#reader x bo sinclair

[bloodskipper]

Bo Sinclair x reader | Hell or High Water | Pt. 1

This takes place in current day purely so I can insert some more modern technology references. But don't worry! - Ambrose is still closed off as fuck.

I'll put in warnings as time ticks on and crazier shit starts happening. Please let me know if there's anything that you would like me to include in this.

-

You sighed as you locked your mobile phone with one hand, lazily dragging a stray french fry through the ketchup on your plate with the other. This was the 3rd Tinder date who turned you down in the past week. You had driven your motorbike almost an hour just to meet up with this person. And for what? A quick fuck? A partner? Something more?

You weren't sure. But you were fed up with trying.

You had been in relationships before, but you always conveniently happened to be the most generous person in the relationship. Partners of your past were moochers, scumbags, losers - they never had a nickel to spare but always an excuse. You were in your late 20s and you were too old to be playing those kind of juvenile games.

Right?

Signaling the server over, you handed her $25.

"Baby, you only had bacon and coffee," the woman mentioned, looking blankly at the money, insinuating a mistake on your end.

"Then the rest is yours," you said with a warm smile.

The woman squinted, still eyeing the money, then snapped her attention to you. A different look came over her - one washed with palpable concern.

"You're not from around here, are you, baby?" she said in a hushed tone.

"Why? People from here tip like shit?" A forced, breathy laugh escaped your lips while you locked eyes with her. The woman's expression remained lined with the same concern. You two shared an unsettling gaze for several seconds before she flatly asked, "Need directions?"

You blinked a few times. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that.

"No, thanks. I've got it on Maps. It looks like I'm about 45 away from where I need to be."

You pulled up the directions on your phone, showing them to the server. She pulled up her reading glasses from the chain around her neck, squinting through the thick-rimmed cateyes.

"Yep, looks like you're headed the right way, sugar," she said, letting her glasses fall back onto her chest. "But, I gotta say, once you hit the interstate, signal starts getting real fucky. You need me to write down where you're goin'?" She raised the pen from her apron pocket and flipped open a blank ticket.

"Oh, no, thank you," you interrupted. "I'm sure I'll be fine. I've got a portable battery on me to charge my phone." You waited a moment before mentioning, "I'm meeting someone."

"From this shithole county? Baby, you gotta be out of your mind," she playfully scoffed. You glanced down at the table, smiling and nodding knowingly.

"I guess I'll never learn my lesson, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, slowly turning and pocketing her tip. "I guess some people never do."

-

This is just the intro - let's get in the spirit, set the stage! I haven't written fic in so long, it's great to get back into it. I love Southern USA settings so much and Bo Sinclair is extremely daddy.

[august-bleeds-red]

A brief idea thought of during conversation with @thesightstoshowyou  ❤️ Bo’s ma never taught him it’s rude to spit. AFAB!Reader x Bo Sinclair. NSFW under the line (warnings: dubcon, humiliation kink).

The mechanic’s handsome face twists into a grin of cruel triumph. You back up as far away as you can, but the basement wall proves as unyielding as the will of the man advancing on you. It’s been four days since he locked you away in this unforgiving dungeon, but the fear in your stomach stabs as fresh as though it were the first. His hands find your wrists, pinning you against the soiled mattress beneath, his firm body weighting you down at the hips. You had tried fighting back in the beginning, but lack of food and meagre water rations have left you wilted, your limbs sapped of any remaining strength.

 One hand shackling both of yours together, his hard fingers find your jaw, squeezing tightly until your teeth bite into the softness of your cheek.

 “Look at me,” he says. You can’t – you can’t look into that face again, not after everything he’s made you do. It’s too cruel that such beautiful features could conceal something so rotten. “I said look at me,” he growls, and you force yourself to meet his gaze.

Sky-blue eyes stare into yours, and he smiles with mocking glee. The flat of his palm strikes your cheek and you jerk to the side, tears forming as the stinging slap reddens your skin.

 “Stupid fuckin’ bitch,” he sneers. “Should’ve gutted you days ago. Guess you’re just lucky your cunt feels so good, huh?”

 He releases your face and deftly unbuckles his belt, one-handed. If the haunting polaroids pinned to the wall are any indication, he’s had more than just you to practice this routine on. You give little resistance as he knees your legs apart, your lack of underwear providing easy access to the service you’re expected to provide. You wonder dazedly where your panties went – did he keep them? Another twisted souvenir, symbolic of what else he’s taken from you.

 You squirm – more on instinct than with the hope it’ll achieve anything – when you feel his cock at your slit. You’re dry, but a quick application of spit provides enough lubrication for him to force his way inside to the hilt.

 “Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he says through gritted teeth, fingers clamping on your throat and causing your jaw to drop in search of air. He spits viciously onto your tongue before starting to thrust into you, the scrape of his cock against your unwilling pussy stinging sharply.

 “Filthy little slut, ain’tcha?” His face is buried in your neck, hot breath on your ear, sharp teeth grazing your skin. “Such a fuckin’ whore for my cock.”

 You whimper as his words ignite something in you – something you never want to understand or even acknowledge. Your pussy moistens, his thrusts meeting less and less resistance. Perhaps it’s automatic suggestion, or your body simply trying to make the experience less traumatic, but whatever it is, the pleasure you feel at his words sickens you.

 “Don’t think I can’t feel that,” he says. “You love it. You love being fucked like the dirty cunt you are. Like a God-damn bitch in heat.”

 His voice, so deep and virile, rumbles through your body like a roll of thunder, jarring your nerves and dragging a faint moan from your lips.

 “That’s it, slut,” he gasps, hips slapping against your thighs, the sound raw and erotic in the small room. “Take it, take my cock. Your cunt’s mine now, gonna use you how I fuckin’ want. . .”

 He’s almost tripping over the words, his thrusts becoming rougher, less even. You know he’s going to cum in you, going to mark you as his property again, and there’s nothing you can do about it. When his movement finally freezes, and you feel the warm gush of fluid inside you, you wince and turn your head aside in shame.

 He wipes himself off on a rag and fastens up his pants again, adjusting the trucker cap that never once left his head. You don’t try to sit up, don’t even attempt an attack as he unlocks the door. You belong to Bo Sinclair now – he decides your fate.

 “See ya later, honey,” he smirks down at you. “Don’t wait up.”

 The door closes, leaving you in darkness. Curling into a ball on your side, you reach down between your legs and, using his cum as lubrication for your fingers, finish yourself off. As your orgasm washes over you, you try not to think of him – his voice, his hands, his face. Try not to fantasise about the man who has trapped you here.

 You fail.

[slasher-lovers-blog]

Bo Sinclair with a short thicc S/O

Bo with a short thicc s/o!

_______________________

When Bo sees you, he falls for you, but of course doesn't show it

He teases you about it but shows you that he loves your body in many ways

He would be protective over you

Bo would pick you up to mess with you and swings you around

If you ever feel down, he sure gonna make you feel loved

__________________________

Hope you like this! 🥺❤

[bloodskipper]

Bo Sinclair x reader | Hell or High Water | Pt. 4

WARNINGS: mentions of a gun

Before long, you reached a quiet little town shrouded by lush woodland, its isolated location offering a mysterious air.

"Welp, here we are!" Lester said before stepping around his truck to open the door for you.

"Oh, thank you," you said, trying to sound enthused. The state of the place seemed fine, but empty. No cars, no people, just silence. Empty as hell.

"Where is everybody?" you asked taking a few steps forward, taking in your surroundings.

"I reckon it's a holiday weekend, so most folks wanted ta git out, ya know?" Lester unloaded an old rusted shotgun from his truck bed and casually slung it onto his back. You were too busy thinking about the situation you had just gotten yourself into to notice.

"Makes sense," you replied absentmindedly. Despite being modern day, every part of the town seemed to be stuck in the past. A gas station with 1950s-style pumps, a church with a God-scraping steeple, and...

"...oh shit, that's the House Of Wax?" you blurted in surprise.

"The one and only!" Lester began walking up the sidewalk and you quickly followed suit. "You heard of it, then?"

"Yeah, of course! It's supposed to be amazing, like Madame Tussaud's or something. Those mannequins give me the creeps, though."

"Well, they ain't so creepy when you git to see 'em every day."

"You see them every day?" Your brow furrowed. "You a tour guide there or something?"

Lester chuckled. "No, no. Not quite. Say, it's after closing, but I think we can still get ahold of Bo."

Oh, right, you thought. Finding the concert had basically left your mind due to the shock you experienced earlier.

"Let me just grab a payphone, here," Lester stated shuffling up to a phone booth. Even that was retro.

"Need any change?" you asked, stepping closely behind him.

"Oh - no, thank you kindly," he replied with a smile. "Ah, if you don't mind, I'll just be a minute." This smile was different - there was something in his expression that felt forced, implying you should step away and give him some privacy.

"Sure, no problem."

Deciding to bide your time, you began to wander down the sidewalk a bit further. Ambrose was a typical small town, complete with a pharmacist, diner and even a little dive bar. The bar was the only shop lit from the inside, so you decided to step in and take a look around. As you cracked open the door, a harsh hand fell on your shoulder. You did a 180 and nearly fell into the bar's front door.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to frighten ya," Lester said, his hands raised, palms facing you.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you panted.

"I just wanted ta letcha know Bo is gonna meet ya down at the gas station. He says he'll be there in 5."

"Phew!" you breathed. "Sounds great. Should we start walking that way, then?"

"I hate to tell ya, Y/N, but I got a couple things to tend to at the homestead. But you remember where the station is at, right?"

"Sure, around the corner and on the left." Your mouth went dry. This stranger was willing to drive you to where you needed to be but he wouldn't walk you down the road?

"You got it."

Lester swiftly removed your motorbike from his vehicle and walked it over to you. He patted his pockets until he found a pen and a scrap of paper and bent over his knee to hastily scribble his number down.

"If ya need anythin' else, just holler," he said, thrusting the note into your hand. He stepped into his truck and started the engine.

"Well, thanks for all your help!" you shouted over the rumbling.

Lester merely grinned at you in his side mirror, waved, and drove away.

There you were, alone again. At least you had some understanding of where you were now.

You headed towards the gas station, still amazed by Ambrose. How had you never heard of this place? Your older relatives had mentioned the South's famous House Of Wax, but that was the extent of your knowledge. It seemed so eerie, having an entire building full of fake people. Yet, your interest told you to learn more about the House and the town it was located in.

[]

After parking your bike outside, you carefully opened the door to the gas station. Bo still hadn't seemed to show up.

"Hello?" you called, waiting a couple seconds. No answer.

You walked up to the counter and rang the bell. "Hello?" you asked again. Nothing.

As you were reaching the end of your rope, you grunted and promptly headed towards the door. Your hand grabbed the handle before you heard a voice behind you.

"Excuse me? Need a hand?"

-

Ok so we're finally getting into Bo stuff. Sry but I love anticipation. Enjoy!