#house of wax fic

[haddonfieldwhore]

strangers - bo sinclair

bo sinclair x fem!reader

summary: bo has a very rare moment of humanity

warnings: implied smut, reader is bo’s captive, stockholm syndrome, blood

word count: 0.7k

loosely inspired by this song

the busted spring of the mattress poked into bo’s back as he rolled over in bed, trying to get away from the rays of sunlight creeping through the cracks in the curtain. he tried to go back to sleep but the light refused to let him, and he surrendered, sitting upright and leaning his back against the wall behind the bed. he rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the light, before he looked over to your side of the bed at you still sleeping form. the sheets were the only thing covering you, draped lazily over your side as you lay turned away from him, your only movement being each breath you took.

he traced the bruises and indentations left behind by his teeth, leaving a trail down the side of your neck and across you shoulder. you stirred slightly, rolling over to face him but remained asleep, giving bo the chance to admire every detail of your face. your lips were bruised from his harsh kisses, dried blood caked to your mouth, and dark circles under your eyes. you’d only been in ambrose 6 months, but it had aged you nearly two years. not that you could remember how long it had been anymore.

but still, bo couldn’t help but think how young you looked; innocent. he knew you weren’t - at least not anymore. no, he had taken that from you. you were hardly the same person you were when you’d arrived in town, just asking for help with your car. all alone. a pretty young thing like you didn’t stand a chance. not for a second.

it hadn’t taken long for bo to decide he was going to keep you. after that it wasn’t long before he convinced you that you wanted to stay; that it was your idea, even. once he knew you wouldn’t try to escape (not that you could’ve if you tried) he let you stay at the house with him instead of the basement.

they were both prisons. one just had a bed.

bo thought back to that first day, that first week, that first time you didn’t flinch at his touch. the first time you smiled at the sight of him. it was over; you were his.

even if you could’ve gotten away, it was too late. you were his. he owned you.

it didn’t matter if you had a family back home, looking for you. your missing poster had started to tear from the bulletin board at the grocery store in your home town; your mother would replace it. it didn’t matter. no one would find you. the person you were was gone. a ghost, though you were still alive.

something twisted in his stomach, a strange feeling; something he didn’t recognize, like he’d eaten something off and felt sick. but it was something else entirely.

guilt.

bo sinclair, for the first time in his life, felt a shred of guilt. it lingered for only a second, disappearing as quickly as it had materialized, as your eyes fluttered open and you smiled at him. your hands reached for him immediately, and bo pulled you into his lap, letting you curl into his chest. still half asleep, you peppered kisses along the underside of his jaw before nuzzling into his neck, nearly drifting off again. see? you were happy. he decided there was nothing for him to feel guilty about.

“mornin, darling.”

“good morning, bo,” you mumbled happily. anyone who saw this scene would think the two of you were in love. he’d rewired your brain so good you thought so too.

“go back to sleep baby. you did good last night.”

last night. you lost track of him many times he’d been buried between your legs last night, barely able to string together a cohesive thought by the time he was done with you, tears streaming down your face from it all being too much.

“i did good?” you hummed, and he nodded, kissing the top of your head.

“you did so good, sweetheart. now go back to sleep,” he cooed. you mumbled incoherently as you let yourself fall asleep in his arms. “that’s my girl.”

“…yours,” you mumbled before you were asleep again. he smiled.

“mine.”

#“am i making you feel sick? #strangers #bo sinclair x reader #ethel cain #bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair #house of wax imagine #bo sinclair fic #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #house of wax fic

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Kissing Their Scars

Bo Sinclair

You were in bed together, Bo's shirt already forgotten on the bedroom floor, your own halfway off your body. In all the times that you'd been with him intimately, you'd never brought attention to the scarring around his wrists. He'd told you a little about what had happened in his past before, how he'd gotten the scars, and you weren't going to press him about it.

But now, as you pressed light kisses across his chest, you found yourself suddenly drawn to his wrists, leaning back and carefully lacing your fingers with his, lifting his hand up towards you and gently pressing your lips to the scars etched into his skin.

"What're you doin'?" He asked, his hand jerking back slightly as he stared up at you, a look of unease on his face.

"Sorry." You said, shaking your head as you pulled back. "I guess I wasn't thinking."

"No, no, don't be sorry." He quickly answered, his hands coming up to stroke your arms. "Just caught me off guard, that's all."

"You know I think you're amazing." You smiled, before pressing a final quick kiss to his wrist. "Every part of you."

Bo couldn't help but smile back at you then, emotion swelling in his chest as he stared up at you, your fingers still gently cradling his wrist. But he didn't bother to say anything more, because there was no way in hell he was gonna get all emotional on you. Not right now, at least.

Vincent Sinclair

Now unlike Bo, Vincent was slightly less open when it came to his scars. For the first few months that you were together, you never once saw his face. He wouldn't be opposed to you kissing him through the mask every now and again, but it would definitely take him a while before he was comfortable enough to show you what was hidden beneath the mask.

And when that time finally came, you were cautious not to push him too far, allowing him to take things at his own pace. You'd been watching him work down in the basement, and you were absolutely mesmerized by the sight, the way he was so focused, so professional in the way he created his sculptures. And you'd gotten his attention briefly, asking if it'd be okay if you kissed him. He simply nodded, carefully setting his tools down and approaching you.

And he didn't know what it was, but he suddenly felt a strange sense of confidence, pausing for a moment before finally removing his mask.

You were definitely surprised by this, considering you'd never seen his face until now.

"Are you sure?" You asked him, your voice quiet as you took in his features.

He nodded, although you could tell he was still unsure. You'd heard his brother call him a freak a number of times, so it was understandable that he was unsure of your reaction.

You smiled as you stepped closer to him, carefully bringing a hand up to brush the hair away from his face, revealing the heavy scarring underneath.

Vincent wasn't sure what to expect, but he was surprised to see you smiling at him. Most people probably would've run away screaming. But not you. You were looking up at him like he was the most mesmerizing thing you had ever seen.

"You're beautiful, Vincent." You spoke softly, before lifting up to gently press your lips against the scarred side of his face.

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

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair headcanon #vincent sinclair fanfic #bo sinclair headcanon #bo sinclair fanfic #sinclair twins #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax fic #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher headcanons #slasher fanfic

[f1nalboys]

Bug Like An Angel - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair

heyyyy guys :3 if i saw me post this yesterday no u did not <3 i got embarrassed bc it’s my first time writing in a while so it feels bad but i’m posting it again and going to nap for the fifth time today so?? enjoy hopefully? lmk what y’all think!! ALSO sorry i am posting this on my phone so formatting might be fucked up and i apologize hehe

WORD COUNT: 1172

WARNINGS: younger bo, no romantic subplot. angst, comparing bo to his mom, bug mention, bug death mention, bo is a complicated guy. alcohol mention, religious undertones and overtones, swearing, brief mention of a victim, barely any proofreading

A small bug drowned to death in Bo’s mostly-empty glass early this afternoon while he sat on the porch swing, the brim of his hat low over his eyes to shield them from the sun. The Louisiana heat mixed well with his liquor, settling warm in his stomach and rocking him to sleep like a mother would her child.

As the sun sets his eyes open, the hat moves from his head to clear his vision. Bo’s heart was thumping in his chest, crashing against his ribs like a wild animal in a cage. His dream of angels falling to earth, humans stumbling across Ambrose, sinners and saints alike lessen the longer he’s awake. Sin follows the righteous like a heavy cloud, thick with want and desire. The chosen few always out run it but Bo has never been a runner and he’s never been one to turn down a sin or two.

Bo breathes in slowly, taking in his surroundings. He’s home, like always. He’s alone, like always. He briefly thinks of the poor girl stuck in the basement right now; Vincent had surely begun his craft and Bo swallows back the annoyance at not having been able to play with her longer. She had been funny, the way she spit and screamed at him until she saw the chair. Bo liked timing them in his head to see how long it took for them to start to beg.

It’s something his mother used to do to him. He can still hear her shrill voice if he focuses hard enough; “Four minutes before you finally apologized. Well, that just won’t stand.” His wrists itch but when he looks down they’re just scars. There’s no blood despite the feeling of it warm on his skin, the blood of a lamb on untouched fur.

His eyes turn over to the railing of the deck and he spots his glass. His tongue burns for another taste and he grabs it, looking down and frowning as he registers the bug that laid flat in the middle of the remnants of his drink. “Damn…” he mutters, eyebrows furrowing together. “Poor bastard needed a drink more than me.”

Snorting at his own joke, Bo goes to empty the glass over the side of the railing. He hesitates for a moment as he watches the bug slide from the center of the glass to the edge, the small drop of scotch submerging it. There’s a small pang of sorrow deep inside Bo’s chest that lights up, just a spark, at the sight. “Poor thing.” He says, dumping the bug out onto the wooden railing.

The remaining scotch soaks into the wood, a small ring like shape, the bug in the center. It reminds Bo of one of the angels he used to stare at when his momma forced him to church. He swallows thickly, thinking of the countless hours he’d spend in those small pews tucked in between his parents, a hand on each of his wrists, digging into the still raw flesh with each offense. He remembers how his gaze bore into the angel to the left of Jesus, how he got some sort of solace from it in those moments.

When he revisited his mommas funeral and couldn’t bear to look at her, his eyes always found it’s own.

Sighing, Bo places the thick glass onto the railing beside the bug. Bo wasn’t sure what kind of bug it was, just that it had a hard brown shell and six arms and that it looked pathetic like that on it’s back, limbs limp. He pokes at the small insect, just to make sure, before he carefully rolls it over. “There ya go, buddy,” he murmurs with a smile. “Now let’s get you where you belong.”

With more grace than he’s ever given anyone, Bo gently picks the bug up in between his thumb and pointer, placing it onto the middle of his palm as he walks down his front porch steps, taking a left to turn down the side of the house. There was a small patch of dandelions growing here and Bo bends down in front of a patch of them.

“Hmm, where do you wanna be…” Bo questions quietly, before letting out a small satisfied hum. With his free hand he digs a small hole in between two flowers, just an inch or two, before carefully placing the bug in the makeshift grave. He closes his eyes and mutters a prayer to himself, one he had been muttering over his mothers body for the last three years. When he finishes he sighs, opening his eyes and giving a sad smile towards the small bug in the big grave.

Bo carefully brushes dirt over the bug, tapping the dirt over top and placing a small golden leaf on top like a blanket. Like a mother to her child. “Bo?” He jumps, nearly falling flat onto his ass as he attempts to stand, hand reaching for his back pocket where his knife stayed. Lester gives a toothy smile and Bo rolls his eyes, wiping his hands onto his jeans.

“Whadya want, Les?” He asks, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Hadn’t seen ya since lunch, wanted to check up on ‘ya and make sure you were ok.” Lester steps to the side to allow Bo to pass him before quickly falling in line, walking quickly to keep up with his brother's large strides. “What were you doin’?”

Bo shakes his head, boots hitting the safety of the porch steps. “Nothin’, don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

“Were you buryin’ another bug?” Lester can see Bo stiffen as his hand reaches for the front door's handle and grins, trying to stifle his laughter. “S’alright, Bo. We all’s gotta soft spot for animals. Course, most folks prefer dogs to creepy crawlies.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re on about.” Bo snaps, holding the door open for his younger brother to slink inside past him. He sticks his foot out and laughs loudly when Lester trips, louder than he used to be allowed to, and he slams the front door shut like his mother. “Go put a pizza or somethin’ in the oven for us, I’ll grab beers. Oh, and tell Vinny to leave the bitch and come up to get something to eat, too, wouldja?”

Lester shakes his head. “You sound like momma.” He mutters under his breath, ducking to avoid Bo swatting at him. Like mother, like son. “Dibs on pickin’ the movie, then!”

Bo’s mouth opens to deny the dibs due to being the oldest but Lester is gone, turning into the room that leads to the basement and Bo shakes his head instead. He thinks of the poor little bug buried in between those two wilting flowers all alone and briefly wonders what would’ve happened to it had it not died tonight the way it did, if it had been given another chance.

It reminds him of something but he can’t quite think of what that is.

#f1nalboys works #f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fic #angst fic #idk man

[workingforthewidow]

5:34 am I was about to start my day-

I’m alive lol! Sorry for the long wait but I’m here I’m alive. Just had to get over the flu, dizzy spells, and salmonella poisoning lol. Here is part 8 of Sun to Me! I have part 9 done as well and maybe 10 done/almost done!

This story is NSFW and not for minors- if you are under 18 go ask your legal guardian if you can watch the movie.

Warnings: kidnapping, forced marriage, dub-con, attempted non-con, abuse, Stockholm syndrome, age gap (15 years- K&C are 19 Sinclairs are freshly 34) Don’t like it don’t read it,

Sun to Me Masterlist

“Fucking hell. Where the fuck did they go?” Bo ran his hands through his hair as he paced. He had tried to keep up with the girls and the visitors but lost them when they took a turn. “Those fucking little bitches. Can’t believe they fucking tricked us. I don’t care how pretty they are, I’m going to beat her with my bare hands.” His anger was at an all time high. It had been 3 hours and they couldn’t find the girls or the visitors.

Vincent had been sitting in the house watching Bo pace as he wrote out his thoughts-

~How are you so sure they are trying to run? These last two months have been good after that last attempt. Which was deserved after that stunt you pulled. Maybe the visitors took them. Thinking they were in danger. They’re on foot they couldn’t have gotten far.~

Bo winced reading the note. He didn’t like to remember what happened the day of his birthday. He would hate himself and what he did to Caroline for the rest of his life and even in the hereafter. He took a breath and closed his eyes trying to calm himself. He opened his mouth to say something when the door opened. He turned and the sight was something he never would have imagine in his wildest dreams.

There stood his babygirl, his little innocent wife who cried when she saw Jonesy kill a squirrel and had nightmares during thunderstorms, with blood splattered all over her face, her jeans, and the shirt she had stolen from his dresser, and a knife in her hand.

“I got one of them but Katie is still running over the girl. And boy is she’s mad. I don’t think I’ve seen Katie that mad in a while.” She said it like it was nothing. “I imagine if you want to be able to use the body you should get to her before Katie’s done with her.” She turned and started walking back in the direction where Bo assumed Katie and the victim were running.

Bo finally came out of the shock he was trapped in and ran after her, grabbing her around the waist. “The fuck you think you’re doing girl.” The anger was coming back into his body full speed.

“Obviously trying to get back to my sister before she completely destroys a human body. Duh.”

“Oh no. You are going to back up to that house, cleaning yourself up, and getting my dinner ready, like the good little wife you are suppose to be.” Bo turned and started walking her towards the house. “You are in so much trouble little girl.”

“And here I thought you would find it kinda hot or are you just jealous the guy I killed was bigger than yours.” Bo dropped her and turned her to face him his hands going to her face.

“The fuck you mean the one you killed?”

“I took this knife,” she held up the bloodied knife in his face, “and I stabbed him. Right here.” She tapped the tip of the blade over his heart. “I mean I did have him on the ground after I hit him in the head with a chair. But I’m still pretty proud of myself.” She shrugged and waited for a response.

Bo’s emotions were flipping so fast he didn’t know what to do. He felt anger at her for not following the rules, pride in her that she had taken down a tourist, and she was right he was insanely hard in his jeans at the sight of her. He let the third emotion take over and grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her hard.

“We will be having a long talk about this later little girl. Show us where they went.” He released her face and she started off in the direction Katie had run.

Bo and Vincent followed and soon they found Katie looking very similar to Caroline. The body of the woman at her feet.

At the sound of their footsteps Katie looked up, it took all of his self control for Vincent not to grab her. He didn’t know it but he was having the same confusing feelings as Bo. He couldn’t decide if he was angry, proud, or turned on.

“Wow you didn’t completely chop her to bits. Proud of you!” Caroline laughed and Katie nodded.

“It was really hard. Fucking bitch got me good.” She lifted her left arm and sure enough there was a long scratch mark down her forearm.

Caroline took Katie’s arm and examined it, “I can fix that. Doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches. Should be good with a bandage wrap.”

Bo and Vincent jaws dropped (well Vincent’s would if he didn’t have his mask on) they looked to each other to see if the other had figured out what was going on and what happened to their sweet girls.

Katie finally looked to Vincent and smiled, “Hello darling. I missed you.” She moved towards him and put her hand on his chest. He grabbed her arm and looked over it, clearly not happy with her injury, “I’ll be okay, just a scratch.” She tried to reassure him but that clearly wasn’t going to be easy.

“Okay what the fuck is going on here?” Bo’s voice boomed out. “You know the rules. Stay home and don’t talk to strangers. You two are going home, cleaning up, putting on your pretty little dresses, making dinner, and waiting for us. We are gonna clean up this mess. Dinner better be on the fucking table and you better be ready to explain.”

Katie looked to Vincent who nodded in agreement with his twin. Caroline took Katie’s hand and they walked back to the house.

“Well that went better than I thought it would.”

—

Bo and Vincent walked into the house to find exactly what they asked for, dinner on the table and the girls cleaned up in their pretty dresses. Vincent took note of the bandage wrapped around Katie’s arm. Seeing the boys enter, they stood and went to them. Their nerves could be felt through the thickness in the air. They knew the boys weren’t not happy. They tried their best to impress them cleaning up nice, doing their hair and makeup, and even made them pot roast again.

“Sit.” Bo ordered, Caroline immediately did as told, while Katie looked to Vincent. When he crossed his arms and nodded Katie hurried to follow suit. Bo and Vincent took their seats and plates were made in silence. No one spoke for a few minutes everyone just eating.

“You better have a good explanation for that little stunt you just pulled. You could’ve been killed.” Bo said stabbing into a potato with a little more force than was truly needed.

The girls looked to each other and Katie took a breath explaining everything the best she could about they figured out what was going on and how they ended up out there tonight.

After her speech with a few add-ins from Caroline the only response they got was some hums and nods. Fear was starting to creep in their bodies as they cleaned the kitchen after dinner, the boys eyes falling them every move they made. Once things were cleaned the stood next to their husbands.

Vincent took Katie’s hand and lead her to their room while Bo did the same with Caroline. The girls had no idea what the night had in store but seeing as they weren’t dead and no one was crying they hoped it would go okay.

—

Bo closed the door to their room and turned to find a well welcomed sight, his baby on her knees, hands folded on her thighs, and her head down.

“I’m sorry Bo. I knew the rules and I didn’t follow them. I’m sorry. You made the rules for a reason, to keep me safe. I’m sorry.” Her voice was so small and so soft. His perfect girl.

Bo put his hand on her cheek and she looked up to him tears glistening in her eyes, “Get your pajamas on and get to bed babygirl.”

He was mad. Oh lord was he mad. It was taking everything in his power to control his anger. Luckily Vincent had had the forethought to make him burn off some anger, one of the house towards the edge of town needed new windows now but it had calmed him a little. He didn’t want, couldn’t, act like he had on his birthday. He would kill himself before he did that again. He had to control himself.

Caroline changed into one of his shirts he had given her to use as pajamas. She was swimming in it but he knew she had a motive behind it. She didn’t wear anything under it, it was a welcome invitation for him to touch her. It was her way of initiating sex when she was still to shy to openly ask for it or to start the foreplay. His sweet little babygirl, who blushed when he held her hand sometimes, had blood on her hands now. They didn’t want the girls involved, sure they would have to tell them what was going on eventually. But they had hoped to keep this quiet a little longer.

He took his clothes off leaving him in his boxers and got in bed next to her. He put his hand over hers intertwining their fingers. She looked up to him and tried to smile but he could see the fear behind her eyes. He hated that look, that he had made her have that look. All her adrenaline had faded and she was coming to terms with what she did.

“Babygirl,” he released her hand and pulled her into his lap, “I’ll be honest with you I’m mad as hell right now. But I ain’t gonna hurt you like that again. I’ll promise again baby.” She put her head on his shoulder and he could feel her shaking a bit. “We were gonna tell ya what was happening. We had plans to but we didn’t wanna do it too soon. Didn’t wanna scare ya away.”

He heard her make a small noise and he pulled her away from his shoulder looking into her eyes, “What ya say baby?”

“Why didn’t you kill me and Katie? Why, why are we alive?”

Bo smirked and kissed her forehead, “‘Cus babygirl you were meant to be my pretty little wife. As soon as I saw ya two walking into my shop I knew it. Two pretty little twins for me and Vinny. Once you left for the museum I went and got Vinny and told him all about ya. Will admit your sisters pretty but you had my eye always baby.”

Caroline’s giggle interrupted him, “We’re identical twins, silly, we look the same.”

Bo smiled hearing her sweet laugh, “Nah I can tell the difference. There’s something about you babygirl that spoke to my heart. I knew that you were meant to be a Sinclair. Be my wife and mama to my babies. Gonna be so pretty with my baby in your belly. Sweet little mama with my sweet little Chevy girl.”

“What if we have a boy first?” She asks tracing her fingers over his arm. “I always liked Matthew like from the Bible. My favorite Gospel. Call him Mattie.”

Bo nodded and smiled at her, “That sounds good baby. Chevy and Mattie.”

Talking about baby names had helped calm him down and he wrapped his arms around her holding her tight to him before laying her down. She waited him to lay back as well before resting her head on his chest where she continued to trace patterns with her fingers.

“I love you Beauregard Sinclair.”

“And I love you Caroline Sinclair.”

—

Vincent had learned quickly that his angel had a habit of crying when her emotions got too much, too happy, too sad, too angry, too anything. She held everything in for too long before finally breaking. He knew as soon as the door was closed tears would be flowing and he was right.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It just, everything was happen so fast… and I’m sorry, Vincent. I’m sorry. I…” Her words faltered and sobs shook her body. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and put his forehead against hers. His thumbs brushed the tears from her and continued to rub soft circles over her face. After a few moments he let his hands fall and took a step back.

He started moving his hands and she realized he wanted to sign today instead of speak or write things down. They had been practicing for a few months and he had gotten quite good. He wasn’t fluent yet but Katie dared to say he was pretty close.

V- I’m not mad angel.

“What do you mean?” Katie both asked aloud and signed.

V- I’m not mad. Upset? Yes, you should have told me. So I could protect you.

“You could have been honest with me in the first place. There’s enough secrets here as there is.”

V- I am sorry angel. You’re right but I didn’t want to scare you off anymore than you already were.

Then she asked the same question her twin had asked of his, “Why didn’t you kill me and Caroline? Why, why are we alive?” The tears had returned, not quite as hard as before but tears nonetheless. Vincent didn’t respond. He pulled her into his arms held her as close to him as possible. His hands rubbed up and down her back letting her cry.

She felt one of his hands move from her back for a moment than came back.

“You have always been safe with me. Since I first saw you, I knew you were mine.” His voice was a soft whisper. “The most beautiful girl in the world.”

“We look a like we’re twins. Besides the hair but that’s not much.” Her laugh was muffled a bit but he heard it.

Vincent shook his head and kissed her cheek, “Your souls are different. But yours and mine are the missing piece to each other. I love you Catherine Sinclair. My sweet angel.”

She smiled at him her eyes shining with love, “And I love you Vincent Sinclair.”

#house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher fanfic #slasher fic #slashers #bo sinclair #brian van holt #house of wax fic #vincent sinclair

[small-sinclair]

For you

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just.

For.

You.

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

#bo sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax (2005) #vincent sinclair #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax fanfic #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfic #bo sinclair x you #obsessed!bo Sinclair #bo sinclair house of wax #bo sinclair imagine #slasher fics #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher fanfic #bo sinclair x gn reader #bo sinclair x y/n

[doomh3ad]

slashers + kissing them in panic before they kill you (short fic) [including michael myers, bo sinclair, candyman/daniel robitaille, brahms heelshire]

part 2

Michael Myers

He's got you by the throat, your back against the wall, eye sockets of the mask staring coldly and blankly into your wide, panicked eyes. You're not entirely sure what you hope to accomplish when you press a swift kiss to his cheek, straining against his grip on your neck. For a moment, you think you've fucked up tremendously and he'll kill you painfully and slowly for it, and his curious head tilt doesn't soothe your worries. It's only when his grip loosens, but doesn't fully relent, that you breathe a sigh of relief.

However, you're not entirely free to go. His significantly lighter grip is still like iron, and the message is clear when you try to walk away and it tightens to the point of being painful.

You're coming with him.

Bo Sinclair

"Just lie still, alright, now," he says and shushes you, opening the glue. "Shame to shut these pretty lips of yours, but-"

You're thinking on your feet, it's a split second decision. He's already shown his attraction to you, and his hand is poised to use the glue and you're so scared that you'll do anything to stop him. Even if it doesn't work, it couldn't hurt to try, he already may kill you, what's the worst that could happen?

You lean forward as much as your restraints allow and kiss him deeply, trying to minimise your shaking and obvious panic. He is a good kisser, which helps. Something between you becomes electric and he drops the glue, using his now free hand to tilt your chin and deepen the kiss, your passion met with the equal force of his own. Eventually, you feel confident enough to gently break away to meet his eyes, and wonder if the lust in his eyes is a mirror to your own.

A grin breaks out across that devastatingly handsome face as he gazes at you fondly. "Well now...s'pose it would be a tragedy to let someone like you go to waste. You could be all mine if you promise you'll be quiet, yeah?"

Your slow nod seals your fate.

Candyman / Daniel Robitaille

You're not even sure why you did it.

Whispering into the mirror, five times. Maybe you're reckless, maybe you were just so infinitely bored of life that potentially losing it didn't seem so bad.

You called. He came. Now you're facing the consequences, only one thing comes to mind that you'd like to do. Your final act.

The hook is unbelievably gentle, running across your cheek, and his tender hold around your waist is almost like a lover's. You're entranced with the strangely romantic tone he speaks to you in, and as he goes in for the kill you do what you've been wanting to.

He's entirely caught off guard, and as you kiss him he senses something else in you. A desire to right your wrongs, a purer soul than he thought at first glance.

No, you will not be his victim, he decided once your lips met his. You will be his honeybee, the only tie he'll allow himself to have to this plane of existence. You captivate him in a way no others have.

He fades from your vision, with a promise to return.

Brahms Heelshire

Confusion and horror battle to be the main emotion driving your frantic escape attempt from the man that has just emerged from the walls. You only signed up to take care of a doll. A doll of a dead little boy, yet his actual, much older counterpart blocks your path to the door with his frighteningly strong frame.

"Brahms?" You question, tears now spilling from your eyes. You search for answers in the eyes behind his mask that you know you will never receive, certainly not if he kills you like you he's about to.

His arm is tensed around your neck now, seemingly ready to snap it at any second.

"You didn't follow the rules," comes the voice of a young boy, strained with the high pitch and apparent disuse. "You have to follow them."

The rules? The ones you were given when you started? What haven't you done? You're mentally running through the list, checking and double checking as his grip gets tighter, then you hit on it.

Kiss goodnight.

As you become more lightheaded and your eyes close, you use your last vestige of strength to kiss the lips of the mask.

You don't have time to savour the fresh air as he rips off the mask and you actually get to kiss him. But the pressure around your neck is gone, and you might actually get out of this alive.

If you follow the rules, that is.

#imelda's writing #horror #slasher x reader #slasher #slasher fic #slashers #slasher thirst #michael myers #michael myers x reader #halloween #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #candyman #daniel robitaille #candyman x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy #brahms the boy #daniel robitaille x reader #the shape x reader #horror x reader #final girl #house of wax 2005 #carly jones #laurie strode #slashers x reader #halloween 2018 #halloween ends

[danddymaro]

Flattered | Vincent Sinclair x Reader

I watched it again lol. 

perhaps fluff, ( YK, as far as slashers can get with fluff)

Word count: 1483

Flattered

Your finger lightly petted the falling wax that gently ran down the long, white candle, toying with it betwixt your thumb and pointer before it cooled into a thin coat over them.

You released a little hum before using a nail to peel off the remains with ease, soon feeling just a bit happy with how soft your skin felt afterward.

 Though, the delight was short-lived.

- It usually was.

Boredom had you sitting here with a halfhearted gaze, wondering if you'd ever get out. 

The man that held you captive did nothing much but put himself to work, occasionally looking back at you to confirm that you were still there. 

As if you could go anywhere else but under his nose.

It made no sense as you didn't know where else you could go but sit, making you wonder why he did so, so often.

"I'm not going anywhere," you reminded him in a soft voice as you then lay back on the bed there. 

It was the only thing that had been saved from the touch of the melted substance he worked with, and you were grateful. You were surrounded by it.

"Can't," you mumbled before closing your eyes tiredly. 

Like hell you'd try anyways when his brother was lurking anywhere the masked one wasn't. 

'I'm better off here,' you inwardly mused.

If you were completely honest, you preferred being stuck with this man instead.

 At least he just kept you there at a distance, something the other one had trouble doing when you first got into town.

You didn't even want to think about what he would have done to you if Vincent hadn't intervened, pulling you to him with a sort of claim that had you conflicted.

Because you didn't know if being with him was going to be better or worse, luckily, things had gone pleasantly thus far. 

-You weren’t dead and that counted as a victory.

He didn't try and touch you, excluding the few moments his soft hands grazed your cheek, feeling the texture of your flesh to what you concluded was inspiration to his more innocent work. 

Gently his fingers trailed the line of your lower lip, and as you tried to follow the movement of the exploring digits, your eyes practically glowed at the act. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to think of it as anything other than utter interest, but even then he adored the look you possessed.

You quickly lost your initial cowering when you realized he wouldn’t draw lower than our jawline, or roam anywhere else other than your face.

So, you let him do as he pleased, occasionally voicing out little teases that got you little, flustered responses. 

‘Having fun?’ you questioned him while trying not to laugh to much at the way his movements would be interrupted by a sudden, minuscule jerk that would be akin to a stutter in someone’s voice.

You noticed the way his fingers would tremble, and for whatever reason it was ….cute.

For just a moment you opened your eyes again, a half-lidded look pointed to where he continued to run the warm metal utensil over little mistakes he’d made.

You blinked your eyes open wide before you suddenly turned your whole head, your face pointed to his direction, your entire body soon following the movement until you lay at your side, observing.

‘Is that what he’s been up to?’ you asked yourself, realizing how it made sense the amount of times he stared at you, studying.

"Is that me?" you asked with a touch of a smile, asking from where you now sat, your legs hanging off from the side of the bed. 

At the finishing details, you finally found yourself eased enough to ask just as he took a step back to give it a final once over.

Granted for the past few days, you hadn't talked , but the simple boredom of all those hours had you begging for some interaction.

At your question Vincent turned back to you and nodded slowly before looking down, shifting awkwardly. 

You watched as his hands toyed with the tool he held, and as you observed, you detected what was perhaps bashfulness. 

His lack of words made his body language much more exaggerated, that was for sure. 

But, of course, you didn't mind much.

"Can...um...can I get a better look?" you asked with a crooked smile, waiting for his response. 

His head shot up and he looked at you for a long minute before he nodded. 

You weren't sure why, but you felt a bit amused before you walked over to him and the wax figure, eyeing it as it was just at your height. 

Your hand went out to touch it before it retreated, and you looked up to the massive man, uncertain, 

 "Can I?" you asked, afraid to ruin his work.

Though, he nodded fiercely, the hand closest to him hesitating before it reached for yours, guiding it towards your replica's face. 

That's where you started, petting an eyebrow before skimming down it's chin. 

You then brought the hand to your own face, feeling the difference with awe. 

"It's amazing," you said while looking op to him, the single eye that stared you down holding appreciation. 

Though, you could hardly see it as it was hidden by the shadow of his mask and jet black strands that had framed his face. 

"You're really talented," you told him, flattered by the work, moreover appreciating that he had only used you as a muse and not the base for his sculpture. 

"I'm nowhere near your skill, but maybe I can sculpt you sometime, " you joked while looking the work over more.

He even caught the fabrics of your clothes right, making you softly sigh.

 It had only been a silly remark, because you doubted you could pull it off anyways, but he seemed elated. 

his hands both took your wrists captive as he turned you towards him, the act nearly tearing a scream out of you in frightened surprise. Other than the first time he’d practically tore you out of his brother’s brute grasp on you, it was the first time he’d used any real force.

 He lightly shook you as he bent down a bit, looking down with a tilted head, not speaking, but communicating with a nearly muted hum you found somewhat endearing. 

Quickly, your terror subsided as you took in his response.

"Ah, You like that idea?" you said with a short chuckle, and he nodded quickly, excited. 

"I'll take that as a yes," you said as you eased your wrists out of his grip, only doing so thanks to the dying pressure of his hands.

He'd never had anyone try and capture his likeness. 

Not even he bothered to do so.

 But you had offered, and it was something he didn't know he yearned for until he watched you try and mimic the steps he'd taken to create yours. 

You explained to him how you’d work on a much smaller scale, the figure no larger than six inches, giving you a small enough goal that didn’t require all of his precise touches.

He helped you start of, slowly guiding you with silent advise and little nudges you smiled at.

You were somewhat sloppy, and when you weren't, you were far too considerate, your pace careful, almost afraid of messing up. 

Soon after, he let you try your hand while he sat back and watched for hours, giving you the workspace needed to become familiar while he stayed out of the way. 

However, it didn't mean he sat back and did nothing, because he found the sight of you moving around his usual workspace to be charming as you copied many of his movements , even the unnecessary ones. 

It was cute watching you move around in his apron with no real direction. 

He’d help you out, but given how determined you were to do it on your own, he refrained from it after you pleaded with him on the first attempt.

Flattered was in no way near what he felt, because it was far greater. 

In his sketchbook he recorded the various faces of your process, the purse of your lips, the lines of frustration and consideration that decorated it too. 

-And especially your moments of little victories as you saw your efforts pay off.

Even the light smudges of dried wax you had dotted on your cheeks as you wiped them occasionally had been captured. 

He recorded it all on paper, and hoped that after he finished the moments, you thought of them as fascinating too. 

Gently his fingers ran down the slick wax that protected his face, realizing how warm he felt beneath the mask, his cheeks flushed with color that spread over his ears too. 

for a moment you looked back at him, his living muse smiling preciously. 

#vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent x you #vincent sinclair x y/n #house of wax x you #house of wax x reader #House of Wax #house of wax x y/n #house of wax fanfiction #house of was fanfic #Slashers #slashers x reader #slasher fics

[astr0exe]

ello ello,could I request some Lester from House of wax?

He doesn't get enough attention for my liking and I feel for such a dirty grimey man he deserves his own gremlin boyfriend.

I was thinking maybe a little bit of angst with smut,Maybe Bo being the-bit of bastard he is,just got done yelling at Lester so he's sad and needs his boyfriend to make him feel loved again.Maybe with knife play(don't have to if it makes you uncomfy) since he has a bunch of knives,they can be put to use aside from road kill or whatever-🙏

If not that's fine,Hope u have a good day or night<3👊✨

Lester is acc my fuckin husband:( i love him so much<3 no angst js needy Les with some knife n blood play, nd pain play :)

// CW : tm!reader , needy Lester , knife play , blood play , dacryphilia (?) , pain play , praise , subspace (??) , aftercare

Lester who basically collapses into you when he gets to your shared home, tired and annoyed from dealing with Bo all day. His rugged hands still stained with blood from roadkill, gripping tightly at your waist as he groans in your ear at how much of a pain today has been for him. “Fuckin shi, to’days been so long sweetheart.” His southern drawl sends shocks through your body even despite how long you have been together.

His lips are aggressive against yours as he whines relieved with the contact he has been craving all day. The hilt of his knife is prominent against your skin whilst he holds you close, the kiss is full of need and lust (As well as a bit of frustration). He can’t help but need you, pushing you onto the tattered leather couch in the living room. His whimpers and huffs are loud against your ear, your hands pulling him close, close enough to suck hickies onto your lovers neck. His pants are down enough to get his cock out, already hard with a red angry tip adorning the large head.

There is no foreplay, no prep. Lester needs you, and fast. So that’s what he does, he takes you. His dick entering you in one swift thrust, his knife now in his hand as the very tip is resting against the underside of your chin. You are all too aware of the cool metal on your skin, especially how deadly it is. Even as your eyes widen and the breath is stolen from you with every thrust of Lester’s hips you remain cautious. His hips don’t falter, if anything the movement becomes more aggressive, more needy. Your moans are loud, as are his, both of you are lost in the pleasure of each other, the knife trailing down your body all the bay to your hip bone and back up again.

Lester’s knife is against your cheek, catching your tears on the blade, your eyes are bleary and unfocused which matches your state of mind, unfocused and lost, floating in the pleasure and fear you are feeling. Your pretty tears set Lester off.. he can’t help it doll:(( you just look so pretty sobbing on his cock. The tip of his hunting knife moves along the skin of your cheek with more force, a tiny speckle of red showing the path of the knife. The blood collects on the blade along with your tears. Your shouts of pleasure and pain are loud and needy, making Lester’s hip pause whilst your drenched cunt clenches on him, he groans seeing your orgasm and fucked out state.

Tears running down your face, blood dripping down your cheek and your whole body shaking, your eyes blissed out as you let the pleasure of your orgasm consume you. Lester groans as he pulls out, his cum spurting all over your stomach as he moans and whines loudly, his orgasm hitting him harshly taking his breath away. You are confused when you regain your senses, your mind still clouded and hazy, wrapped up safe in Lesters arms, a blanket covering you both as he murmurs in your ear “There we are baby boy.. Tha’s a good doll.. Thank you..” his kiss on your temple is light as he holds a cold bottle of water to your lips.

You are softly brought back to your senses fully, Lester guiding you as you both cuddle up on the couch sleepily. You sigh at the attentiveness of your boyfriend, a plaster is already on your cheek and you are hydrated, now all you need is sleep and Lester by your side (same).

#x trans male reader #x male y/n #x bottom male reader #uke male reader #x transmasc reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slashers fanfiction #slasher fic #slasher fucker #slasher smut #slasher fandom #lester sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair smut #cas speaks

[ventiswampwater]

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where’d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

#I FINALLY finished this shit. it's horrific. tysm for coming there are drinks n snacks @ the door #we're goin back 2 ambrose I'm sorry 2 say #and our first stop? oh. just down these stairs #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher community #x reader #my fics #in his basement like damn bitch u live like this #shit is dis cos tang #r/malelivingspace for fuckin real #I've stared @ these bingo bongo ass words for far too long. so I'm sure there's errors. but I will fix them when BRAINCELL lmao

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Will you be my Valentine? Sugar Day 4 Lester Sinclair

Day 4 cuties!! As usual I hope you all are enjoying this very chill and casual mini series for Valentine's day! After this is over I hope to get back into regularly posting regular fics throughout the rest of the year.

Notes: Minors DNI (You will be BLOCKED), SFW, No specific descriptions or pronouns are used for the reader. If pronouns are used the reader will use they/them unless otherwise specified.

"God Lester, How many times have I told you about blood stains?"

You mumbled to yourself while you scrubbed the stains out of one of Lester's shirts. He was out today as usual cleaning the roadkill off the backroads of Ambrose and you were at home diligently washing one of the only good shirts he had.

"Your daddy needs to learn to be more clean"

You said to Jonesy, who was laying next to you on the floor, wistfully gazing up at you as you scrubbed the shirts. Almost as if she could understand what you said she let out a sigh and rolled over on her other side.

After a few minutes and a lot more scrubbing you heard the rumble of the old pick-up truck approach the cabin and Jonesy quickly made her way off the ground and over to the front door to greet her favorite human.

"Well hey there little darlin'!" Lester greeted her when he entered the house. His eyes locked onto yours next and he grinned.

"Hey sugar" He greeted walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Hey Les"

"What's wrong?"

"You" You teasingly deadpanned. You could hear Lester audibly gulp from behind you.

'W-What did I do?"

"How many times have I told you to be careful with getting stains on your good shirts and to wear work shirts out of the house?"

"Well sugar that one was the only one I could find is all! It was dark out still and I didn't wanna cut the lights on and wake you up!"

"mmm I guess that's fair"

"I got ya somethin to make up for it anyway"

He said before removing his arms from around you and heading back out to the truck to retrieve your present. In the back of your mind you figured Valentine's day was approaching so it probably had to do with that, it's very hard to keep track of time in a ghost town with no internet or cell service.

Lester came bounding back into the house a few moments later with a bunch of flowers in his hand.

'Oh Lester their gorgeous!" You praised him as he approached you and offered them to you.

You took the flowers from him and inhaled their sweet sent. You shot him a smile and leaned over to peck his lips when you realized something, the flowers still had the clods of dirt from where they were ripped out of the ground attached to the stems.

You picked off a dirt clod and looked up at Lester while holding it in your hand.

"Lester honey, what's this?"

"Uhh looks like dirt darlin'"

"Did you go outside just now and pick these?"

"No sugar I got em from the outside of the wax museum."

He said starting to turn away from you and head back outside to get on with the rest of his day. You called out to him as he left.

"Did you pick these from the flowers I planted last year?"

Lester shrugged as he walked and you could see his shoulders move up and down with a chuckle as a smile beamed across your face and the hilarity of the situation.

"Lester Sinclair! You picked my flowers!"

"I'll make up for it sugar don't you worry!" He said out the truck window.

"Well how are you going to make it up? With more flowers?"

"Nah darlin, no more flowers"

"Why not?"

"I picked em all already"

"LESTER!"

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher fic #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair imagines #lester sinclair #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfic #house of wax #valentines day

[haddonfieldwhore]

god loves you, but not enough to save you - bo sinclair

bo sinclair x fem!reader

please read warnings !

summary: bo sees you as his next victim. you see him as your last hope

warnings: stockholm syndrome speedrun, implied domestic abuse, language, mentions of death, blood, alcohol and smoking, some religious references sprinkled in, bo is bo

word count: 2k

your eyes fluttered open as you felt your body thud onto a chair with a creak, the metal frame unstable under any amount of weight. it wouldn’t break though. he tightened all the bolts himself; checked everything so nothing would go wrong. as unorganized as this hellscape of a room seemed to anyone else, bo knew where everything was; every pair of pliers, every blade. he was meticulous, sometimes damn near a perfectionist. not that any his guests were here to admire the furnishings.

in the rare instance that things didn’t go how he planned, he himself became unpredictable; became even more terrifying. but this was different. something in your eyes was different, and it drove him mad.

you didn’t scream, just looked around frantically to gather what was happening. everything that had happened. your ankles were taped together, and you were in a basement. your head hurt like you’d been hit with something, as you remembered the road trip you had been on with your boyfriend, nathan.

you remembered the washed out road

the gas station

oh god, where was nathan?

the man from the gas station….. bo…

“yeah sweetheart?” your focus snapped to the face of the man currently restraining you to the chair, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. how much had you said out loud? why was he doing this?

“please - you don’t have to-“ his hand snapped over your mouth, the smell of dirt and gasoline filling your mouth and nose.

“shhhh, if you scream, i’ll have to hurt ya,” he cooed, and you shook your head gently. with your one free hand that remained unbound to the chair, you gripped his wrist desperately, but your touch was gentle; gentler than any touch he had felt in years. he nearly faltered for a second, your fingers hovering over the scars on his wrist. had you noticed them? he wondered.

his hesitation allowed you to softly pull his hand away from your mouth.

“p…please, you have to help me. nathan-“

“you think if you bat your pretty little eyelashes at me i’ll let you go back to your boyfriend?” he taunted, but your eyes went wide and you shook your head, frantically this time, and your hand clung onto his arm tighter now. he pulled it from your grip, looking at your face with a confused expression. what game were you playing?

“no - please, you don’t understand - you have to help me,” you repeated, and as he studied your face, he noticed a smudge on your cheekbone. your skin looked different; he spent enough time looking at the damn wax figures to know what a persons skin looked like. he reached his hand towards you slowly, dragging his thumb between your parted lips, wetting the pad of his finger with your saliva. he tasted of iron, and you wondered if he noticed the way you licked your lips when he retracted his hand.

you winced as he gently wiped the digit across your cheek, removing the makeup to reveal a dark bruise, masterfully disguised behind layers of concealer.

something clicked in bo’s head.

something terrible.

something cruel.

here he was, taking you captive and fully intending to kill you. here you were, begging him to be your saving grace. he smiled darkly, your eyes wide as they pleaded with his.

“now that’s no way to treat a lady,” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “he do this to ya, sweetheart?” he asked, making his voice sound so sweet, you almost believed it was sincere.

“please,” you begged again. maybe if you said it enough times, you would get through to him. a human part of him, if there even was one. “i’ll do anything you want. just please…. he’ll kill me.”

his rough hands held either side of your face, cradling it as he leaned over your body, caging you beneath him. you welcomed it, like a safety blanket.

this had never happened before. he hadn’t even done anything to you yet, and you were already giving yourself over to him. did you not get it? did you not understand that whatever had been done to you, oh lord he could be

so

much

worse.

it was almost too easy. the chase was half of the game for him. what was the point if you gave up so soon?

he thought about killing you right then. sure, that was no fun - he didn’t enjoy killing people quickly. but it would be so easy to just snap your neck, so delicate in his grasp. just one little twist-

“bo…” you whispered, and his eyes focused again, having zoned out looking at your throat, his chest heaving up and down with adrenaline thinking about just how easily you had surrendered to him. he hadn’t realized that he had leaned closer, so close that he could smell your strawberry chapstick.

you could smell the cigarettes on his breath; the whiskey on his tongue. he captured your mouth with his, teeth tugging roughly at your bottom lip as your heart pounded in your chest.

you shouldn’t like this.

you shouldn’t want it.

but the taste of him makes your head spin.

you reach to touch him with your free hand, but his own hand catches your wrist as you reach for him. maybe it’s instinct; he thinks your fighting back.

you should be.

you know damn well you should be.

the taste of iron fills your mouth again, but it’s not his fingers this time. his teeth have pierced into your lip, staining the kiss with crimson.

“he ain’t never gonna touch you again,” bo whispers as he nuzzles the side of his head against yours, and tears creep down your face.

“promise?”

“i swear to god. he’s never gonna lay another finger on you.”

and he won’t.

you believe him.

this time bo lets you reach for him, your fingers clinging to the front of his stained work shirt that your knuckles ached. the restraints on your other wrist clang against the metal of the chair as you pull at them, wanting to hold onto him. he undoes the leather strap and you reach up, pushing his hat off of his head so you can tangle your fingers through his dark hair. it’s greasy between your fingertips, but you don’t care.

“you look so pretty, darling.” blood stains your lips and your eyelashes are stuck together with tears. you stare up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and he realizes that you’re long gone already; he’s managed to sink his hooks into you and all it took was one little promise. the devil stands before you and you look at him like he hung the stars. lucifer was once an angel after all, wasn’t he?

a sound above you causes bo to cover your mouth again, gentler this time as he looks up through the grate in the ceiling. footsteps shuffle across the driveway of the gas station, and nathans boots drop dirt through the grate and onto your hair. you screw your eyes shut as you cling to bo, who looks at your cowering form beneath him and smiles.

“i’ll be right back darling,” his hand is still on your mouth as you nod at him with wet eyes, hands trembling as he slowly pulls away.

the room feels cold and empty as soon as he’s gone, his boots heavy as they stomp up the stairs, locking the door behind him.

you breathe a careful sigh of relief.

he’s gone, he can’t hurt me.

he’s gone, he can’t hurt me.

nathan’s gone, bo won’t let him hurt me.

with your hands no longer restrained, you undid the duct tape around your ankles, pulling your knees up under your chin and wrapping your arms around them.

footsteps descend the stairs, heavy again as the stairs creak and the lock clicks open.

you should be scared of him.

you should be scared of the knife in his hand. the blood on his wrist.

you should be scared because he was going to kill you, and he still might. but for now, he doesn’t.

at least for right now, he is your saviour.

he tosses the weapon aside, and it clatters onto the metal table next to him. you watch as his fingers slide a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his breastpocket, and pull one out with his teeth. he lights the end and walks over to you, his fingers tilting your chin up to look at him.

your hand reaches up to wipe a splatter of blood off the side of his neck, and you almost don’t notice the way bo freezes for just a second as you touch him. his hand wraps around your wrist and brings your fingers to his lips, sucking the end of each finger past his lips until all the blood is gone, his eyes never leaving yours.

god, the way you look at him.

he’s never seen anything like it. it isn’t fear.

it’s a look of devotion.

he offers you the cigarette and you take it between your fingers with your other hand.

“you ready to go home?” he asks, and your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“home?” you asked, taking a drag of his cigarette. you didn’t want it, you just hoped it would taste like him, but it just burnt your throat.

“the house, silly,” he smiled, and it almost looked sincere, like he was amused by you. “just up the road?” he was the bo you had met at the gas station again. the charming one. the sweet one.

the house, you thought. that’s right. he had taken you there to get the part you needed to fix nathan’s car, and the next thing you knew you were waking up here. “did you hit your head or something?” he teased, like he hadn’t been the one who knocked you out in the first place. he walked closer to take the cigarette from your grip, the ash falling onto your lap and sizzling against the layer of sweat on your bare skin. he placed a kiss on the top of your head before extending his empty hand to you, helping you out of the chair.

you followed bo up the stairs and realized you had been beneath the gas station, the sun long set outside. you didn’t know how long you had been down there.

“watch your step,” he mumbled, and you looked down at the pool of blood on the floor, and the trail of it, like something had been dragged across the floor and out of the store.

“nathan….” you asked, the word tasted vile in your mouth. you wiped your lips with the back of your hand for good measure.

“vincent took him out of here. no need to worry, darling,” he promised.

“vincent?” you asked, as he pulled you behind him by your hand, his calloused fingers rough as they interlocked with yours. you liked the way your hand felt in his.

“my brother- you’ll meet him later, he’s workin’ right now. he’s pretty quiet but i think you’ll like him.”

“okay,” you smiled - the first time you had smiled since you woke up in that basement. bo smiled back; and while it looked genuine, it was evil.

he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

and it had been

so

easy.

he hadn’t even done anything that he wouldn’t have done anyways - all he did was kill nathan.

but in your eyes he had saved your life.

how twisted is that?

bo tried to kill you, and here you were clinging to his arm, like you’d float away if you let go. as if he was the only thing holding you to the ground.

and he was. and he knew it.

there was no saving you now.

not when you believed you’d already been saved.

bo froze as your feet sped up to catch up with him, and your arms circled around his waist.

you were hugging him?

heaven help you, you really were a lost cause.

“thank you,” you mumbled, your head buried in the front of his shirt. bo laughed to himself, and let his arms wrap around you.

“you shouldn’t thank me, sweetheart,” he replied, the double meaning to his statement flying over your head. “what kind of man would i be if i didn’t help you? my momma - she raised me better than that.”

he couldn’t help but smile to himself. “you can meet her too, one day.”

you smiled up at him even though you didn’t get the joke, and he leaned down to kiss your lips. you decided you would never get tired of the taste of his mouth on yours. his lips like a drug.

“you gonna let me walk or we gonna stand out here forever?” he laughed, as you hadn’t let go of him yet.

“just don’t leave me,” you asked pathetically. you would have got on your knees and begged if you had to, even if the gravel would’ve scraped your knees bloody.

“believe me, darling,” he grinned. “i aint never lettin’ you get away.”

#not sure if i like this #bo sinclair fic #house of wax imagine #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair x reader #brian van holt

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

when you first see vincent's face beneath the mask, it's a total accident. he was alone in his room and he'd taken his mask off for a brief moment, and you'd just happened to walk in on him. when he sees you come in the room, he startles, immediately reaching for his mask. but before he can retreive it, you find yourself stopping him, reaching out and gently curling your fingers around his forearm.

in all the time that you'd known vincent, you'd never seen him without the mask, and you'd always respected his choice to keep his face concealed. but as you looked at him now, you struggled to understand why he would even want to keep his face hidden from the world. he was beautiful.

you can see the way his hands are shaking at his sides as he stands completely still before you, never fully looking up, and it breaks your heart to see him like this. you want so desperately for him to see himself the way you're seeing him right now.

you feel the sting of tears behind your eyes as you inch closer to him, carefully reaching your hand out to ghost your fingers over the side of his face. he flinches slightly when you push his hair to the side, revealing the side of his face he fought so desperately to hide from you. and it's beautiful. he's beautiful.

"you're perfect, vincent." you speak softly, a tear escaping your eye as you continue to take in his features.

and it's those words that prompt him to finally lift his head, looking directly at you now as he tries to figure out if you really mean that.

you smile, removing your hand from his face and lacing your fingers with his, his fingertips still crusted with wax. and then you reach for the mask, holding it between the two of you.

"you can put it back on if you want." you tell him, squeezing his hand gently. "but i want you to know that you don't have to hide from me."

a/n: i just want to give him a hug :(

[Main Masterlist] [Vincent Masterlist]

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair drabble #vincent sinclair blurb #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair house of wax #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slashers #slasher #slasher x you #slasher x reader #slasher fic #slasher fanfic #vincent sinclair fanfic #house of wax fic

[f1nalboys]

Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo. 

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.” 

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.” 

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch. 

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…” 

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers. 

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him. 

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera. 

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’  You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

#f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys works #bo sinclair #house of wax #slashers #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x reader #valentines day fic #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher x y/n #house of wax 2005

[workingforthewidow]

‘What you were wearin’ on the first night we met’

Welcome to part 2 of the Sun to Me series.

This story is NSFW and not for minors- if you are under 18 go ask your legal guardian if you can watch the movie.

Warnings: kidnapping, forced marriage, dub-con, attempted non-con, abuse, Stockholm syndrome, age gap (15 years- K&C are 19 Sinclairs are 33 soon to be 34 yes we will have a birthday party for them). Don’t like it don’t read it,

Proof read quickly. It’s 9pm and I’m about to sleep but wanted to get this out! I will proofread again in the morning!

Please reblog! I love seeing what y’all comment and tag :)

Request open see the pinned post for guidelines!

—

‘Oh my goodness why is it so hot? Sure it’s the middle of August but damn it shouldn’t be this hot. Ow fuck why does my head hurt?’ The thoughts swirled around Katie’s brain as she slowly came back into consciousness. She felt a weight around her neck and reached her hand up to feel metal encircling her throat. Her eyes opened and she took in the room around her. She was on a mattress on the floor and the metal around her neck was attached to the wall like she was a dog on chain. She looked down to see she was wearing her clothes. But the small joy disappeared when she realized they weren’t the clothes she had earlier. Someone had gone through her bag and changed her clothes.

The room was dimly lit with candles everywhere. That explained the heat. She could barely see around farther than 5 feet away. She looked around and couldn’t see or hear Caroline anywhere. Panic started to fill her body. Her breathing started to quicken.

“CAROLINE! CAROLINE!” She started screaming hoping to get some idea of where her sister was. She kept screaming her name until she heard a door swing open.

She pushed herself back as far against the wall as she could fear taking over the panic filling her. Tears filled her eyes as long jean clad legs came into view. Her eyes trailed up to see man with long black hair wearing an expressionless mask staring down at her.

“My sister, where is my sister?” She chocked out a sobbing beg.

The man continued to look at her before pulling out a notepad from his pocket and writing on it. Then he held it down to her.

~She is safe. So are you.~ He took back and began writing again.

“Why am I here? What are you doing to us?” She whispered though her sobs.

The man continued writing.

~I will explain later. I am going to get you food you have been asleep for 10 hours. Are you allergic to anything? Or your sister? Bo probably won’t think to ask that.~

Katie’s head spun again. So this guy and Bo knew each other. Maybe this guy was the owner of the museum, it would make sense seeing as it looked like this mask was made of wax.

“We can’t eat seafood. Fish or shellfish of any kind. But that’s it.” She said trying to hold back the tears. She thought back to all the crime shows she had watched, maybe if she went along things will be okay.

The man nodded and patted her head awkwardly like he didn’t know how to act around her. Maybe she was the first person he had ever held hostage. The man then turned and walked back of the room leaving Katie alone. Her only thoughts were on Caroline before she passed out again.

When she woke again there was a paper plate with what looked to be a peanut butter sandwich and chips, and a bottle of water set out next to her. Along with was a note with her name on it, spelled wrong but she knew it was meant for her. She opened the water bottle and was relieved when it popped like a fresh bottle does. ‘Okay so it’s most likely not poisoned.’ She thought picking up the sandwich noting it looked and smelled fine. She took a drink and started eating while she read over the note left for her.

~You are safe I promise. I do not plan to kill you. Your sister is safe as well. Bo won’t kill her.~ Kill it said kill not hurt, so maybe they did plan to hurt the girls. ~My name is Vincent, Bo is my twin. Whatever you need I will get for you just tell me. I hope you can learn to like it here and feel like it is your home. You are mine now and I will take care of you. Just be good and I can be good to you. I will be a good husband for you, my angel.~

‘Oh my god. Oh my god. They want wives? Why us?’ Her tears came flowing out again. Hadn’t enough bad things happened to them? First their parents die and they have to sell their house. This trip was suppose to be a fresh start. Drive to the coast and find a little place for the two of them. But now two psychos planned on keeping them.

Her sobs were so loud she didn’t hear the door open or Vincent’s footsteps as he approached. It wasn’t until he put his hand on her chin making her up to him did she notice him. She jumped and tried to move away from his touch but he tightened his grip on her chin holding her in place.

“Please, can I see Caroline? Please. We, we’ve never been this long without talking to each other.” She begged and pleaded with him.

He shook his head and used his other hand to brush at her hair which had fallen out of place sometime during her sleep.

Okay if she couldn’t see Caroline she at least needed to move a little, her legs were going to go to mush if she didn’t use them.

“Okay, umm can I take a shower and use the restroom? Please.” She tacked the please on at the end hoping it would better her chances. He looked at her and at the door and nodded slowly. He reached in his pocket and took out a key. He undid the metal collar around her throat and took her hand to help her stand.

“Thank you.” She said it barely above a whisper. He lead to other side of the room she hadn’t been able to see before. Her suitcase was there- so she was right he had her things. He pointed to the suitcase and she opened it getting some clean underwear and a bra, blood rushing to her cheeks as she quickly grabbed a purple satin set. Why did she let Caroline help her pick her clothes?

She went to grab her jeans but he stopped her, pulling out one of her dresses, a simple purple dress. Okay so this is how the game is going to be played. She could play along, so far he hadn’t physically hurt her or done anything immoral (besides kidnapping). She could play nice and work to find Caroline and get out of this hell. Away from the twin demons.

Once she had clothes in her hands, he put his hand on her back and led her down a hallway into a bathroom. Her toiletry bag already on the little shelf above the toilet.

The man, Vincent, looked at her then pointed to a watch on his wrist before holding up both hands then one hand. It took her a minute but she got it.

“I have 15 minutes?” He nodded and went to close the door and glared at her. “You’re going to stand at the door and wait for me?” She guessed again earning another nod. She nodded back and as soon as the door was closed started the water as hot as she could make it. While the water warmed she used the toilet realizing it had been well over 24 hours since the last time she had been able to use one. Once the water was hot she stepped in, and in an effort to conserve time she brought her toothbrush and brushed her teeth while she wet her hair. Not seeing any soap or shampoo she took the little travel bottles from her bag. Hopefully this Vincent man would get her some more if he really did plan on keeping her.

She showered as quickly as she could and climbed out of the shower drying off with the towel that had been hanging on a hook. She got dressed and brushed her wet hair highly doubting there would be a hair dryer anywhere. She looked in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised to see that she didn’t look completely awful. Sure her eyes were red and a little swollen from all the tears but maybe her mama was right, a good shower is good for the soul. She took one last look and opened the door.

True to his word Vincent was standing in front of the door, his back facing her. He turned and looked her up and down. He took her hand a walked her back to the room she was in before. But instead of going to the bed he sat her in a chair before standing behind her. She had no idea what was going to happen and her breath began to quicken. It slowed when she felt a brush being gently pulled through her hair, his hands even gentler than her own. After a few minutes he stopped and started parting her hair. It took her a moment but she realized he was braiding it. She stayed silent waiting for him to finish. She felt him drop her hair and then felt his fingers tracing the lines of some of the tattoos on her shoulders. His touch was light like a feather. Once he was done he awkwardly patted her head again and took her hand bring her back to the mattress.

While walking the short distance Katie felt her hair and noted he had done an amazing job at a double French braid held together at the end with what felt like average rubber bands. She would have to get her hair-ties from her bag and try to get him to use those if this would be common practice. She wondered if his mother had taught him to braid or he taught himself with his long hair. They got to the bed and he gestured for her to sit back down. Her eyes widened when he took the metal collar in hand, “Please, I promise I won’t run or do anything stupid. It… it… hurts. Please.” The tears had returned, running down her freshly cleaned face.

Vincent cocked his head looking at her and she assumed he weighing his options. He moved to another area in the room and she could hear him rummaging around some boxes. He returned seconds later with handcuffs. He held them in one hand and the metal collar in the other, giving her the choice. She didn’t trust her voice not to crack from the sobs and pointed to the handcuffs before holding her arms up, praying he didn’t make her put them behind her back. Thankfully he took her arms in front of her and locked the cuffs into place before pushing her, forcing her to lay down. Once he was sure she’d stay he walked away again before returning with his notepad and pen.

“Oh umm, you spelled my name wrong.” She said carefully, hoping her tone conveyed that she wasn’t upset or mad. Maybe having a somewhat normal conversation with him would help her situation. It was a pretty common mistake for someone to misspell her name. “You spelled it like how Captain Janeway spells her name. But my name is spelled like Catherine Zeta-Jones.” She couldn’t see his face but she could feel his confusion. “Oh um those pop culture references but I guess y’all don’t get much tv or movies out here. My name is spelled C-a-t-h-e-r-i-n-e not K-a-t-h-r-y-n, it happens all the time. I just thought since I’m living here now and all I should tell you. But if you want to call me Katie that’s fine. Most people do. And that is spelled with a K, K-a-t-i-e.”

Vincent nodded and scribbled down his reply, ~I like Catherine. Pretty name for a pretty girl. I will talk to Bo and see if you can see Caroline tomorrow. Do you want dinner?~

Caroline. He would let her see Caroline. That meant she was alive right? He couldn’t be that cruel as to give her false hope. “Thank you. I really just want to sleep. If that’s okay. There’s just so much going on.” It was then she realized she didn’t even know what time or even what day it was. She was in a basement of some sort with no clocks or windows.

Vincent nodded and wrote once more, ~Sleep would be good for you. I will be in the next room working. If you need anything come to me. I will know if you try to leave and it will not end well for you or your sister.~

Katie’s eyes tears up again, she hoped soon her tears would dry up, “Okay. I promise I will be here.” He stayed for a few minutes and watched her as she fell asleep before going back to his studio.

—

Caroline could feel pressure on her wrist and on her ankles. She tried wiggling them to no avail. Her eyes slowly opened but quickly widen when she took in her surroundings. She was in some kind of doctors chair with her hands and feet secured down. She couldn’t see Katie anywhere.

“Katie! Catherine!” She screamed hoping her sister would come out of somewhere.

“Baby if you wanna keep that tongue in your pretty little mouth you better shut the fuck up.” She heard a voice above her and looked up to see a sewer grate and the mechanic, Bo, standing over it. “I’ll be down there in a minute, you just calm down.”

Calm down? How the hell could she calm down? She was tied down in a basement and her sister was missing! What was she suppose to do? Katie had always been the one with the plans. Katie would know what to do. Thinking of her twin made the tears really start coming down her cheeks. Was she dead? Had he hurt her?

While these thoughts floated in her head she heard the door being pushed open and watched as Bo walked in like he didn’t have a worry in the world.

“Good morning baby. Slept a lot longer than ya sister. Heard her crying to Vinny already.” Katie was alive. Caroline didn’t say anything as Bo got closer to her and brushed her hair away from where it had fallen in her face. “Stop wiggling. Gonna mess up your wrist. Now if you promise to be good I’ll take the cuffs off. Let you eat and take a shower.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a knife.

Caroline looked to him with fear filled eyes and nodded.

“Wanna hear your words baby. Be a nice girl and use your manners.”

“Please take the cuffs off. I promise I’ll be good.” Her voice was soft and quiet like she was thinking over each word she said before saying it.

Bo smirked at her and carefully slid his knife under the duct tape undoing her wrist and ankles. He offered her his hand and helped her stand up, “Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now was it? Come ‘ere. Got your suitcase from your car. Picked a nice little outfit for you.” He lead her through a long hallway to a small bathroom. Her bathroom bag and a stack of clothes sat on the edge of the sink.

Bo pushed her in, following behind her, and closed the door.

“You have 15 minutes. After that I’m opening the door. Your choice if you want an audience yet or not.” He said holding her face to keep her eyes on his. “Tell me you understand.”

“Yes, 15 minutes. I understand.” He seemed to take that answer and stepped out of the room.

She made quick work of the using the restroom and getting in the shower. She tried to think of what was happening but all her thoughts lead her back to Katie. Trying to distract herself, she almost started her hair routine but cringed when she realized that was a mistake. It took her 10 minutes to get through the whole thing and that didn’t include washing her body or anything else. Maybe she was faster than she thought. If she had at least 10 minutes she could just do the routine quickly and hope the shampoo falling from her hair would be enough to wash her body for now.

“Bo?” She called softly hoping he wouldn’t open the door, “How much time do I have?”

“9 minutes.” His replied was muffled by the door.

Okay she could do it. She started the routine quickly running through all the steps. She finished and grabbed the towel off the sink drying herself before getting dress. Just as she was finishing putting on her bra and underwear, a soft baby pink matching lace set, the door swung open revealing a very happy looking Bo.

He let out a whistle and looked her over, pausing at her chest for longer than she liked. “Guess I do get a show today. Look at you didn’t expect to see all that on you.” He gestured to her tattoo covered body.

“Katie’s a tattoo artist and a seamstress. I do hair and makeup. We practice on each other. Hers is just a bit more permanent.” Caroline was suddenly very aware of how little clothing she had on. “Can I get dressed now? Please, sir.” She asked batting her eyelashes innocently. He said wanted a nice girl with manners and she’d be sure to use all the training her southern belle mama had put her through. Katie may have more book smarts than she did but Caroline knew how to play a man.

Bo’s smirk somehow got even darker than it already was, “Now look at that. She does have manners. I like that baby, you can keep that up. Put your clothes on hurry up. Need to eat.”

She took the clothes off the sink feeling his eyes watching her every move. She was expecting her tiny shorts and a crop top but he had taken one of her dresses. She pulled it one and tried to get the zipper up her back but failed. She tried again and huffed when she couldn’t get it.

“Let me do it baby.” His fingers moved down her spine slowly enjoying how soft her skin was. He easily pulled the zipper and moved her wet hair over one of her shoulders. Bending down he kissed the other shoulder where it met her neck.

“Thank you.” She said trying to keep up the act. She decided to try her hand at a request to see what she could get, “Can I… can I, please, dry my hair? Or can you do it? My dress will get messed up if it get wet. My hair supplies bag is in my suitcase.” She looked up at the mirror in front of her and caught his gaze. He was smirking again.

He kissed her neck again and wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her back to his chest. “I guess since you asked so nicely I’ll let you. Can’t have my pretty little wife walking around in messed up clothes.”

Caroline felt like she was going to vomit. Wife. What the fuck was this psycho talking about? She was so wrapped in her head she didn’t even notice he had left the room and came back with things. She went to grab them but he held them in one hand high above his head. He was at least a foot taller than her so the objects were far from her reach.

“If you want them you gotta pay the price baby.” He pulled her against his chest and pressed his lips to hers. Her first reaction was to pull away but she reminded herself to play along. She let him kiss her, letting him move his lips against hers, and when his tongue traced along the seam of her lips she let him in.

He finally pulled away after what felt like a lifetime, “Good girl. Do that curly thing again. I like that and keep it down.” She nodded and started drying her hair trying to do it as quickly as possible.

Bo stood in the doorway blocking her in just in case she decided to be brave and get away from him. Damn she was pretty. His pretty little housewife. He had always wanted the perfect family. Pretty little wife to cook and clean while he went to work. He’d come home and she’d be waiting at the door for him beer in hand and a welcome home kiss while their kids ran up to him wanting hugs from their daddy. It would be perfect just like he dreamed.

“Bo…. Bo?” He didn’t hear her softly saying his name until she put her hand on his chest. “Are you okay? You looked as spaced out as I do when Katie starts going off about whatever book she’s reading.” She giggled softly thinking of her sister and Bo thought it was the prettiest music he had ever heard.

“Just fine, baby. Thinking about how pretty you are and what a good little wife and mama you’re gonna be.” He ran his hand through her soft curls happy she had followed his directions. “You promise to be good?”

He made it sound like he was going to offer something. She’d take anything she could get at the moment. “Yes, sir, I will be good.”

“Good girl. Gonna take you home now. Gotta lot of work for you and that sister of yours if Vincent lets her out of the studio.” He took her hand and led her out of the underground. Seeing sunlight was nice and feeling it against her skin was even better. They walked to his truck his hand holding hers tightly a sign for her not to run. He opened the truck door and helped her up before climbing in the driver side. He pulled her across the bench seat and wrapped one arm around her waist while driving with the other.

‘Play the game Caroline it’s just a game.’ She reminded herself to give her the courage to do what she was about to do.

She turned her head and pressed her lips to his cheek briefly, “Thank you, this is my favorite dress.” ‘Be calm and play the game.’ He’s a man, Mama always said all men what two things- food and sex. One she could do with ease, the other not so much. Mama raised them with the church to be good pure girls.

Bo took his arm from her waist and moved his hand to her thigh, squeezing a little harder then she was expecting. “You’re welcome baby. You keep being good and I’ll make sure you have everything your little heart wants.”

One more try, she would try one more time to see Katie today, “Can I see Katie yet? Please just for a minute.” She had been able to hold back the tears for a long time but finally thinking about her sister again made them flow.

Bo sighed and rolled his eyes gripping her thigh again. “Not right now. You make me a good lunch and start your housework and maybe I’ll think about it. Okay?”

She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Luckily this time he didn’t make her speak it. Her voice would probably crack if she had to speak right now. Finally they made it to the house and he lead her inside to the kitchen.

He open the fridge and grabbed a beer, “Make whatever you want with what we got. Make a list of things you’ll need and I’ll have Lester pick them up next time he goes out to the city for supplies,” he noticed the confusing on her face at the mention of Lester, “Les is the youngest brother. Me and Vincent are twins but Mama said I’m the older one. Then Lester came 3 years later.” He didn’t know why he told her all that but maybe it was good he felt comfortable telling her about their family that fast. She was the new Sinclair matriarch in a sense. “Now get to cooking baby. You got a lot to learn to be a good little wife.”

She rummaged around the kitchen finding enough things to make chicken and beans. There didn’t seem to be a fruit or vegetable in the house at all. Those would be first on her list. While she moved around the kitchen finding things she needed to cook, Bo sat at the table with his beer and went over his expectations for his new ‘wife’.

1.) No leaving the house without him or one of his brothers being with her

2.) Make sure all meals are made on time. He can’t be late for work. (Caroline wondered how you can be late for work when you are the owner and boss.)

3.) When he comes home at the end of the day she was to be at the door waiting of him, smile on her face and beer in hand, ready for his welcome home kiss

4.) Make sure the house stays clean, can’t have anything dangerous out once babies start coming. But only rooms with the doors open. He closed all the rooms she wasn’t allowed in.

5.) If she sees anyone in town besides one of the boys she was not allowed to speak to them unless it was to direct them to the boys. As soon as the strangers were gone she was to go to their room and hide. And if she heard screams- no she didn’t.

“Get all that through your pretty head, baby?” He asked her while she plate his food and sat in front of him.

“Yes, stay home, cook, clean, don’t talk to strangers, beer and kiss when you come home.” Like a good southern wife. He didn’t have to tell her most of those rules her mama already had. Hopefully if her twin was with his twin he wasn’t wanting what Bo wanted. Katie didn’t grasp all this the way Caroline did. Katie’s nose was too stuck in books to learn anything about this.

“Good. Where’s your food?”

“Not hungry. Just tired.” She even yawned at the end. He had said she slept all night but she felt like she had been hit by a truck. Bo pulled her onto his lap and held a sliced chicken to her lips.

“You can take a nap after you eat something. Can’t have ya withering away on me. You gotta be nice and healthy for our babies.” His other hand ghosted over her empty midsection as if to pretend a life was growing instead. Caroline had to control herself not to cringe and slowly chewed the meat. That seemed to satisfy Bo for while. He ate the whole meal occasionally feeding her bits of it.

“I knew I found a good one,” he said kissing her shoulder, “That was better than anything Mama ever made. You still wanna nap?”

Caroline yawned and nodded her head, “Please.”

Bo smiled and stood still holding her in his arms. She wrapped her legs about his waist to hold herself. He carried her up a staircase and into what she assumed was his room.

“Once I know you’re really gonna be good I’ll let ya redecorate. Give it a woman’s touch.” He said laying her down on the bed and pulling a blanket over her. “I gotta go see Vinny. You stay here and nap. If you wake up and I’m still gone you can go to the kitchen and wash dishes. I’m being nice since you’re still learning but after today dishes are done before bed.” She nodded as he continued this time getting in her face his forehead against hers, noses touching. “If I come back to this house and you aren’t in this room, the bathroom next door, or the kitchen- I will take my shotgun and shoot your sister in between the eyes, before coming for you. Understand baby?”

Tears sprang to her eyes immediately and she nodded her head fiercely, “Y-ye-yes, Bo. Yes, sir. I understand. I promise I will be good.”

That seemed to make Bo happy since he kissed her softly and left her to fall asleep.

#house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher fanfic #slasher fic #slashers #bo sinclair #brian van holt #vincent sinclair #Sadly no Jonesy this chapter #She will return for the birthday party #house of wax fic

[small-sinclair]

Simp time

Imagine coming up to Vincent and taking his hands, brushing his hair away from his mask, and standing on your toes just to see his lone eye better.

Imagine driving late with Lester and sleeping in the car. So he turns the radio down low and makes sure to miss pot holes.

Imagine cupping Bo’s cheeks, saying, “Let me love you.” And he does because he just needs a hug right now, and he actually allows himself to relax.

Imagine taking off Brahms’s mask to clean the blood off and whispering praises to him, kissing his burns, tell him he’s beautiful.

Imagine Reggie let you play with his curls while laying in bed, you two talking in the moment, and him leaning down to kiss you.

Imagine Jason Vanhause (that’s how you spell his last name, right?) guiding you to the best spot to look at the stars in the camp, and you just start naming them and he’s just happy you’re there.

Imagine going up to a young Michel Myers without his mask on and you just litter his face with kisses and sweet words, him blushing like a mad man.

#bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #house of wax (2005) #jason vorhees #jason vorhees x you #micheal myers x reader #micheal myers #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelisher fanfic #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher fic #slasher headcanons #reggie morgan #reg morgan #100 bloody acres fanfiction #100 bloody acres

[imcherie]

“The tears.. are good tears?”

This is my first fic ever, hopefully it isn’t unreadable!! Not a lot of revision because I was already embarrassed to post this :p

Summary: You’ve been begging Vincent to take off his mask, he finally caves in.

You've been begging for months to get Vincent to show his face. However, you learned quickly not to pry. Even though it could seem like the twins are completely different, they are still two sides of the same coin. ..And coincidentally share the same temper, a short one. The more you pleaded, the more you could see him pulling away from you, both emotionally and physically. “Vinny, please, I need you. I want to talk to you, not the mask.” you could see his one blue eye avert your gaze. “Look, I love you. There is nothing that could deter me away from you. I promise, love.” He wanted to show you, he did. But some part of him was compiling lists upon lists of what you would do once you saw his face. Would you scream? Scoff in disgust? His brother hardly accepted the way he looked, why would you? And what would he do if you tried to leave? He couldn't bear to imagine it. You, the first person who looked into his eye, not just his mask, him. After a few moments of silence, you looked at your feet and apologized, “Look, Vin, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't pry. It's just... I want to show you I love every part of you. I want you to know that-” Before you could finish, you felt scarred lips on your own. What had just happened?? Your face grew hot and your mind turned to mush. As he pulled away, he looked everywhere but you. He was mortified at what he had just done. Once he gathered the courage to look back at you, he noticed the stream of tears coming from your eyes. Oh shit. He swiftly signed “I'm sorry” and went to grab for his mask. You grabbed his arm and pulled him into another kiss. He quickly pulled away and signed, “The tears .. are good tears?”. You almost screamed while choking out, “Of course they are!” Embracing him into a hug you softly whispered, “You are beautiful Vincent, please please believe me when I say that. I love you. So much.”

#FIRST FIC DONE YEAHHH! #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair fluff #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #slasher community #slasher #slasher x reader #fluff #x reader #vincent sinclair imagine #slasher fanfiction