Can I get something with Bo and the fem reader who despite the threat of death constantly tries to resist and fight with Bo? Perhaps doesn't even watch his language at all
Thanks anyway!
Warning: This oneshot is a lot darker than my usual ones. There is no fluff here. So be prepared for description when it comes to the infliction of pain.
Despite the fact that when a new person was brought down there, it was cleaned and had a hint of feminine perfume, there is a sense of dread and sorrow that permeates the semi-abandoned gas station. Bo has captured a young woman by securing her to a high chair that was once his, but is now for his favoured ladies. A woman whose obstinate nature and nasty language had taken Bo by surprise—qualities that would have killed anyone as soon as they fell into his trap. Nevertheless, for reasons she is unaware of, he keeps her around longer. Anyone who sees her behaviour would think she's a fool, which is what he believes when seeing her like this. The way she refused to back down is what would get you cut off from a story of a horror film.
The woman continued to scream venomous curses at Bo as he held her already bound down arms in frustration. He would have found this behaviour funny and even a little bit attractive if it hadn't been directed at him. Rather, his mind was struggling with the urge to immediately kill her and torment her for causing him a headache. He wanted this process to speed up so that she would eventually crumble and give in to the despair he sinnerly adored witnessing. He longed to watch her spark, her inner flame, flicker away.
"You're making it very difficult for me to not just stabb your lower jaw, you know that, right?" Bo grumbled as his nails were practically clawing at her skin. "It's like your begging to be harmed. Too much of a masochist?" Magically, her irises appear to be more sharpened than before. As if that thought, along with his self-satisfied smirk of his, disgusted her to her core. She was about to spat at his face, but Bo was quicker than she thought he was. So although he dodged it, there was this fury in his veins that made him raise his hand, no hesitation, and then brought it down, the sound of the slap echoing through the basement. The female's head snapped to her right, letting out a quiet whimper from the impact, as she tried to regain herself.
Bo's eyes narrowed, a flicker of shock at his own action, not that the girl had enough time to witness it. It was as if he recalled something when he did that, that he stayed silent and frozen for a short period, until his same exact hand reached out to caress her left check that he had smacked. For the first time since he had brought her here, she had gone quiet on him, neutral, unsure. It's not submission, more like allowing him to touch her without doing anything about it. It wasn't like he hadn't intentionally, including unintentionally, hurt her in the past. This one, however, was done with rage, and that did honestly put fear in her more than she'd like to admit.
As time stretched out, Bo began to wonder if he'd made a mistake, if he should have just gotten rid of her when he had the chance. The girl had unknowingly dragged out the worst in him, which says something, considering he's already a horrible human being in the first place. The anger wasn't the only conflicting feeling in him. There was something else bubbling inside that wanted to crawl out as well. Something more apathetic.
"You're a real firecracker, buttercup." Bo sneered in a murmur. His voice had a tone of sarcasm in it. "I've never seen anyone like you before. You're like a wild animal, untamed and... reminds me that you are mortal. We all are, but you- ... Everyone wants you gone." The female raised an eyebrow in confusion, the way he phrased that sounds like as if he's very familiar in the topic, nonetheless, only comprehending what it truly means when he speaks to her.
The victim was about to say something when she suddenly felt an odd pressure at her throat. It was firmly harsh. It surprised her since she hadn't noticed him moving at all. Too caught up with the thoughts of her mind that she hadn't realised that the southern man had let his hand wander there, to stare at her in such a bored manner as he was practically about to end her life force. To say that she panicked was an understatement. Her body looked as if it was twitching, when in reality, she was desperately attempting to escape his hold. As if a herbivore was still alive while being devoured on the spot. Its legs hit the ground and everything around it. Squeamish noises from her vocal cords were unhurriedly becoming quiter at the minute, and she believed it was the worst of it all. Not only dying itself, but it occurring painfully slow. Tears of pain came up to her eyelids as they spilt out from the overflow. He did not blink, not react. Body about to give in. She was the only thing that could be heard, her and the woods. Her and her decaying breath-
"Bo! Bo!? Are you still down there!? There's a new group lost in the woods, I'm going to convince them to come here, but I'm going to call Vincent before I go." Footsteps could be heard leaving the area as a car door opened, to then close in a moderately dense manner. The second Bo seemed to hear his youngest brother's voice. He had snapped out of it. Lester had saved her, the kindest Sinclair, had unintentionally ceased her death day. Bo mutters a curse, looking between the gully pot and the girl. He wiped his sweaty hands off on his overalls, ignoring her overall state as he looked at her in the eyes to say: “Do not give me trouble.” He taps her nose with his point finger, as if he was cracking an egg, then pivots. Leaving for the open door, he began to close it with only his left hand. His gaze was at her with his normal irritation, turning the key promptly. Making his way upstairs in a swiftly manner.
She shuddered a bit. It wasn't cold today. However, the whole act had made her inner flame lower than usual, as if it had been traded with wind. She didn't understand him, she refused to do it. All she wanted to know was that he was a psychopath who didn't deserve her sympathy or a second chance. She refused to be his plaything, a victim succumbing to Stockholm syndrome. The chair’s restraints are and will forever remind her of that, whether she does end up out of them or not. They’re so old, still so strong. If this chair had been here for years, what's to say someone would be able to give him a change of heart? It dosen’t eliminate the facts, Beaurgard Sinclair will forever be a monster. That's how he was raised and created to be, wasn't he?
Author's note: I feel as if, though lately my motivation for anything horror related has dwindled, it's not to say that I'm no longer interested in it, it's more of the fact that I have other intrests and currently my fixations are on those. So, if you feel like anything related to this has been posted slower than usual. It's because my motivation for it is not really around at the moment.
