House Of Wax X Reader - Tumblr Posts

jealous slashers~!✧

With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman

tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included

Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys

Michael

Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.

Brahms

Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.

"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.

Jason

As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.

Billy & Stu

Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.

"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.

Vincent

There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.

But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.

"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"

Bo

Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.

"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.

Lester

Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.

A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."

Thomas

Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.

Sal Fisher

Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.

"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.

Patrick

A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."

COUGH COUGH, this was too- much that I LOVE IT

Rings and Keeps

@fluffy-little-demon and @sketchy-rosewitch, I give you, your husband—

Bo Sinclair x reader

“Are you sure you haven’t seen him in the shop?”

“Sorry, y/n,” Lester said over the phone. “Haven’t seen Bo all day. Promise.”

You sighed tiredly and said, “Okay, Les. Call back if you hear from him.” You hung up and looked nervously at the front door again. It’s not like your fiancé to up and leave Ambrose without telling anyone, let alone, not tell you. So, why’d he left? What made him up and leave?

Is he getting milk and cigarettes like my dad did? You thought jokingly to yourself, but that didn’t help you at all.

Still, dinner had to be finished and put away. You didn’t want to eat without him, and you felt too nervous with him gone. So, you started pacing to keep your mind off things. Back and forth in the house you tried to keep your thoughts on something else. Baseball. Football. Weather. Vincent. Lester and his raccoon army (don’t tell the twins). Bo’s ass— but noting. You flopped down on the couch and hugged a throw pillow as you looked at the door.

Maybe he doesn’t love me? Maybe he up and left to figure out the best way to kill me?

“No, don’t think about that,” you told yourself in a whisper. “Bo’s fine. He might be getting something.”

When 10:30 struck on the clock, Bo’s truck lights lit up the front of the living room, but you were already asleep, cuddling Bo’s sweatshirt, when he walked in the house. He bit his lower lip nervously as his eyes found you sleeping on the sofa. Quietly, he took off his jacket and hung his hat next to a picture him and you, where he’s hugging you from behind and your laughing in the summer’s glow. Vincent took this gem and had it framed next to his hook on purpose, but Bo’s not one for complaining. It just reminds him what his aching arms are for when he comes home to you, to his beloved.

He kneels in front of you and kisses you gently to wake you up. “Sweetheart,” he drawled tiredly. “‘M home.”

He watched your sleepy eyes flutter open as he thumbed your cheek. “Bo? Where have you been?” Your voice is so soft and tired it reminds him of a kitten.

“Was gettin’ somethin’,” he hummed.

“What?”

“Gimme your right hand.”

You do as your told and showed him your hand. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a little black box. Your eyes brighten as he slipped on a simple silver ring with a small white diamond in the center. “It ain’t much,” he started, “but I thought ya need somethin’ better than ‘at paper ring.”

“Bo,” you sigh, getting a better look at it. “You didn’t—“

“Hush,” he said. “I wanna do something right for ya. So, I, well…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I sold the ‘86 Dodge.”

“But,” you sat up and held his cheeks. He rested into your touch and closed his eyes. “But that’s your baby!”

He shrugs. “I know, y/n, I know, but,” he kissed your palm, “I wanna to do something good for you. Somethin’ right.” He leaned back and took your hands. “I wanna to give ya somethin’ better than Mama’s ring. Shit,” he eyes shines as he looks up to meet your eyes, “when I saw ya looking at that ring the other day, I knew I had to get it for ya because…” his voice trails as his head fell. “I’m afraid to lose you. I have so much blood on my hands, so how? How can you even stand me? Let alone, love me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before, and this side of trust was so valuable that you felt like he was glass waiting to shatter. “Just wanted to do something right for once.”

Your shoulders fell, and you pulled Bo into your chest, rubbing his back. “That’s why you’ve been nervous lately,” you sighed. “Beauregard, I love you no matter how bloody your hands get.” You curled your fingers through his hair. “And I love this ring because you got it for me.” You lifted his head and kisses his lips. “You never have to worry about me not loving you. I’ll always love you.”

Bo smiles and lays a kiss on your neck. “Even if I lose control?”

“Even if you lose control,” you reassured. Then your face turned serious. “But, promise me one thing?”

“Anything, y/n.”

You looked at him dead in the eye and said, “Don’t sell the T-Bird? I love that car.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Promise, darlin’. I’m keeping that like I’m keeping you.” He placed a passionate kiss on your lips, rocking into you. “Now, on t’bed, sugar,” his voice rumbled like thunder in his chest, “been missing you all day.” He pulls you up and carries you bridal style. “Lemme make up for leavin’ ya alone like that.”

Oh my God! This is so cute! I love this so much! Thank you!

hello, I was wondering if you could do a female reader x Vincent Sinclair. Where the reader is very needy. Like she constantly just wants to be around him. They don't have to be talking just being around him is fine. If you don't write for house of wax that's fine. If you do this thank you. Have a good day!

Thank you for the request, I hope you like it. As I’m posting this I realized I kind of made the reader gender neutral because I never actually used pronouns. 🤍 gn!reader

You’re overwhelming, to say the least.

And that’s being kind. 

Vincent was his mother’s favorite, but even she had to cover his face. She might have favored him over Bo, but she didn’t love him, not the way a mother should. 

At least, that’s what you told him. 

Vincent was never sure if he should believe you or not. Bo had instilled in him that their mother was a saint. It was hard to lose that idealized image of her and replace it with the one you presented. But with the way you clung to him, hovered around him without a word, he started to wonder if maybe you had a point. 

Growing up, he wasn’t allowed to take the mask off. If he had to eat, his parent’s didn’t watch. He didn't know if it’s because he was so grotesque to them or because they couldn’t stand to see their failure. His mother was an artist, his father a doctor, yet somehow, they had created him. Formed him into this ugly and deformed creature. 

He struggled to reconcile with the fact that, maybe, someone truly could love him. He struggled with coming to terms that someone as kind as you, could love him. Most days he didn’t believe you. He would watch you carefully while you sat by his side. 

He waited for the inevitable, a look of disgust, a flinch when he came near. It never happened. He figured you were biding your time, sweetening him up and getting him to trust you before you made your escape. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the victims had done that to him. 

He almost wished he was right, that you were just a liar. He waited for you to slip up so he’d have a reason to keep you here forever in Ambrose. But you never did. Each day, you grew bolder, your presence nearly suffocated him. 

You don’t always touch him, you rarely ever talk. Your days are simply spent lingering around him, watching him work or reading while he sculpts. It’s odd, going from so many years on his own in his workshop to suddenly having a constant presence. 

He wonders why you don’t just go with Bo. He was the more handsome twin, more charming and funny. He could talk, he could walk around without a mask and be comfortable with himself. There was a clear language barrier between you and Vincent. 

His sign language was choppy at best because he’d had to learn it on his own. Bo and Lester learned some for him, but the family was pretty against it. You struggled to decipher his odd language but you still tried. He didn’t understand the effort. There was a “better” brother to choose from and, still, you stuck with him. 

Just as he looks over at you, you move from your spot by his desk. His fingers loosen around the tools in his hand while he watches you. You stretch, back bowing and a low groan leaving you as you finally move for the first time all day. You shoot him a smile before heading up the stairs out of his workshop. 

He stills and listens to the way your footsteps echo across the floorboards above him. You’re in the living room, you give a muffled greeting to Jonesy before heading towards the kitchen. His hands fidget restlessly with his tools but he can’t bring himself to get back to work. 

He hates when you go upstairs without him. He’s worried that one day he’ll hear the door open and close and he won't be able to get upstairs in time to get you back. He worries that he’ll hear Bo and you together upstairs, either in a fight or doing something worse. 

But you always come back. You’re never away from him for longer than you need to be. Your footsteps rush back towards the stairs and he feels some of the tension leave him. 

When you come back downstairs, a plate of food for you both, he pulls your chair closer to him. A silent invitation to stay close, one you eagerly accept. You sit beside him, leaning over his shoulder, and admire the sketches splayed out across his desk. 

You reach out, before he can stop you, and tug at the corner of one, pulling it out from under the others. Your eyes rove over the drawing of yourself, one of you sleeping on the couch he now keeps down here for you. You smile and glance up at him. When you lean forward and press a kiss against his masked cheek he wonders if maybe he needs you around just as much as you need him. 

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

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.

Bad Day

pt. two

part one

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) warnings: reader embracing the dark side, graphic descriptions of violence Summary: Another set of tourists, but this one’s different. You actually have to meet this group. They’re particularly difficult, too, causing more damage than any of you expected. Can you survive the night, again?

You focused on the way the knife glinted as it spread mayonnaise over the bread. You watched it glide through the thick substance and brought it back down, flipping the blade and smoothing and spreading it-

Your fingers tightened around the handle and you winced as you slammed your eyes shut. You couldn’t be around blades, even ones as dull as this, without thinking of that night. 

You’d fought, more than anyone else ever had, Bo told you. You’d also killed one of your friends in cold blood, no one had ever done that either. 

He had been tied up and vulnerable and you hadn’t even given him a fair shot at surviving you. 

You didn’t feel guilty about it, and that’s the part that haunts you. You didn’t try to justify your actions and cry yourself to sleep over the guilt you felt for being alive while your friends lay scattered throughout town. You slept deeply, peacefully, in the arms of the men who murdered them. 

You’d wake up after having a dream about that night and you would feel exhilarated because it had been the first time you’d ever truly stood up for yourself. You reveled in the power you’d felt when you’d swung that ax into his neck. 

You didn’t even remember their names. 

How fucked up was that?

You basked in the memories of their demise but their faces were lost to you. One blur that bled together the more you tried to picture them. 

You didn’t mourn them or feel pity, you felt no guilt, and that’s what fucked with you. Were you a bad person?

You had to be. 

But you’d never been one before Ambrose. 

You distracted yourself from the thoughts. You’d spiral and never get back up if you let yourself go down the rabbit hole. You tore off a piece of turkey and threw it at Jonesy, she pounced on it the second it hit the floor. 

You finished the sandwiches, one going into a brown paper bag the other a plate that you wrapped with plastic. You left the kitchen, winding around boxes and junk that they called sentimental. You’d gotten into a nasty fight with Bo a few months ago about cleaning the house up a little, but he had refused. 

You hadn’t realized how many beers he’d had that night and chosen the wrong moment to suggest change. Something he was staunchly against. He hadn’t hit you, never had, but he’d thrown a bottle near your head, the glass shattering and bouncing off the wall. Some of it had hit you, scraping up the back of your arms and legs. It wasn’t too bad, but you hadn’t felt that terrified of him since the night you came here. 

You’d been petty, stolen his keys and camped out in one of the houses in town. You hadn’t been able to get any sleep, not with the wax family watching you, but it had gotten the message across. Lester had told you Bo thought you’d left and lost his fucking shit. Vincent, apparently, had been even worse. 

By the time you got back the house was in worse shape then when you’d left. 

Bo had told you he’d think about cleaning some of the stuff out. That had been three months ago.

You grabbed the flashlight off their father’s desk and used the hatch in the office, dropping down into Vincent’s lair. Vincent, when he’d discovered just how much you hated the darkness that led into his workspace, had started leaving a flashlight out for you. 

When Bo got pissed at you he’d hide it. You’d have to crawl to him and beg for it back. 

You’re pretty sure he didn’t care what it was that he stole, he just wanted to exercise some control over you. Remind you of your place in this town, under him.

The flashlight was a nice thought from Vincent, but it didn’t really help you much. You used it anyway, wanting him to know you appreciated how much he cared. Because you’re pretty sure he’s the only real reason you’re alive. 

When Bo had caught you down here, standing over Owen’s dead body, he told you he didn’t know if he was going to keep you alive or not. You knew he meant it, he wasn’t teasing you or playing around, he genuinely did not know what to do with you. You were an outlier in a long list of repetitive victims. 

Vincent swept in behind him, glanced down at the ax, the injuries all over your body, and hesitantly stepped towards you. They looked at each other, a silent conversation laying in their gazes.  

Vincent took a slow step towards you and you recognized his actions for what they were. A test. 

Earlier, you’d seen Vincent try to help his brother, ease his pain and wrap up his wounds. Bo had reacted cruelly, the only thing he seemed to be capable of. 

You watched with a blank stare as Vincent kneeled down in front of you, brushing his fingers over the scraped skin of your knee. 

You jumped slightly at the burn of flesh against your wound, but otherwise didn’t react. Slowly, he stood back up, grabbing your arm with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your first meeting. He led you back to his desk, flipping over the drawing of your face and pulling out bandages. 

Some of them he had to toss to the side because they were covered in wax, others he used on you. 

Bo watched it all with a frown on his face and crossed arms. “What the hell are you doin’?”

Vincent’s head shot up and his arms tightened around you. Again, you forced yourself not to react, not to flinch away from his hold and grimace as you heard his muffled breath next to your ear. Vincent didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hands to communicate, he blocked you in like a guard dog and after a moment you heard Bo cussing and storming out. 

He mentioned something about getting the restg of your group, but nothing after that. You could only relax once you heard the basement hatch slam shut. “Thank you,” you whispered to Vincent. He grunted, but offered nothing else. 

His fingers were quick, precise in the way they cleaned and wrapped your wounds. They were also surprisingly gentle for someone who had just slammed a blade through your friend's skull. 

Vincent kept you squirreled away down there, sleeping on a cot in the corner of his large and stuffy studio. You weren’t sure how many days or weeks had passed with him idly sketching you and sculpting different wax animals for you, the lack of windows made it hard to tell, but you do know you were much better off here than in Bo’s dungeon. 

You’d learned bits of sign language from him, you were bored and he seemed eager to teach you. To finally have someone who would speak his language too. 

He was kind in his own way, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager to get the fuck out of there. 

Bo had stormed down one day, saw you, and lost his goddamn shit. Apparently, he’d thought Vincent was only keeping you around for a bit of fun and then killing you. The fact that you were still alive, and being taken care of, nearly gave him an aneurysm. 

Again, Vincent hadn’t let Bo hurt you. He’d protected you from his brother’s wrath and forced Bo to accept that you were staying. 

Sometimes you wished you weren’t kind to him. That you had yelled, kicked, and clawed at him. Called him a freak and told him to go to hell and find his precious momma. You would be dead, sure, but you wouldn’t be here. 

Thoughts like that had disappeared a long time ago, left with the summer heat. You knew it wasn’t Stockholm syndrome, you’d been a psych student before your world was flipped on its axis. You knew what the signs were, but this wasn’t loving them to save yourself. 

This was accepting that there was no place for you in society anymore, not after what you’d done. Not after you’d actually helped Vincent sculpt his wax around Allison’s pretty face. 

You’d enjoyed it, a sick satisfaction from seeing the bitch dead, your survival a victory over her. 

When she’d been alive she had a top. This really cute white, lacy number and no matter how many times you asked, she would never let you borrow it. She had no qualms stealing your clothes and never giving them back, but god forbid you ever even looked at that top.

It hung in your closet now, yours to do with whatever you pleased. You smiled every time you thought about it. 

“Vince?” You knocked on the doorway and clicked the flashlight off as the door creaked open. The warm glow of candlelight leaked out into the dark abyss. You slipped inside, shuddering at the rush of heat that hit you. It wasn’t always hot in here, only when he was preparing a new batch of wax. 

You frowned, he only did that when there were visitors coming. Lester must’ve called ahead, told them he spotted someone on the road. You closed the door behind you walking towards his desk and dropping the plate on top. Your fingers skimmed over the sketches, catching on another one of you. 

You picked it up and smiled, it was a sketch of you curled up on the couch with Jonesy, your face pressed into her fur as you slept. You remember waking up from that nap, frowning when you heard wood creaking behind you but not seeing anything. 

What a weird little stalker. He knew he could ask to sketch you and you didn’t mind, but he always ran away like you were gonna be mad at him. You shook your head, placing it back down, and walked further into his studio. 

You found him sitting at his table, curled over something you couldn’t make out. You could see his wrist flicking, the carving tool in his hand, and figured he was making another animal for you. You already had a whole shelf full of different animals, practically your own wax zoo. 

“Hey,” you whispered, hands creeping slowly along his shoulders. He tensed slightly before he leaned into you. “Brought you lunch.” His movements paused to sign, Thank you.

You glanced down at his hair, curling around him like a dark curtain and frowned. “Vince, you got wax in your hair again.” He shrugged and continued working. You sighed, walking back towards his desk and rustling through drawers until you found the brush you’d left down here for him.

Sometimes you think he does this on purpose because he likes how you take care of him. You ran the brush through his hair a few times trying to make sure you’d gotten all the wax out. He let out a low groan, his head tilting back and thudding against your chest as you stood behind him. 

You chuckled, scratching your fingers along his scalp and he let out a long sigh, melting into you. You’d have to force him into the shower later, to wash everything out of his hair. It was astounding how stubborn both brothers were about just showering. 

You weren’t sure why they resisted so much, maybe it was something that happened between them and their parents. Either way, it was a fight to get them near the water and even then you had to bribe them with your body, luring them in like a siren just so you could wash the grime off. 

You braided Vincent’s hair away from his face and he stilled, temporarily becoming your doll while you did what you wanted to him. He was always a bit easier than his brother. He was eager to please, even more eager for your praise. For you to tell him you were proud of him. 

You leaned down, pressing a kiss against the waxed cheek of his mask. “Eat your lunch, please.” He nodded but the second you backed off he was back to carving into the block of wax before him. You sighed and glanced around his space, collecting the dishes of other half-eaten meals you’ve brought down. 

The bell rang above you and you let out a sigh or relief as you stepped into Bo’s shop. A cool breeze rustled the fabric of your top. Seems like he got the air conditioning up and running again, even in winter you could still wear a tank top and shorts and be sweating. “Bo?”

“Back here!”

You walked towards the garage, brown bag clutched tightly in your hands and poked your head in. He was bent over, head under the hood of a car and oil smeared all over his coveralls. Your eyes traveled over the car he was working on, wincing when you realized it was yours. 

You hadn’t used it since you’d gotten here. You’d seen Bo towing it in, along with Owen’s but you’d always avoided paying too much attention to it. You weren’t sure why he bothered working on it, maybe it was a taunt towards you or he was just bored. You never really knew with him. 

“Brought lunch,” you offered, walking towards his work table and jumping on top, the bag going next to your thighs. He lifted himself up, looking towards you and smiling. 

“Thanks, hun,” you hummed in response, sticking your neck out as he approached. He chuckled, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

He reached for the bag, pulling out his lunch and taking too big of a bite. “‘M gonna have to go up to the house,” he mumbled through a mouth full of sandwich. “Need to change before our visitors get here.”

You nodded, staying quiet as he stared at you. You’d gotten used to this look and even more used to what was about to happen after. He’d tell you to follow him and would help you off the desk, deceptively sweet as he tugged you down to the room below the garage. 

Then he would tape you up, muttering to himself about not letting you leave. You’d submit easily, letting him do what he wanted. It was easier than trying to tell him you were staying. 

But his gaze shifted back to the car and you frowned at the side of his face. He should’ve told you to move by now. Instead he leaned back against the desk, his hand skimming your own. He didn’t look at you while he spoke. 

“Want you to work on your car.”

You blanched, eyes going wide as you stared at him. That wasn’t even close to what you were expecting. You had gotten so used to sitting under that grate, listening to the screams of his victims as he hunted them down. Now, he wanted you up here, wanted you to see it. 

What was he doing?

“What?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “fucked somethin’ up, want you to fix it.” He crumpled the bag into a ball, tossing it into the trash can and turned back towards you. You didn’t see anything on his face that would give away why he was keeping you up here on the surface and it set you on edge. 

This had to be some sort of test. Maybe he was seeing if you would try and use the new victims to escape or warn them off. Or he wanted to see if you could pretend like you belonged, go along with his act and keep the victims feeling safe and compliant while he killed them off. 

What the fuck?

You were used to how things worked in Ambrose. There was a system set in place, one you had learned to follow. This went against what you’d come to know and it was setting you on edge as you watched him walk off, heading up the hill and towards his house. 

You stayed glued to the desk for a while, you weren’t sure how long, but it was enough time for Bo to have cleaned up. He popped his head inside the garage, suit on, and frowned. “What’re you doing? Move your ass.”

You jumped, leaping off the work table and rushing towards the car. He laughed at your panicked movements, staying a moment to admire your ass as you bent over the hood before you heard his boots on the gravel, heading towards the church. 

You didn’t appreciate this switch up with him, how erratic his moods and behaviors were. He made it impossible to track and read him, to fully understand why he worked the way he did. 

You were grateful that, at the very least, he had given you a distraction from trying to figure out what this test was and if you were in trouble or not. 

You inspected the car, forcing yourself to remember everything he’s taught you while you’ve lingered in his shop. 

“Oh, they're right here.”

You jumped, rolling out from underneath the car and glancing towards the doorway that connected the garage to the auto shop. Two unfamiliar voices echoed within Bo’s shop. 

“Fan belts?”

“Yeah,” a guy and a girl. You poked your head over the top of the car and saw the guy was a lot taller than you and broader. Shit, you really hoped you didn’t run into him once they figured out what was going on up here. “But he doesn’t have the right size.”

“Just pick one, Wade, I don’t want to be in here much longer.”

“Alright, just hold on Carly.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands off and stepping towards them. 

“You plannin’ on stealin’ that?”

They both jumped, whipping around towards where you leaned in the doorway arms crossed over your chest. “No,” the guy rushed to defend himself, his girlfriend shaking her head frantically. “We left some money on the counter, we just needed to get out of here, that’s all.”

“There you are,” you all turned towards Bo. His posture matched your own, leaned against the entrance to the shop, hands tucked in his pockets. God, he looked good. Now that you weren’t fighting for your life you could fully appreciate how handsome he looked all cleaned up. Bo glanced at you then back to the other two, “She botherin’ you?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, glaring at him over their shoulders. He winked when they faced you and you figured he was putting on another show. Huffing out an irritated breath you rolled your eyes and turned back towards your car. You frowned at the oil streaked along your skin and clothes, you’d never be able to get the stains out. 

“Oh,” Carly started, shaking her head and glancing back at you again. “No, of course not, we just didn’t know that there was anyone in the shop.”

“She’s new, don’t like lettin’ her around customers, too much attitude.” You could practically see his smirk from under the car. He was probably so proud of himself, being able to tease you without you snapping back for once. 

“She’s fine, um, I left some money on the counter, but you don’t have any fifteens.” You watched as Bo’s feet moved towards the register, most likely pocketing the money. “Is that enough?”

Bo’s tone was easy going, the perfect southern gentleman as he helped a poor lost couple. “Close enough. You know, I’ve got the right size up at the house. Only a couple blocks from here…”

You forced yourself deaf, trying to block out the rest of their conversation. These people weren’t exactly assholes and they didn’t seem particularly deserving of what was about to happen. Your friends were bad people, you didn’t feel guilty about them, but there was something about this couple that had your stomach burning in anxiety. 

Maybe this was why Bo had you outside, playing mechanic with him. He wanted you to see the harsh reality of what it was they did here. you couldn’t always cover your ears and pretend it wasn’t happening. Was this what the test was? See how committed you were to him and Vincent, to Ambrose. 

You used the car as a cover, dropping the wrench beside you and covering your face as you tried to decide whether you were going to cry or throw up. It was fine, the idea of all this, when you were hidden under the grate. The straps were a reminder that it could be you up there being hunted again. 

Being face to face with the victims was entirely different. 

A hand slammed down on the roof of the car, the metal reverberating around you, “Hey!”

You screamed, jumping up and nearly hitting your head on the underbelly of the car. You rolled out, glaring at Bo while he stood smiling down at you. He kneeled down, laying a hand around your thigh and squeezing. 

“You’re gonna stay here, keep an eye out for any more of their friends, and behave. Okay?”

You nodded and he dug his nails in, “Yes, Bo.” 

“Good girl,” he stood up and walked towards the garage door. You watched him, afraid to take your eyes off his back. He turned back around, one last lingering look that had you feeling cold, “Don’t fuck up.” You flinched as the garage door slammed down behind him. 

“Help! Help me, please!” You jumped up and ran to the front of the auto shop. Carly ran face first into you, her fingernails digging painfully into your skin as she looked behind her. 

“Shit,” you grabbed her biceps and pulled her away. “What’s going on?”

She backed up, wiping her eyes and gulping as she tried to catch her breath. “That- that guy, Bo, I think he did something to my boyfriend.”

“Alright, calm down, it’s okay.” God, you were just as freaked out as her. What the fuck were you supposed to do? “Let me get the phone, we’ll call someone.”

She nodded, running to the door and locking it. She pressed her face against the glass and peered outside, keeping an eye out for him. You knew you didn’t have long before she started to get suspicious. The station had a working phone, but there was no way in hell you were actually about to call the cops on Bo. 

You paced back and forth, running your hands through your hair as you looked around, trying to find a solution. Your eyes snagged on the wrench by the car. You whipped your head over your shoulder, Carly was still stuck to the window. You ran for it, grabbing it and turning back towards her. 

You raised your hand up, wincing as she caught your eye in the reflection of the glass. “What’re-”

She crumpled to the ground with a thud, crimson pooling around her arms. 

You saw in the reflection Bo approaching you from behind, back in his coveralls. “Atta girl!” You didn’t react when he slung his arms over your shoulders, squeezing you and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Did good, baby.” He released you, huffing out a big sigh and walking over to the girl, “Alright, grab her ankles.” His tone was no longer adoring going right back to business. 

You looked at him like he was crazy, ”Bo, what?”

You dropped the wrench to the ground and he frowned from where he was picking up her wrists. “You got a problem?”

”Yeah! What the fuck are you doing? Why am I doing this?” He dropped her arms unceremoniously and you winced at the crack they made against the cement. He stepped over her, stalking towards you and you stumbled back, heart beating faster in fear. 

His hand snapped out, grabbing you before you could make it far. You whined as he dug his nails into your cheeks, puckering your lips and gripping your jaw hard enough for it to creak. “You’re doing this ‘cause I said to. Do we have a problem?”

He was so good at making you feel small. You wonder how Vincent’s put up with it all these years. “No, Bo,” your words were muffled by his grip, but he got the message. He released you, but you didn’t go far, his arm wrapping around waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, his hand coming up to push some of your hair back. “It’s alright, darlin.’ We all make mistakes, right?” His tone was condescending, his smirk even more so, but you played along like he wanted you to. Nodding and accepting when he pressed a violent kiss to your mouth, your teeth clashing together and lip splitting from the force of it. 

He backed away from you, chuckling loudly and going back to the unconscious girl on the floor. You grabbed her by the ankles like he’d told you to and helped him drag her down to the basement. He propped her head on your shoulder while he unlocked the door and you struggled under her dead weight. 

“Why is she going down here, Bo?”

Your mind went to the Polaroids covering the walls, the things he’s had you do in that chair and you felt anger burning in your gut. Not worry or fear for her like you should feel, but white hot burning rage at him for trying to pull something like this.

He looked over his shoulder at your expression and grinned, “Nothin’ like that, baby. Little bitch put up a fight and wrecked my truck, I ain’t done with her yet.” 

A good person would wince and whisper and apology to the unconscious girl, say they were sorry for the pain she was about to experience. Instead you felt sated, relieved, and completely fine with hauling her body up into the chair and taping her down. 

You held her legs down as he taped them and she started to move around. Bo tossed you some superglue and you gripped her by the jaw, clamping her lips shut and pouring glue over the seam of her mouth. She whimpered and you ignored her, moving mechanically, distancing yourself from the fact that she was a real moving person. In her place was a wax statue, full of imperfections that you needed the glue to fix. 

All three of you looked up through the grate at the sound of the boots stomping in the garage above you. Bo shared a look with you and nodded towards the door. You let the girl go, slipping out of the basement and closing the door behind you. You came up through the entrance behind the register, glancing outside to see a man in front of the garage. 

You let out a breath of relief, closing the door to the shop as you stepped into the garage, he hadn’t got a chance to see the pool of blood. “Can I help you?”

He turned around, a particularly bitchy look on his face. “Looking for my sister, Carly, seen her?”

There was a loud yelp and you frowned. You walked towards the work table, reaching for the stereo and turning the volume to Bo’s music on. You covered the grate from his view as Deftones blasted through the small garage. 

“Sorry, it’s my dog, she hates new people.”

He gave you an awkward smile and nodded. “Yeah, might’ve seen her. Pretty girl, blonde hair?”

He nodded his head, giving you an appraising look. You weren’t sure if he didn’t believe you or was checking you out. You really preferred that he didn’t believe you, you weren’t prepared to deal with Bo if he thought someone was moving in on you. ”My boss, Bo, took her and her boyfriend up to his house a few minutes ago. They were lookin’ for a fan belt.”

“His house?”

You shrugged, “He keeps extra shipments there. Wasn’t too long ago, you want me to take you?” 

He sucked on his teeth, shaking his head and backing away. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

You panicked, fists clenching as you watched him retreat. “It's really no problem.”

“I said I’m good,” he snapped. 

You could see Bo creeping up behind him, the same wrench you used on the guy’s sister in his hand. If he turned around he would see Bo. Carly was easy to take out, she was small, trusting. This guy looked built and like he’d been in a few too many fights. “Wait!” You shouted, too scared to come up with a good distraction. 

He glared at you and opened his mouth to say something just as Bo struck. The wrench came down on the guys head with a disturbing crack, but he didn’t fall like he should have. He stumbled forward and whirled around on Bo, his fist catching him in the jaw and tackling him to the ground. 

You could clearly see blood pouring down the back of his head, but he remained unphased as he  pounded into Bo. “Shit,” you cursed, darting to the side to pick up another weapon but you failed to notice how the man had stopped beating Bo. He must’ve seen you moving somehow because in a split second something was slamming into your side and the air was leaving you as you were slammed into the cement. 

You groaned, feeling like your lungs had collapsed and curled up in an attempt to protect yourself as he directed his attacks towards you. “Nick!” A shrill voice screamed from the grate. “Nick!” He leapt off of you, heading back towards Bo and ripping the keys off his belt as he made a run for it. 

Your vision was red, blood pouring down from a cut on your forehead. You took in a painful breath, your lungs wheezing, your ribs had apparently taken the majority of his punches. With your brain pounding against your eyes you rolled onto your knees and crawled towards Bo. 

He wasn’t as badly injured as you had thought he would be, must’ve gotten in a few hits of his own. “Bo,” you grabbed his shoulders, gently shaking him. “Bo!” You tried again, shouting this time and slamming his head down on the cement. 

He groaned and you let yourself fall back, head lolling on your shoulders as you tried to get your vision to stop swimming. “Shit, he got me.” Bo sat up, wiping the blood from under his nose, “Get home.” He ordered, tone not leaving any room for an argument. You nodded as he stormed off, but instead of going home like he told you to, you laid down on the cold cement and groaned. 

Should lungs hurt?

You eventually managed your way to the house, once you’d got breath back, your injuries weren’t as bad as you’d thought they’d been. You stumbled into the doorway, glancing at a trail of blood leading into the office and trudging your way to the fridge. You grabbed a beer and threw yourself down on the couch. 

It didn’t take long to hear footsteps creeping towards you. Your heart clenched when you saw how hesitant Vincent was to get near you. You loved Bo, but he could be a real fucking dick to his brother. You leaned your head against the cushion, rolling it to the right and smiling at Vincent. 

It seemed to be enough for him to feel comfortable approaching you. He kneeled on the floor beside you and fussed over your scrapes. “I’m fine, really,” you reached up, taking his hand in yours and trying to give him a reassuring smile. “I think they got Bo pretty bad, though.”

He tugged his hands from yours, taking off his gloves and signing. How bad

”One of the guys, he’s pretty strong, busted his sister out from the basement after attacking me and Bo. Actually managed to knock Bo out for a minute.”

Stay here

“Wait-” you reached out, trying to grab the back of his sweater but he was already making a run for the front door. It slammed closed behind him, his truck starting up a minute later. You sighed and fell back against the couch, letting your eyes shut as you tried to relax. 

You hadn’t realized just how relaxed you’d gotten until you heard the door slam. You jumped up, glancing out the living room window and realizing how dark it’d gotten. You moved off the couch, placing your beer on the coffee table and heading into the kitchen. 

Bo was leaning on the counter, already a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was completely soaked in blood, his nose leaking and a bandage wrapped around his arm. “Holy shit, Bo, what happened?” 

You ran forward, hands instinctively going to the arrow buried in his arm. “Back off!” He snapped. You frowned and stepped back from him, trying not to upset him any further. You heard the rumble of a truck on the driveway and you glanced through the window. 

Two bodies lay in the bed of Vincent’s yellow truck, a blonde girl and some guy you hadn’t seen before. Vincent jumped out, Jonesy following behind him, and made his way towards the door. You opened it before he could, grabbing him by the cardigan and making sure he wasn’t hurt like Bo. 

He took your hands in his and shook his head, gently moving you back. “What have I told you about leaving without me?” Bo shouted. “You wait for me!”

Vincent nodded, not bothering to respond to Bo. There was a moment of tense silence before Bo offered a half-hearted smile to Vincent, “We’re almost done, Vinnie, momma would be proud of ya.”

It was the closest to an apology Vincent would ever get, you all knew it. Bo can’t apologize, his parents had permantly fucked with his psyche, and it started with his dad doing a risky surgery to seperate his boys. Vincent’s face would permanently be ruined but you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Bo had gotten the fucked mental end of the separation. 

“How many are left?” You asked, reluctantly releasing Vincent’s hands. 

“The girl and her brother,” Bo paced, taking a swig of his whiskey. He hissed and clutched his hurt arm. “Alright, help me out with this.”

You had to hold yourself back from snapping at him. Oh, can I help now? Dick. You grabbed hold of what was left of the arrow and yanked as hard as you could, Bo clenched his teeth and let out a loud pained groan. You winced at the amount of blood that started coming out, Vincent moved you to the side, already having a bandage ready and tying it tight around Bo’s arm. 

“Where do you think they headed?”

Bo grunted, speaking through clenched teeth, “House of Wax.”

You nodded and stepped back from him once it seemed like Vincent wouldn’t need your help. “I’ll go with you both.”

”No,” Bo shouted and Vincent shook his head wildly. 

“Don’t be a dumbass, you need my help. They’ve already kicked your ass, I’ll stay out of sight, promise. I just want to be there in case they get the upper hand.” Bo looked unsure and Vincent was still shaking his head. You placed a comforting hand on both of their arms and begged, “Please. Let me help.”

Bo shook his head and your stomach dropped, worried he would say no. Finally he let out a long sigh, “Stick with Vincent.”

You nodded, feeling Vincent’s hand grab onto yours as he led you outside. Bo grunted and slowly followed after you both, his left arm stiff beside him. 

You followed Vincent into the bowels of the House of Wax, he moved slowly, keeping one hand behind him to make sure you didn’t bolt. You weren’t planning on it, but they didn’t seem to completely trust you for some reason. 

You heard footsteps ahead, quck and frantic, rushing through his workshop. Vincent pulled out his bone handle daggers and ran down the rest of the steps. You stayed on the stairwell, keeping your head peaked around the corner. 

The brother was in there, rushing through the workshop and knocking shit over without a care in the world. He hadn’t noticed Vincent yet, too busy looking for something. You weren’t sure what he wanted, or what the plan was until you saw him grab a pile of sheets, getting ready to throw them in the fire that kept the wax warm. 

Shit, he was going to set the whole damn place on fire. 

Even if you did manage to kill these two, it wouldn’t matter, the police would come, they’d see the bodies. Bo and Vincent would be locked up and you…

Well, you didn’t really know what would happen to you. 

You could always plead insanity, show the jury the scars from your bonds and they’d think you were just a victim forced to do the unimaginable. 

You considered it for a moment, letting him get away with this, thought about the freedom that might await you. There was an empty feeling associated with that image, you’d miss Bo and Vince, miss the fucked up life you were living here. 

There weren’t any worries here, just make sure the victims didn’t make it past the woods and you were fine. No taxes, or wondering how you’d afford to keep living in your overpriced apartment, no fucked politics. You were free to be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted. 

You grabbed a lead pipe off the stairs and threw it at the wall. It provided enough of a distraction for him to drop the sheets, not yet making it to the fire, and for Vince to grab him. You watched long enough to see the knife go through his throat and then ran back up the stairs towards Bo. 

You heard screaming before you made it through the door, Carly shouting something at him. What worried you was that you didn’t hear him respond. You turned the corner, feet sticking to the wax as you gripped onto the doorway for balance. 

She was standing over him, baseball bat in her hands poised to bring it back down over his face. You could already see blood leaking down his face from where she’d hit him before. Without thinking you charged at her, wrapping your arms around her middle and taking her down to the floor. 

She let out a surprised yelp but you didn’t let her get much else out before you were wailing on her. You don’t know what happened after you grabbed her. You only remember punching her the first time, remember your knuckles splitting and your blood mingling with hers as she wrestled with you. 

All you could see was Bo laying on the floor, not moving, as this bitch stood over him with a bat. You were blinded by rage, a hot fury burning in your gut and keeping you moving as you pounded your fists into her. You felt satisfied by the sound of her bones crunching under you. 

She screamed at you, words you couldn’t hear as your blood rushed through your ears, and threw her hand up into your chin. You groaned, jaw whipping to the side. She pounced on you, digging her fingers into your throat until you couldn’t breathe and flipping you both over. 

You dragged your nails down her face, the skin digging under your nails like warm wax. You dragged your palms down until you could feel her throat, the movement it made as she took in a deep breath. You felt it bob up and down under your touch and you squeezed. She let out a strangled yelp and you could feel yourself slipping. You were becoming lost in a place of animalistic panic. 

You were almost dead, the man you loved was most likely lying dead next to you as you fought for your own life. Your vision was cloudy until it went completely black and then you felt arms wrapping around your chest and pulling you back. You kicked and screamed, still in fighting for your life until you recognized the voice in your ear. 

“Alright, it’s alright, it’s over.” You slumped back at the sound of Bo’s whispers. You ignored the feeling of his blood leaking into your shirt as he sat down with you, pulling you into his chest and squeezing until it hurt. 

You didn’t mind the pain, though, embracing it because it meant you were both alive. Both of you were okay. You reached back, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into him. Carly lay dead a few feet in front of you, her face mangled and you looked down to see her blood soaking into your clothes. 

You had your own wounds from where she’d fought back, bleeding lacerations that you’d fix later. For now you sat with Bo, watching as Vincent stomped towards you both. In a minute you’d get up, help them clean up the house and the bodies. Then you’d all go home, you’d make dinner, pass out on the couch and wake up in one of their beds. Probably Bo, if his panicked grip was anything to go by. 

Life would go on as it always had, except you’d never have to see that chair again. You’d never be looking up through a grate as blood pooled on the garage floor. You’d go with Bo when he went to the city for supplies, you’d be able to pick out clothes that weren’t plucked from the hands of the dead. 

It wasn’t right. 

You weren’t a good person. 

You didn’t deserve salvation or heaven after all of this. 

But you’d found it and you were perfectly happy. 

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.

One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps. 

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you. 

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting. 

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house. 

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety. 

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you. 

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs. 

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom. 

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it. 

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come. 

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time. 

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor. 

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table. 

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with. 

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys. 

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants. 

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo. 

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up. 

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for. 

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely. 

Alright, you’ll take that. 

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go. 

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours. 

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody. 

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow. 

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others. 

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works. 

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls. 

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you. 

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about. 

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them. 

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out. 

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it. 

Your one act of rebellion. 

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like. 

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this. 

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming. 

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out. 

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful. 

Or she would. 

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her. 

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something. 

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood. 

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly. 

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound. 

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand. 

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken. 

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this. 

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life. 

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them. 

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms. 

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten. 

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move. 

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself. 

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could. 

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it. 

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this. 

You could hardly believe it yourself. 

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down. 

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past. 

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day. 

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down. 

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag. 

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser. 

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it. 

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable. 

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them. 

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing. 

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence. 

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body. 

Maybe he had won. 

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you. 

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted. 

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too. 

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it. 

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.

You’re gonna make me blush ♥️

One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps. 

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you. 

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting. 

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house. 

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety. 

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you. 

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs. 

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom. 

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it. 

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come. 

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time. 

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor. 

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table. 

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with. 

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys. 

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants. 

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo. 

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up. 

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for. 

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely. 

Alright, you’ll take that. 

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go. 

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours. 

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody. 

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow. 

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others. 

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works. 

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls. 

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you. 

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about. 

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them. 

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out. 

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it. 

Your one act of rebellion. 

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like. 

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this. 

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming. 

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out. 

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful. 

Or she would. 

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her. 

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something. 

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood. 

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly. 

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound. 

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand. 

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken. 

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this. 

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life. 

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them. 

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms. 

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten. 

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move. 

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself. 

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could. 

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it. 

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this. 

You could hardly believe it yourself. 

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down. 

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past. 

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day. 

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down. 

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag. 

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser. 

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it. 

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable. 

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them. 

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing. 

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence. 

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body. 

Maybe he had won. 

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you. 

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted. 

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too. 

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it. 

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.

hello, I was wondering if you could do a female reader x Vincent Sinclair. Where the reader is very needy. Like she constantly just wants to be around him. They don't have to be talking just being around him is fine. If you don't write for house of wax that's fine. If you do this thank you. Have a good day!

Thank you for the request, I hope you like it. As I’m posting this I realized I kind of made the reader gender neutral because I never actually used pronouns. 🤍 gn!reader

You’re overwhelming, to say the least.

And that’s being kind. 

Vincent was his mother’s favorite, but even she had to cover his face. She might have favored him over Bo, but she didn’t love him, not the way a mother should. 

At least, that’s what you told him. 

Vincent was never sure if he should believe you or not. Bo had instilled in him that their mother was a saint. It was hard to lose that idealized image of her and replace it with the one you presented. But with the way you clung to him, hovered around him without a word, he started to wonder if maybe you had a point. 

Growing up, he wasn’t allowed to take the mask off. If he had to eat, his parent’s didn’t watch. He didn't know if it’s because he was so grotesque to them or because they couldn’t stand to see their failure. His mother was an artist, his father a doctor, yet somehow, they had created him. Formed him into this ugly and deformed creature. 

He struggled to reconcile with the fact that, maybe, someone truly could love him. He struggled with coming to terms that someone as kind as you, could love him. Most days he didn’t believe you. He would watch you carefully while you sat by his side. 

He waited for the inevitable, a look of disgust, a flinch when he came near. It never happened. He figured you were biding your time, sweetening him up and getting him to trust you before you made your escape. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the victims had done that to him. 

He almost wished he was right, that you were just a liar. He waited for you to slip up so he’d have a reason to keep you here forever in Ambrose. But you never did. Each day, you grew bolder, your presence nearly suffocated him. 

You don’t always touch him, you rarely ever talk. Your days are simply spent lingering around him, watching him work or reading while he sculpts. It’s odd, going from so many years on his own in his workshop to suddenly having a constant presence. 

He wonders why you don’t just go with Bo. He was the more handsome twin, more charming and funny. He could talk, he could walk around without a mask and be comfortable with himself. There was a clear language barrier between you and Vincent. 

His sign language was choppy at best because he’d had to learn it on his own. Bo and Lester learned some for him, but the family was pretty against it. You struggled to decipher his odd language but you still tried. He didn’t understand the effort. There was a “better” brother to choose from and, still, you stuck with him. 

Just as he looks over at you, you move from your spot by his desk. His fingers loosen around the tools in his hand while he watches you. You stretch, back bowing and a low groan leaving you as you finally move for the first time all day. You shoot him a smile before heading up the stairs out of his workshop. 

He stills and listens to the way your footsteps echo across the floorboards above him. You’re in the living room, you give a muffled greeting to Jonesy before heading towards the kitchen. His hands fidget restlessly with his tools but he can’t bring himself to get back to work. 

He hates when you go upstairs without him. He’s worried that one day he’ll hear the door open and close and he won't be able to get upstairs in time to get you back. He worries that he’ll hear Bo and you together upstairs, either in a fight or doing something worse. 

But you always come back. You’re never away from him for longer than you need to be. Your footsteps rush back towards the stairs and he feels some of the tension leave him. 

When you come back downstairs, a plate of food for you both, he pulls your chair closer to him. A silent invitation to stay close, one you eagerly accept. You sit beside him, leaning over his shoulder, and admire the sketches splayed out across his desk. 

You reach out, before he can stop you, and tug at the corner of one, pulling it out from under the others. Your eyes rove over the drawing of yourself, one of you sleeping on the couch he now keeps down here for you. You smile and glance up at him. When you lean forward and press a kiss against his masked cheek he wonders if maybe he needs you around just as much as you need him. 

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

☆ . ݁ ⋆ ROUGH HANDS ﹒ bo sinclair !

headcanon tags sfw + nsfw content. mdni. bimbo! female! reader — no description of reader besides you wearing small clothes and having a boyfriend. slightly pervy! bo. mentions of lester being attracted to you. cheating (can you cheat on someone who’s dead tho??). most headcanons are based off the movie. car sex. names used → sweet thang and poundcake cause i want him to pound m-

slightly pervy! bo who didn’t know of your group’s existence until lester tells him he should be expecting a group of three that afternoon.

slightly pervy! bo who hears lester’s comment on the “pretty thang” of the three and how bo would love the sight of her. his brothers grin and laugh selling it even more.

slightly pervy! bo who doesn’t understands his brothers obsession until he spots you, with your small shirt and short shorts that barely covered your ass. he grins to himself but his jaw quickly tightens when he spots some guy glued to your side— someone that lester didn’t mention.

slightly pervy! bo who tries to push down the annoyance as he walks to the front after hearing your calls to see if anyone was in the gas station, but he doesn’t expect to see just you standing there.

slightly pervy! bo who could barely pay attention to the words coming out of your mouth because of the big eyes and full smile you gave him as you asked for a belt for your car. slightly pervy! bo only coo’s at you about not being specific enough and asks you to come with him to the garage area.

slightly pervy! bo who asks you a couple questions to figure out what type of belt you need but none of them you could really answer. you slightly frown and muster up, “sorry, i don’t much about cars” making him wave you off with that pretty grin he’d been giving you the whole time. “it’s alright, sweetheart.”

slightly pervy! bo who asks if your boyfriend knows anything about them to which you answer with a nod before the gas station door opens and your boyfriend comes walking through, eyes quickly finding the two of you. slightly pervy! bo who watches as he comes to your side, giving bo a warning look as he wraps his arm around your waist.

slightly pervy! bo could only let out an amusing chuckle at him before asking him what he needed to which he replies with a better answer than you did.

slightly pervy! bo gives a look at the wall of fan belts—even goes as far to check the numbers, before looking over at you and your boyfriend. “i don’t see any but i have sum up at the house,” he said before nodding in the direction of the door.

slightly pervy! bo who steps aside for your boyfriend to check it himself. “you gotta be joking,” he frowns, looking at all of them. “it’s only a couple blocks, we could walk,” slightly pervy! bo adds sharing a glance between you and your boyfriend. your boyfriend gives you at look, as if wanting you to add your thoughts but you’re too busy looking at the tools on the wall to even care for the conversation.

slightly pervy! bo grins at your amusement before looking at your boyfriend who gives him another sharp look. “i guess we could walk,” he groans.

slightly pervy! bo who hadn’t realized it was getting dark until the three of you began your walk. you and your boyfriend walked slightly behind him, allowing him to lead the way.

slightly pervy! bo who can’t help but over hear your whispers. “sure you trust this guy, sweetheart?” your boyfriend whispers, to which you reply, “he was really sweet to me earlier”, probably with a smile.

slightly pervy! bo who hasn’t realized how bad he needs you until you speed up a bit to walk side by side with him half way into your walk and ask his name. your big eyes making his grin turn into a half smile. “curious, aren’t ya? how ‘bout yours first?” you are quick to nod and give him your name to which he gives his in exchange with grin.

slightly pervy! bo who’s slightly surprised when your eyes light up and you tell him how cute his name sounds.

slightly pervy! bo who hears you repeated it over and over again, and who can’t help but think about how it would sound when you’re begging him to cum.

slightly pervy! bo who hears your boyfriends say, “thinking about something?” but doesn’t pay it much attention until he looks over to find him speaking to him. slightly pervy! bo only gives your boyfriend a grin before shaking his head, looking down to his feet with a even wider grin then ahead, “only gotta couple more steps to go.”

once at the house, slightly pervy! bo offers the two of you a ride back down and you’re boyfriend’s hesitant but you’re quick to take him up on the offer and get in. to no surprise, your boyfriend doesn’t follow, and says he needs to use his bathroom.

inside the house, slightly pervy! bo points the man upstairs and explains where the bathroom is before heading to get the fan belt.

slightly pervy! bo who hears a loud scream from upstairs as he makes his way to the front door. hoping you hadn’t heard from outside.

slightly pervy! bo who closes the door behind himself as he leaves the home, grin spread at seeing you still sitting in the car.

slightly pervy! bo who slides himself into the car with you and who gives a simple excuse to why your boyfriend hasn’t come out of the house yet. even though he knows his brother has probably already waxed his face clean.

slightly pervy! bo who’s not surprised when he catches the way you rub your arms, trying to get warm. “ya cold?” he mumbled, making you look towards him and nod. you watch as he raises his arm and sits it upon the top of the seat. you share a glance between the open space and his face, clearly unsure.

slightly pervy! bo didn’t understand what had changed since he and your boyfriend had left. maybe you’d heard the scream, he slightly frowned at the idea. he wanted to keep you. “i don’t bite… too hard,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten your heart. he could tell you didn’t understand the jokes but you don’t allow it to shy you away from his warmth.

slightly pervy! bo who watches you move over and allow his arm to wrap about you. he feels you relax in his touch as your sweet smell takes over his senses. “you’re sweet,” you mindlessly say, moving closer to him. he lets out a chuckle, looking over at you in disbelief, “sweet, huh?” as if you knew he was looking at you, you look at him with a light smile. “yeah.”

slightly pervy! bo doesn’t try to hide the glare he gives your lips. “might really have to keep you,” he mumbles to mostly himself. the lingering tension that the both of you don’t shy away from leads bo to lean in.

slightly pervy! bo who finally meets your lips in a kiss. lips greedily kissing you deep and rough. you whine at how rough he’s kissing you but it isn’t a complaint. “bo,” you whine, hoping he would hear you through his kisses. “can i?” you ask, hand rubbing at his leg. “come on,” slightly pervy! bo responds, and you straddle his lap.

slightly pervy! bo who, once his cock is free, allows you to slide him inside of you. you rock your hips a bit, trying to adjust before going any faster but he doesn’t acknowledge that and grips your hips, moving you up and down on his cock. you yelp at the sudden slam of his cock.

slightly pervy! bo who allows you to get on top and ride him but doesn’t let you fully take control. his hands gripping at your hips as he controls how slow and fast you move. “fuck.” his eyes watched as you moan out, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“bo, think i am gonna cum,” you mull out, hands gripping his shoulders. “gotta wait,” is all he said, his pace not even remotely slowing as he begins bucking his hips up into you. you whine but obey him, continuing to take his cock.

slightly pervy! bo who loves the feeling of your cunt clinching onto him and your whine begging him to cum. “please, bo. really needa cum,” you moan. he’s close, really close. “go ahead, sweet thing,” he groans, hand going to your face to make sure you look at him as you cum. he fucks up into you, groaning as your pussy cum all over him. the clinching of your cunt milking him dry as he cums deep inside of you.

slightly pervy! bo who feeling you move up and down on him while your coming down from your high, enjoying the feeling of him inside of you.

 2024 kausstar.

𝓴aus. this has been my drafts since july 17, 2023 soo please ignore the smut.

Vincent: how's married life?

Y/N: it's good, but bo got really drunk and tried to set our marriage certificate on fire.

Vincent: WHAT?

Y/N: he said 'good luck tryin' to return me without a receipt!'

Vincent: why am i not surprise..

jealous slashers~!✧

With Michael, Brahms, Jason, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Thomas Sawyer, Sal Fisher, & Patrick Bateman

tags: gn!reader, jealousy, creepy men, unwanted attention/touching, uggestive and mature themes, gore/blood, violence, canon typical behavior, billy x reader x stu poly, rob zombie!mikey, I know Sal isn't exactly a slasher but he's my baby and needs to be included

Alexa, play Love to Die by the Slashstreet Boys

Michael

Rest in Peace to the poor, stupid man who thought it'd be a good idea to mess with the Shape's partner, and Michael had witnessed it all. How this man shoves you into an empty alleyway, the clatter of your groceries falling. The guy doesn't get much more than a few bruises and claw marks when Michael's knife slices through the back of the man's throat, protruding from the other end in a splash of blood. The Shape watches you wipe your bloody face off, not doing much but picking up three of your four fallen bags and tugging you into his side.

Brahms

Absolutely not. Brahms is fuckin' seething from his safe space sheltered behind the walls. Heavy breathing muffled by the porcelain mask, he watches with wild eyes as some idiot decides to break into the mansion whilst you were sleeping, and proceeds to hold you at knifepoint, effectively pinning you to the bed in what little nightclothes you wore. The unwanted guest and you are certainly going to know when Brahms is upset. There's banging on the walls coming from every direction that leaves the would-be burglar panicked and you slightly more comfortable.

"You're not allowed to be here," comes the eerily childlike voice Brahms has perfected. He crawls his way out from behind the large antique mirror. "I'll make sure you never come near them again." With a sudden slam, Brahms downs the intruder with a lead pipe repeatedly bashing the object until all that remains was brain matter and gooey blood. He drops the pipe with a huff and collects you into his arms, the cool porcelain biting onto the heat of your chest.

Jason

As the protector of the surrounding forest, Jason is always watching. He's omnipotent, he sees all. He seems to know where people are at all times and he can sense when you're in distress. Your shared cabin door left ajar sends his blood boiling and his heavy footfall increasing as he approaches your home. Barging in, Jason's pale eyes lock onto you and your assailant holding you by the throat. His thunderous steps are quick, slicing through the man with his machete and proceeds to lift him up while still pierced with the blade. The man gurgles, arms weakly reaching behind him in attempts to claw at Jason. All attempts were futile. He tossed the body to the side before he gently frets over you, his large hands soothing the fingerprints tarnishing your throat.

Billy & Stu

Rather snake-like the two will wrap themselves around you (they adore your personal space) and stare down whoever else demands your attention. Billy's arm hooks around your waist and Stu wraps himself around your shoulder, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "Is this guy bothering you, baby?" Looking like a shark that's tasted blood in the water, Billy's eyes grow more wild. He's already making a mental note of who and where this guy lives. The guy raised his hands in defense backing down the more the two stared at him, walking off completely.

"We're gonna take care of him, doll," Billy promises, kissing your cheek. Stu cackles lightly, tongue sticking out. They would strike tonight.

Vincent

There's no one Vincent trusts more to watch over you when he can't than his own two brothers. He had his hands full, turning Dalton and Wade into wax people. Nick and Carly were proving to be hard to get a hold of and there was still another tourist that needed to be taken care of.

But then Bo is telling him that the person escaped and he doesn't know where you were. His two worst fears confirmed. Vincent is soon on a wild hunt, trying to find you anywhere with Bo hot on his heels. He soon locates you, passed out with a bit of blood on your head. Your eyes slowly open as he touches your cheek, catching you as you wobble into his warm embrace. He shares a look with Bo who nods.

"I've got you, brother. Keep them here with ya. Wait til I'm back, ya hear?"

Bo

Out in public, he's all cordial and kind smiles. Especially if this is an intended victim. Some random person putting the moves on his partner is a huge no-no and one Bo doesn't take lightly. That person just warranted themselves a for sure death sentence and Bo isn't feeling too kind, so perhaps he'll drag things out, yeah? Touch what's his and you got what's comin' to ya.

"Can I see, baby? That bastard leave any marks on ya?" Bo strokes your shoulders, blue eyes drifting over your frame like water. He has every intention of marking every place that person touched, no matter if you tell Bo the guy only grabbed your arm. Once he has his mind set on something, he's gonna do it.

Lester

Unlike his older twin brothers, Lester is actually pretty chill. Especially in comparison to Bo. He doesn't think much of the people he's helping get into Ambrose knowing full well it's their final destination and Vincent and Bo will take care of things as they always have. What he doesn't like is some dude making a pass at you right in front of him. Can't he see the engagement ring on your finger? It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes as the small group heads towards the mechanic shop in search of a fan belt.

A familiar hand on his arm calms him down instantly. He turns to you and musters a weak smile as your hands slide around his torso from behind, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. "Y'alright?" Lester nods too quickly and unconvincingly, giving you a quick kiss. "Yeah, darl', always."

Thomas

Your partner is not unlike a bear, watching with wild eyes as one of Hoyt's new catches clasps onto you, their nails digging into your arms, and pinning you to the barbed fence. The cry of pain you let out has Tommy barreling towards you, chainsaw revving to life. A deep snarl echoes behind his mask and he wastes no time cutting down the poor soul with a single swipe of his motorized saw. Tommy turns it off and picks you up in his large arms as gently as he can. With his masked cheek leaning against yours, he carries you back towards the house. Mama Luda Mae will take a good look at you.

Sal Fisher

Honestly Sal isn't one to get jealous. He's pretty level-headed and understanding in most situations. He respects your choices and he's not gonna step on any toes or do anything drastic; Sal isn't a monster. However, if he sees some guy make a creepy pass at you and clearly overstep your boundaries, he won't hesitate to swoop in, looping his arm around your shoulders. His sharp blue eyes staring at the man from behind his prosthetic mask.

"Do we have a problem here?" His voice is cold, lacking any interest in what excuse the man finds. Sal's main focus will be on you, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin. His main priority is to get you away from this sicko and would totally call in reinforcements from his brother Larry if need be.

Patrick

A jealous Patrick Bateman isn't a good scenario for anyone. Especially not with his deteriorating mental state. He trusts you explicitly, with his thoughts, ideas, and recreational hobbies that most would find distasteful. So when a colleague of his gets too big for his britches and unabashedly begins to flirt with you in his presence, Patrick finds it difficult to keep his boiling bloodlust at bay. The heat of his anger is getting to his head, the fierce emotions only swelling well it's clear how uncomfortable you look in that man's company. He must see to put an end to him quickly.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"Are you alright, my darling? That man surely didn't know his place, did he?" Patrick places a hand at your back, guiding you out of the office party. "Let's get you home and into a nice hot bath, hmm? I'd rather not taste that swine on your lovely skin."

Lester Sinclair: enjoys the taste of plain carbonated water

Bo Sinclair: hates plain carbonated water and hates Lester for enjoying the taste of plain carbonated water

Vincent Sinclair: hasn't had a glass of water since he was 17 (lives entirely off of chocolate milk and orange juice)

Me: I watch house of wax for the plot!

The plot:

I love this

Saviors - Sinclair Brothers x F!Reader

Warnings: abuse but not from the Sinclairs, murder, language used against reader, Bo being out of character. Fluff, let me know if I missed anything.

A/n: this is possibly the second longest one-shot I've ever written besides petals and bullets. I hope you all like this one.

...

You, your two friends, well they were technically your boyfriend's friends and said boyfriend had decided that driving from California to Florida to go to Disney world would be cheaper and way more fun than flying. What a dumb idea that was. Your clock read just after midnight and you've made it just forty miles out of Baton Rouge when your back left tire blew on your Volkswagen minibus. 

"Fuck," you moan out as you gently pull to the side of the empty road.

"What? What happened?" The sudden jolt from the blow tire woke everyone including your easily irritated boyfriend, Ben. 

"I think we blew a tire so I pulled over," you say un buckling your seat belt just as you turned the key in the ignition. You open your door, the Louisiana air is sticky and wet. Of all the places to break down it had to be here. 

You stop next to your back left tire and inspect it, a rusted nail sticks out of the tire as it slowly deflates. You begin mumbling swears as you open the back of the minibus searching for the spare you are more the positive you replaced when the front tire blew six months ago. 

"Fucking damnit!" You place both hands in your hair giving a frustrated tug. 

 had already gotten out at this point and was standing next to you, his voice making you jump. 

"I asked you if you had put the spare back in, god do you always have to be so stupid!" He slams his fist against the side of the minibus. 

His anger makes you feel small, if there hadn't been people in the bus he would have punched you instead of the bus. 

"I-I could have sworn I put it in," you say barely above a whisper. 

"Yeah? You thought? Well you didn't and now we're stuck out here in bumfuck Louisiana!" 

"Hey, what's going on?" Rebecca rubs the sleep out of her eyes. 

"Y/n forgot to replace the spare tire and now we're stranded here til morning when another person probably comes down this road." 

You look down ashamed, reaching out to grab the camping gear and flashlight. You head off the road and just want to set up camp and sleep. You've been the only one driving for the last couple of days. 

"Come on let's just set up camp so we can all sleep and hopefully get help in the morning. 0 on, let's find level ground." You don't want to make Ben any madder than he already is. 

Everyone gets out of the van and follows behind you with sleeping bags and backpacks, in case someone stumbled upon the bus and decided to have some sticky fingers. 

Once you're all settled, you finally turn in for bed. Ben, still angry and annoyed, decided to sleep next to Rebecca and her boyfriend, leaving you alone near a tree stump. You let the tears flow freely from your tears. None of you noticed the truck slowly driving past with their lights off or the man that got out and took the spark plugs.

…

When the sun begins to rise you peek your eyes open and see everyone has already begun packing up camp, it seems they forgot to wake you. It's silent. Not the friendly enjoyable silence, no this silence is awkward, as thick as the Louisiana humidity. 

You walk back to the minibus, packing everything up as they all wait for a car as they lean up against the bus. Maxwell, Rebecca's boyfriend, opens the side of the bus to sit half inside and half out. 

You decide to turn the keys in the ignition to at least getting the inside of the bus cool. But to your surprise the ignition does turn over. 

"What the fuck is wrong now," you groan getting back out of the car and popping the hood, "where the fuck are the spark plugs?!" 

You slam the hood shut and walk over towards the trio standing outside the bus. 

"Who took the spark plugs out of the bus?" 

"What are you talking about?" Ben asks giving you an annoyed look. 

"The sparks are missing, did you guys hear anything last night?" You ask again looking around the three of them. 

However just before you can get your answer a truck comes round the bend. It's an old beat up pick up. The driver slows and stops just before you guys. 

"Well howdy there? Whatch y'all doing out here so early in the mornin'?" He's a scrawny man with a cute dog in the bed and you think that makes him all the more attractive too you. 

"Oh well we-" you're cut off by Ben. 

"Well my girlfriend here, she blew a tire and seemed to forget to get a new one. She also says she's missing her sparks but you know how women are with cars," he says roughly slamming his arm over your shoulder, making you flinch. The stranger's eyes flickered to you softening for just a moment before going back to a stoic look and staring at Ben. 

"I see well, I can take you to Ambrose, it's just 12 miles up the road, my brother owns a mechanic shop and he should be able ta help yall with yours problem. Only this is I only got room for two of ya's," he says rubbing his chin. 

"Why doesn't Y/n go? It is her car after all," Rebecca says looking at you. 

"I'll go too right babe? Can't have you going alone," Ben says, squeezing your shoulder painfully, you have to bite your lip from crying out. 

And so you and Ben pile into who you all found out to be Lester Sinclair. He was the youngest of three. 

"So where y'all from anyway? Don't seem like locals round these here parts," 

"Oh well-" 

"Were from California, driving cross country this summer to go and see disney world" 

You stay quiet now and just look down at your lap. You don't feel like getting Ben angry once again.

Lester looks at you from the corner of his eyes. Planning on ways to make your boyfriend shut up and let you speak for once. He had this overwhelming sense to protect you. Don't go thinking that healing black eye and the way you flinch any time that no good asshole would touch you. 

that. But why did yall choose to drive and not fly? Seems like you'd saved some time flying?" 

"Yeah well it seemed fun at the time until this one had to go and get the tire popped" Ben says annoyed. 

"Well shit, I forgot the roads flooded. We may have to go the long way." Lester says stopping in front of the road that leads into Ambrose. 

"Oh that's OK! We can walk from here, that way you don't have to worry about going an extra way," you say, smiling up at him with a genuine smile. He smiles back at you but doesn't miss the scowl on your boyfriend's face.

You wave at Lester after you've both exited the truck, you give jonesy a rub behind her ears and head over to the little step stones that have taken place in the washed out road.

"Come on, the faster we get into town the quicker we can get the shit we need and on the road again," Ben said, grabbing your arm and pulling you hard. He drags you all the way to the mechanics shop. He knocks on the front door. 

"Hello! We were told you were open and could help us!" Ben yells. 

…

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Bo was on the back roads talking with Lester. 

"She needs our help, he doesn't treat her right neither. She's got a healing black eye and every time he touched her she flinches, and you should've seen her, she's finer than frogs' hair split four ways," 

"Hmm, and you say she's got two other with 'er? Well bring them back to Vin and he can take care of them while I go and help our visitors. You grab them sparks and hide them in the house, right?" 

Lester shakes his head headed back into his truck to get Rebecca and her boyfriend. 

…

Back at the shop, Ben was getting impatient and you were bored. 

"I'm gonna go explore, since I'm just a woman and wouldn't know anything about cars right?" 

"You don't have to be such a bitch you know," he huffs. 

"Well you are such an asshole, after this all over and we're in Florida, I'm going to drop you all off and head home, beauce this," you say pointing between yourself and him, "is over. For good this time." 

He back hands you hard enough to draw blood from your lip that his fist made contact with.

"Fuck you Ben!" You screech, "find your own ways to Florida you fuckwad" you walk away up towards the house of wax wanting to clear your mind and maybe have a good cry. 

You are amazed when you make it up the hill to the beautiful building, only realizing as you got to the front that the architecture was made entirely of wax. You gently pushed open the door and stepped inside, giving  yourself your own guided tour of the house. 

Everything was beautiful and the little intimate details intrigued you. 

"These look so life like, the artist must have such magical hands," you say in a hushed voice as though you were in an art museum and let's be honest here you really were. 

Hiding in the shadows, watching you as you gushed on and on about his art work was Vincent Sinlair, the middle son of the Sinclair brothers and the artist behind the house of wax. 

His eye stared at you as though you were a beautiful piece of art that needed to be taken care of and looked after. He silently followed you around like a lost puppy. 

Once you finished admiring the art work and decided enough time had passed and Ben more than likely got the parts needed to get back on the road. You walk towards the exit when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You peak over your shoulder and you are more than certain you saw a flash of long raven hair. 

…

Back at the mechanic shop just after you had left Bo's voice was heard booming from inside.

"Hold your fuckin' horses, I could hear you banging like all hell!" He opens the door with a scowl on his face, Bo hopes to see you there as well. With the way Lester was talking you up he was excited to see the beauty that was you. But alas you were there, only you annoyed looking boyfriend. 

"Whatchu need?" Bo asks, folding his arms over his chest. 

"My girlfriend's minibus has a popped tire and missing sparks. We need them as soon as you can give them to us. And I can make the pot sweeter," Ben says, pulling out a $100 from his wallet. You see Ben, Rebecca and Maxwell were silver spoon babies, you were lower middle class. 

"Well I'll be damned. As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I'll have to check in our basement to see if we have them. Why don't you come with and we can work out the price," Bo says, making room for Ben to come in through the door. Ben walks in further into the shop not paying any attention to where Bo had moved. Rookie mistake. Bo hits him over the head and Ben is out cold. 

When Ben wakes he is secured to an old barber chair under a grate in what he assumed to be the mechanic shop. He's gagged and wiggling trying to escape. He's screaming but nothing comes out. 

…..

When you make it to the mechanic shop, you try the door and are happy to see it's finally open. 

"Hello! Is anyone here? Ben! Where are you, you still here?" You ask out walking around, fingerings all the different products on the walls. 

"Why hello there darlin'" you jump at the sudden voice behind you. You are greeted with quite the sight, a gorgeous man with a trucker hat and mechanic overalls.

"H-hi! I um, I'm looking for the guy I was with, he came here to get a new tire and spark plugs. Have you seen him?" You can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Curse your affinity for getting nervous about gorgeous men talking to you and making you lose all sense of yourself. 

"That one fella with the permanent annoyed look? Yeah, I sent him on up to our house, we didn't have the right type or sparks here so I sent him up there to get help from my twin Vincent. I could take you up there if you want or you could wait here?" He says while taking his hat off and running his hand through his damp hair. It makes him look all the more attractive to you.

You smile at him, "is your brother the one who made the art in the house of wax by chance?" 

"That he is ma'am, that he is. He's our own lil family artist," he says showing off his award winning smirk, now how about we get you on up to your friend? Maybe even get some food in yall too. You must be hungry." Just as the words left his mouth your stomach growled causing you to blush and wrap your arms around your noisy tummy. 

You smile at him. You've smiled more around these two strangers than you ever had in your entire relationship with Ben.

"Of course, please lead the way," you follow after him and to his pick up truck, this one much nicer than the one you previously rode in only hours before. The silence on the drive to the house is silent but peaceful. 

You get a better peak at him as he drives, he's attractive and knows it. His hands are big and veiny. Suddenly you are having thoughts about how they'd feel between-woah there y/n you have a boyfriend. Wait wait no you don't you broke it off with the fuckwad. Yes continue with the thought of his fingers in between your thighs as he moves them in and out of your- 

"Doll?" Bo lays his hand on your shoulder startling you. 

"Yes?" The blood rushes to your cheeks and head almost making you dizzy.

"I said we're here now," he says while fixing his hat and getting out of the truck. 

"Oh." You peep out as you follow him into the house. It's beautiful, it's very homey and definitely has the feel that three grown men live here. 

"I'll get started on some lunch for you" he says walking to the kitchen as you stand awkwardly in the living room. 

There are footsteps heard coming up from what can be assumed is the basement. When the door opens you are met with a beautiful sight, a man appears sporting long black hair, half up in a mini bun. He's wearing a wax made mask. He was beautiful. 

"Wow you are beautiful," you say out loud. 

He head snaps towards you and he then signs 'Thank you' you smile, you took a few ASL classes in high school. 

"Are you the one who made all the beautiful sculptures in the wax museum?" 

'Yes, did you like them?' He signed again.

"I didn't just like them, I loved them! You have such a beautiful talent!" 

'Would you like to see more?' He signs, 'I have just finished one at the workshop I have in the basement of the house of wax,'

"I would love to, but I'm only in town until my minibus is fixed. It would've been a great honor to see it though!" 

Just ask he was about to reply, Bo is calling you both to the dining room table. 

…

The 3 of you are enjoying a wonderful meal when it's interrupted by the front door being slammed open. All three of your heads look towards and see Ben. 

"B-ben!" You stand abruptly. 

"Get the fuck away from them y/n! They are a bunch of freaks!" 

Neither man speaks as they are stiff as a board.

"What do you mean? They've been nothing but nice to me this entire time," you say staying put. 

"That one locked me up in some torture device!" He says pointing to Bo, causing you to look at him, "I think they're the ones behind the missing sparks and blown tire," this causes you to slightly step back. 

"Now darlin' it ain't what you think, ok maybe it is," Bo begins looking at Vincent for help. 

"Get the fuck over here now, so help me. Don't be fucking stupid!" Ben says. 

"What did you say?" You look at him. Without you even realizing, you subconsciously grabbed the knife on the table. You don't even realize what your doing until you hear Bo say "don't go at the throat or head. Vinny needs those intact." 

"I am so sick of you abusing me and belittling me! I am so sick of it!" You scream. 

"You wanna stay with the freaks you crazy bitch? Fine you do that but dont you ever forget who owns you." He says stepping back away from the three of you. "You don't own me, you've never owned me!" You land the first blow in his stomach twisting the blade. You don't stop until Bo is pulling you off of him. Holding you close to his chest as Vincent wipes away the tears that have begun to fall. You're free, you're finally free of the abuse. 

"We'll always protect you doll, always." Bo says as he holds you close and kisses the top of your head.