#Vincent Sinclair X you

[suwann-11]

I obsessed over him again 😔😔

[calmcoldevening]

Hi!! Can you please write how the slashers would react to the fact that the partner is taking too hot a shower / bath.Can you please add Asa, Thomas, Vincent, and Brahms (I don't force, I just really love them). If you want to write this, thank you in advance!!be happy and loved!!

Slashers x reader, who takes too hot bath/shower

Asa Emory

• He doesn't like it at all.

• When Asa is at home, he carefully makes sure that you take a bath or shower in slightly hot or warm water, he will really come up and check on it from time to time.

• If you still manage to take a shower or bath when he is not at home, and the water is really damn hot, you will receive a long lecture on the dangers of boiling water for your health.

• This man will specifically find time in his busy schedule to spend an hour of his time rubbing body cream or lotion into every inch of your skin to make sure that you definitely won't get burns.

Thomas Hewitt

• He finds it a little strange, because it's so damn hot at home or outside, why do you take a hot bath or shower? Thomas will be very worried that you might overheat and lose consciousness, or you might just get burned.

• From time to time, while you don't know about it, reduces the temperature of the water in the whole house in principle. He doesn't want you to hurt yourself.

• After each of your hot showers, Tommy is waiting for you on the veranda of the house with a glass of cool lemonade. Closer to night, it's not that hot outside, so you'll feel much better. Enjoy a cold drink while he gently brush your wet hair.

• Leaves gentle kisses on especially hot places of your body.

Vincent Sinclair

• He's used to working with warm or even hot wax, so he loves touching your body after you take a hot bath. Vincent will give you a massage, he will massage your skin with incredible tenderness and care, but with enough force to relax your muscles and give you pleasure.

• If you ask him to join, he will probably refuse, but he doesn't mind sitting with you and waiting for you to finish. He will sit with a slight dreamy smile under the mask, watching how light transparent clouds from hot water envelop your body and what steam comes from your skin. In his eyes, you are the most beautiful piece of art in the world, he is more than happy just to watch you.

• After the shower, he will wrap you in a towel, pick you up in his arms and carry you to the bed, laying you on cool sheets. The man will certainly take care of you and make sure that you are alright after such a hot temperature. He will gently wipe your entire body and hair, and then brush and dry them.

• He often has cold hands due to the fact that he basically eats little and works a lot, so he's more than happy to cuddle with your damn hot body. I mean, you're already very hot for him, but after a shower like that, you're as hot as damn hell. You are the most seductive devil for him.

Brahms Heelshire

• If you're taking a hot bath, he'll fucking join in. He doesn't care that the water is hot, it's even a pleasant tingling sensation on his scarred body. He'll be leaning against the side of the bathtub and hugging you to his broad chest. He doesn't care about the temperature of the water if it means he can be there with you!

• Well, if you are against his participation, because you finally just want to be alone for at least fifteen minutes, Brahms will throw a tantrum. He will cry and beat his feet and hands on the floor, lying on the carpet. He doesn't want his mommy/daddy to get burned in this hot water, so he has to be with them!

• Brahms will spy on you while you take a shower. It's so cute. You, all so beautiful and delicate, are standing under very hot water, letting out a relaxed sigh when the warmth touches your soft skin. He literally bites his lip under the mask when his vision blurs, not only because of his own hot breath, but also because of the steam of the bathroom. He just wants to come in and join you. Or write something on this foggy cloudy mirror. Water flows down your curves in quick streams in the most perfect places, he lets out an almost needy moan. You're too beautiful.

• When you're done and come out of the bathroom in just a towel, he'll immediately press you against the wall, kissing your still hot skin. You may have to take another shower.

[kiss-theggoat]

Gonna need a part two where the slashers realize their s/o is alive >:’(

Slashers Fix You Up

Slashers Included: Thomas Hewitt, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Asa Emory, Michael Meyers, The Sinclair Brothers

TW: Violence and Gore

Thomas Hewitt:

The wound to your stomach was deep. It tore through deep tissue and muscle, but lucky for you, Thomas knew exactly what to do.

Not only had he been stabbed like that, but he’d become really good at sewing and stitching up human skin.

You woke up, feeling groggy, but immediately recognized the basement you were in. You laid on Tommy’s workbench, shirt off and torso numb.

When you looked down you saw Thomas hunched over you, huge hands trying hard to delicately sew you up, fingers covered in your blood.

You whispered to him, and you could’ve sworn you saw his heart skipped a beat. He jumped up, immediately grabbing the side of your face with relief written all over his face, eyes wide and breath heavy. He wouldn��t know what to do with himself if he lost you.

Billy Loomis:

Nothing when like it was supposed to that night. Sydney got away, Stu stabbed him too hard, and the worst of all…he stood above you, watching your blood pool on the hardwood of Stu’s living room.

He bent down, putting pressure on your wound while looking around the room, taking deep breaths and trying to think rationally…he needed to get you out of here. He quickly lifted you, trying to ignore your pained groans. He hated seeing you like this.

The moment he got your arm around his shoulders and your feet on the ground, he heard them…sirens. He was conflicted. Relief washed over him. He knew you’d be getting help soon but…if he didn’t run…Syd would tell them everything. He’d go to jail, be found guilty for murder.

In that moment, he didn’t care. He helped you limp towards the front door, pushing it open. You’d lost too much blood…you didn’t even realize that Billy was sacrificing himself to save your life.

Stu Macher:

Stu watched his entire world fall apart when Billy stabbed you. He watched you fall, holding your gushing stomach, blood seeping from between your fingers.

He rushed to your side, hands covering your wound as he laid you back onto the ground.

“Just look at me. Don’t worry, keep looking at me.” He refused to let you look at your wound. He didn’t want you to be scared about how hurt you were. He lifted your hands to inspect your wound…he sighed in relief.

“It’s okay baby…the bleeding is slowing down…you’re gonna be okay…”

Asa Emory:

Asa never expected you to fall into one of his traps. He was beating himself up about it, but there was no time. He lifted you onto his operating table, covering your entire body with gauze.

He started slow, sutures and thread in his precise hands. You were covered in deep wounds, caused by rusty nails…he whispered his apologies, holding one hand as he poured antiseptic over you. It burned, it was unbearable…but you trusted him.

He carefully sewed each wound with a single suture, making sure to reassure you and stop the bleeding whenever it happened. It took him hours, but nothing would stop him from fixing you. Fixing your skin, fixing his love.

Michael Meyers:

For the first time in his entire life, he felt guilt. He felt a storm of emotions, but as he stared at your knife wound- the one his dumbass caused…- he knew it wouldn’t kill you. He’d never felt so terrible and so relieved in his life.

He quickly scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom with shaking fingers. His hands had never shaken before…

He slammed open your medicine cabinet, hard enough to crack the glass, and popped open the first aid kit, sending gauze and band-aids onto the bathroom floor. You’d patched him up plenty of times so it should be easy…right?

Six butterfly bandages, four bandaids, and two complete rolls of gauze later, you felt like you might be suffocated by the first-aid supplies but…he’d tried his best. And, you weren’t bleeding anymore.

Sinclair Brothers:

The blow to the face had broken your eyebrow and sliced your skin, and the fall to the floor left you with a concussion and a sprained wrist. Vincent carried you downstairs gently, knowing he had the supplies to fix you up in his workshop.

All three brothers stayed by your side, and you were never alone over the course of the next week, especially while you were sleeping, until your concussion headache finally went away.

Your face was bruised and swollen and it hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, especially the cut on your eyebrow.

But, every morning when you walked downstairs, you received a kiss on the eyebrow from each Sinclair brother, and they all treated you like you were made of porcelain, even Bo.

[callie-the-creator]

the sinclair brothers’ reactions to you getting nipple piercings

mild nsfw. mdni. warnings: suggestive content, nipple piercings, etc.

author’s note: i tried to write the reader as gender-neutral as possible.

bo sinclair

• once you lifted your shirt up, bo’s jaw dropped to the floor as his eyes widened. he was still in his work getup — did you do this when he was gone? he had so many questions…but, it didn’t take bo long to shake his initial shock and replace it with his smirk

• he thinks your new piercings are hot as fuck and even made you all the more attractive. hell, he didn’t even think such a thing was possible!

• bo immediately tossed all his stuff to the closest chair and walked over to you where he moved his calloused hands up from your hips to right under your chest

• even though he likes to admit to it, bo can be quite the charmer at times. so, after he did this, bo started to shower you in compliments and as he did, lowered himself onto his knees as his hands rested on your as, like you were some deity

• all of this was a pleasant surprise, just what he needed actually, and bo cannot wait to see more of your piercings, especially in the bedroom

vincent sinclair

• he first thought you accidentally got hurt, so he came rushing to your side to help you out, only to have you you explain to him what they were

• he was, at first, confused. sure, vincent has seen a few piercings in his time because of the wax statues he makes…but…he’s never seen any that were on someone’s nipples

• when asked if he understood, vincent simply nodded his head as he moved closer to inspected your new piercings until his chest was almost touching yours

• he outstretched his hands, but didn’t touch you right away. instead, vincent glanced between your nipples, to your eyes, back down to your piercings, asking for permission. with a laugh, you gave him exactly that

• vincent made sure to be especially gentle with you as he caressed the sides of your chest, his rough and large hands slowly creeping closer to your nipples before stopping when he got close to the piercing. he didn’t want to touch them since there was a chance you were sore, so vincent merely moved his hands around the area, all the while he admired your new jewelry

• he likes them, it’s just going to take some time getting used to them is all…

lester sinclair

• “now, why’d you have to go ‘n do that?” was lester’s question when you told him you had gotten nipple piercings as he drove down the road to the house

• he didn’t want to believe you because of how unlike you it sounded. this must’ve been your way of trying to pull a prank on him…

• he kept denying that you got piercings there until you had enough of the bickering and lifted up your shirt, prompting lester to do a double-take at the sight of your new jewelry

• his breath was taken away and he was left speechless. he cleared his throat as he turned his attention back on the road whilst you pulled down your shirt to cover yourself up

• the drive to the house was mostly quiet

- that is, until lester parked his truck

• just as when you were going to hop out of the truck, lester stopped you by calling out your name, so you hesitated and looked back at him quizzically, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t somewhat upset with him

• “can i, uh…see ‘em again?”

[loveandmurders]

love your writing! how do you think the menagerie of murderers would react if their current crush/victim/hostage refers to them exclusivelly as "Mister [lastname]" even after they know their first name? would some prefer it that way? get off to the power synamic implied? would some insist on being called by their first name? would they not gaf? asking for Tommy Vincent and Brahms specifically but if you can do more i'd love that~

Hello there! I don't take request anymore but my mind instantly knew how each character you mentionned would react, so here a quick answer for you! (I added Bo and Lester)

I hope you'll enjoy <3

Warning: absolutely no proof reading, mentions of murders and violence, mentions of sexual desire, nothing else I think

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy would be confused as hell at first. Why would you call him "Mister Hewitt"? The man has never been called that way in his entire existence.

Of course, he understands you're trying to be polite, and it's better than being insulted... But he has a secret little crush on you (he thinks it's a secret but the whole family can tell) so it hurts him quite a lot that you are not calling him by his name. For him, it is as if you were putting barriers between the two of you. He wants you to be more intimate with him. He needs it actually or he is going to lose his mind.

He definitively asks his Mama (he is too shy to ask you directly) to tell you to stop calling him that, and to start calling him "Thomas" (which makes him feel so hot when you do) or "Tommy" (which makes him melt with pure love for you).

Bo Sinclair

Bo has tied you up on his chair and he is ready to toy with you in the nastiest way possible.

But he stops dead in his track when he hears you call him "Mister Sinclair" as you plead with him to not hurt you. He can't recall the last time he has been called that way and for an instant he doesn't know what to think about it. He asks you to repeat your words, which you instantly do, hopeful you might have found a cheatcode.

As he repeats the words inside his head over and over again, he moves his tongue over his dry lips and starts to understand he actually likes it a lot. It sounds even hotter coming out from your pretty mouth. Ok, you win, he won't hurt you as long as you keep calling him that way. God forbid he is getting hard from such a simple way. Also, he is losing it if you start calling him "Sir" as well.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent instantly liked you among your little tourist group and this is why you're still alive, currently wandering around in the house. In your point of view, you're some sort of hostage, without really knowing what the brothers want from you.

But Vinny doesn't see it that way. You're his muse.

At first you don't know you are alive thanks to him; you even feel like he seems to avoid you as much as possible. Actually he is just watching you from far away. When he finally gathers the courage to be around you, he is so surprised to hear you call him "Mister Sinclair". He definitively enjoys the politeness of it. It also reminds him that he isn't his "mama's boy" anymore. He is a man. It makes him want to take care of you like a "man" would take care of you. But after a little while, he really needs you to call him by his name or even better by a nickname to show him you like him (even just a little).

Lester Sinclair

Lester is very happy you aren't calling him a "freak" or insulting him, despite the current situation (all your friends are dead and you're alive because Lester pleaded with his big brothers).

He is even astonished you are still so polite to him, like the first time you met on the dusty road of Louisiana. He isn't used of people being polite to him, and he is a little bit worried you are actually just scared of him. He really doesn't want that.

In addition, he HATES with burning passion you calling him "Mister Sinclair". Mister Sinclair was his father and fuck he hated that man and all the awful things he did to him and his brothers. So no, please, call him Lester, call him Les, call him anything you want, but not Mister. Even "Freak" would hurt less in fact. He doesn't really like "Sir" either because he doesn't feel like that. He is just "Lester".

Brahms Heelshire

For Brahms, it is normal and even expected that you call him "Mister" and that you are all polite and nice around him.

Your are his new nanny, you are stuck with him now and you better respect the rules and respect him.

But he can't deny that the way you pronounce those words instantly does things to him. If you are gently greeting him in the morning, he is promising himself he's going to be a good boy to you today. If you are scolding him because there is mud eveywhere in the living room, he gets sad and helps you clean up instantly. If you say this in between kisses, he is absolutely going feral for you.

"Mister Heelshire" used to be a way to show him some respect, now it is some sort of spell that wraps him up all around your little finger.

[sold2vlaykz]

I love you, weirdo.

Slashers headcanons with weird s/o that actually loves them.

Featuring- Gabriel May, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Patrick Bateman.

Gabriel may

Gabriel is very insecure, not having a body or anything and just has to go off of trust that you love him.

Despite not trusting you completely his insecurities faded little by little when you gave him soft touches, how he leans into your palm. How you kiss him, brushing his hair back.

He was very surprised when you told him that you reciprocated the feelings and he didn’t have to kidnap you.

When you held his hand, leaning into him. Telling him how much you’ve missed him, how much you’re going to miss him if he leaves again.

When you first met he disregarded you, focused on getting revenge. But the more you appeared the more he was drawn into you. He wanted you, and he was going to get what he wanted with or without you to oblige.

So late at night, he took over. He broke into your house, flickered your lights, controlled your phone and radio. All to lure you where he didn’t know you wanted to be. In the living room, thinking an intruder had opposed you he came from the darkness and grabbed you threatening you to scream.

You managed to get out of his grasp completely unaware of who he was. Until lighting struck and you caught a glimpse of his face. No You knew him, you’ve met twice on accidental occasions.

You asked him why was he doing it, why did he want to hurt you. And in his exact words he didn’t want you to be anyone else’s.

Complete bickering before you just asked him. “Gabriel, why didn’t you just ask me?” He paused unsure of what to say, “I would’ve said yes.” You added. He growled at your past tense “I still will.” You calmed him.

The rest of the night was pretty awkward knowing he could’ve literally knocked on your door in broad daylight and asked like a normal person.

But he wasn’t normal, at least to everyone but you.

How embarrassed he’d get when you bring it up, laughing at how cute he was.

Stuffing his face in your chest or stomach out of embarrassment. Gabriel got shy about little things, loving him made him shy.

He hated when he needed reassurance, like he gets so jealous over little things, you’re telling him about a guy at the market with cool socks? He’s gonna kill him and burn the socks.

Getting him to come out in public was one thing, he thought he “belonged in the shadows.” Until you told him how corny that was.

And that people would think you’re single if he didn’t.

He comes out rarely, still.

He loves how weird you are, you’re wondering what it feels like shitting and just looking at the wall.

You bring him a dead bird, that’s weird. And if you try to take it fuck off it’s his now.

So clueless when you make your corny dirty jokes. “Are you a taco? Cus when I eat you you’re gonna fall apart.”

The fact that you bring your phone everywhere so he’ll be able to reach you, random radios all over the house. Or telling him to use his witchy woo powers to turn off the light. Reluctant, but he does it anyway.

He internally kicks his feet when you give him a kiss. Goodnight kiss? Please take off his clothes and hold him innocently.

Coming home from work covered in mud because you saw a big puddle? That’s okay, he’ll help you clean the mess up. (Bro pretends it’s a hassle when he loves spending time with you.)

Why do you keep calling him emo boy? (He’s your emo boy.)

Walks into a room and catches you talking to yourself, he will literally listen to you talk to yourself from a radio just to hear you speak. Adding his little commentary when he felt necessary.

One day you randomly came up to him telling him how cool his powers are, he was trying superrrr hard to act nonchalant, smiles cracked.

You’re sad? Wanna sit and rot in bed? He’s sad too, we can rot together.

Maybe a sad kiss smooch?

He’ll never ask for a kiss, kinda just stare at you until you go for it. Or he’s so impatient he’ll just grab your jaw and smash his lips into yours.

Sometimes it’d be late at night and he’ll randomly get really deep and philosophical and wonder why you’re crying.

Vincent Sinclair

Literally the best person to be weird with. Also very insecure, despite how people consider him gentle he’s very jealous.

He doesn’t want you around Bo, doesn’t mind you with Lester but don’t go for too long.

You’re his literal muse, paintings, sculptures, letters, etc. he loves you so completely. (If he didn’t kill you, he loves you.)

After you convince him to take his mask off, he thinks you’ll wince, that you’ll ridicule him. But no, you’re literally kissing all over his face.

The whole reason you managed to live is because you managed to get away from Bo into the house, and Vincent tried to kill you but ended up trapping himself under a fallen shelf after kicking the door to hard, you helped him out. (You had no clue he was trying to kill you.)

He kinda kept you a secret until Bo found out for himself, he was angry and heated but Vincent stood his ground.

You’re a skull collector? He’ll recommend a trip with Lester, all those bones would make you happy.

He finds a skull he’ll think you’ll like he’ll keep it until it’s safe to give to you.

You like rocks? Every time he sees a pretty rock he shoves them into his pockets, it weighs him down but he thinks it worth it after seeing the smile on your face.

You’re an artist, let him help you. He loves your art style, literally has art pieces dedicated to your art.

He’ll come outside sometimes just to go flower pick with you.

You’re bed rotting? He’ll feel so guilty, if you don’t get up for breakfast he’ll craft a tray just to bring it to you.

Motivates you with little notes.

You taught him how to use text emoji’s on paper. You’d wake up and see something like this “ I love you! :)” on a sticky note placed on the wall.

Oh you wanna kiss, despite bro being virgin pure he is a decent kisser. Sure it took maybe a third try for him to stop clashing teeth but hey!

He’s psychically vocal about being insecure, he’ll grab your hand, nudge you, tap you and if you’re ready to go like he is bro will just drag you away.

He’s very over protective, I mean. You’re stuck doing everything he does, he doesn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.

One day you stood up all night just reading his poetry, you guys were sharing poetry like kids.

You two even did the art swap idea.

He has both of them hung up in his room.

….

…

DID SOMEBODY SAY FOREHEAD KISSES? Vincent loves forehead kisses, give him one, he’ll give you one. You picked out a nice stick? He’ll add it to the box of neatly organized random things you’ve got him.

Dude keeps everything, your favorite stick broke? He made an identical one made of wax, unpleased? He he’ll try get Lester to find an identical stick, can’t do that? He’ll try to mend the stick with wax. And if he can’t fix it, forehead kisses.

Telling him you’ll sleep on the floor because you can’t handle the blankets texture was odd, but he was quick to search and destroy the house for a blanket to your liking.

He’s a natural at everything.

Can’t find a blanket, bro magically knows how to sew.

He loves you wearing his clothes, he walked down and saw you in his underwear sleep. He painted you so innocently, his room was like a museum of you.

Bo Sinclair

“And this rock reminded you of me how exactly?”

- “I don’t know it was just hard and rough, but when it cracked it was all soft inside.”

“So you glued it back together..”

-“yeah, if you don’t like it I could just throw it away it was stupid I know.”

“Mm mm, there’s no point now you already gave it to me.”

It has been in his pocket ever since. When he takes a smoke break he’ll twirl it in his hands or hold it to his chest.

One time you caught him and he tried to pretend he didn’t know what he was doing, that he was just looking at the ‘stupid thing.’

-

-“Why did you break it?”

“It’s a stupid damn stick, go fetch anova’ one or somethin.’

He felt so guilty, he didn’t even mean to break it. It just dropped and snapped, but he wasn’t gonna say sorry. Despite how much he felt it.

“C’mere.”

He won’t say anything but him calling you over and cuddling you in his lap was his apology.

One day he saw you crying over a fox eating a bird, called it stupid, said it was dumb to cry over it and it was the cycle of life (all while rubbing your shoulder.)

He shot the fox in front of you making you cry more, he was only tryna help though. Found it kinda weird when you asked if he could get the skull out of it.

He did it though. (He’s the type to say no when you ask for a favor and do it anyway because he thinks it’s funny.)

Fascination with cars? Hell fucking yeah! He’ll let you watch him repair it or help out despite how much he loves his truck.

(He will teach you how to drive.)

One time you accidentally bumped his car and he Tries super hard to control his potty mouth

-“oh my god I’m so so sorry Bo.”

“You little! Mmm. Just- just watch out.”

You squeak when he doesn’t get mad and jump all over him, you know how hard it can be for him to control his temper. He loves it when you reward him with kisses and won’t leave him alone.

Despite him saying he wants you to leave him alone- if you do he will curse you out saying you were avoiding him completely forgetting what HE said.

“Oh, I said that? Bullshit.”

I know it’s weird but Bo loves it when you wrap yourself around him, like say he’s talking to a girl or something. You will wrap yourself around his waist.

Jump on his back or something, he lives for it when you’re jealous. He’ll tease you about it all day.

“Someone was a little angry.”

-

Say you stop giving Bo weird little gifts, trust he’ll notice.

“Surprise you didn’t pick up some random rock.” Is all he says when in his head he’s literally thinking you don’t love him anymore.

If it gets superrrr bad he’ll grab a really pretty flower or something you’d like and say “here, this the kinda shit you like ain’t it?” He knows you do, he spent hours looking for it.

One day he took you out on a trip to another close town to get groceries, and you met someone that had been intrigued by you picking up rocks and sticks as Bo was in the store.

He was heated when he saw you letting someone hold your rocks, you didn’t let his brothers do it. Only him, so why would you let this fucking idiot hold HIS rock. (Despite it not being his at all.)

Will literally either throw you on his shoulder and leave.

Or Intimidate the man.

Though he’s more likely to just Snatch the rock from the man’s hands and fight him.

He’ll leave with a busted lip, but hey at least he beat the guy bloody. Now you’re touching his lip up in the bathroom as he ridicules you for getting him riled up.

-“What the hell Bo, that was reckless. What if you lost?”

“Yeah what if.”

-“Bo.”

The longest silence ever before you get the idea of what happened on your own because he will never confess that he was jealous.

-

You’re mad at Bo? He will argue with to the end that he didn’t do anything, before coming to a realization at the end HE WONT SAY SORRY BUT HE’LL GUILT-TRIP YOU.

“Ya mad at me?”

-“no.”

“Ya’ sure?”

Will kiss all over you until he finds that spot and hears your giggles.

“Ya still mad at me?”

While you’re literally laughing on the point of tears.

Jason Voorhees

Jason isn’t very insecure, he’s trusting in you. He has his own “dog pile.” Underground. He will take everything you’ve ever given him and put it into the deepest hole.

It may sound mean but he means it in such a good way.

Like a dog finds a bone and digs it, so it can stay hidden and theirs forever.

Sometimes you two will be walking and he’ll see a rock and give it to you. Thinking ‘you like rocks, here rock.’

Like every time you come back from a walk your pockets are stuffed with rocks. You have a box of rocks that Jason had gave to you.

It’s weird but Jason loves head touches, like the thing that lions or animals do.

Forehead to forehead looking into each others eyes, a smile on your face and a smile under his mask.

You see the skull of a deer and give it to him, he doesn’t know what that means but he’ll keep it.

You wanna kiss him because you’re angry, okay. He wants to kiss you just because he wants to kiss you he doesn’t mind.

You’re about to cry because the world will end eventually? He’ll hug you until your sleep and you don’t remember what you were crying for.

Bad memory? He’s super overprotective he won’t let you leave the house without him because you don’t remember where the bear traps are.

He’s super patient and will take his time to show you again, not even because you want to but because he wants you to be safe.

You feel worthless? To him you’ve done more than enough! (The type of guy to give you a genuine thumbs up.)

You wanna teach him sign language? He won’t move a muscle until he understands.

Wanna teach him how to read? Please take your time with him.

Despite not being able to talk he is very verbal with you! He’ll groan or moan. Or just make sounds as if talking.

You like biting? Okay you can bite him. Just don’t hurt your teeth!

-

You guys met on accident, you were being chased by some girls who wanted to beat you up for being weird? (True story.)

you ran into here and got stuck in a bear trap so they eventually caught up to you.

They managed to hit you maybe three times before their heads fell off, he helped you out of the bear trap but you ran so far you didn’t know how to get home.

So you kinda followed him ever since.

-

You’re a pothead? He wouldn’t approve of it but he’d show you the hemp plants deep in the forest.

You like fixing things? Thank God, he broke a door on accident a few days ago.

You like dead animals? There’s a bunch stuck in traps.

You like cooking? Please feed the poor boy.

You wanna hold his hand while you cook? He won’t move an inch. Just standing there without resting, you barely hear him breathe. He was standing for hours before you realized and subconsciously got him a chair.

Or the time you were building a chair and it was super sturdy. You jumped in it and everything but as soon as he sat in it broke because of his height and weight.

He felt horrible, just standing there looking at the chair dumbfounded while itching the back of his head.

He made his little verbal noises, wondering what happened after he just watched you prove it was sturdy.

Stayed up with you all night as you made another bigger chair, well he tried. He ended up falling asleep sitting up.

He thought it was concerning how much you stayed up, and yet you never seemed restless.

Sometimes when you’d stay up for more days than he’d consider healthy he’d force you to go to bed.

—

Patrick Bateman

One of the best people to be weird with, at first he’s a little judging but eventually gets creeped out when you’re not being weird.

You didn’t give him a weird puzzle today, what’s wrong sweetheart?

You like the way his skin tastes? He will utilize it later in bed!

You like how cold his hands are, he’ll do his usual routine with one hand on your face.

You like his body? He’ll let you study it to stroke his ego. You like creating acid? May he burrow some dear? (It’s totally not to dissolve a body)

He’ll literally brag about the ‘exquisite’ bugs you brought him at a double date. Someone makes fun of you for it? He’ll either A: embarrass them because he’s so much better than them or B: kill them later on because no one disrespects his bug collecting darling.

He will literally buy you a rare taxidermy animal, than say it was nothing as if it didn’t cost him a fortune.

“- do you like it.”

*Patrick staring at your horribly homemade taxidermy raccoon.*

“How could I not?”

You like fashion, he will literally match your attire every time you step outside. Taking you shopping just to see what you like and buying more later.

You have a weird obsession with garlic bread? There’s this new Italian restaurant down the street.

You like his teeth? Every time he goes to the dentist he’ll ask for a copy of his X-rays.

You two literally met because you worked at his office, your dad was his boss so you got a free job. It was clear you didn’t belong, you dressed weird and acted weird.

One day you randomly complimented him on his card, and how weirdly fascinated you were with it.

Those words were enough to ask for your opinion on every action he took.

“- I don’t really like Paul Allen’s card, tastes weird.”

Taste? He didn’t understand what that meant but a win was a fucking win. (That was until he caught you eating his card.)

Literally made you spit it out on his hand.

You’ve been glued to his hip ever since. He’s like your savior.

“You want to eat this, the glue?.”

“Shoes on before going outside, now.”

To the point where people called Patrick’s name every time you were doing something crazy again.

Your dad eventually fired you after you put a staple in your tongue. Having you not around felt weird so he asked you on a date.

All you talked about the entire time was about his suit and how much you knew about the creator, and stupid facts about the suit that he normally couldn’t care less about:

How clear it was that you weren’t aware of how blunt you were, telling him his body fit the suit and complimented it very well.

Him holding your hand because despite you living in New York you were afraid of tall buildings.

A little disgusted you picked up a random rock off of the floor and gave it to him, but put it in his expensive pocket nonetheless.

Literally has the rock on his nightstand

[capybar00stash]

vincent doodles

i'll mostly be posting doodles for now, i had an idea to draw #mouthwashing stuff but maybe later on.

[not-neverland06]

Bad Day

part two

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) A/N: I don’t usually think about slashers until Halloween, but I’ve just had House of Wax brainrot for the past two weeks, so I wanted to get this out Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence (barely) Summary: Stranded on the side of the road with shitty friends, you’re forced to visit Ambrose, home of the infamous House Of Wax. Unfortunately for you, you manage to catch the attention of not one, but two of the Sinclair brothers.

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

Sarah looks over her shoulder at you and shrugs. “What’re you talking about?”

You roll your eyes and tap Dean on the shoulder, he grunts, the best answer you’ll get from him. “Pull over, I think something’s wrong with the car.” He gives you a questioning glance over his shoulder but shrugs and pulls onto the side of the desolate road. 

You could hear the rest of your friends pulling up behind you in their truck as you hopped out. You walk to the front of the car, popping open the hood and immediately regretting it as a cloud of smoke blasts you in the face. “Shit,” you hiss, backing up and fanning the air in front of your face. 

“Oh, fuck,” the angriest you’d ever heard your stoic friend Dean, and his voice was still barely above a whisper. Alison, Owen, Gwen, and Damien hopped out of their truck and came rushing over to the three of you. 

“What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Y/N’s piece of shit car.” You rolled your eyes at Sarah’s bitchy attitude, you don’t know why you agreed to this trip. You barely like any of them, they were horrible people and worse friends. You’re pretty sure the only reason they invited you was because Owen’s truck couldn’t fit all of them and you were the only one they knew with a big enough car for the rest. 

“I saw a sign, some place called Ambrose, we could try there. Might have someone who could help.”

You all glanced at each other, each of you trying to come up with a solution, but nothing was better than Owen’s suggestion. What's the worst that could happen?

Your car had managed to make it long enough to get to some campground, you really hadn’t been willing to just abandon it on the side of the road to be stolen. Now, you all sat in the grass, debating who should head into town. 

“Y/N should go. It’s her car.”

“Thank you, Allison,” you glared at her, “but I’m not willing to go into some strange town all on my own.”

Owen let out a loud sigh before he reluctantly said, “I’ll go with you.” You were overwhelmed by his kindness. Not. 

There was a high pitched scoff and you glanced over to see Allison glaring at her boyfriend. “You volunteered real quick.”

“Ally-”

She held up a hand and walked off, struggling slightly over the damp ground with her heels. Owen trailed after her, offering you a barely there apology as he left you with everyone else. You were acutely aware of how none of them would meet your eye. 

Up ahead, Ally was laying into Owen, probably another fight because she always thought he was trying to sleep with someone else. It didn’t take you long to realize you were on your own. You really hated these people. 

You stood up, shooting dirty looks over your shoulder as you started towards the woods Owen had determined would take you to Ambrose. “Thanks babe!”

You flipped Gwen off and kept walking. You grumbled to yourself as you tripped down the steep hill and cussed each of them out every time your foot sank into mud. The further down the hill you got the worse it was starting to smell. 

At first it was just musky and you assumed the stifling atmosphere was from the humidity. Then it started to really stink, putrid, rotting flesh stink. You gagged slightly the closer you got to the source of the smell. Your stomach was twisting and turning and you thought the skin inside your nose was burning as you tried to breath through your mouth. That only seemed to make it worse. Now you could taste the rot, feel it spilling down your throat.

“Y/N, wait!”

You jumped, looking over your shoulder at Owen approaching you, the rest of your friends behind him. The distraction cost you, though, your foot got twisted in a root and you let out a loud yelp as you went flying headfirst down the hill.  

“Oh, shit!” You could hear them laughing behind you as you rolled down the hill, your ribs and elbows busting against random rocks and roots. You hissed in pain when you finally came to a stop, already feeling a dozen different scrapes all along your body. 

You went to sit up but your hand sank into something soft and gooey, and oh god you were going to lose your lunch. 

You actually did throw up in your mouth, swallowing it with a burn as you scrambled desperately to get out of whatever putrid pit you were stuck in. You glanced around, finally coming across the source of the smell, dozens of carcasses surrounded you. Some of them so rotted you couldn’t even tell what animal it was anymore. 

You screamed as your hand finally found purchase on something. You glanced down at the hand wrapped around your own and shot up, your feet slipping and sliding against the gore. Two hands wrapped around your biceps and helped you, finally. 

You grasped onto the arms of whoever had you and practically leapt onto them in your attempt to escape. They pulled you away from the pit and you let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”

You glanced up, finally getting to see the face of your savior. He had yellowed teeth, a sweat stained tank top on, and a very adorable smile as he patted your shoulder and backed off. “You alright?”

You let out a strained, “mhm,” as you attempted to catch your breath and not vomit on his feet. “There-“ you covered your mouth as bile rose up. You pointed towards the pit, taking in a deep breath, “Hand. Human hand.”

The man titled his head in confusion before walking over to the pit and digging around where you just were. You winced at the sound of squelching before he managed to reveal the hand once more. You jumped as he grabbed onto it, he laughed as he tugged at it until there was a loud pop and the hand came loose. 

“Anyone need a hand?”

Your friends, who had been standing at the top of the pit watching you struggle, stared at him with varying expressions of disgust. You let out an awkward laugh, relieved it had only been a mannequin and nothing worse. 

He turned around at the sound of your laughter and gave you another goofy smile. “Thank god,” you breathed. 

He came back towards you, completely unbothered by the death around him. “Sorry ‘bout your clothes.”

You glanced down at your shirt and grimaced, it was completely covered in brown blood and old bits of roadkill. “Not your fault.” You glanced towards the back of his truck, seeing old blood in the bed of it and realizing this is where he dumped the animals people hit on the highway. 

“Hey!” You both jumped at the booming voice and looked over to see Owen hopping awkwardly down the hill, skirting the dead bodies, and coming to stand next to you. The others hovered further behind. “You know where Ambrose is?”

The man ignored him, glancing at you. “That where you were heading?” You nodded and he scoffed, “Woulda been walking a long way. ‘Bout fifteen miles up the road.”

You elbowed Owen in the side and glared at him, “You said it was close!”

He rubbed his side and shrugged, “I don’t know, guess the walk was longer than I thought.” He evaded making any eye contact and stared at his shoes. You rolled your eyes, what an asshole. 

“I could give you a ride.”

You blanched at the man's suggestion, he seemed nice enough, but you really weren’t eager to get into a stranger’s truck. “No need, we’ll just take Owen’s truck.”

He shrugged, “Alright. But good luck getting in, there’s only one way to town and it’s not on any map.”

You let out a deep sigh, this day is just getting better and better. “We won’t be bothering you?” He shook his head and walked towards his truck, opening up the passenger door for you. 

You gave him a tense smile before digging your fingers into Owen’s arm and dragging him behind you. “You’re coming with me, don’t bother arguing.”

“Owen?” Allison shouted after him. 

The man answered before Owen could, “I’ll come back for y’all. Don’t you worry!” Something about the smile he shot at them, it was different than the one he’d directed towards you, there was something swimming between his yellowed teeth and honeyed smile. His eyes glittered with malicious intent and you shivered when he looked back at you. 

You didn’t really have another choice, you’d have to follow him. He, apparently, was the only one who could get you into town. You forced a kind smile on your face and thanked him as he helped you up in the truck. “I hope I don’t stink up your seats too bad,” you added as he rounded the front. 

You’d realized you’d spoken too soon when you actually got a chance to smell the interior of his truck. You clutched the seat as your eyes bulged out. Somehow, the inside was worse than the pit outside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he hopped in the truck. You heard Owen groan under his breath beside you as he slammed the truck door close. 

“Shit,” he hissed, clutching his stomach and trying not to make a big deal about how fucking awful the truck smelled and felt. 

“I’m Lester,” the man told you, offering a hand for you to shake. You paused on holding your breath to tell him your and Owen’s names. “You’ll want to find Bo when we get into town. He’s the mechanic, he’ll be able to fix you up.”

You clutched the edge of the seat for the rest of the ride, trying to remain polite as you made small talk with Lester, but you could only hold your breath for so long. He seemed to pick up on your discomfort and rolled the windows down, “AC don’t work no more.”

“Maybe Bo could fix it.”

He glanced up at you, eyes lighting up like he’d never thought of that before. “Yeah! Maybe he could!” He let out a goofy laugh, slapping his thigh and smiling at you. “I ain’t never thought of that before.”

You let out a weak chuckle, the reaction was pretty extreme for something as simple as suggesting you got to a mechanic for car problems. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered, glancing at Lester out of the corner of his eye and shaking his head. 

You elbowed him again, ignoring his noise of pain and silently threatening him to shut up. You understood that Lester might stink and have strange reactions, but Christ, he was giving you both a ride fifteen miles out of his way. He could be a little more appreciative. 

“Alright,” the truck slowly rumbled to a stop. “We’re here.”

You glanced at Lester and then the clear lack of town through the windshield. “Um, what?”

He chuckled slightly, “It’s around the bend. Truck can’t go over that, though.” You followed the direction of his gaze and lifted yourself from the seat to see a little creek and a broken bridge. “Go ahead and I’ll go back for your friends.”

Owen opened the door, practically flying out of the truck. He took in deep and dramatic inhales as the stifling Louisiana air hit him in the face. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back towards Lester, “Thank you so much for the help.”

He gave you a strange look, not quite mean but not very friendly, “Don’t thank me yet.” You had barely closed the door before he was peeling off. 

You turned towards Owen but he just shrugged, “I don’t know man, I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

You nodded, turning towards the creek, “Agreed.”

You were thankful you’d chosen a black tank top, the sun was beating directly down on you and you were pretty sure you had already sweat through every layer you had on. You were desperate for a hair clip or rubber band or literally anything to get your hair off your neck. Another minute sweating like this and you were just going to chop it all off. 

“Hey, up there.”

“Finally!” You and Owen both sped up, rushing towards the auto shop, eager to get somewhere with air conditioning. But when Owen tried the door it wouldn’t budge, he pulled and pushed, wiggled it way too many times and you snapped. “It’s locked, dipshit!”

“Think I don’t know that?” He snapped back. 

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “Then let it go and give up.” He let out a pissy sigh and whirled around, canvassing the rest of town. His eyes landed on the small chapel and he nudged you, pointing at it.

“Maybe there’s someone in there.”

You followed hesitantly after him as he walked towards it. The closer you got the louder the voices inside were. “Wait, Owen, I think there’s a service going on. We shouldn’t just barge in.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored you, throwing the door open without care and glaring inside. You shriveled up in embarrassment when you saw a man kneeling at the front of the chapel. You dared a step closer and winced, he was kneeling in front of a coffin. 

God, you guys looked like such assholes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, grabbing Owen by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back outside. You shoved him down the steps and he stumbled, glaring at you. 

“Y/N, what the hell?”

“It was a funeral service you jackass!” You hissed back at him, unwilling to raise your voice and further disrupt those poor people’s mourning. You were halfway across the street when you heard the door behind you open. 

You tensed up, mentally preparing yourself to face whoever had decided to scold you both. “Can I help you folks?” You turned at the sound of a smooth southern accent and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Well, more heat, you were about as hot as you could get right now. 

But the man in front of you seemed perfectly comfortable in his all black suit, glaring down at you both from the top of the stairs. You were a little ashamed how attracted to him you were. He was mourning, attending the funeral of someone who was probably close to him and you were drooling over how good he looked in a suit. 

To be fair, he did look very nice in a suit. 

“I am so sorry, sir, I tried to stop him.”

Owen nudged you slightly, “Shut up, Y/N.” You glared at him but he just crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the man in front of you. “We’re looking for Bo. You seen him?”

The man’s voice was full of anger as he sneered at Owen, “You’re talkin’ to him.”

Owen glanced back at you, a mean look on his face. “Her car broke down, can you fix it?”

Bo scoffed, staring down at Owen with a disgusted expression. You knew what he was thinking, how demanding and dickish Owen was. Especially when he knew what Bo had been doing only moments before. You intervened before Owen could dig a deeper hole. 

“Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m really sorry we interrupted you.”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up before I make you,” you leveled Owen with a glare. You let the group get away with a lot, talking shit to you and about you constantly. You didn’t really care enough to stop them, but you weren’t about to let him continue to disrespect the only person who could actually help you out of this hellhole. 

Owen seemed to get the message and scoffed, walking off with an attitude. Though, he didn’t have anywhere to go considering pretty much every business was closed. So he stood in the street, kicking at gravel like a toddler. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Bo, a little surprised to find him already staring down at you. 

You couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you, but it didn’t make you feel very comfortable. Though, that could just be the anxiety from your rude companion. “Sorry, again.”

You turned around, ready to walk back to the others, when he stopped you. “I’ll help you!” 

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, “Give me a little while to finish up here and I’ll meet you at the shop.”

You nodded, a smile slowly rising on your lips. Maybe this day wasn’t completely lost. “Of course, take your time, thank you so much, seriously.”

He nodded, still looking unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Uh, you could check out the House of Wax, might make the time pass quicker.”

You nodded again but he didn’t bother waiting for a response, already heading back inside the church. He left just in time for the rest of the group to come walking up the street. Owen ran towards them, leaving you behind. You noticed a clear lack of Gwen or Damien and figured they’d stayed behind with the cars or something. 

You caught up with them just as Owen finished filling them in on what was going on. “So we have to wait?” Sarah whined, practically stomping her feet. 

“Yes, because he’s currently burying someone,” you deadpanned. You glanced towards the building towering over the town on top of a hill. “But we can always check out the House of Wax.”

”Yippee,” Allison mumbled sarcastically. 

You broke off quickly from the rest of the group, immediately embarrassed by how they behaved in the museum. Owen had started off strong, catcalling one of the wax women and groping her. You wandered towards the back of the building, a figure of a dog catching your attention. You hadn’t seen any other animals in here. 

Wow, its fur looked so realistic. 

You knelt down, getting closer, and shot back in fear as it barked at you. You let out a loud yelp as you landed on your ass, watching the very real dog growl at you. 

“Holy shit, did not think you were real.” You held up your hands in surrender, “Good girl, it’s okay.” After a minute she stopped growling and slowly moved towards you. You smiled as you pet her, running your fingers through her fur and laughing when she licked your hands. ”Aren’t you sweet?”

You heard a creak in the doorway behind her and your head shot up. A man loomed over you, a wax mask over his face and long black locks hanging over his shoulders. “Hi,” you whispered, completely thrown off by his appearance. 

“Do you work here?”

Nothing. 

He had to, if the mask was anything to go by, maybe it was like some outfit they made the employees wear. You glanced down at his hands, you could see wax covering them and sculpting tools in the belt slung around his hip. “Oh, are you an artist?” You asked, tone a little more excited. 

He tilted his head, and you felt your heart speed up when he stepped closer. The dog left you, walking over to him with her tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He reached down, not breaking his stare with you, and pet her lightly. 

You got to your feet, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was making you. Finally, he nodded. 

“Well,” you stuttered slightly over your words, tongue tied with anxiety. “They’re all amazing. I accidentally bumped into one and apologized because I thought it was real,” your words trailed off with an awkward chuckle. “I even thought your dog was real, she scared me half to death when she moved.”

God, kill me now, this had to be the most awkward one sided interaction you’ve ever had with someone. “D-,” you cleared your throat, trying to get your voice to stop cracking. “Did you do this?” You pointed to the scene behind you, a family eating dinner at a dusty wooden table.

He shook his head, slowly lumbering past you and lifting the woman’s hair. You took a hesitant step forward and peered at the back of her neck where he was pointing. 

TS was carved into the wax. “TS?” Your eyes narrowed before it finally clicked in your head. “Trudy Sinclair?” He nodded and you smiled. “Oh, yeah, I saw an article about her up front. She’s the woman that runs the museum, right?” Another nod. Maybe he was mute. Maybe he wasn’t some freaky serial killer that was about to use that scalpel in his belt to slit your throat. 

Please just be extremely socially awkward. 

“Whole place is wax,” you dumbly pointed out, because clearly he knew that. “Pretty impressive.” He straightened up, moving the woman’s hair back in place and carefully brushing it out with his fingers. The care in which he treated the mannequin was a little off putting, he was acting like she was living and breathing, something to be coddled. “Um,” you stopped staring at his hands, focusing once again on his waxed face. “What’s your name?”

He took a step forward, then another and another until he was standing right in front of you, sharing the air you breathed. You couldn’t help but gulp, feet glued to the floor as the dark holes in his mask burned into you. In your peripheral you watched as his arm stretched out and winced slightly, prepared for a hit or stab or something. 

But it just hovered in the air, after a moment you realized he was pointing at something. You turned around and found a signature scrawled into another wax figure. 

Vincent

“Vincent,” you let out a sigh of relief and held out a hand, giving him your own name. After a moment he took your hand, grip tight to the point that it hurt. But he didn’t shake it like you’d expected, instead he moved his hand up your arm, digging his fingers into your forearm and dragging you back to the front door. You whimpered when he opened the door and threw you outside. 

You clutched your forearm to your chest, rubbing the forming bruises as the door slammed in your face. “Well, fuck you too then,” you muttered under your breath. You turned around glancing down the street and seeing Allison and Owen already walking towards the auto shop. You bound down the steps and run after them, panting when you finally catch up. 

“Where’s Sarah and Dean?”

Allison snorted, “Said they found a bed upstairs.” She glanced at you, “I think you can put two and two together.”

Your nose wrinkled and you groaned, “That’s disgusting. The guy that runs the place is literally in there.”

“Don’t be a prude,” Owen admonished. “They’re just screwing around.”

You glanced back at the House of Wax, seeing a figure moving in the window of the upper floor and shook your head. Jackasses. 

Bo was waiting for you all at the door of the auto shop. He was still in his black suit, except this time he had an easygoing grin on his face. A complete 180 from the man who looked ready to rip Owen’s dick off for interrupting a funeral. 

He gave you a particularly large smile as you approached, holding the door open for you as you entered the shop. You didn’t get the relief you were hoping for, the air in here almost as stifling as it was outside. It was maybe two degrees cooler. Whatever, you’d take what you could get on such a shitty day. 

“You know what the problem is with your car, sweetheart?” 

It took an awkward moment of silence to realize he was talking to you. When you looked up from the floor you saw his gaze drilling into yours, not missing the way his eyes flitted down to your low cut top and then back up. You couldn’t really blame him, you’d been eyeing him since he introduced himself. 

“Um,” you glanced towards Owen. “What did Dean say it was?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an unsure look on his face. “Something about a hose.”

Bo nodded, sucking on his teeth before he went to the back of his shop. You rocked back and forth on your heels, ignoring the other two who were wandering around his shop and whispering to themselves. “Hey, honey, you mind comin’ back here a minute?”

You peered around the doorway and saw Bo bent over rummaging around in some boxes. “Me?”

He looked over his shoulder and chuckled, “Who else?”

You were about to step forward when you heard Allison hiss your name. You turned around and she pulled her top down mouthing ‘maybe he’ll give you a discount,’ pointing to your own shirt and laughing. You crossed your arms reflexively, covering your breasts from her view and tugging your shirt higher up to be petty. She rolled her eyes, clearly called you a prude, and turned back around. 

You really needed new friends. 

You walked into the back of Bo’s shop, taking in the different tools and boxes along the walls. “What’s up?”

“Any of these look right?”

You glanced down at the hoses he had laid out, the blood draining from your face when you realized you did not know anything about your car. You really hadn’t even known a hose was a thing until today. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well,” he started, losing some patience as his tone took a curt edge. Your stomach toiled with anxiety, not liking the idea of him getting pissed at you. “You know what size ya need?” 

You cleared your throat, “Owen!” You called out the door, you heard a grumbled what in response. “You know what size I need?”

“Two and a half!”

You missed Bo sliding a hose under his work table as you turned back around, scanning the tags and frowning when you saw he didn’t have the right size. “There’s a two, would that work?” You asked, picking the hose up and holding it out to him. 

His tongue poked into his cheek and he shook his head, “‘Fraid not, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you placed the hose back down and rubbed your face, wincing as you remembered you were still covered in innards. “Ugh, gross,” you pulled your hands away from your face and could already feel streaks of blood on your cheeks. 

Bo chuckled and reached for a clean rag off his work table. He gave you a charming smile and wiped the blood off your face. You tried not to let yourself be too affected by how close he was, but it was hard, really, really, hard. So, as you always do in situations you don’t know how to handle, you blabber. 

“House of Wax was really cool,” you mumble.

“Hm,” he hums, not interested at all as his gaze darts down to your lips. 

“Yeah, the guy, Vincent, I don’t think he liked me very much,” you let out a barely audible laugh, remembering his harsh treatment as he tossed you out. 

Bo froze, his eyelids dropping slightly as the tender look on his face melted away, replaced by something you didn’t understand. Or didn’t want to understand. The hair on the back of your neck was standing up as goosebumps traveled along your arms. You weren’t cold, not in the slightest, this felt like something else. Like an instinctual response to a predator. 

You backed away a step, no longer feeling comfortable being so close to him. “What’d you say?” His voice was low, so low you could almost mistake it for a growl. 

“Um,” you swallowed harshly, throat parched and lips completely dried by the humidity. “Vincent,” you didn’t like how small your voice was. Didn’t like how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from something charged to something dangerous. “He- he showed me some wax sculptures and then he tossed me out.”

“You saw Vincent?” You nodded, backing a step further when he approached you. He noticed and let out a low laugh, the grin returning, but there were entirely too many teeth. “You say anything? ‘Bout his mask? How quiet he was?” He probed, his tone almost teasing like he wanted you to say Yeah, called him a freak and laughed at him. Like he wanted to use your response as an excuse for something. 

You shook your head quickly, “No. No, of course not,” you were quick to defend yourself, trying to sound as sincere as possible. You didn’t want him to think you were as rude as your traveling companions. “I thought maybe all the museum workers had to wear those. Like a theme or something. And,” you stumbled slightly over your words as he moved towards you again. You stepped back towards the doorway, trying to get back in the view of the others. “And I can be pretty quiet myself, I didn’t think it would be kind to pry.”

He finally stopped, but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You still could feel your heart pounding against your chest, going so fast you felt a little dizzy. You weren’t an idiot, you knew how risky it was approaching so many strange men in one day. But you had been trapped, like a mouse dropped in a maze, constantly searching for a way out. 

You’d had no choice but to accept help from all the people you’d interacted with in this town, but you didn’t forget how much danger they could pose to you and your friends. You were all too aware of how stupid it was to be in a room with this stranger. 

This stranger who switched between masks so fast you got whiplash. Just as quickly as it had disappeared, his smile was back, still just as handsome, but no longer disarming. He shrugged, “Vincent doesn’t show himself to anyone, really. Just a little curious, that’s all. And that mask is all him, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you forced a smile, moving out of the way so he could walk back into the main part of the shop. 

He clapped his hands together, getting the attention of the others. “Sorry folks but I don’t got the parts you need here.”

Allison and Owen both let out loud groans, their voices blending together in anger as they harassed Bo for not having the one car part they needed. You winced as they yelled at him, demanding to know how he even called himself a mechanic if he didn’t have one simple part. You could see Bo’s patience leaving him again, jaw clenching and teeth grinding together. 

“Shut up!” You shouted, glaring at them from behind Bo. “Jesus, act your fucking ages,” you muttered, storming past Bo and going to stand near them. You didn’t bother looking at any of them, despite the stares you could feel boring into you. 

“Thank you,” Bo mumbled before his voice rose again. “As I was sayin’ I got some parts up at my house. Only about a ten minute walk, you could use the bathroom, clean up, I’ll see if I have what you need.”

Allison and Owen shared a look before turning towards you, the both of them huddling around you. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that freak’s house. He’s probably got some redneck sex dungeon.”

“Allison,” you admonished, looking over her shoulder to make sure Bo hadn’t heard. He seemed preoccupied with something under his desk. “Shut up, he’s being nice and putting up with our shit. I mean, he just buried someone guys, and he’s still trying to help. Least you could do is be respectful.”

Allison huffed and sighed and rolled her eyes before finally nodding, “Fine. But I’m using you as a human shield if shit goes south.”

“Fine by me,” you muttered, pushing away from them both and smiling at Bo. “If you don’t mind, we’d love to go.”

He nodded, smiling at you before walking to the door. He opened it but he didn’t leave until he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, if I was taking anyone to my dungeon it’d be this one.” You squeaked as he pinched your waist and walked out. 

Allison scoffed, like she was offended, and followed after him. 

“So,” Bo started, slowing down so you could catch up to him. You sped up slightly, matching his stride and giving him a small smile as he stared at you. “What’re you doin’ with these jackasses?”

You couldn’t stop a snort from slipping out at his blunt language. You glanced behind you, watching Allison and Owen bicker about something and turned back towards him, shrugging. “I don’t know, they needed my car and I wanted to get out of the house, I guess.”

“Well, how long you been friends?”

“Not long, I met Allison a year ago and I guess I just started hanging around them.”

“You don’t seem to get along real well.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a fact in his eyes that you didn’t belong with them. And he was probably right, you hated them, they hated you. 

“Only reason I’ve stuck around this long is ‘cause I don’t have anyone else.”

You didn’t notice how he perked up, how quickly he tuned into the loneliness in your words and pounced. You should have, for someone so perceptive and paranoid, but you were too busy grimacing at a chunk of dead something in your shorts pocket. 

“No one? No family? No other friends? No one to notice-” He cut himself off, once again sending you a smile, though this one seemed more sympathetic than anything. Like he knew your pain and could relate to it. 

“Yeah, no one.”

“Hm,” he offered nothing else. Just another hum and a nod as you approached the house at the top of the incline. He walked up to the front door, unlocking it, and turning around to survey you all. “Anyone need the can?”

Owen stepped forward, Allison clinging to his arm with a paranoid look on her face, eyes darting all around the perimeter of the house. Bo glanced behind them at you, “Sweetheart?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He might be charming but there was no way in hell you were just gonna wander in blind to his house. 

“You sure? I could give you a change of clothes.”

Before you could figure out a polite way to decline again, Allison had grabbed onto the strap of your tank top and was dragging you up the porch. “Please, fuck, I can’t stand the smell anymore.”

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, jumping as the door slammed closed behind you. For a moment the house stayed dark, no light and no noise other than the sound of your breathing. Then you heard a click and light shone down on a cluttered living room and outdated kitchen. 

“Sorry, haven’t had time for the maid,” Bo muttered sarcastically. He turned towards you, motioning you forward and, reluctantly, you followed. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.” Owen nodded, heading down the hallway while Allison stayed planted by the door. 

“I’ll show you my room and you can get changed.”

”Thanks,” you followed him wearily up the stairs, jumping every time the old wood creaked. “I really appreciate this, I know we’ve bugged you a lot today.”

”Yeah, you have.” You frowned, taken aback by how honest he sounded. In your defense, he had offered up his house to you guys. He turned around and must’ve seen the disgruntled look on your face because another grin broke out and he laughed, “I’m messin’ with ya. Relax, it’s no trouble at all for such a pretty lady.”

He opened up the door at the top of the stairs and stepped inside. You heard him moving around, drawers opening and slamming shut before he emerged again a pile of unfolded clothes in his hand. “Here, you can use the room to change.”

You nodded and stepped inside, quick to lock the door behind you. You waited until you heard his footsteps going back down the stairs to strip out of your clothes and change. You moved as quickly as you possibly could, a little paranoid that he had cameras in his room or something, watching you. 

You weren’t sure what had changed. Maybe it was Allison’s insistence that he actually had a sex dungeon, or that you were in a stranger’s room, but you felt scared. You felt watched and uncomfortable and like you wanted to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, put Ambrose in your rear view and never look back. 

You held up the shirt Bo had left you and frowned. It was big, much bigger than he was. This didn’t seem like something he would own, the fitting all wrong, this seemed like something that belonged somewhere else. To someone else. 

You stared at it a moment longer before shaking the thought away and pulling the button up over your arms. As you worked on the last button you realized he hadn’t left you with any pants. Hopefully just a simple oversight on his part. It went down to your thighs, so it’s not like you were completely exposed. You’d just pretend you were wearing a dress. 

Your eyes scanned the room, you would go through his drawers and look for some pants but it didn’t feel right to dig around in his stuff. The room itself was a clusterfuck of boxes of clothes and sprawled sheets. You jumped around a box full of men’s clothing and frowned at the labels on the box. Each box had different sizes and different dates. 

Your heart beat just a little bit faster when you spotted women’s clothes shoved under his bed.

There could be plenty of explanations. 

He swung every which way and this was all clothing from his conquests. 

He liked to dabble in drag. 

He was collecting clothes for the homeless. 

You went with the last one, despite the fact that it didn’t make you feel any better. You walked into his bathroom, smiling when you saw a hair clip on the sink. You picked it up, hoping it wasn’t someone’s favorite and that they wouldn’t mind you borrowing it for a bit. 

Just as you were about to clip up your hair you noticed a smudge of red on the corner. The claw itself was completely white, the red was pretty hard to miss. You frowned, bringing it closer to your face and running your fingers over the color. 

It flaked off under your thumb, the copper falling into the sink. 

There were only so many things you could ignore. 

A blood covered claw was not one of them. 

You rinsed it off in the sink, shoving your hair up and running towards the bedroom door. You didn’t bother collecting your clothes, there was no saving them and you had bigger things to fuss about. Mainly the fact that Allison was right. 

This dude definitely had a fucking sex dungeon. 

You forced yourself to slow down when you reached the top of the stairs. You peered over the railing, listening for any noises or creeping shadows. It was almost worse when you didn’t hear anything. Allison should be at the door, bitching about how long it takes Owen to pee. Bo should be walking around somewhere. 

Instead, the house was still, you barely even heard your own breath over your racing heart. You were careful as you made your way down the stairs, avoiding the boards you know creaked and lightly making your way towards the front door. 

“Allison?” You whispered, looking around the den or kitchen for her. 

Nothing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should look for her or make a run for it. You heard footsteps getting closer to the door and made your choice, grabbing the keys off the tray nearby and racing through the doorway. 

“Y/N?”

You turned around as you reached Bo’s red truck, looking just in time to see a knife split through Allison’s jaw. You couldn’t even scream, the noise locked away in the deepest part of yourself as you struggled to process what was happening. 

The blade stuck out grotesquely between her teeth, her eyes remained blinking, that was the worst part. They blinked, tears pouring down her cheek before the man behind her was shoving her forward and her body was toppling to the ground limply. You jumped at the thud, eyes wide and burning with your own tears as you looked into the dark holes of Vincent’s mask. 

“Vincent?” You whispered, the only thing you could actually manage to get out. His head tilted and he stepped over Allison’s body like she wasn’t even there. Your hands shook, the keys slipping out and landing in the dirt under your shoes. He was about ten feet away before your flight instincts finally kicked in 

“Fuck,” you whispered, abandoning the truck and taking off just as the knife he’d thrown landed in the dirt where you’d been standing only a second earlier. 

You used to run, it had been an easy form of therapy. A way to get out unresolved and pent up emotions that left you feeling stunted. You’d loved it, reveled in the burn in your thighs, the buzz that thrummed through your blood as you pushed yourself to your limits and then further. 

But you’d stopped, got caught up in a group of shitty friends and stopped taking care of yourself. Now, the once thrilling buzz was slowing you down. The muscles in your thighs unprepared and unused as you forced them to go faster. You felt like you were trying to run in a dream, your muscles working as hard as possible but you were stuck in a limbo, never moving fast enough. 

You could hear heavy boots pounding behind you and you tried to push through that limit that you felt locked around your legs. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t move faster and you already felt yourself slowing down. Your lungs heaving as your throat burned, struggling to take in any air. 

“AH!” You let out a strange sounding scream as something heavy and hard rammed into your back. It sent you flying, knees scraping against pavement as you were pancaked to the road. 

“There ya are, darlin’! You don’t know how bad my feelings were hurt when I saw you’d run off.” You whimpered as Bo pinned your arms behind your back, his knees digging into your spine until you both heard it crack and you cried out in pain. 

“Bo, please,” you begged. “Please.”

He chuckled, leaning down until his mouth was next to your ear. “Please, what, darlin?”

”Please fuck off,” you growled throwing your head back and listening to Bo’s nose snap. You used the distraction to wrestle your way out from under him, rolling onto him, legs straddling his waist as you grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down.

His hand shot up and gripped your wrist, squeezing until you couldn’t feel your fingers and were forced to let go of the rock. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You slapped at him as he tried to sit up and pin you down. You didn’t care how rabid or unorganized you were. You clawed, screamed and kicked until you’d gained the upper hand and were jumping away from him. “Fuck you,” you hissed, glaring at him as you clutched at your hurt wrist. 

His nose was no longer pouring blood, instead it was a slow steady drip as he glared at you with what could only be described as an animalistic snarl. “Bitch,” he spat back. 

“That the best you got?” You taunted, “You’re the backwoods freak who's killing off college kids. Lemme guess, Vincent’s your brother, he wears that mask because mommy and daddy were actually Uncle-Dad and Aunt-mom? Your weird little incest freak didn’t want to let mommy’s dream die? I bet one of you fuckin’ killed her, too.”

”Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, lunging for you. You darted off to the side, leaping over a wooden picket fence and through the yards of the silent neighborhood. The sky was turning pink, your favorite time of day, right before night finally fell. 

But you didn’t have time to enjoy it, crying as you ran away from the feral man behind you. You could hear him breathing, stomping his way behind you, it was like being chased by a wild animal, not a man. Maybe that’s what was terrifying you so bad, humans were predictable. You knew what type of torture to expect from them, the cruelties they were capable of. But a man like this, a beast like this, you had no idea what he would do to you. 

Tear you apart right here in the street?

Take you back to his home and keep you until better prey came along?

You didn’t want to find out. And you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of your death. 

You had been screaming as he attacked you, shouting as you ran from him. Not once did a light click on or off as you ran through the neighborhood. No curtains drew back or faces pressed against the window pane in curiosity. 

You knew you were alone, the rest of your friends were most likely dead. 

You gasped, losing your breath, as you slammed into something hard. “Y/N? What the fuck?” You whined in pain, looking up to see Owen standing over you. He kneeled down, like he was going to help you up, until you heard the sound of laughter behind you. 

“Got you,” Bo taunted. And you knew he was talking about you, he didn’t give a shit about Owen, he just wanted you. 

“Owen, please,” you whispered, begging him to, just this once, help you. Be a decent guy, make the right choice. You should have known better. Just as you’d gotten to your feet, two strong hands had gripped your shoulders and sent you flying. 

A different set of hands found their way around your waist, coiling around you like a python until their grip was so tight your face was turning purple from loss of air. “Told you, jackasses,” Bo whispered, the last thing you heard before you were blacking out. 

Nine Inch Nails. 

That’s what you could process when you woke up.

The next thing you felt as your eyelids slowly peeled open, a near painful process, was the jostling around your legs. You whined, your throat completely raw and glanced down. Bo was standing at the end of some sort of chair, similar to a gurney, and duct taping your legs down. He glanced up, hair plastered with sweat and grinned at you. He had changed, you hadn’t noticed before but he’d ditched the suit for his coveralls. 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and glancing towards the ceiling as you blinked back tears. 

You were going to die and the last thing you were going to hear was the blasting of Closer by Nine Inch Nails. 

Fuck my life

Bo moved up, holding your wrists down on the metal armrests and duct taping those too. You looked to the side, and saw strange circular markings on his wrist. You assumed, whenever they disposed of your body and took the tape off, you would have matching scars. 

You heard footsteps clomping above you and the sound of Damien and Gwen’s voices. “Where did they all go?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’re in the auto shop.”

Gwen sounded unsure, “Maybe, it is the only place that’s open.”

Bo ran behind you, his warm hand clamping over your mouth and keeping it shut as they passed the grate above you. You hadn’t even tried to open your mouth to scream for help, you knew you couldn’t, your throat was destroyed already. 

“I’m gonna take my hand off and you’re gonna be quiet. Yeah?” You nodded your head, feeling the salty warmth of your tears trailing down his hand and building up on your cheeks. “Yeah,” he whispered, the tone too intimate as he slowly released you. 

He remained beside you, poised and ready to strike but you didn’t make a move to call out. “Good girl,” he chuckled and placed a hand over yours. “I’m gonna go up, deal with those assholes, and you’re gonna behave. Right?”

You nodded again and he dug blunt fingernails into tender skin. You whimpered out, “Yes, Bo.”

He laughed again and walked towards the door, keys clinking as he locked it behind himself. “Fucking sicko,” you spat the second the door was closed. You moved your legs, wincing as the tape picked at your bare skin. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you were sweaty enough, the moisture on your skin providing enough glide for you to wiggle one leg out of the tape. Arrogant bastard had given you too much freedom, he probably didn’t even think you were going to run. 

Now, your wrists. 

Your arms were sweaty, sure, but these were tight. You tried to use a jerking motion you’d once seen in a stupid action movie, bringing your wrists to your chest. But your muscles were fatigued and you didn’t have enough strength to rip the tape off. 

You flopped against the flattened cushion of the chair, trying not to sob incoherently as Bo’s rock music blared in the garage above. You could hear voices speaking. You didn't know how much time you had left until Bo just got rid of them and came back down for you. 

You’d been pointedly ignoring the wall of Polaroids since you’d woken up, not wanting to see what they were. Afraid you already knew. 

You ignored the unnatural bend of your shoulder, how much it screamed out in pain as you contorted your body over your right wrist, teeth picking at the duct tape until you felt like they were coming loose. But you didn’t stop, you kept going until you felt the slightest tear under your lips. 

You had to stop yourself from crying out in victory as you used whatever remained of your strength to jerk at the tape again and again, your muscles crying as you finally ripped yourself free. You stuffed down your cries, using your free hand to unwrap the other. 

You allowed yourself a moment to roll out your wrists and shake off your legs before you were shooting off the gurney and stumbling towards a corner of the room. Your legs felt like jelly, and you knew that wasn’t good, but you pushed past the fear as footsteps stomped down the stairs. 

Your heart rate picked up and your throat clenched as you pushed sweat-matted hair out of your face. You took in a deep breath and then held it as the door slammed open. You winced, grateful you hadn’t chosen to hide behind that. Bo stepped into the room, there was a blind spot of about five seconds before he would see you were out of your chair. 

You needed to use that to slip behind him and out the door. 

You heard one boot enter. Then the next. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline making your muscles tingle back to life. 

Another step, you inched forward, another, you slid against the wall. Bo finally made it all the way in. “What the fuck!”

You shot behind him, racing up the steps and bursting through the door of the garage. You didn’t give yourself time to celebrate or look to see if he was following you. You darted down the street, suddenly grateful Bo had only given you a shirt to wear. 

You were sure it was for his own pleasure, but right now all it meant was that your legs weren’t constricted by tight denim and you could run as fast as your body would allow. You turned to the right, bursting through the doors of the chapel. 

You froze at the entrance, taking in a deep heaving breath as you tried to find a hiding spot. The pews were too noticeable, the casket probably wouldn’t fit you. You nearly cried as you tried to figure it out. 

Outside you heard Bo stomping, his voice calling out your name. Fuck it, you dove for the priest, using his large robes and throwing yourself under them. You had just managed to clamp a sweaty palm over your mouth as the doors of the church opened, deceptively quiet. 

Bo’s footsteps were soft as he walked through. You feel dizzy sitting under this preserved priest, the air stifling and you felt like you were running out of oxygen. Sweat beaded at your hairline, dripping down into your eyes as you tried to blink it away. 

You jumped, nails digging into your palm, at the sound of wood crashing against the wall. “Get out here!” He roared, and you knew he was slowly making his way through the pews. He tossed each of them around, checking under and around them for you. 

You ducked down, lifting the robe a centimeter off the floor. If you closed your eyes, put your hand over your ears, you were a little girl again, hiding under the table as your mother counted down. She’d find you soon, you’d giggle and she’d pretend she didn’t hear it before popping under the table cloth and catching you. 

Her fingers digging into your sides, searching for that ticklish spot. No, she’s poking too hard, that hurts. 

Shit, that hurts. 

You kick out, your shoe catching Bo’s jaw as you make a run for it, darting out from the priest and back through the chapel doors. The only thing you can focus on are the bright lights, blinding against the night sky- when did it get dark?

You stumbled over your feet, legs not moving the way you wanted them to. Shit, you don’t feel good. Did he drug you? Is it the heat? You haven’t eaten all day, or drank anything. Maybe it was finally catching up to you. 

Through blurry eyes you ran towards the movie theater, the brightest beacon you can actually make out. You trip through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. You spot one of those metal poles, the old one with red cloth they used to keep people in line. With limp arms and struggling steps you lift it up and slam it through the handles, just as Bo starts to shake them on the other side. 

You back away from them slowly, eyes scanning the lobby for anything you could use. Behind the concession desk you manage to spot something. 

BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

You’d say this constituted an emergency. You kicked through the glass, ignoring how it dragged along your legs, and pulled the ax out of its case. There had to be a back door out of here. 

Your eyes widened and you cursed, there had to be a back way out of here, and Bo would know it. You threw the ax on the ground, ripping the pole out of the handles before scooping the ax back up and running back into the dark.

Apparently you’d made the right choice because Bo was no longer where you left him. He was probably sneaking through some secret exit waiting to grab you. You looked towards the end of the street, up the hill, and back at Bo’s front door.

There was still light shining through, but you were sure Allison’s body was long gone. You glanced behind you before taking in a deep centering breath and shooting off again. 

You held your breath, hiding underneath the table as Bo came stumbling into his home. You could see him clutching a wound on his arm and Vincent materialized behind him. He reached for his brother but Bo jerked back, “Get, get, back!” He spoke like he was talking to some dog, “Fuckin’ freak.”

You winced as you watched them interact, Bo tossing shit at his brother and his brother ducking like he was used to it. Vincent walked over to a candle, heating a spoon over the flame and picking up a toaster. He used the metallic reflection to smooth over a dent in his mask and Bo came up, appearing on his shoulder like the worst kind of devil. 

“Momma would be proud of you.” Vincent’s movements paused at his suddenly tender brother’s voice. “I told you this would look better. The last two are gonna look great,” he assured, kindly, and you grimace in disgust. Should’ve known this was his idea. Your knuckles creaked around the handle of the ax and you debated just ending this now. 

Vincent turns towards his brother, spoon discarded, and signs something. You know enough about the language to recognize the hand movements when you see it, but you can’t understand it from your angle. 

“What girl?” Bo snarled, Vincent winced and signed something else. Bo snorted, “Her? What you gotta crush or somethin’?” Vincent shook his head quickly and Bo rolled his eyes, voice cruel. “What, one girl’s nice to you and you wanna break our rules? She’s dead when I’m done with her. That’s it.” Bo buried his finger in Vincent’s shoulder, shoving harshly. “Understood?” Vincent didn’t respond immediately and Bo shoved again. “Understood!” He shouted and Vincent finally nodded. 

You watched them move out of sight, followed their shoes out of the house and finally slinked out of your hiding spot. You’d seen where Vincent had emerged from earlier and retraced the steps, finding a hidden basement in their father’s office. You glanced behind you once before jumping down into the hole.

“Damien? Gwen? Fucking anybody?” You kept glancing behind you, ax ready as you creeped your way through Vincent’s tunnels. Finally, you started to see the warm glow of candles at the very end of the section you were in. 

Caution thrown to the wind, you made a run for it and burst into what looked like Vincent’s workshop. You looked around, not seeing anything of interest besides one torture chair. You’d slit your throat before they got you in that. 

You found his desk, sketches scattered around the edges. You took a peek and were surprised to find a partially done profile of your face. You glanced around, making sure you were safe, before picking the sketch up. 

You looked pretty, even half done, he might have been a little to generous with you. Made you too elegant, noble, untouchable. Flattering if he wasn’t going to try and kill you. You saw something scrawled at the very bottom and your heart clenched, She was nice.

Perhaps you were too tender-hearted, to feel any pity for these monsters. But you’d seen the news articles in their father’s office, what had happened to their family, the chair Bo was once strapped in. What they were was their mother’s final project, the legacy she left behind, one of pain and hatred. Each of them hating themselves for different reasons because of her. 

But you weren’t an idiot, you saw the was in the title of your drawing. You might have been kind, but he wasn’t planning on letting you live. Something rattled in the room to your right and you threw the drawing down, turning towards the door and carefully opening it. 

“Y/N!” Owen cried out, relief making itself clear on his face as he saw you. “Get me out of here.” You rushed forward, kneeling down and trying to undo the straps around his ankles. But your fingers weren’t working properly, they felt like they were swelling and burning and useless. You whined in frustration as you tried to get the metal through the hole. 

“Fuck!” Owen kicked out as much as he could and you jumped back. “Can you do anything right? Just get me out of here!” He screeched. 

You went momentarily blind with rage, anger boiling in your gut so quickly you nearly keeled over. “I’m trying to help you, you fucking dick! You left me behind to that psycho earlier and I’m still trying to help you!” You screamed at him, not paying attention to the raw feeling of your throat or the footsteps behind you. “Why don’t you ever just shut up!”

You weren’t aware the ax was still in your hands, or maybe you were, as you brought your arms down in frustration. It landed in his thigh, barely missing the femoral artery, and he screamed. That type of scream you only hear from squealing pigs right before their butchered. 

You didn’t think you enjoyed it.

Didn't want to enjoy it. 

But you dug the blade in. 

He’d made your life a living hell, he’d tried to get you killed earlier, and even when you’d ignored it and tried to save him he still yelled at you. Granted, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever said to you, but it was the worst thing he could say at that moment. You pressed on the handle, not realizing you were smiling as he squealed some more. 

You got a headache after a second, struggling to rip the blade back out before you were lifting it once more and bringing it down over his neck, the blood splattering your face, bleeding into your open eyes as you watch his head topple to the ground. 

“Holy shit,” you turned around and looked at Bo, the fight draining from your body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He glanced at the ax in your hands and smiled, this one looked real, the realest he could manage. “Gonna kill me too?”

You shrugged, tossing the ax at his feet. “You gonna kill me?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, standing there covered in your ‘friend’s’ blood and unknowingly smiling at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered. 

Part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[small-sinclair]

May I plz be tagged in the part two to this

Okay :3

A Raven’s Song

*************

Vincent watched you silently as you laid in his bed. He had put your leg in a splint and wrapped your throat with care. He was able to put your hair back in a little braid and changed your shirt to a tank top.

He heard your words say “beautiful” again and again, but he didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to though his body betrayed him along with his mind. Were you saying it to save yourself? Were you just saying that? If you were, he’ll make sure your body was used and managed correctly. If not, he would marvel at your voice and yearn for it to say his name.

Bo wasn’t all too happy that he let you live, but who is he to judge? Bo had your friend tied in the chair under the garage! Vincent can keep you; he can have you for the night as his own. Or you show your true colors.

Which ever comes first.

As he watched you, he sketched your form, focusing intensely on every detail. He drew and shaded your flawless skin, untouched and scared from this world. He outlined your stretch marks, freckles, and little lines with so much detail and warmth. He admired your gentleness and how peaceful you looked as you rested; he only wished he could give you something for the pain for your throat and leg.

Why did you fall down the stairs? Why did you come down? Don’t you know monsters live in basements and demons live near stairs?

His eyes fell on his mask that sat next to him then back at you. You ruined his mask but he doesn’t have the heart to melt it down. Your finger prints are pressed into the wax; he thinks they’re perfect. The more he looked at you, the more he began to fall in love, the more he realized how calm he felt, the more he found himself feeling still and centered.

He closed his eyes and sat his pad down. Waiting for you, caring… it felt forever.

When he heard you murmur and say your eyes fluttering open, he sits a bit closer and straighter. His hand instinctively held yours and squeezed it as if you two been in love all your life. The sweet nectar he drinks is poison enough but he’ll live just for you.

Once your eyes opened, you recognize him. His scarred face covered but his black hair, but you could see where scar and skin met. His bright blue eye shined in the candle light, and the flames flickered back and forth like a dance. He looked as if he’s been waiting for you, and that’s enough. That’ll always be enough.

Your throat ached as you whispered, “Hi.”

He shakes his head and places a finger over his lips, singling you to be silent.

You nodded as you squeezed his hand back. Soon, your eyes began to flutter and drift off, but you still breathed, “Beautiful… beautiful raven…”

Vincent frowns and felt himself choking back a muffled cry. If he is your raven, then rest in his nest and be warm by his protective wings. Let him give you everything that shines and sing you to sleep.

[rapturously]

Can I ask for a Vincent Sinclair smut PLZZZ🛐🛐 (I love him sm)

redamancy.

➾ pairing ; vincent sinclair x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 4.4K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), fingering (f!receiving), dry humping, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, making out, scratching, rough sex, slight breeding kink, vincent is pretty obsessive/possessive, darker vincent, choking

author’s note: I haven’t written for vincent in a hot minute but boy, this was a perfect way to get back into it! I plan on writing another bo/reader/vincent thing at some point and more bo/reader. Trying to ease myself back into all of this! Thank you all so much for your love and support!

Hot pearls of pale wax trickled from the numerous candles littered throughout the basement, basked within an orange glow. It only served to add to the warmth of the underbelly of the House of Wax, temperatures maintained to prevent any form of melting. Vincent had learned to temper it all over time — control the heat, master the atmosphere.

A silver scalpel idly shaped a column of wax, something that would soon join the displays up above. His movements were methodical, purposeful — he was a perfectionist. Every stroke had to mean something, appear flawless and without any imperfections.

He’d been making up for imperfections all his life — even still, Vincent was continuing to work himself ragged, to further his mother’s work. Perhaps, someday, it would make him more worthy in her eyes.

Footsteps reverberated throughout his underground mausoleum of wax, and he knew that it was you. Bo rarely, if ever, came downstairs, and his gait was often far more purposeful and aggressive than yours could ever be. He was hunched over his desk, guiding the flickering flame toward the wax, letting it melt and bend.

Vincent carefully began to mold the wax, shape it to whatever he pleased. It was a statuette, meant to resemble that of a serpent. Using the edge of the scalpel, he quickly carved in intricate designs as the surface began to cool, brushing off any excess with the pad of his thumb.

You quietly crept through the basement, making your way toward Vincent’s coiled frame, perched within his rickety chair. You always enjoyed watching him work — his artistic talent was mesmerizing to behold. With a light shrug, you tugged your robe around you, feet absorbing the warmth from the concrete floor.

It was common for him to wake up sometime in the night, leaving the space beside you to work. Sometimes, it was the only thing that could quell the raging thoughts inside of him, or the one activity that took his mind off of everything. Vincent could think of other activities to distract himself, but you needed to agree to it, too.

The cold dusk of Louisiana couldn’t reach either of you — not here, not in the warmth of the basement. It was akin to a sanctuary for you, this wax cathedral built to destroy and to create anew. There was something so fascinating about this place, something hauntingly beautiful and macabre all rolled into one.

“Hey,” You murmured, lazily rubbing at the back of your neck. His shirt clumsily hung from your frame, the robe haphazardly tossed over the garment. Vincent regarded you with a tender look in his eye, countenance shrouded by that familiar waxy veil. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Vincent shook his head, dark tresses idly brushing across the back of the woolen sweater he wore. You were often amazed at his heat tolerance, wearing thicker garments in a sweltering basement. He turned slightly within his seat, an open invitation for you to come and inspect his work.

There was a point in time where he had little desire for you to see any of his projects, but that sentiment had drastically changed. Vincent valued your admiration above all else. He turned the partially-finished serpent over, noticing your look of recognition and delight.

“That’s a basilisk, isn’t it? It’s beautiful so far.” You gently traced your index finger along some of the scales Vincent had carved into the surface. The initial grogginess of slumber was beginning to wear off as you stood at his side, gaze flickering toward the assortment of art tools, wax, and glowing candles.

“It’s for you.” Vincent’s hands moved sluggishly as he signed, feeling your fingertips grace his shoulder, nails idly raking across his back. He shivered, enjoying the light sensation of your touch, knowing that it was bound to contort and twist into a different sort of feeling.

Your lips curled into a smitten smile, teeth absentmindedly toying with your lower lip. “For me? Are you sure?” It belonged in the House of Wax, amongst all of his other sculptures and pieces of art. However, you weren’t about to stop him from his sentimental gesture. You loved everything he’d made for you.

With a brief nod, Vincent placed the statuette back down onto the debris-laden desk, swiping at a fine layer of wax flecks with his hand. Along the mantle situated above his workbench, you noticed a weathered photograph, partially obscured by a series of half-destroyed wax masks that he’d worn at one point or another.

Admittedly, you hadn’t seen the picture before — and you had memorized every square inch of this place by now. “Hey,” You motioned toward it, pointing at the obstructed photograph with visible intrigue. “What’s that?” You inquired, head cocking to one side.

Vincent’s jaw tightened, posture becoming somewhat stiff and rigid as he deliberately removed the picture from behind the masks. He’d forgotten all about it until you pointed it out — a sliver of him wondered why he’d even kept it at all. He cradled the tattered, dusty photograph within one hand, brows furrowing together.

It was Trudy Sinclair, forever immortalized within one still image, holding a very young Vincent, whose countenance was indistinguishable — marred and torn from his conjoined state with Bo. Her expression was arguably the kindest it had ever been, gazing down upon the near-infant Vincent with a look of fondness.

Even through the faded granules of color, you were able to make out the affection she held for him. Your heart clenched within your chest, primarily out of empathy for Vincent himself. Despite all his talent and efforts to regain some favor in his mother’s eyes, part of her would always see him as some disfigured freak, doomed to be trapped behind that wax mask.

Wordlessly, Vincent offered you the photograph, letting you inspect it for yourself. You treated the object like a priceless relic, gently turning it over within your hands. It pained you to know the fate that had inevitably befallen the Sinclairs — locked within a household filled with vitriol and parents whose passions often overrode any love they might’ve had for their children.

“This is Trudy, isn’t it?” You uttered, watching as Vincent’s head bobbed up and down in a stoic nod. Bo had received the short end of the stick when it came to Trudy’s love, but things were far from perfect with Vincent, too. “I’m sorry, Vincent.” Your voice barely drifted above a whisper, lips curling into a sympathetic frown.

His shoulders sagged in a gentle shrug, taking the photograph from you before placing it behind a cluster of half-burnt candles. “Nothing to be sorry for. You can’t change the past.” Vincent signed, concentration turning to you, instead.

He’d spent most of his life wishing that he could change his tumultuous childhood — he’d stopped long ago. He and his brothers would always be chained to Trudy, and there would always be a certain level of loyalty to her, even in death.

“I understand, Vincent.” With a soft murmur, you gently rubbed at the back of your neck, trailing your fingers across his spine. “Come back to bed with me?” You asked, head canting to one side. Vincent reached for your wrist, gingerly cradling it between his fingers, stroking along your forearm.

He wasn’t tired, but Vincent didn’t want to leave you alone, either. He moved up from his chair, lean musculature towering above you as he kept hold of your wrist, fingers drifting to twine around your hand. The two of you retreated into the alcove that served as his bedroom, if one could call it that.

The mattress was littered in blankets, indents visible from where the two of you slept. He’d fixed it up with doors that folded shut, similar to that of a closet. You settled back down, Vincent right beside you as he tugged you close, letting you lounge against his chest.

You sat up just a little bit, enough to see his masked countenance. “Could I ask you something?” Your voice was nothing more than a tender whisper, and now that you were awake, a string of thoughts began to nag at the back of your head. Pillowtalk with Vincent often became very emotionally-charged.

“Anything.” Vincent nodded as his hands moved, propping himself up enough to look at you, too. He had told you about his life some time ago — the intricate details and his own sentiments on the matter were left out and simply implied. You were a precocious and inquisitive individual, but above all, you were empathetic.

“This,” With a feather-light caress, you traced your finger along the cheekbone of his mask. “Why do you still wear it around me?” Your inquiry was innocuous, spoken out of genuine concern instead of malice or confusion. Vincent had shown you his face once before — and it never bothered you. It wouldn’t bother you.

Vincent’s throat became tight, jaw unusually tense as he attempted to muster up a feasible answer. It was an anchor for him — one way to feel less like a monster and a freak. “Habit,” He signed, but he knew better than to give you a false response. “I don’t want you to feel guilty or pity me.”

Your brows furrowed together, visage contorting with a look of mild confusion. “What do you mean, Vince?” You wondered if you’d done something wrong, stomach swelling with a wave of anxiety, but he seemed to catch this. He pressed a finger against your lips before he began to sign in a flurry of animated hands.

“I don’t want you to pity me for how I look. I’ve spent my entire life being looked at like a freak — like something fragile, something to feel sorry for.” Vincent finished with finality to it, hoping that you would understand why he continued to wear the mask. He knew that you still loved him, regardless of how he appeared.

“No, no,” You uttered, sitting up enough to stare at him, hands gently splayed across his taut chest. “When I saw your face, that night in the kitchen — the only thing that I saw was a survivor.” His eye sparkled whenever you spoke, hanging upon your every word. “You’re resilient and you’re talented, Vincent. You’ve never been a freak.”

It was the first time in his life that someone labeled him as a survivor — he hadn’t thought of it like that.

Most of his life had been about preservation — keeping the Sinclair name alive, to continue his mother’s dream, keeping Bo and Lester safe. Vincent hadn’t considered that his face was also a sign of resilience, of an endurance that even he wasn’t fully aware of.

You felt his hand reach for you, cupping your jaw with calloused, roughened digits, the practiced hands of an artist. His touch was filled with both adoration and a dark yearning, thumb sweeping over your lower lip. “You mean everything to me.” He signed, and you knew that he meant it wholeheartedly.

“You mean everything to me, too.” You murmured, careening into the warmth of his embrace, lips pursing to kiss the pad of his thumb. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” A breathy, passionate sigh left you when he coaxed you closer, slotted against his musculature.

His hawkish eye picked you apart from where you sat, the distance slim between the two of you. You were vaguely aware of his obsession with you, disguised as protectiveness and adoration — Vincent often made it explicitly clear that you belonged to him, drew a line in the sand with Bo over and over again.

As you lavished him in kind, tenderhearted words, Vincent’s innate possessiveness over you seemed to flare to life, malignant and very much alive. You were tethered to him until the end of time — a pretty, iron-wrought cage, inescapable — and admittedly, you didn’t want to be free from it at all. You stopped thinking that way a long time ago.

Vincent exhaled, dragging his hand across the slender expanse of your neck, digits exploring the canvas that was your flesh — all belonging to him. “You’re mine.” He signed, staking his claim for the hundredth time. Even through signing alone, his nature was desirous and rapacious.

Long before he’d entered this relationship with you, he was very indifferent towards you. It stemmed from insecurities, from rage, and from confusion — girls were always Bo’s forte and never his. Having you, something to covet, something to protect and to keep, Vincent was always worried that he’d lose it.

You nodded, breath hitching within your throat when he traced the pad of his thumb across your pulse point. Your heartbeat had climbed to erratic, excitable heights, mouth somewhat dry as he applied pressure underneath either side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” Parasitic — you leached from him, and it always took your loneliness away. You used to hate him for taking away your friends, but it almost felt like a wandering dream that didn’t feel real. Ambrose was where you were meant to be — meant to be with Vincent. You empathized with him, surrounding him with your affection and comfort.

A rugged huff emerged from the depths of his throat, feeling you climb closer, gaze glazed-over with desire. Wordlessly, Vincent removed his mask, placing the waxy veil aside as his mouth clamored for yours. The kiss was blistering, full of a rather oppressive possession and greed — he felt entitled to you, in some depraved sense.

Reciprocation made him giddy as your lips eagerly pressed against his, responding with a desperation that nearly bordered his own. Vincent squeezed your jaw, other hand relocating to slip underneath the baggy shirt you wore, brazenly groping at your breasts.

Your fingers scraped through his hair, digging into the base of his skull as he coaxed you down against the mattress. Vincent crawled on top of you, mouth briefly disconnecting from yours before he crashed back into you, parting your legs with his knee.

A low, raspy grunt escaped him when your lips continued their relentless assault, mouth parting to allow for a sloppy kiss. He was needy, desperate to feel you as he rucked your shirt up with one hand, fingertips tracing across the plane of your stomach. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine, arousal pooling between your thighs.

Heat blistered between the both of you, an amalgamation of desire, want, and the emotion of your charged conversation moments prior. Vincent savored it all — it still didn’t feel real sometimes, being physical with you. Some time ago, he felt unworthy, too horrid and too scarred, but you changed everything.

You changed the way he touched you — no longer hesitant or wrought with deliberation. He felt like a god, capable of conquering anything — even you. Instead, each touch was charged with lust, and the sensation was beyond mutual as you slipped a hand underneath his sweater.

Vincent was made of taut, sinewy muscle, littered in plenty of scars. His broad shoulders tensed when your hand pressed into the nape of his neck, toying with the collar of his sweater. In one fluid motion, he lifted it up and over his head, discarding it toward the foot of the bed.

He lifted two digits toward his lips, pressing them upon his tongue as he coated them in saliva. Vincent’s eye glistened with a ravenous sheen, fingers drifting toward the warmth between your legs. He brusquely shoved your panties aside, dragging those fingers along your slit, peppering your jaw in kisses.

“Vincent,” You moaned, feeling him cage you against him, arm bracketing you in, keeping you for himself. It was explosive — everything felt hot, as if the both of you were running out of time. “Touch me.” Your voice was high-pitched with a sense of urgency.

Your hips jolted forward, chasing after the friction his digits provided, feeling his mouth press hot kisses against your sternum. He branded you with his embrace, hoping to make it permanent — a mark, something that bound you to him. His lips sought to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth, suckling on the sensitive bud.

At last, he gave into your breathy demands, slotting his thumb against your clit as his middle fingers explored your cunt. An elated sigh escaped you, knees squeezing at his waist, hands splayed across his shoulders. He looked immaculate beneath orange candlelight — a deity of wax, perfection immortalized.

A ripple of bliss consumed you, body keening and arching into Vincent’s touch. His fingers lightly traced your core before dipping inward, forcing his way inside of you, feeling your cunt clench pathetically around his practiced digits. He lavished your breasts in a flurry of attention, throat echoing with a hoarse grunt.

Scars were crisscrossing all over his body, remnants of his victims that left their mark. Bullets, stab wounds, the diagonal, uneven slashes of knives and sharp objects. His skin served as a canvas for chaos, and you traced your fingertips over a livid mark on his chest.

Vincent shuddered, rutting his fingers inside of you before withdrawing halfway, finding a steady rhythm to piston in and out of your aching heat. He kissed his way back to your mouth, lips crashing into one another as he pressed against you. You could feel his erection snug along your thigh, prompting you to squirm.

You needed him terribly, unable to vocalize that want unless it was through a mess of needy moans. With a gentle shove, your lips tangled with his, tugging on his mane of dark tresses. Vincent huffed, digits curling into your cunt, eliciting a simpering cry from you.

He watched you through a lustful stare, glazed-over with rapture, drunk with desire. Vincent kissed at your throat, teeth teasing your flesh, feeling you roll your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Need you inside of me,” Your voice emerged as a hungry groan, clawing at the muscle of his shoulder. “Please, Vincent.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t seen you quite like this before — tangled up within your own need, aching for him in ways you hadn’t felt before. Vincent was delighted to oblige you, feeding off of your desire like a leech.

“How?” Vincent signed, and that singular word seemed to set off some chain reaction. Your stomach sloshed with anticipation as you rolled over onto your abdomen, able to hear the audible hitch in his throat, a raspy grunt tearing past his lips.

Vincent slipped his fingers from your cunt, digits coated in a thin sheen of your arousal. He grabbed at your hips, chest reverberating with a low rumble as he tugged you back against him. The metallic rattling of his belt sent shivers down your spine, able to feel the heat of his cock press against your slit.

“Vincent,” You moaned, and that was enough to get his blood pumping, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline as he let the head of his length slide through your slick a time or two. A soft yelp tore past your lips when he pushed himself inside of you, hunched over you, flesh feverishly warm.

A hand gently held the back of your neck, thumb grazing over the slender muscle of your jugular. His face was buried near your shoulder, tresses sweeping across your exposed back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He filled you in a way that you never thought possible, causing you to whimper.

With a sharp thrust, Vincent began to invade your cunt, somewhere between tender and rough. He was always sporadic and unsure when it came to pace, but you thoroughly enjoyed the unpredictability. His cock lewdly slapped into your cunt, followed by the sound of his ragged breathing.

Wax-laden palms skirted across your body, one hand grappling at your hips while the other gathered at the nape of your neck. You huffed, face partially pressed into the mattress, body contorting and submitting to him as you had many times before.

You were perfect — his paramour, his muse.

A twisted desire began to wash over him like a tidal wave, borderline insidious as he rutted into you. Vincent’s love might’ve been perceived as sweet on the surface, yet it often veered off into a very vitriolic obsession. He wanted you all to himself, as much as humanly possible.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, full of a lustful fervor. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

He brought you back against him, caging your back to his chest as he rocked onto his knees. Taut, muscled biceps locked around you as he pistoned into you, cock reaching new depths until he couldn’t go any further. Vincent’s mouth clamored to your neck, kissing and biting wherever he pleased as he kept you snug against him.

“V—Vincent, shit,” You stammered, the newfound position taking you by complete surprise. A sensation of sheer want flooded through you, coupled with overwhelming arousal. He filled you completely, flesh dewy with a layer of perspiration, black strands stuck to his temples from exertion. “Please cum in me.”

Another hoarse, throaty grunt ripped through him, hands relocating as one palm groped at your soft, pliant breasts. The other had a mind of its own, snaking to the cleft between your thighs as he toyed with your clit. Euphoria gripped you then and there, causing you to squirm and writhe with pleasure.

Again, Vincent locked you in against his chest, huffing into your ear, biting at your jaw as he filled you up. Part of him wanted to devour you, but the added heat and friction, the swiftness of the moment was enough to make him exert all force.

If he could, he would’ve gladly drowned himself in you, let himself float away within your very presence. Even covered in a veil of sweat, your scent was saccharine, accompanied by his own musk from the cling of his clothing.

Vincent felt you reach for his hand, digits curling around his wrist as he played with your clit, hoping to get you to your peak, right alongside him. His palm wandered from the plump flesh of your chest toward your throat, wrapping around until he applied pressure along your windpipe.

Within the stifling warmth of the basement, the only sounds that reverberated throughout were your moans and his occasional grunt. Vincent’s breathing was heavy, chest heaving against your back. You moved with him as best as you could, nails digging crescents into the taut tendons of his forearm.

Arousal sat heavy within the pit of your stomach, thick and viscous. Vincent was relentless and unyielding, continuing to pound away at your cunt, gently squeezing underneath your jaw. The combined pleasure that assaulted your clit and throat were preparing to send you cascading over the edge.

“M’close,” You huffed, feeling his lips meet the dip between your neck and shoulder, face buried there as he rutted into you. Everything felt incendiary, as if you’d been set ablaze, only to sink further into the fire. He touched you as if you were molded from obsidian, covetous and desperate for you. “Vincent!”

He never slowed, still pounding away at you, cock unable to go any further before he pulled out just a little bit, only to shove himself back in. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his features, forehead pushing into your shoulder, still clutching at your throat.

You belonged to him — you always would. There was no one else for you, only him.

Vincent huffed, teeth sinking into your flesh until he slammed into you one last time, painting your insides with hot, virile ropes of his seed. He continued to rub circles around your clit, dragging you toward your peak. Your cunt clenched around him, eliciting a throaty groan from him as you came.

A myriad of moans and sighs escaped you, shivers rolling down your spine as your thighs twitched, ecstasy flooding throughout your body. Vincent soothed any bites over with kisses, staying in you for a moment longer until he reclined against the mattress, taking you with him.

You were on top of him, layered in sweat and his cum, palms spread across his chest. Vincent stared at you with complete and utter devotion, gently tucking away any strands of hair that were stuck to your temples.

“You’re perfect,” Vincent signed, tucking his thumb and forefinger beneath your chin. The sienna glow of waning candlelight flickered throughout your shared space, basking you in such an atmospheric light. “You look perfect like this.”

There was a darker undertone to his sweet words — and to him, you did look divine this way, covered in his seed, wracked with want for him. Vincent cared very little for moving in that moment, content to stay with you in the oppressive heat of the basement.

With a soft caress, your fingertips swept across the scarred part of his jaw, mouth clamoring for him in another kiss. He didn’t protest, hand slipping toward the base of your skull, coaxing you closer to him.

“I love you,” You murmured, watching the way his pupil dilated with understanding. “M’tired.” You sank down into the mattress, still staggeringly hot with no sign of changing, either.

Visibly, you were spent, exhilaration and your post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate into exhaustion. You smiled, laying down at his side instead, head curled toward the broad expanse of his shoulder. He locked an arm around you, caging you in, nowhere else to go — it was where you belonged.

There was nowhere you could go where he wouldn’t follow.

[slasherx]

Hey 👋🏽

Can you do the Sinclair twins with a female s/o who was like in a relationship before they killed their father and she left town but like years later they found her again and like kidnaped her so they can be together again

Ooo Diablo you always come up with the most scrumptious ideas *rubs hands together evilly*

Content: Bo SInclair x fem!Reader, Vincent SInclair x fem!Reader (separate)

Warnings: Kidnapping, Bo slaps you across the face

Notes: My first time writing Bo and second time writing Vincent...I hope I did okay!

• ───────────────── •

❥Bo Sinclair

Bo found you in a grocery store in the next town over. When had you come back to Louisiana? He remembers the day you broke up with him - you were going out of state to college and didn't want to do long distance with him.

So much has changed since then. He's changed so much since then. He waited for you to check out, then abandoned any cart or food he hand in his hands to follow you out to your car. Luckily you parked in the back so nobody saw him knock you out and drag you to his car, which also coincidentally wasn't far from yours.

Stuffing you in the back seat, he used the seatbelts to tie your hands up and began driving back home. When he arrived there, he called for Vincent to help him bring you in. Vincent was surprised to find you instead of groceries in the backseat. He signed to Bo, "What is this?"

"Well it damn sure ain't groceries, Vince. Now help me get her up to my room."

Vincent cringed at that but decided to help him anyway. He held you by your ankles and Bo held you by your wrists as they brought you upstairs, where Bo promptly tied you to the bed. He shooed Vincent out of his room before sitting next to you.

You looked so peaceful, and in his deranged mind he thought you knew he was with you, and thats why you seemed so peaceful. Smiling, Bo leaned down and kissed your forehead. "Welcome back home, darlin."

You woke up shortly after, in a familiar room, but not one you thought you'd see ever again. It didn't help that Bo was sitting right next to you. "Bo...? What...?"

You tried to move but the restraints wouldn't allow you. The situation settled into your brain - you were in Bo's room, and you couldn't move. The last thing you remember is being at the grocery store, loading your groceries into your car. You had been kidnapped, and Bo was your captor.

"Bo, let me go." You looked at him.

"Sorry sweetheart. I can't really do that."

"Bo let me go now!" You thrashed against your restraints.

"Its no use darlin. I let you go before but, after some careful consideration I realized I never wanna let you go again. So, now you're back here, with me and Vinny and Lester! Ain't that great?" Bo got close to you, a smile spread on his face.

You spat in his face. Bo then promptly slapped you across the face out of reflex. "Now darlin I'm sorry for slappin you, but you need to re-learn some manners it seems. College ruined you, but it's okay. I'm a patient man, we can figure this out."

"What are you talking about?" You looked up at him, tears in your eyes.

"I'm talking about how you're mine forever. Your place is here, in Ambrose, beside me. I want no other woman, Y/n." Bo caressed your face.

"You're fucking crazy."

"For you." Bo smiled again.

• ───────────────── •

❥Vincent Sinclair

Bo had called for him from the upstairs level, something he rarely does unless there's people. Begrudgingly he left his sketchbook on the table and came upstairs.

"I got somethin for you." Bo grinned. "I think you'll really like it."

His brother led him out to his truck, and when he opened the back seat, he saw a person laying there. But not just any person, it was you. You who he had lost when your family decided to move out of Ambrose years ago.

He never forgot you. In fact, he hadn't been with anyone else since you had left. He'd always had a feeling you would come back. But, he felt bad that this was how you'd been brought back to him. He had hoped the attraction would open up Ambrose again and you would come back, just like you said you would.

He signed a thank you to Bo and immediately started to pull you out of his truck. Bo watched quizzically, not bothering to help just yet. When Vincent had pulled you out of the truck, he didn't account for your upper half and you promptly slid to the ground.

Bo hissed between his teeth. "That's gonna hurt. Need some help getting her downstairs?"

Vincent nodded, and the brothers uncharacteristically worked together to bring you downstairs. Bo helped tie you up to his bed and then gave Vincent a pat on the back. "Do what you want with her, but wrap it up, if you know what I mean."

Vincent rolled his eye at his brothers implications. Bo just patted his shoulder and then turned to leave. As he left, you stirred. Opening your eyes, you looked around. You were in a familiar place, but not a place you'd been to in some years.

Seeing movement, your eyes focused onto the man before you. You instantly recognized him. "Vincent?"

He nodded. You moved to try to hug him, but the restraints kept you in place. You then realized what was happening. You had been kidnapped, and Vincent was keeping you here. Your expression turned sad. You never thought your Vinny could be capable of something like this.

"Vinny..."

"Its okay," he signed. "I'll take care of you, and you don't have to do anything in return."

"Take care of me? Vinny, this isn't a permanent thing, I have to get back to my family."

"You are family. You are mine. I won't let you go again. Ever." He got closer to you as he signed.

"Vincent, you cannot keep me here forever." You tried to keep your soft tone but you were beginning to freak out as the reality set in.

"Watch me."

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

[suwann-11]

My favorite boy :33

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x reader who can control shadows

@klerns-birdie

Thomas Hewitt

• Thomas loved you with all his heart and cared about you, but to be honest, sometimes he was really scared of your ability to control shadows. It's not that he was afraid of you, no, he was just very worried about you.

• Other family members, in particular Hoyt, were quite delighted to learn about this ability of yours. Hoyt was glad that the chance of catching potential meat increased by a whopping 200%.

• Whenever you transform into your shadow self, Tommy is haunted by the fear that you won't come back. At such moments, it was as if an animal thirst for blood and violence really woke up in you, not that Thomas encouraged it. But he understood that all this was to protect the family, and the family always comes first.

• Thomas is extremely fond of physical contact with you. Because of your ability to control shadows, sometimes it seems that your skin is as cold as ice or grave earth, so he likes to squeeze your palms in his big ones and keep you warm.

• Thomas is a big boy, very big and big. Sometimes it's even embarrassing to watch when the victim manages to fool him and simply run away from home. It's at times like this that you show up. Such a sweet and fragile girl instantly turns into a cold-blooded killer with a crazy smile sparkling in the dark. Your translucent body gracefully moves softly and smoothly around the unsuspecting victim, and your shadows wrap cold tentacles around the body of the poor victim. You act quickly and accurately, and Thomas can only watch from afar as lingonberry drops of blood cover your dark body.

• After your little 'hunts', you turn back into your 'I' and smile, gently brushing the blood off your clothes. Thomas's heart swells with warmth from your sudden change of emotions. The way you tenderly examine him for wounds and tell him that everything is fine. Your shadows gently glide over his skin, causing goosebumps. Like the touch of a wet tongue, they calmed and brought a sense of comfort, because Thomas knew for sure that everything was under control.

Michael Myers

• Your abilities definitely arouse his genuine interest. He had spent his entire life in a hospital, so he could not even imagine that such a thing really existed.

• He will watch you and your shadows like a curious little child, but he will never admit this to you or ask you to show him anything at his request. In this regard, he is quite closed and does not know how to fully express his feelings.

• You and Michael have some kind of unspoken games like hide-and-seek or catch-up. There's something hot about him knowing that you're always watching him from the shadows. To know that you are watching his every move, every murder and stabbing, causes his body to tremble, and his breathing under the mask becomes rapid and moist. And he gladly accepts this challenge and looks for you in this dirty darkness, hoping at least this time to win this game of cat and mouse.

• Sometimes Michael gets so carried away with you that he forgets about the victim in front of him. The unfortunate man is trying to escape, but he does not even suspect your presence. You easily wrap your shadowy arm around the fragile throat and squeeze it to a nasty bone crunch. Michael lowers the bloody knife and listlessly watches the scene unfold in front of him, unable to contain a slight smile.

• After the murder, you slowly come out of you, your body turns back into its usual self, small droplets of blood flow down your face when the victim coughed up blood a little. You approach Michael and freely take him by the elbow, leading him towards the house through the deserted streets of the city at night. As if you were the most ordinary couple who had never done anything wrong. Michael feels your shadow wrapping around his waist, and it brings a sense of comfort.

• Michael is terribly fond of your coolness and cruelty with which you kill victims. Like a crow, shamelessly pecking out the eyes of sinners hanging on crosses. Sweet and dangerous at the same time. A wonderful combination, warming Michael's blood up.

Bo Sinclair

• Bo loves you madly. But this does not mean that he will talk about it directly. After all, since childhood he has had certain problems with aggression and the manifestation of his emotions and understanding of others. Therefore, sometimes he can be quite persistent and too clingy.

• He likes to make you jealous, knowing full well about your ability and cruelty. Bo can deliberately flirt with another tourist just to see how later your shadows will close around her delicate neck and tear the unfortunate girl into pieces of meat. This bloody show causes a pleasant shiver in his body. Perhaps he would also not mind if your gentle shadows and cold hands walked over his body.

• Bo really likes to realize that such an amazing and ambitious girl is his and only his. He doesn't intend to share you with anyone. If he's hanging around other girls (solely to annoy you), then he won't tolerate anyone else around you. If some new tourist gets too close to you, Bo will come up to you and put his arm around your waist, hugging you closer to him so that everyone around knows whose girl you are. It is better for this person to quickly understand his place if he does not want to die a very painful death.

• You often use your abilities just to tease him or get on his nerves. On the one hand, it annoys him, but on the other hand, he likes your attention, but he won't tell you about it. And he won't say that your cold weightless shadows on his skin cause pleasant sensations in his body. But you'll probably see it in his smug grin.

• You often go to his gas station when there are another couple of tourists on it. Seeing such a sweet, nice girl really calms future victims and weakens their vigilance. This strange man has such a sweet girl, obviously he only has a stern appearance, but a kind heart, there's nothing to worry about. Oh, how wrong they are, because it is this little sun with an innocent smile that poses a much greater danger to them. You'll be happy to hear the crunch of their bones under your tight grip a little later.

Vincent Sinclair

• Your cold shadows feel good on his scarred face. At first, he was worried about this and did not want to show you his face, but the tenderness with which you stroked his rough skin gave him a pleasant calm. He clung to those black tentacles like a little kitten craving affection. The touch was both cool and strangely warm and gentle, it sent shivers down his spine.

• At first, Vincent was afraid when you literally came out of nowhere, although in fact you just turned into a shadow and followed him almost everywhere. Over time, Vincent got used to it and even learned to find your presence in this sepulchral silence of the basement. He likes how your dark translucent body moves in the light of a dozen candles, how graceful and beautiful your body looks. He finds a strange comfort knowing that you are almost always there, watching him from the shadows. After one of the victims attacked him at the most unexpected moment and broke his mask, which led Vincent into a momentary stupor, he was incredibly grateful when you killed this scoundrel on the spot. It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening, but your gentle touch made everything bearable. Although now he will have to wipe off the blood and the basement floor, but these are just small things.

• You're like his guardian angel, his shadow protector. It's a very pleasant feeling. Vincent knows that you are always on the safe side, that you will always help him if necessary. Because of this, he tries to do everything carefully so that you enjoy the show presented to you in full.

• Sometimes you use your shadows to hide Vincent himself. It helps a lot when the victims find the basement themselves and do not suspect anything about the danger. This creates a good surprise effect. And the proximity of your body to his own gives comfort and a sweet aftertaste of the upcoming murder, because after Vincent's flesh and blood, your soothing cold hugs are always waiting.

• He likes that most of the time, because of your abilities and temperament, it is you who take the initiative and a more dominant role. Vincent loves it when you tell him what to do, when you gently touch him with your cold shadows, when you shower his skin with wet kisses, in stark contrast to the coldness of your cold hands and shadows.

• Sometimes he really worries about your cold hands because he's afraid you'll freeze. That's why he likes it when you spend time together in a warm, almost hot basement. Vincent also likes to sculpt wax with you, because the wax is warm, and it will definitely warm you up a little.

Ghostface

• Billy and Stu really like that you have such abilities. This is very suitable for their kind of activity and the image of a Ghostly face, so they almost immediately initiate you into their business. At first, of course, you don't really like it, but something inside you really wants it.

• They both like the surprise effect with which you kill an unsuspecting victim. One moment they were being chased by a tall man in a black suit and a ghost mask, and the next they were literally suffocated by cold air while your shadowy limbs grabbed the body of the unfortunate.

• After particularly successful kills, the boys clamp your still translucent shadow body between them like a sandwich. The blood from their suits is slowly soaking your clothes, but you didn't seem to care. The guys' hands slide over your body, hips and waist as they hold you closer to them. The sight of you covered in blood causes a sticky, almost animal desire inside them.

• Billy is usually a more reserved boy, while Stu relentlessly says all sorts of obscenities that you could do with your interesting ability. The idea that you can watch them while they're doing some personal stuff and they don't even know it makes them both damn hot.

• They love the horror that flashes in the eyes of the victims whenever you kill them with amazing dexterity and weariness. Guys love to take pictures of it. They have a whole photo album with similar pictures, one is better than the other. Stu even has his own collection of photos, but of a more explicit nature, which hangs above his bed in the bedroom.

[demon-lover-669]

Y/n: *leans down to look at slasher* I told you I’d have you on your knees

Slasher: you called and here I am~

Y/n: good boy~

[callie-the-creator]

Brahms, micheal, vincent, and thomas hewitt reactng to our clit pircing

mild nsfw. warnings: suggestive content, ‘certain’ piercings, reader is a fmab, brief mention of masturbation (m), fingering, etc.

author’s note: ask and you shall receive! 💓

brahms heelshire

• you didn’t tell brahms right away when you had gotten your clit pierced. you knew that it would intrigue him, but figured it’d be in your best interest to let it heal first.

— it should also be stated that you have quite the habit of walking around the heelshire mansion with only a t-shirt and panties. so, when you were tired and decided to stretch, your shirt lifted, giving brahms the perfect opportunity to let his eyes wander down. the way the fabric landed in one area was…unnatural. brahms, at the time, figured that he must be imagining things. boy, was he wrong.

• later that week, when brahms was watching you from the little holes through the walls, he caught you changing. he always liked to see you like this—so calm and nonchalant as you slipped off your underwear. how erotic it was to make brahms’ hand subconsciously slip under his waistband, but when you turned around, he stopped. that’s when he saw your piercing.

• brahms nearly hit himself against the wall when he leaned forward to get a closer look.

• you looked so wonderful…a small smile crept onto his features from under his mask as he resumed pleasuring himself from behind the wall, but brahms was confused. why haven’t you told him? there must’ve been some reason. he did feel a bit heartbroken that you didn’t share this news with him, but to make it all better, he’ll have to pretend to be shocked once you tell him about your new piercing.

michael myers

• i think it’s safe to say that you were a bit scared to show michael your piercing. he’s always been unpredictable, hard to read.

— with that being said, when you told me that you were going to get your clit pierced, he was less than impressed. after your appointment, michael even went so far as to ignore you for the first few days. however, he eventually got used to it with time.

vincent sinclair

• when you got home after your appointment, vincent was working on another one of his wax statues. so, when you went down there and saw him at his workstation gathering some supplies, you leaned against him. he doesn’t care if you press all your weight against him, he can hold both of you up (and he loves whenever you do that).

— seeing that you were back home, one of vincent’s arms snaked around your waist and he used it to pull you closer to him, caressing your side when he did. he missed you.

• “guess what i did?”

— this caused vincent to stop what he was doing and look down at you, you didn’t get new clothes, your hair looked the same…so what was it? he had no clue. he simply tilted his head to show you that he was interested.

• that’s when you took him by the hand and pulled him off to the side, away from the prying eyes of his wax statue, to give him a sneak peek of your piercing.

• vincent had to do a double-take when he first saw it, but he was so gentle when he caressed your inner thigh, not wanting to risk hurting your healing clit. you’re so beautiful…

thomas hewitt

• you didn’t know how you forgot to tell thomas about your new piercing.

• but just as when thomas was about to go down on you, you remembered about it all and went to stop him, but it was too late…he saw the glimpse of the light reflecting off your clit piercing. he blinked rapidly at the sight. was he dreaming? silently, thomas looked between you, your piercing, and back to you.

— don’t get thomas wrong, he immediately became a fan of it, but it was just…hard to take in all at once. he almost immediately grazed his fingers over the piercing—careful not to hurt you in any way in doing so.

• “do you…like it?”

— how could you ask that? of course he did! his veiny, chubby cock pulsed causing his voice to ring out in delight. thomas slowly nodded, his slick sweat falling down his lowbrow and down his reddened face, keeping his focus on the piercing as he slowly inched his index and middle finger inside of you…

[loveandmurders]

Could I request a hc where the slashers have an s/o who completely dotes on them? Like always patches up their injuries, fixes tears in their clothes, makes things for them, makes their favorite meals, serves them the first and biggest helping of food etc? (With Thomas, Bo and Vincent please)

Hello there, thank you so much for this request!

I hope you will enjoy it <3

EVERYTHING FOR MY BOY

Gender neutral reader with no physical description.

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of blood and pain, quick mentions of sexual activities, one or two strong languages.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy had always been taught he needed to take care of his family and to fulfil their needs before his own. No matter the situation.

So it was quite something new for him when someone in his life started to do the same with him by prioritising his needs, desires and happiness. If it was his duty to take care of his family and you, it was also yours to make sure your big boy was doing good.

He was very embarrassed at first when you, his soulmate, started to look after him. He wasn’t too sure how to react or what to do about it.

Before you came into his life, it used to be Mama who was taking care of his injuries, but now you were there, you were the one dealing with it. And you took the situation very seriously because you hated to imagine him in pain.

Before you, even if he was hurt, he would keep doing his work and chores until the end of the day. His well being meant nothing to him.

With you, it was different.

You were caring with your gentle giant. You always forced him to sit down so you could have a look at his body and make sure he was doing alright. You also made sure he took painkillers.

You made sure to always be by his side, including to help him take care of his leather mask. Even though the man was good with his hands and was quite crafty, you were always ready in case he would need your opinion or your help. Your hands were smaller than his so it was easier for you to do more delicate things as well.

After his day of work, you also loved to massage him under the shower. At first, it was difficult for him to relax. He loved your touch on him but he wasn’t sure he deserved that kind of treatment.

Plus it felt wrong to have you doting on him: he was the one supposed to do so.

But you were determined and you threatened him a lot for him to let you do. You won because he hated even more to do something that would upset you. 

He had never slept so well in his whole existence. Your massages were the most divine of things for him. He still felt bad about it though, so he was more than eager to return the favour in any way you might like.

In a way you both had to fight with each other to be allowed to take care of one another.

Tommy didn’t want to be doted on, especially if it meant he couldn’t do the same with you right away. And you wanted to be there for him, and to force the man to think about himself first for once in his existence.

When Tommy hadn’t been around a lot because of work, you also liked to cook for him. You knew what your man loved the most, and you would do it for him. It also meant that he was going to be the first one you would serve at dinner and you would always make sure that he had the biggest portion.

If Hoyt said anything about that, you would quickly reply “Have you seen the size of this boy? He needs to eat”. It would slightly embarrass Tommy, but it would also warm his chest. 

Even if he would rather die than admit it, he loved to be taken care of. And he loved that you would try to make him happy. He had never felt that lucky in his whole life.

Once you would be alone in your shared bedroom, he would thank you for the food with tender gestures and kisses. He would be all over you like a giddy puppy and he wouldn’t stop loving on you until you would giggle at the nonstop attention.

Bo Sinclair

Bo was a conservative guy so in his happiest dreams, his soulmate would be doting around on him and would take care of him.

But Bo was also a man who had a lot of demons and who was pretty certain he didn’t deserve anyone to love him that much. Actually, he might find it suspicious if someone would be eager to take care of him, if it wasn’t his siblings.

When you appeared in his life, you did start to take care of him to not get killed. You were a tourist, and Bo was badly hurt. He gave you the choice to help him out and to not get killed, or to try and run away and to be hunted down and destroyed in the most painful way possible.

Of course, you chose to stay and help. 

But it felt quite natural to care for him, and Bo never had to get mad at you because you wouldn’t have been careful enough with him. Your gestures were always gentle and soft to him.

That was why he had wanted to keep you around. And you continued to dote on him, but because you started to truly enjoy him and this life.

You would cook for him and most importantly bake for him and his siblings (the boys had sweet teeth, you can’t convince me otherwise).

You always tried your best for him and his family.

As a family man, it was really important for him that you also treated Vincent and Lester with tenderness, but a different kind that you gave him of course (he was very jealous and possessive of you obviously)

He would love to see you coming into his garage with some drinks and cookies or something freshly made and baked. He would stop whatever he was doing to sit down with you on his lap, and enjoy the little feast you prepared for him. 

If tourists interrupted the moment, he would be very pissed and he would kill them the most quickly and yet rough way he could, before going back to you as if nothing had happened.

Because you were very doting on him and taking care of him in any ways possible, he was a lot gentler with you than he had ever been with anyone else.

You were special. Not even his Mama made sure he was alright and happy like you did. You would never hurt him, and in return he made sure to be good to you.

All your acts of services were noted in his mind, even the smallest ones. 

He didn’t always thank you, actually he very rarely did and he might be acting like an arrogant asshole. It was as if whatever you were doing was indeed natural and as if he deserved this and not any less.

But deep down, he was so grateful to have you around. He would forever keep you safe and you knew it.

Actually, he never thought of killing you. And he made sure you also knew it; he would really hate to have to hunt you down to bring you back home because he made you feel unsafe.

His way of thanking you was actually the way he treated you, especially in bed. He never forced anything on you, he never hurt you and he tried his best to always make you feel good about your body.

In his softest moment, he would even praise you and compliment you. His eyes were always showing you he was telling the truth.

He very rarely told you he loved you too but he never beat you and never yelled at you even when he was badly injured. You knew that pain was really making him a bad person, but he was always biting his lips to keep quiet. It was very different when it was Vincent taking care of him… But as said before, you were special.

Vincent Sinclair 

Because his Mama always reminded him that he had a face only a mother could love, Vincent strongly believed that he was also someone only a mother could dote on.

He was a violent and sadistic killer, after all. He didn’t see why he would deserve someone good in his life.

But you came one day, and you never left. Not that he would have allowed it anyways.

You took care of him to stay alive, and the man quickly started to be absolutely obsessed with you. He even started to keep you in the same room than him or it would drive him insane to not know where you were or what you were doing.

It meant that you started to help a lot with the wax statues. You would praise Vincent and give him the right tool, or give him your opinions if you thought something could be done better.

You also made sure he stayed hydrated and didn’t forget to eat. When he would allow you to, you would go into the kitchen to fix him something. He would always share the food you made with you, because he also wanted you to stay in good health conditions.

After some time, he even started to remind himself you both needed to eat and drink water. But he liked it better when you were the one gently whispering into his ear that it was time for a break. He enjoyed having you close to him, and he enjoyed having you taking care of him.

He couldn’t sleep without you. He often asked to sleep on your chest and to wait for him to rest before going to sleep yourself. He loved to be watched over. You were like a new mother to him.

But he loved you way more than he used to love his mother. Or at least in a very different way.

He used to be glued to his mother’s side, but he would also let her go if he was crafting. He couldn’t do that with you. His favourite way to sculpt was now with you on his lap.

For the two of you, your favourite way of doting over him was showering him.

Before you, he used to forget to take a shower, mostly because he was working until he was falling asleep on his work table.

Now, you would gently kiss his chest and neck, softly whispering to him that it was time to stop working for today. Bo never managed to make his twin stop working. But Vincent couldn’t resist you for one second.

You would guide him upstairs and into the bathroom. You would help him undress before he would watch you getting rid of your own clothes. He loved to watch you getting naked in front of him. And once in the shower or in the bath, you would start to wash his hair.

He would simply close his eyes and hug you as you took care of him. He loved the feel of your fingers gently scratching his scalp. And he loved how you would put conditioner on his long hair too. 

After his hair, you washed his body and face. You were always a little bit more tender when it was about his face.

He would lean into all your touches, completely relaxed and happy. He never felt insecure about his appearance when he was alone with you, and it only added to his obsession with you.

You were perfect, as if you came straight out from one of his fantasies.

He wasn't usually washing you. He preferred to look at you touching your own skin. But sometimes, his hands would be too itching to feel you and he would bring you all against him.

He would stroke your skin and start to play with you.

His favourite way to thank you for being so doting on him would be to kiss every inch of your skin and to pleasure you out of your mind… Not that you ever complained about it.