I'm In Love With a Slasher- Slasher/Reader OneShots

But I'm YOUR Pain In The Ass! - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair/Female Reader

 
 
Trigger Warning: 

Foul language, anger, bleeding, wounds, misdirected anger, degrading, sexual talk, sexual content, period
 
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You hobbled along as Bo kept on and on and on ahead of you...absolutely furious . "When I tell you to stay put , you stay the fuck there!" He shouted as you leaned up against one of the wax buildings with a half-relieved, half-agonized sigh. "You coulda got your dumb ass killed! And for what?! I had the situation under control! I was gon get 'im!"

'No, ya almost got yer neck sliced wide open ,' you silently retorted with a huff, looking back at the trail of blood that followed you from the woods. Your lips pressed into a thin line...you knew your fingers were numb...and you felt weak… "Bo?" You spoke softly, voice barely there next to his boisterous yelling.

"What?!"

"I think I'm bleedin' out," you pointed out, leaning more heavily against the sturdy wax. He instantly shut up. "You gon help me...or let me sit here 'n die?" There was a flash of panic in his eyes when he finally noticed the blood trail.
"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" He shot back at you with a scowl, marching back over. But there was no heat in his voice this time. No real anger.

"But I'm your pain in the ass," you couldn't help but chuckle at the familiar banter as he picked you up bridal style and started picking his way back to the house with a quick step. You kind of faded in and out on the way there, lulled into that sweet comfort of darkness from the gentle swaying and the heavy lub-dubbing of his heart in his chest. You could hear him steadily mumbling and griping all the way there...but there was a certain note of alarm beneath his words that let you know he wasn't angry ...but worried. Upset, maybe. It was hard to tell with him, sometimes...

"Nnmmmm!" That was Vincent's voice...why did he sound so perturbed..?

"What?" Bo started and paused. "Dammit! Wake up (Y/N)!" He jostled you, a hand coming to none-too-gently pat your cheek.

"Mmmmnnn," you moaned, slowly blinking your eyes open at him. Vincent was hovering over his shoulder, peering down at you. "...Tired…"

"You can't sleep yet, so wake the fuck up ," he groused, nudging Vincent so he'd move back. Once he did, he was walking with you again, upstairs.

"...Try...ing…," you mumbled, all warm and close to passing out again. "...hard…"

"Well you better try harder!" He snarled, the banging of a door startling you. Next thing you knew, you were sitting upright in a hard chair, Bo standing over you. You blearily blinked up at his scowling face. "Don't. Move." He shook a finger at you before walking off.

"Like...I can ," you chortled, coughing at the end. Your head dipped down, and you jerked it back up with a groan. It was torture trying to stay awake when the world was swaying and dimming and doubling all around you...but you managed it until he came back with an armload of medical supplies, dumping them out on the bed nearby. Then he left and came back with a big bucket of water and a hand towel.

"Alright...Imma strip you bit by bit," Bo announced, coming over with a knife. You eyed it as he tugged at your shirt. Ssshhhrrriiippp! He started cutting the shirt off of you with the knife. "Find these little bastards and bandage them up." You couldn't help but giggle...just a little . His fingers were on your ticklish tummy, peeling the fabric away, and...he just called your wounds 'little bastards'. For some reason, that was hilarious to you…