I HOPE I'M NOT TOO LATE FOR THIS!! But all three brothers reacting to fem!reader just needing a silent hug. Her arms slide around their neck and she buries her face in their shoulder and just sighs. Just needs to stay there and not talk for a little bit. Pretty, pretty please you write them so well! - hellpmeimobsessed
You know, I sure needed this the last couple days so it's a pleasure to spin it up for all of us. 💚
Bo smiles at you as you approach him, but the smile fades as he catches the expression on your face. "What's the matter, darlin'?" You shake your head, wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his chest. His arms rest loosely around you as he cranes his head to try and get a look at you. "Y'alright? Can I--" You mumble his name and squeeze him to shut him up. "Okay, alright." He hugs you to him, rocks gently back and forth. "Do you--" You make a discouraging sound. "Okay. I gotcha." He kisses the top of your head. "'S alright, baby, I gotcha."
Vincent looks up from his work when you walk in and say his name softly, a bit sadly. He watches as you approach, scanning your body language, the look in your eyes. He sets his tools down immediately and when you reach for him, he is already reaching for you. He pulls you to him, tucking you securely in his arms, his cheek nestled against yours. Like always, you know you don't need to speak; he understands you.
Lester waltzes in, a ball of energy belying his age. His face falls when he sees you, or more accurately, sees the sorrow on your face. "Aw, sweet pea, what's wrong?" You shake your head. "Alright, c'mere. C'mere." He slips an arm around your waist, guides your face into his neck. "It'll be okay, bug." Gently he squeezes the back of your neck, runs his hand up and down your spine, nuzzles your head. "It'll be okay. Promise."
Can I give a kiss to all three of the boys??? I am in desperate need of some lovin ?
You absolutely can and in fact we all need this thing so here we go:
Often during your weekends at Bo's, you awaken to find him already up and busy. This morning you wander out of the bedroom and he is curled up on the couch, peering at a Clive Barker novel through his reading glasses. He gets defensive every time he puts them on around you even though you've never said a word about it. A mug of coffee sits curling steam up in the sunlight. He looks up as you walk in and flashes you that heartbreak smile. "Mornin', pretty thing." You shuffle over, take the book from him, climb into his lap and take his face in your hands. You kiss him good morning, warm and sweet the way he likes his coffee. His chin is scratchy with morning stubble and if you didn't know better you'd think you were still sleeping, still dreaming, too golden and comfortable in his affection for it to be this real and tangible thing. His thumb plays at your waistband, a thought, a promise. When you break the kiss he immediately steals another, and another. He pulls off his glasses and with his nose pressed to yours, he maneuvers you onto the couch alongside him, wraps you in his arms and hikes your leg over his hip. "Was thinkin' 'bout takin' you to breakfast," he says, cupping your cheek, "but maybe we oughta stay in."
It isn't hard to hold still, not when it's for him. All you have to do is sit back in your body and watch him, the way he coaxes smooth, supple curves from hard, unyielding blocks of wax or clay or marble or wood. He sculpts with his whole body, his whole self; even when he moves nothing but a single fingertip over the details of a face his entire form is taut and electric and alive in that way only artists get to come alive. You wish you could see his face. Whatever expression he wears as he works must be sacred, because you are nothing short of devoted to the idea of it. His gaze flicks up to you and your heart skips a beat. He measures, looking back and forth from you to this other, nebulous, almost-you being carved into existence. He wipes his hands on a towel and approaches you and halfway across the distance something changes in his stance. The creative frenzy slips, twists, softens and heats up at the same time. You can feel it; surely he can too. "You're doing marvelous," he signs, "I just...." He trails off as he reaches for your face, two fingers under your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly up and to the right. You aren't sure where to look. You meet his eye and there is something more than a creative passion glowing there. "Lower your gaze?" he asks, and you do. You inhale sharply as his hand lowers into view, holding his mask. You whisper his name, his first name, and his thumb caresses your cheek, and you close your eyes all the way and let him guide your lips to his and it is so much more than you ever imagined, the way he kisses you with unmistakable reverence, the way every color you've ever seen is now bursting behind your eyelids. You don't move, you can't move, you're his model, his muse, but his hand settles gently on your waist and you can't help but arch into him and it occurs to you that maybe this is what he has really wanted to do in all this time spent guiding your limbs into position and adjusting the angles of your face. And you decide then and there that you'll let him capture you however he wants, in paint, in clay, in his hands, in his bed.
All the other rangers one by one have retired to bed, but not you. And not Lester, never Lester. He's the first one in and the last one out, always. It's what makes him a good leader. But he's got ulterior motives tonight and so do you. When the last man hauls himself out of his seat and bids you goodnight, and the crunch of his footfalls disappear into the night, you get up and round the fire to the vacant seat beside him. He smiles that puppy dog smile at you in the light of the dying embers and cranes his head back to gaze at the stars above the treetops. "Nice night, huh?" You agree, take his hand and give it a squeeze. "Y'all ready for tomorrow?" The two of you will be striking out for the north side of the nearby mountain range, scouting out which trails need maintenance and which can be left for another year. You'll have two weeks of uninterrupted time together, just you and the stars. You didn't even bother packing your own tent. You answer in the affirmative and he drops his gaze back to you. "Should be a...pretty good time, I think." If you could, you would follow him back to his cabin, snuggle up beneath the quilt and count the hours together. But you'll have to wait just a little longer. "Sleep well, sugar bee," he says, "see ya in the mornin'." You lean in for a goodnight kiss and he meets you in the middle. He tastes like s'mores, all chocolate and honey, and his mustache tickles your lip. The air is crisp and he is warm and the crickets make it sound like you're the only two people on the planet. Even though it is late and you've already said goodnight, you sit and share each other's breath for so long it necessitates another round of goodnights when at last you pull away. He is reluctant to drop your hand as you leave the glow of the fire and you know without saying it out loud that you will both lie awake in your cabins, counting the hours, looking through the ceiling at the stars.
Alright friends, the moment is here! This blog hit 1,000 followers this week and that is batshit crazy nonsense! Thank you all so much for reading my silly little imagination games, it means so much to me that you all enjoy them as much as I do.
So without further ado, I am handing my account over to the middle-aged men of the hour to take your questions and comments and dirty little thoughts! They're your dad's best friend, your art history professor, the boss at your summer job. They are mowing the lawn shirtless, offering to show you how to change a tire, wearing long sleeves and shorts on a cold Saturday morning. They are gray around the temples and soft around the middle and they just want to make sure you get home okay, baby girl.
Please specify who your ask is for, Bo, Vinny, or Lester. Feel free to submit on anon! I'll leave it open for the next week or so and respond as submissions come in. Thank you again for being so lovely and I hope you enjoy chatting with these sweet and sexy Southern gentlemen!
AAAAA OMG PLS SUMMER INTERNSHIP WITH THE DILFS ALSO CONGRATS!!! Your writing is absolutely fantastic and you deserve the world!!!!!
Thank you so much!! For this one I decided to do HCs because it was easier to organize my thoughts.
Bo is into you immediately, but he really tries not to be forward about it. He doesn't want to be inappropriate, but he's his usual charming self. If you show interest and flirt back, he'll really ramp up the flattery.
Bo will happily impart his mechanical knowledge, but you will have to remind him that that is the real reason you're there. You did not in fact take this internship to twirl your hair and giggle at him even though that is an important part of your job duties.
He'll invite you to test drive a vehicle with him and wow, he took you directly to a beautiful overlook and it just happens to be sunset. And oh, what's this? There's beer in the back? And it's cold, too. Y'know that shirt looks real cute on you. He's got a feeling it's not the shirt, though. Might be you're just cute.
Vincent is no stranger to suppressing his desires so even if he takes an immediate interest, you will not know it for weeks. He will absolutely not make the first move without you first exhausting yourself sending him signals. And even then, he is only 2% confident he's read them correctly.
Your creativity is part of what draws him to you and he will go above and beyond to support you and foster your artistic growth. He is very cautious of overstepping or overshadowing you, because that was done to him by his mother. So he will always approach a new technique or perspective by asking you, "Do you mind if I show you?"
Catch him getting lost in the task of sculpting or painting or sketching for several minutes and then looking up at you suddenly with this shining, electric energy. That's when he is the most forward with you, when he is reminded that you're not so different and you speak the same language and maybe, you might understand what he means when he says he wants to reduce you to brushstrokes and fingerprints.
I am sorry but Lester is oblivious. I don't make the rules. He is the daddest of all the dilfs and he just does not see how into him you are. You could strip down in front of him and he'd have his eyes squeezed shut and his hand over top and be apologizing for...well, something, everything, he's not sure what.
Lester is the most task-oriented. You're here to work and learn and clock internship hours, by golly you're gonna get 'em. If you are invested in learning the ways of the woods, he is beside himself with enthusiasm to show them to you. The way to his heart is through his work and the things he loves and the knowledge he has.
The day you spot a pair of elk in the brush before he does is the day he realizes he might love you. He didn't even hear them or nothin' but you did. You're looking at the elk, marveling at the way something can be so massive and yet so delicate. Lester is looking at you, wondering how he's spent countless hours beside you covered in dirt and smoke and he's never once realized how magnificent you are.
To all three of my lovely middle ages brothers: What do you currently do for a job, and why?
Owner and operater of Bo's Garage at your service. That and I also keep an eye on you, baby girl, which is a full-time job in itself. One I do for money, the other for...more tangible benefits. ;)
-Bo
I have the privilege of making art every day, and people enjoy it well enough that it pays the bills. I help out at the college sometimes too when they need me. Da Vinci said "A beautiful body perishes, but a work of art dies not." I suppose you could say I am chasing immortality. And I also suppose I just like making art.
-Vincent
I work out in Shoshone National Forest, kinda by Yellowstone? I'm a ranger there! I love it 'cause we got all kindsa critters we don't got back home, elk and lions and such. The swamp's my home but if these mountains get my bones I wouldn't be too fussed 'bout it. Some o' the wildest country in the States out here. Good place to get lost if y'know what I mean.
Peaches & Strawberries. What is this fucking thing. Bo: does something unspeakably cute and previous. My heart: fucking melts. Reader: actually fucking says “You’re so fucking cute.” with what I imagine this expression *-* Me: OH MY GOD, SAME, GIRL, SAME. YOU HAVE SUCH GOOD TASTE OH MY GOD. WHY IS HE SO FUCKING PRECIOUS. You literally turned this vicious sadistic murderer into a romantic fucking fluffball. It's lile I'm watching a reboot of Halloween but it's now a romcom.
Okay here's the real thing. I believe with all of my heart that the Sinclair brothers are products of their upbringing and environment and of all the slashers, they have the least genuine need to kill and the greatest likelihood of moving past that part of their lives if given the chance.
That's not to say they aren't sadistic, fucked up, and don't enjoy what they do! I just think with the passage of time and some hefty working on themselves, they could live decently normal, well-adjusted lives and only sometimes commit brutal homicide as a treat.
PLUS THEY FUCKING DESERVE A LITTLE PEACE AND HAPPINESS AND LOVE OKAY. PICKET FENCES AND FRESH FRUIT. AND ME.
What is your ideal date with your s/o? What would it consist of and for how long?
You, me, 'n a bed. My bed, your bed, truck bed, flower bed, whatever. I'm a simple man. Long as you're there and I'm there, whole world could end, 's fine with me.
-Bo (obviously)
I'd very much like to go somewhere spontaneous. Could be around the corner, or somewhere far away. The world is so big and there's so much I haven't seen. I would love to have someone with me to share it with, finding new favorite places and beautiful things. A day spent exploring, or a weekend trip--that would be perfect.
-Vin
Y'ever been fishin'? 'S not for everyone, but I like it. We could sit back and watch the clouds, don't matter if the fish bite or not. 'S just nice to just sit for a while. And there's a diner on the way back from the lake, they got the best milkshakes you ever had. Perfect way to spend an afternoon.
-Les
So Tumblr ate your ask right in front of me. Literally I watched it do it. 😡
So to answer your question, whose organs did dilf Bo sell to afford his cute little house?
He bought it for a wink and a smile and fixed it up himself, of course. It was in an awful state of disrepair but this man has never met a dilapidated building he couldn't make somewhat presentable.
I'd love for the brothers to be able to sell the property Ambrose is on to give themselves a little new life fund, but unfortunately, I think the sheer volume of evidence buried there makes that impossible. But at least ten years' worth of victims' cars, jewelry, wallets, and other property? If they were smart about it, they could offload that evidence and it could be fairly lucrative.
