone is obsessed with your mystery man. Where did he come from? What was that scar from? Can we see more of him please!!!

Jason Voorhees

We all know that Jason's comfort levels with sex is extremely low and it takes a while for him to become comfortable with physical intimacy. So cam work is certainly going to take some time for him to come around to.

And once he's become more comfortable with that, it's going to take a whole lot longer before he feels comfortable being in a video.

When he does decide to give it a go, he is a real hit!

He refuses to show his face on camera and you do whatever it takes to make sure he is as comfortable as possible.

Before Jason says you can use his name in videos and descriptions, your audience referred to him as 'the gentle giant', which is completely accurate!

No matter your usual content, Jason is nothing but gentle with you when he's in a video.

Brahms Heelshire

Watches your videos over and over again, he loves them. He'll watch you record them and watch them later once you've posted them. He can't get enough.

He's already got his pants off when you ask if he wants to be in one of your videos. You end up fucking even though you're not filming it.

He actually doesn't have much of a problem with having his face on camera. He's still a little insecure about his facial burns but you have alleviated most of that by this point.

And after the first video and he reads all those positive comments. Some are as horny for him as they are for you.

Fully embraces his new pornstar identity. He's insufferable.

He'll be in any video you want and your audience love watching you take care of your needy brat.

Bo Sinclair

Bo is in fully support of your work, it brings some money in and he gets to watch your videos. Even if his possessiveness still often gets the better of him. Whenever he reads comments of people praising you, Bo has an insatiable need to bend you over something just to prove a point.

Gets all cocky and arrogant when you ask if he wants to be in a video.

Needless to say, he agrees to do it.

And he takes to it pretty easily. He knows how to get all of his favourite reactions from you, how to get you pleading and begging for him, and he wants everyone watching to know.

Bo is arrogant and always smirking when the camera is on but it performs well.

He likes to how the camera and film himself entering you. He really does have a terrible ego.

Vincent Sinclair

It gets Vincent flustered, he could admit that, but he appreciates the artistic side of it all. It takes more effort and consideration than one might think!

He likes helping you get ready for a video and taking care of you afterwards.

He's hesitant when you first ask if he wants to be in a video. A part of him wants to do it with you but he's not confident enough in himself.

But he loves making you feel good and at this point he knows he's good at it, so he gives it a try. You can film them without posting them after all, like practise runs.

He may never show his face but he doesn't mind having his body on camera. Sometimes he even just hides his face with his hair instead of keeping his head out of the shot completely.

On Vincent's more self-conscious days, he'll film close ups of him fingering you instead.

He's very good with his hands and your audience agrees. They are very jealous of you.

Lester Sinclair

Lester is pretty neutral on your work, but of course he absolutely loves your videos.

He's mostly just surprised and flustered when you first ask if he wants to be in one of your videos. He thinks you're perfect so he understands why people would want to watch you, but he doesn't really see why people would want to watch him.

But he still agrees to it because he's your biggest supporter!!!

Your audience love the chemistry and intimacy between you both, leaving comments about how real your videos feel.

The videos that perform best are usually the ones where the two of you forgot you were even filming, just giggling together and enjoying each other. Lester gets all nervous and shy when the camera turns on, which is adorable, but forgetting that the camera is there really does help him perform better, the sweetheart.

Your audience love your more thought out and planned videos but appreciate the occasional more relaxed video with your sweet boyfriend.

Bubba Sawyer

Super flustered by your work but he's supportive.

Is super surprised and nervous when you ask if he wants to be in a video.

He agrees to give it a try once you explain that you can always delete it and nobody has to see it if he changes his mind or doesn't like it.

Bubba is just a big sweetie really, and you know just how to turn him into a squirming, blubbering mess.

And your audience love to watch you do it!

In later video's you do, you use the viewers' comments to fluster him even further. Using all the kindest and sweetest comments that say how lovely he is .

Come on, Bubs, they love you, they're being so nice. Why don't you say thank you?

Billy Lenz

Billy loves watching your videos and when you ask if he wants to be in a video with you, he is so excited!

He's completely down to make some home videos but he's a little unsure about putting it online for other people to see.

So you make it so his face isn't visible and let him watch the final edit before uploading it. He thinks it's so hot, he can't say no.

Honestly, you could do really well with just audios alone though. People will go wild for it. Billy unable to keep his mouth shut, all those desperate moans and whines and noises, the sticky wet slapping of skin. Honestly, a video element is just a bonus at this point.

And who gets off to the video the most? Billy obviously!

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Asa monitors your accounts anyway, even if you don't know it. He wants to know what you're posting and how people are responding. Don't want any bullies or trolls, right?

He's probably tried to manipulate you into suggesting it anyway.

He doesn't have much of a problem with your cam work, he's just a possessive bastard and would love to claim you in front of your entire audience.

The mask stays on!

Okay, he designs a new mask to avoid any chance of self criminalisation but whatever.

You two can make it big in BDSM communities.

Ties you up, blindfolds you, gags you. Whatever he feels like, but often seems to focus the camera on your reactions rather than on what he is doing to you. Studying his favourite little specimen.

Your audience already adored you of course, but they also love this new Dom you brought it.

There is no doubt as to who you belong to now.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Obviously Jesse has no problem with being on camera and he already has a pretty big ego, so he'll probably even wear the Chromeskull mask. It's his signature whether it's for his snuff films or your cam work.

Like Asa, you do absolute numbers in the BDSM community. Everyone is very pleased with his fully suited up, masked Dom that you brought in.

He already has his Chromeskull persona all fleshed out so he just brings that energy to your videos.

He's a sadistic Dom and you might have to upload an Aftercare video at some point just to reassure your more loyal audience that you're alright and always well taken care of afterwards.

Otis Driftwood

Is obviously a fan of your videos and isn't going to stop you from making them. You aren't actually fucking anyone else, so he's cool with it. And if he feels particularly jealous or possessive at some point, he knows he's the only one who can actually pin you down and have his way with you.

Oh yeah, he's down to make a few videos with you. He's probably got some old tapes of his own somewhere, long forgotten. He's not shy.

Says the filthiest shit, it kinda becomes his think on your platform.

Otis can be absolutely disgusting but, fortunately, there is an audience for that and they flood to your videos.

Calls you all sorts of names, asks you if you get off on knowing everyone is going to watch him fuck you. That everyone is going to see all the things you let him do to you.

Baby Firefly

Baby loves that you do cam work, she loves performing. She happily does your hair and makeup, she helps you pick out costumes and which toys you'll use in that video.

Hell, she's even filmed a video or two for you!

She's your number one supporter so of course she jumps on camera as soon as you ask if she wants to be in a video.

The two of you are all dolled up and she's magnetic, the audience love her as much as they love you.

The two of you are absolute menaces if you decide to do a livestream, pulling in huge donations because Baby is going to pout and taunt. Why should the two of you put on a show if they're not showing their appreciation properly?

Baby is the type to respond to very low donations with "it's alright, you can just say you're poor". She never promised to play nice and she just thinks you're worth more than that!!!

You end up apologising for her.

People are into it though.

Yautja (Predator)

Your mate doesn't quite get it but he's cool with it.

Is hard as soon as you ask if he wants to be in a video. Yautja's aren't very conservative or prudish when it comes to sex and nudity, so you weren't too surprised.

He loves the thought of taking you, of claiming you, and everyone knowing that you're his mate. That he's a worthy mate for you.

Even when he's a regular feature in your videos, he doesn't completely understand it, he just knows he's into it.

Everyone loves to watch you try to take him fully, the struggle, the determination, the satisfaction when you manage it.

You have cornered the Monster Fucker market. They don't know if it's real, if it's a very elaborate costume, or very realistic animation, either way they are eating it up.

All the other performers who use alien dildos and such are super jealous, obviously.

2K notes · View notes

f1nalboys · 1 year

Text

Crack In The Window - Bo Sinclair

Teenage!Bo Sinclair

WORD COUNT: 2306

WARNINGS: none really! split timeline (beginning and end is current bo, middle is teenage bo), reader lived in ambrose with bo when they were younger, gn!reader but no explicit romance! honestly like childhood crush type shit, bo remembers the reader and is haunted by them. angst due to regrets, proofread but its me so...

It’s night time in Ambrose, mid-September, 1994, and Bo is sitting in the bed of his truck, lit cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of the smoke filling his lungs, the warmth filling his body, relaxing it, before he slowly exhales. His eyes open as he does so, watching the way the smoke drifts up into the night sky, illuminated by the porch light behind him. For a split second it takes a shape in front of him, a familiar one, a comforting one, and as he feels his free hand twitch at his side, the urge to reach forward and pull it closer to him almost painful, the shape is gone. It’s just smoke and then it’s nothing, gone into the autumn air.

He finishes the cigarette this time, attempting to recreate the shape, to see if it was just a fluke. It ‘s just smoke. Bo frowns, stamping the cigarette out onto the side of the truck, a small pile of ash there from his previous three cigarettes. It was nights like these, sticky and warm but a cool breeze that came lugging by occasionally, that were hard for him. The town was empty. It had been for a while, almost nine years now, but the ghosts of his past remained.

The stepping stones out behind the church, tiny painted handprints and scrawled names, cracked and weathered, remind him of his childhood and those who used to live here too. The old woman peeking at him from the green house down the road reminds him of Mrs. Halloway, his grumpy old neighbor who, for some reason he can’t remember, had a soft spot for Bo. The chip in the yellow house's second floor window reminds him of you.

Bo swallows thickly, feeling like he’s choking for just a moment before it passes. He scoots out of the bed of the truck, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket, gravel crunching under his feet. They carry him without permission and he knows where he’s heading because it’s where he always went on these nights. The yellow house is tucked away near the forest's edge, once bright paint now dull with age. There’s a small treehouse in the backyard, wood now rotted away, half about to collapse, and Bo stands on the fence line, staring at it. His eyes flick upwards towards that cracked window. To your window.

He thinks of you in passing most days, but when he sees that chip in the glass he can almost smell you, can almost feel you beside him, can almost hear your laugh. He sighs, leaning back against the chain link fence. He wishes he had another cigarette with him. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply and thinks of you.

-----

It’s night time in Ambrose, mid-September, 1985, and Bo is sitting in your tree house, lit cigarette in hand. You were sitting across from him, legs crossed and hands in your lap, watching as he took a drag before coughing. You giggle, holding your hand out to him and he passes it to you, fingertips brushing against your own. “Careful,” He says, leaning his head back against the wood as he watches you. “It’s strong.”

You roll your eyes and tentatively wrap your lips around the cigarette, breathing in before immediately coughing, eyes burning. He laughs, amused, before reaching over and plucking it from you. “Why do you like that?” You ask hoarsely, taking a large gulp from your water bottle. He shrugs, taking another drag before stamping it out beside him. There were a plethora of cigarette marks on the wood where Bo always sat, each one indicating a time he had come over for an escape.

“Calms me down,” He says simply, looking out of the treehouse back towards his house. All of the lights were off, no one sat up waiting for him. He could return safely now but then he looks over at you and sees the kind smile you’re offering him and realizes he doesn’t want to go just yet. Bo settles back into his spot. “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah…”

“Well now I’m scared,” Bo teases, an easy smile on his face. You try your best to match his expression but whether it fails or Bo is just that good at reading you you’re not sure. All you know is that his eyebrows are stitching together and he’s staring at you. “What’s wrong?” He tries to keep his voice level, uninterested, but you knew better.

“My parents are making us leave town.” Bo says nothing. You stare at the sixteen year old in front of you, one of the only people you cared about in this town, and you try to figure out what he’s thinking. That was always the tough part about Bo; you never knew how he felt until he blew up. “I don’t want to, but there’s nothing I can do. I tried to convince them to stay but since the sugar mill closed…”

Bo shakes his head. “Fuckin’ so? They could stay like my folks are.” He’s no longer looking at you, eyes trained on the fresh scorch mark on the wood beside his thigh. He’s angry. He’s so angry and he doesn’t know why he's so angry with you in particular; Bo knows better than anyone that what parents said goes. He swallows thickly. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit anyways.”

Sighing, you lean forward, hand reaching out to grab his own, and Bo pulls back like you were on fire the second your fingertips brush across his skin. You jump slightly, pulling away yourself. You were one of the only people in Ambrose - hell, the world - that he had allowed to hold his hand before, always tucked away safely in the treehouse. “Bo-”

“Shut the hell up.” He spits, standing up and, without throwing you another look, leaving the treehouse. You catch a glimpse of his face as he turns around to leave down the ladder and swear that his cheeks glistened with tears. Bo jumps off of the third rung and hits the ground with a start, sprinting off back towards his house. When he gets there he keeps going, past the house, into the woods, not stopping until his feet hit the water of the creek.

He drops to his knees, winded, sucking in harsh breaths with his heartbeat loud in his ears. His pants were torn where he had gotten caught by some of the underbrush, thin lines of blood popping up on his flesh and soaking into the dark fabric. His palms stung from the rocks underneath him but the cool water soothed them. He closes his eyes, ignoring the embarrassment and regret of how he just acted in favor of calming his heart. He focuses on the water running over his fingers.

When he opens his eyes again he’s breathing okay again, his head back inside his body. He was no longer watching himself from above, a sick observer in the sky watching his own pain for pleasure. Bo knew he was wrong to be blaming you. He knew you didn’t want to leave but a small part of him that clung to his heart like a virus told him that you were glad to be going. That you were glad to be leaving this stupid fucking town and that you were glad to be leaving Bo in the dust.

He remembers a time a few years ago where you and he had talked about what you wanted to do when you grew older. You had said you wanted to leave Ambrose at 18, Bo in hand, and head off to the big city. “Which one?” He had asked you and you had shrugged, grinning as you sipped at the lemonade you had made for the two of you. “Doesn’t matter as long as you’re with me.” Is what you responded with and Bo had flushed bright red, tilting his head so a strand of hair covered his face.

He had kissed you on the cheek when he said goodbye that night and had scurried out of the treehouse quicker than you had ever seen him do so. Neither of you brought the kiss back up but that night the both of you fell asleep with smiles on your faces.

And now you are leaving. Hit by a sudden wave of anger, Bo lifts his hand out of the creek, balling it into a fist, before punching the ground. A ripple of pain shoots up his hand and arm and Bo whimpers, cradling his hand against his chest. It wasn’t broken, he had done that enough times to be able to tell, but fuck it hurt. He stands now, knuckles throbbing, and picks up a handful of rocks, shoving them in his pockets.

When he gets back to your house, you’re not in the treehouse anymore. All of the lights in your house are turned off and he settles underneath your window, grabbing a few of the rocks out of his pocket. He had done this dozens of times before. He’d do something that was wrong and he’d come back hours later and throw small stones at your window until you opened it, which was when he’d give you a whispered apology and you’d forgive him because you loved him, both as your friend and maybe something more.

The first two rocks hit the window with a clang, and he pauses for a moment in between each one, waiting for the sound of your window sliding up. The third one hits the corner of your window and Bo’s stomach does a flip at the small ‘crunch’ sound. Though it’s dark outside, he can see the chip in the window the rock had caused, the thin crack that reached halfway up your window.

The window opens.

“Bo, what the hell?” You whisper, shoving your head through the window. You were in your pajamas and angry and Bo thought you looked beautiful like this. “Why did you just break my window? They’ll be pissed.”

“I ain’t mean to!” He whisper-shouts, looking at the window to your left. That was your parents bedroom and while he knew they wouldn’t tell his parents what he had done (they had caught him doing this exact thing just as many times as he did it) but he still didn’t want to wake them up. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“Well…I’m waiting.”

He grins softly, despite himself, before nodding. “I just… I don’t want you to leave. I’m mad that you have to and that we can’t run off together like we had planned to and I’m mad that you are gonna be gone and I’m mad that I’m gonna be alone.” It’s word vomit at this point but Bo knows you’ll wait patiently for him to finish, that you’ll be able to understand him regardless of where his tangent goes. “I’m sorry for actin’ like an ass. I… I don’t want you to leave.” Bo reiterates, his voice sadder now, and you frown.

“I don’t want to leave either, Bo. I can try to convince them to stay but they won’t. You won’t be stuck here, at least.” You say with a soft, reassuring smile. “I mean, after we leave it’ll just be y’all. Your parents can’t stay in the town forever.”

Bo nods. He knows you’re wrong but you don’t know you are and if he keeps his eyes on you he can almost pretend that he’d be able to pack his bag and head somewhere new. “You forgive me?” He asks and you pretend to think, finger tapping on your chin, before nodding. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You know it, Bo. Goodnight.”

“Night, Y/N. Sorry about your window.”

-------

Bo’s eyes flutter open. You moved a week and a half later. He stayed glued to your side that entire time, helping you pack, helping you clean and organize, helping your parents. When he said goodbye to you in front of your parents car, he didn’t speak. If he had tried, he knew that the tears he had been able to hide so well would start to flow, flooding the town, drowning him and you and keeping you trapped here with him.

“Shit,” He mutters under his breath, taking one last look at the chip in your window before turning on his heel and walking back to his house. Your parents had been pissed at the damage but hadn’t said a word about it. It never got fixed. He’s sure if he walked into your house and up the stairs he’d find it exactly the same as it had been when you left, years of dust settling across the surface of everything.

As his feet hit the gravel of his driveway, he thinks about how you had told him to write to you when he finally moved, giving your address on a ripped piece of lined paper. It was still tucked under his pillow, folded three times neatly. He never left. He never wrote to you.

As Bo gets to his house and walks in, getting ready for bed, he imagines himself with you in your empty bedroom, sitting in your closet. He can see the painted handprint you both had made on your last night home, done in each other's favorite colors, names signed underneath in pen. He can hear your laughter when Bo had forgotten about the paint on his hand and had wiped at his nose, smearing color across his pale skin. He can remember your squeal when he had smeared some of the paint onto you as well.

He remembers you as he settles into bed, hand under his pillow, your address tucked in between his fingers.

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher one shot #slasher fic #fun fact this is the fic i wrote while listening to lover you shouldve come over by jeff buckley over and over for horus #hours #<3

134 notes · View notes