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pondslime · 2 years ago

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what have I done (to deserve this)

bo sinclair x afab!reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4k

Bo POV. It’s the day before Valentine’s. Bo goes shopping at a bargain outlet. In true romcom fashion, you’re there too.

Chance encounter meet-cute. Except it’s with the worst man this side of Baton Rouge. Sucks! But you get to make out with him! Hope that’s worth the incoming pain and misery, bestie!

Crossposted on AO3 here.

Very self-indulgent and GOOFY. A heaping dose of humor and general dumbassery. Big warning for Bo being Bo. We’re in his head and he is, as always, so stupid. Reader does not have a car for porn reasons. That’s it. She’s a public transportation whore for roadhead purposes. She’s also kind of annoying. And a bratty bimbo.

The title of this fic comes from the song “What Have I Done to Deserve This” by Pet Shop Boys. It’s just a jazzy lil 80′s track that I could 100% picture playing in a bargain outlet over shitty speakers. Bo’s on his Gen X shit.

I just wanted to write about Bo encountering a chick who immediately wanted to hoover him down. Ambiguous ending with some unsettling implications.

This fic is a birthday gift for @raccoonspooky! 🦝💝👻 MWAH!!! I LUV U!!! HAPPY BDAY!!!! HAPPY BIRF!!! DAY!!!! HERE’S STUPID!!!! 4 U!!!

The bargain outlet stretches out in front of him, large yellow signs hanging from the warehouse ceiling. Sales down every aisle, 25% off on all kitchenware. Music blares out of loudspeakers, spitting out a song that Bo hasn’t heard since high school.

He’s thinking of his mother again.

Packed into the family car, bumping down the road to the department store. Just the two of them. Mama would tell him that it was because he couldn’t be left alone, that he wasn’t trusted like Vincent was—up at the big old house, drawing his pictures and staying out of the way.

Time seemed to drag on days like that, plodding along ungainly as Trudy slowly perused shelves. It always felt like he would be stuck there indefinitely, rotting away in front of the floral baking sets and printed potholders. When people congregated around the racks, Bo would reach up and grab her hand. Surrounded with onlookers, she’d let him hold onto it.

Sometimes they’d pass by the toy aisles, but she never gave them more than a passing glance. These trips weren’t for him, after all. Despite that, he looked forward to them with an odd giddiness.

Bo couldn’t be alone, but Vincent couldn’t get this.

Vincent didn’t get to watch himself reflected in the shining glass of the displays that their mother stopped at, tutting over bottles of perfume. He didn’t get to see the chrome and glossy mirrors, the array of beautiful women with long nails behind the counter tops. It wasn’t for him.

Bo would return home smug, carrying Mama’s bags. He always made sure to catch his brother’s eye.

Look. Pay attention. This is mine, it’s all mine. It isn’t yours.

He got in trouble one day. He couldn’t remember for what. Whatever it was, she got angry, and the trips stopped.

That department store had long since been razed. There weren’t a lot of things that stayed the same. Tradition was lost and paved over, turned into this.

Picking up a basket, he makes his way to the back of the store.

The hardware section is pitiful. It always is.

Tools are strewn everywhere, each one emblazoned with illegible clearance stickers. They never have the shit that he needs here. He sifts through the pile of haphazardly stacked tools, pulling a wrench out. It’s a twelve-inch, decent weight. He wraps his hand around it and knocks it against his palm. It’ll do.

On his way out of the aisle, he snatches up two rolls of duct tape and a pack of braided nylon rope.

There are some things you can never have too much of.

He cuts through the clothing department.

A store display looms overhead, announcing another sale. A woman pouts out of the ad, the heaving curve of her breasts spilling out of black lace. He feels something under his foot. Bending down, he plucks a bra off the ground. There’s a boot print across the front, dirt smeared across the polka dots.

“Good afternoon, shoppers!” A voice crackles over the intercom. “Two-for-one deals comin’ in hot this holiday season—”

Trudy would hate this place, with its messily stacked piles of clothes and the incessant beeping of the registers. That’s part of the reason he’s here.

“Um. Excuse me.”

“Huh?” He blinks, jerking his head up.

“Sorry, I just…” You look at him quizzically, your lips pursed. You’re holding a bra that looks identical to the one in his hands, sans dirt. “Need to get…uh. Behind you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He shuffles to the side. “Go on.”

He flicks through the rack, shoving the ruined bra unceremoniously to the back.

“You buying a bra?”

“Yeah.” He says absently. “For my sister.”

“…You’re buying your sister a bra?”

He turns to look at you. Wrenched away from the padded curve of the bras, he finally has a chance to assess you. Cute.

“Sister-in-law.” He amends.

Your brow scrunches in confusion and you nod slowly, fidgeting with the bra in your hands.

“I’m just messin’ with you.” He smiles.

“Okay.” You huff out a perplexed laugh.

He’s rummaging through the detergent when he sees you again.

“We just keep running into each other.” You remark.

“Seems like it.” Gesturing at the duct tape and utility gloves in his basket, he flashes you a smile. “Gotta get some stuff for work.”

“You a plumber?”

“Uh, no.” He’s unable to hide the flicker of indignation that twitches his lip up into a sneer. “Mechanic.”

Your lips curves into an open-mouthed O and he glances down at your left hand. Finding your ring finger conspicuously bare, he files that away for later. It’s not like he gives a shit, but less collateral is less collateral.

“I run a station not far from here.”

“That’s cool.” You pick up a lint roller. “Well, nice to meet you.”

Bo finds you in the Valentine’s aisle. Or you find him. He can’t really tell.

“Are you followin’ me ‘round here, girl?” He shoots you a bemused smile. “You gonna tell me your name, stalkin’ me like this?”

“Maybe. What’s yours?”

“Bo.”

“You buying that for your sister-in-law too?” You nod towards the box of conversation hearts he’s holding. “Can’t imagine your brother likes that much.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. We share everythin’.”

“Oh yeah?” You grab a box of chocolates off the shelf, placing it in your cart. “Seems messy.”

“She’s a lucky girl.”

“That depends.” You quip. “What’s your brother look like?”

He angles toward you, resting his hand on the shelf.

“We’re twins.”

Your eyebrows raise.

Couple months ago, he had one downstairs that kind of looked like you. Same hair color. He has a lock of it in one of the gas station drawers. Her ID’s in there too, but he doesn’t remember her name. He couldn’t place it at first, but that’s who you remind him of. Another version of you, maybe. You’ve got the prettier mouth, though.

“Surprised this one didn’t sell.” You pluck a card off the wire rack. A goose peers off of the paper, surrounded by hot pink lettering.

VALENTINE, WON’T YOU LET ME GET A GANDER…

You flip the card open. With a sigh, you hold it up so he can read it.

…AT THEM HONKERS.

“That’s a good one.” He nods appreciatively.

The food court is tucked into the corner of the store, a collection of neon signs and scuffed tables. The whole area smells gray, strings of cheap cheese and the lemony reek of industrial cleaner.

As he appraises the menu, he notices you at the drink fountain. When you turn, your eyes go wide.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” You exclaim.

“Huh.” He sighs. “Darlin’, you keep this up and I’ll have to call the cops.”

You open your mouth once, close it.

“You hungry?” He gestures toward the menu.

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya’?”

“I’m just passing through.”

“Hmm.” He murmurs out his acknowledgment. “You should stick ‘round for a bit. Nothin’ like Mardi Gras in Baton Rouge. Family vacation?”

“No, it’s just me.”

He hides his laugh around a forced cough. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he clears his throat.

“Sorry. Cigarettes.” He smiles at you. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout quittin’.”

You chew idly at your slice of pizza, your eyes drifting over his face. He arches a brow.

“You like what ya’ see?”

“I’m not sure.” Your lips twist into a smile. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

You have a lot of damn nerve.

“You do this a lot?” He fixes you with a pointed look.

“What? Go shopping?” There’s something so hopelessly dumb about your expression. You’re blank and brainless, an assortment of curves and painted-on prettiness in front of him.

He imagines paddles whacking the careening Ping Pong ball of your thoughts across your brain. A thought misses the paddle, ricocheting off the side of the board. Game over. Fiddle with some buttons, start over. Another one comes to take its place, bopping uselessly in your skull.

He’s met enough of your type that it shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow it always does. Someone this stupid shouldn’t be allowed to wander too far. And yet, here you are, all by yourself. Just you and your flimsy hold on rational thinking, wandering around his state.

If he hadn’t have met you here, lord knows what trouble you would’ve gotten into. You’d probably have wandered out into the bayou. Blinking all pretty, getting stuck in the muck. Wrenching open a gator’s mouth and stepping into it just because you were curious how many teeth it had.

He’d pay good money to watch that.

“Don’tchu act all shy ‘bout this. You know what I’m askin’.” He tears the straw wrapper into tiny pieces, his gaze trailing down your neck and onto your breasts. “Ya’ make a habit of goin’ ‘round and propositionin’ men in stores?”

You choke out a laugh, your eyes going wide.

“I’m not propositioning you!”

“Whatchu doin’ eatin’ my pizza, then?”

“What am I…doing…” Your eyes twinkle with barely contained glee. You muffle a laugh around another bite of pizza. “…Eating…your pizza?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in the chair. “Ya’ seem pretty happy to be sittin’ right there. Eatin’ my pizza.”

“You’re very cute.” You wipe your mouth off with a napkin, staring pointedly at his hands.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Grabbing a slice of pizza, he takes a bite.

It’s awful. Grimacing, he manages to swallow it down. Glancing down at it in disgust, he lets it fall limply back into the box. It takes him a moment before he remembers to readjust his face into one of tranquility, winking over at you.

“You know what.” You deliberate for a second, your eyes darting to his lips. “I think I am propositioning you.”

“There’s a theater next to my shop.” He smirks. “You wanna catch a movie?”

“I don’t wanna interrupt your work.”

“I got all the time in the world, honey.” He winks. “Truck’s outside.”

“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” You rest your chin against your palm.

“Not yet.” He shakes his head. “Hardly know ya’ yet. That’d be jumpin’ the gun.”

“Alright. Fuck it.” You grin. “Let’s go.”

Standing in line at the register, he reaches into your cart and snatches out the box of chocolates.

“Hey!” You put your hands on your hips. “What are you…”

“Ya’ think I’m gonna make a girl buy her own chocolate? What I look like to you?”

You move to say something, your eyes glittering.

“If ya’ say plumber—” He gives you with a sharp look, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll tan your hide.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” You stage-whisper, loading up the belt with items.

“Goddamnit, girl. Let’s get you outta this fuckin’ store.”

Pulling down a side road, he parks the truck.

“Hand me that, would ya’, baby?”

Rustling in the bag, he pulls out the box of chocolates. Ripping the plastic off, he tugs the lid open. He takes a bite of one. Cheap, shitty chocolate. Puts it back in its slot. Picks up another one and takes another bite. Caramel, but it’s still—

“You wanna give me my chocolate back?” You tap on his arm.

“Sorry, darlin’. I bought it. It’s mine.” He smirks at you. “Maybe if ya’ ask all pretty, I’ll give ya’ one.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you let out a frustrated huff.

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim. “You lied.”

“Lyin’? Nah. Just omittin’ some details, sugar. It’s how we do it down here in Louisi—”

You clamor into his lap, making a grab at the chocolate. Popping one in your mouth, you bug your eyes out at him.

“Bad girl.” He tosses the box onto the dashboard. Reaching up, he grabs your chin, pulling you closer.

You taste like chocolate when he kisses you, his hand slipping down your jaw to tighten around your neck. You hum happily into his mouth, your hands on his shoulders. He can feel your breath under his fingers, the pulsing hammer of your heartbeat against his palm.

You’re always so close to death, to all that red and heat underneath, and you don’t even notice. He could press down a little more, constrict your airflow. Make it hurt. You need that, don’t you? You don’t have any fuckin’ structure. Leave you with your throat burning, your eyes swollen with tears. Make you thank him for that.

“I don’t really do this.” You murmur against his lips.

“Whatchu doin’ right now, then?”

You laugh, a breathless little noise. He reaches back and gathers your hair together at the back of your head. When he tugs your head back, you gasp.

“How bad ya’ want it?”

“I—” Discomfort flashes over your face. “Wait, um. Hold on. This is really awkward, but—”

You readjust yourself in his lap and he drops his hand, watching as you reach under your shirt. Biting down on your bottom lip, the strap of your bra slips down your shoulder. Working it through the sleeves of your shirt, you blow out a huff of relief. Stretching your arms to extricate the loops, you tug it free, tossing it onto the floor of his truck.

You turn back to him with a bashful smile.

“Movin’ fast, girl.”

"The wire's been digging into me all day.” You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder at your discarded bra. “I needed to get a new one, but—I got kinda distracted."

"And whose fault is that?"

You look at him curiously, as if his question is strange. You lean forward and flick at the brim of his cap, smiling.

"Well, yours, technically."

“Don’t see how that tracks.” He leans back onto the headrest.

“You distracted me.” Your voice goes high-pitched and melodic, a sing-song lilt that makes his hand tighten into a fist at his side.

He exhales, snorting out a laugh.

“You know what?”

“What?” You tilt your head, raising your brows.

“I changed my mind. I’m killin’ ya’.”

You blow a raspberry at him, rolling your eyes.

“Not yet, c’mon.” You whine, dropping kisses down the bridge of his nose. “It’s like you said. We haven’t even gotten to know each other yet!”

“You’re tryin’ my fuckin’ patience, girl.”

“Good.”

You’re a bratty fuckin’ thing. Untrained, not an ounce of discipline in you. You rock your hips against him, wetting your bottom lip. Tart and wild, a stubbornness coasting under your skin. He wonders how long you’ll be able to hold onto all that sass. What he’ll have to do to make sure you lose it. He can’t wait to see you cry—you’ll taste sweeter then, curled up inside yourself.

What kind of fuckin’ coincidence.

“Look at’chu.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What’d you say? Take a picture, it’ll last longer?”

“Oh, don’tchu worry, baby. I will.” He grins. “Gotta get you all warmed up first, though.”

Slipping his hand between your legs, he rubs at you through your jeans.

“You’re not fucking me in your truck.” With a giggle, you still his hand, tugging it back onto your hip.

“You gonna try to stop me?”

“Um, yeah.” A shriek of laughter spills out of your mouth and the movement rocks your body against his lap. “Anybody could see us!”

“Ya’ gonna tell me that’s what you’re worried about?” He squints at you, squashing down the glare that threatens to darken his features. Not yet. “After grindin’ on my lap like that?”

“Look, I’ve got a better idea.” Shimmying off his lap and onto the passenger seat, you grin at him. “When’s the movie?”

“The movie?” It takes a moment before the realization hits him. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he clears his throat. “Oh, uh—an hour.”

“And how far away is it?”

“Uh, twenty, thirty minutes.”

“Well. I don’t wanna miss it.” You tilt your head, raising a brow. “What if there’s a line?”

“There ain’t gonna be a line.” He says definitively, a wave of exhaustion settling over him.

“You don’t know that.” You laugh. “Anyway. I think…you should drive us there. Now. So we have time.”

He’s barely started the truck back up when he feels your hands at his belt, undoing the loop.

“The fuck you doin’?”

“Trust me.” You unzip his fly, pulling him out of his boxers.

You could be sweet if you wanted. All sugar. It’s easier that way, but you won’t want it easy. You’ll make him fight you for it.

You work your hand over his cock with a sigh of contentment. Your thumb teases over the slit, rubbing precum over the head of his cock. He feels a spike of irritation at you for wasting even an ounce of his spunk on your hands. As if to apologize, you bow your head, running your tongue up the underside of his cock. You’ll have to do better than that. Licking up the sensitive skin of his frenulum, you tease your mouth around him, letting him twitch against your tongue.

“Ya’ gonna suck it or not?” He snaps, keeping his eyes locked on the road. He doesn’t need to look down to know that you’re smiling.

“Don’t be grumpy.” Your voice floats up from his lap. “I’m just taking my time. You’re just so pretty.”

Pretty? Anger rushes through him. Calling him that—thinking you can, thinking that there wouldn’t be any consequences. Who raised you? For all your pathetic staring, you haven’t even seen what’s in front of you.

The lack of respect is sickening, making his balls feel heavy and tight. He needs to be down your throat, if only to shut you up. Give you something else to focus on. Every moment you’re near him, you’re signing yourself away. Doubling back, going over the contract in bubbly cursive.

You’re entirely unaware of how many marks you’re tallying up. Every swirl of your tongue sinks you deeper in debt. He wonders if you’d laugh if you knew just how many apologies you’re setting yourself up for.

With a hum, you take him into your mouth, swallowing your lips around his cock.

“Take it deep. Don’t you stop.”

A noise erupts from your mouth, but it’s garbled around his cock. He can’t tell, but he could have sworn that was a laugh.

He stops the truck abruptly, the movement thrusting him deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, a disgustingly wet noise at the back of your throat. With a wet pop, you pull your mouth off of his cock. The sudden loss of sensation draws a frustrated growl from his lips.

“Be careful.” Your lips are back on him. Mouthing kisses down his length, your nose bumps against his skin. “Don’t crash the car.”

“I’ve been drivin’ this truck for longer than—” You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and the sentence falters in his mouth.

He pictures you standing in the theater lobby. Confusion in your eyes, a slackness to your jaw. It’s odd and you’ll know it, right away. But you won’t do anything about it. You’ll second guess yourself. You think you’re so smart, don’t you? With that sweet little twist of your lips, batting your eyelashes at him, resting your hands on his shoulders. He wonders how long it’ll take for the confusion to lift. The realization settling over you, chilling you to the core.

You’ll look back at him and you’ll know.

A lifetime of mistakes all falling into place, your scream lost under the palm of his hand.

You should be fucked there. That’s how it should go.

He can’t wait. Not for anything, ever. Mama was always saying that. And with the wet clasp of your mouth around his cock, patience isn’t manageable. How could it be? You’ve taken up all of it, trapped it in your smile. He doesn’t have any more to give.

You bob your head up and down, resting your hands on his thigh.

“Good girl.” He mutters. You moan and he clenches his jaw, tightening his hold in your hair. “Just like that, c’mon.”

You raise your head off his cock again and murmur out his name, and his grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white.

You better be enjoying saying it. Let it live in that slutty mouth of yours for a while. It’ll be off limits soon.

There’ll be other things to call him. Later. He can see several of them in his head, stacked fifty feet high in neon. He probably won’t even have to tell you which one he wants, you’ll come up with it on your own. It’ll bubble up in your little head and you’ll drool it out helplessly, stuffed full with cock. Makeup smeared down your cheeks, caked under your eyes. He’d like to see you when you’re trying to fold into yourself. When you’re trying desperately to be anything but pretty for him.

He’s ready to take the shiny veneer of this personality off. It’s slipping now, he can feel it.

“Ain’tchu glad you met me?” He grunts out, his breaths coming out shallow.

You’re going to hate him soon enough, and he’ll be able to remind you that you didn’t before. That you can’t fool him into believing you don’t love his cock down your throat, that you don’t want his hands on you—he knows better, and you do too.

You moan your agreement against his cock. Glad, you’re fuckin’ glad. You’d better be.

He bucks up into your mouth when he cums, smacking his hand down on the steering wheel. You’re choking around him, making desperate little huffs through your nose. For your credit, you keep him in your mouth, tightening your lips around the base. He eases his foot off the accelerator, wetting his lips.

The truck slows to a crawl as he pants, leaning into the steering wheel. He shudders when he feels your lips tug off his cock, swirling your tongue around the oversensitive head.

“We there yet?” You cough a bit, carefully tucking him back into his boxers.

“Christ, girl.” He whistles through his teeth, glancing over at you. “Actin’ like I didn’t just fuck ya’ throat.”

“You didn’t fuck me. I fucked you. And no one saw.” Wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand, you giggle.

“Little cocksucker.”

“You loved it.” You chirp smugly, winking at him. It takes everything in his resolve not to grab you by your hair and slam your forehead into the dashboard. He can’t get blood in his truck again. Shit’s unprofessional. And he’s nothing if not a stickler for appearances. There’s a way to do these things, and you’ve forced him to rewrite his script halfway through the scene. He’s almost impressed with your lack of morals.

He can only imagine how wet you must be, soaking through your jeans. With the way you were moaning around his cock, your pussy must be aching for it.

He should lay a fuckin’ towel down. Protect the goddamn seats—he can’t get your blood on the upholstery, and you know that.

Tryin’ to leave your mark some other way, ain’tcha?

“Is this it?” You ask brightly, peering out the window.

“Yup.” He parks, turning to you. “Think you can do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Just gotta check on somethin’ with the truck. You wanna run into the shop and put this on the counter?” He grabs the chocolate box off the dashboard and stuffs it into the plastic bag. “Wouldn’t want it meltin’.”

“Sure.”

You hop out of the truck, looking at him expectantly.

“Go on, pretty thing. I’ll be right behind ya’.”

As you push the door of his shop open, he stuffs your bra in the glove compartment. It’s cute. You won’t be needing it.

#big STUPID!!! big!!! fuckin!!! STUPID!!!#bimbo to bimbo communication in this fic rlly and truly #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fandom #x reader #my fics

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