this is a side blog to my main @glitzytooth (you can follow but its just a place where i reblog random stuff)
This'll be my spot for any and all house of wax thoughts i have, cant promise this'll stay super acive as my hyperfixation comes and goes. currently super inactive other then the one or two reblogs
Bo is actually a really great cook but everything he makes looks like shit for some reason. It tastes great and isn’t like under or over cooked or anything but he can’t get the presentation right (also he will plain just microwave stuff a lot anyway).
Vincent is a garbage tier chef I’m sorry. This man needs someone to make sure he eats instead of just having wax for breakfast I s2g but!! But!!! If you are baking cakes you can trust this man to make it super pretty and lovely. Just don’t trust him with the rest of it bc he has no idea what he is doing
Lester is a BBQ man and can totally roast stuff over a spitfire out camping. He also is the best with spicy food (Bo’s is sputtering and wiping his eyes and his face goes so red he looks like he’s asphyxiating and he probably is. Vincent is suffering in silence.)
Is it wrong if me to want Lester Sinclair to pull me into a hug after he has a nightmare and cries in my shoulder about it???
Or for Bo to wake me up in the middle of the night just to make sure he didn’t kill me because he had a dream about it???
Or Vincent to come to our room and sit next to me and brush my hair and kiss me on my temple because he dreamt that he turned me into wax while he was sleeping at his workbench???
Themes: Predator/prey, some fear play, some dom/sub
I probably should have let this sit a bit longer so I could proof-read/edit, but I was too excited to post it! Feel free to comment any advice/mistakes and I will probably edit at a later date.
Your heart raced as you ran through the rooms of the house of wax, dodging the wax figures and various other decorations as you went. You could hear the heavy footfalls of your pursuer, but they seemed to be getting fainter behind you. Out of breath, you ducked behind the old piano in the next room you turned into, feeling safe enough to rest for a few moments as the footsteps that followed you were barely audible. You tried to catch your breath as you crouched in the shadows. Despite being mostly hidden, it was hard to will yourself to stay there; the adrenaline flooding your veins made you want to continue running. You realized suddenly that you could no longer hear the movements of your pursuer. Holding your breath, you carefully listened for any indication of his whereabouts. The sudden, sharp rap of a boot on the wooden floor almost made you cry out. The sound had come from just beyond the doorway to the adjacent room. You wasted no time in scrambling to your feet and out from behind the piano, and just in time because as you did so the figure of a tall man emerged from the doorway. Your heart leapt into your throat as he lunged for you, just barely missing you. You could feel the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt.
You continued running, and the steady sound of heavy footsteps resumed behind you. There was something about the way he chased you, never quite running, but keeping a swift, certain pace. Like he knew he wouldn’t have to work too hard to catch you. The thought sent something of a jolt through you, equal parts fear and excitement. You knew you wouldn’t be able to run for much longer, but you felt a little thrill at the thought of the chase finally ending.
Seeing the door to the basement ahead of you, you made a beeline for it. It opened easily, and the hot air from the workshop below washed over you. You quickly stepped onto the stairs and closed the door behind you. It wouldn’t slow him down much, but you were still committed to prolonging the pursuit even that little bit. Even as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you could hear those confident footfalls starting down after you. Running through the basement, the heat from the fires caused sweat to run down your back, and you could feel yourself beginning to slow. Faster than you expected, you reached a dead end. You quickly turned to run back the way you’d come. He was already there, swiftly moving in to corner you. You tried to duck under his outstretched arms, but this time he was expecting the move and grabbed hold of you. You barely had time to cry out before you were held firmly to his chest, one hand moving to cover your mouth.
You squirmed in his grasp, a futile attempt to free yourself from the tight hold he had on you. Your heart pounded in your chest as he tightened his grip on you slightly. A shiver went down your spine as you felt his hot breath on your ear, and you grasped his wrist as you again tried to twist your way out of his arms. With a low grunt, he twisted you around and slammed you down onto a nearby work table. The surprise of the impact gave him a moment to pull two wicked-looking daggers from a pocket, holding them up for a second so they flashed in the dancing firelight. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the sharp blades, although you knew he wouldn’t hurt you with them. You felt your heart skip a beat as he slammed them into the table on either side of you. It took you a moment to realize you were unscathed, as you heard the material of your shirt rip as the blades pierced it. Instinctively, you reached down to insure that you were unhurt. A large hand stopped you, quickly pushing your hands over your head and holding them there by your wrists. A soft gasp left you at the move.
Vincent was usually so gentle during your intimate moments, often checking in with you and letting you take the lead on many things. You loved that side of him, seeing how he looked at you so tenderly, and how he touched you like he was worried you’d break under his hands. But there was a few times you’d seen him going after victims, and it put some thoughts in your head . . . Seeing how he was so unrestrained, and how easily he could throw most of them around. When you first brought the idea up to him, he’d been a little hesitant. He didn’t want to treat you like he would one of his victims, and he was worried about being too rough with you. But after you’d spent some time easing him into it, you could tell he began to really get into it as well.
It was almost a complete shift in his personality, the way he would manhandle you during these moments. The ease with which he held you down only served to amplify the desire you felt burning in your stomach. With his free hand, he made quick work of your pants, throwing them to the floor. He took a few moments to take in your appearance, flushed from both exertion and excitement, and now partially nude on the table before him. He tilted his head as he regarded you, and you squirmed slightly under the scrutiny of his gaze.
Unzipping his own pants, he pulled out his sizable cock, already hard and dripping pre-cum from the tip. It was clear the chase had excited him as much as it had you. A surprised yelp left you as Vincent grabbed your thighs and pulled you down the table towards him, lining his cock up with your entrance. Usually he would take the time to prepare you, and make sure you were ready to take him, but it was clear he wasn’t going to do that this time around. You let out a moan as he roughly pushed himself into you, feeling yourself stretch around his girth. It burned a little, but the mild pain only added to the pleasure you felt as he entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting into you, setting a fast pace that had his hips snapping against you. As you felt each stroke hit deep inside you, he reached up to hold your hands above your head again.
You loved the feeling of him holding you down or against him as he fucked you. The feeling of being so helpless underneath him made your knees go weak, and you could tell over time that he’d grown to love showing off his strength with you. You let out a choked moan as he hit a spot inside you that made you see stars, and he made a noise like a growl as he roughly fucked into you. You arched your back up into him as he hit that spot consistently, unable to hold back on whimpers and groans of pleasure. The way he just held you there, thrusting into you so roughly . . . like you were just a toy he was using for his own pleasure. You must have clenched around him at the thought, because a second later he groaned into your neck. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, but he kept up the same hard pace as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Suddenly, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. You could feel the warm spurt inside you as he came, and the feeling sent you over the edge with a cry. He thrust into you a few more times, but they were gentler, almost lazy as he spilled the rest of his cum inside you.
A few seconds later, he released your wrists. You could feel the ache where he’d been holding them, and you knew you’d most likely have bruises later. He moved his hands to gently cup your face, looking into your eyes with a slight worry. You smiled at him to let him know he hadn’t hurt you too badly, still feeling blissed out in the aftermath of your climax. You pulled him in for a kiss, and you could feel his relieved smile against your lips.
“Let’s go get cleaned up . . . and I reckon I’m gonna need a new shirt.”
Need a psychologist to explain to me why Bo Sinclair has had me in a chokehold for over a year. I would hate that man irl. I would beat him to death for fun… I need him carnally
