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."
The way Vincent tortures himself over you and what to do with your attention is not short of a disaster in his brain when you add to the torment.
You wear things that are a appropriate for a learning or tutoring environment but the more he thinks about you, thinks about your smile when you see him, the more it seems like you come in specifically to tease him. You smile at him so sweetly, big doe eyes with dilated pupils, notebook in your hand and brain full of compliments for him and his art. You share his enthusiasm, marvel at his work and praise him for being so creative. You tell him to his face that you know he worked hard to get where he is and that he lights a fire in you--(in a couple different ways).
After the instructing period is over you ask him for a little one-on-one before you leave. Your family isn't partial to you practicing your skill at home. You ask questions about how your anatomy looks in this drawing, how your charcoal looks in that one but all Vincent can think about is how close you chose to sit. You don't sit across you sit next to him while you flip through your art book. Your hair and clothes are adjusted so the side of your neck close to him is exposed. It's unmarked and open and waiting. Your hair smells nice and your clothes are a little looser than he remembers--you're adjusting your bra strap a couple times across the half hour.
If you're the type to show off those pretty thighs too, some low riding shorts or a skirt that doesn't quite meet your finger tips. He's taller than you and especially while he's shoulder to shoulder with you, looking down at your paper he can see teases of down your shirt or your cleavage--not that he looks on purpose...the first time. He's not sure how to interpret your signals. Someone who is genuinely interested and inspired by his art, talks to him and listens in turn, makes efforts for him--he'd be out of his element. A pretty thing like you? Interested in him? Like that? He thinks he's misreading things.
"Can I show you?" Like you said, he asks rather than simply doing but the way you slide your hand under his for him to take the pencil you're holding has him brushing against your soft skin. Your hands are softer than he thought they'd be but his brain is focused on something entirely different...you're smaller than him in a lot of if not all aspects, your hands included. You forced him to realize it when his entire hand covered yours without even needing to stretch his fingers that far, the size difference nearly makes him forget what he wanted to show you originally. Of course it would be too easy if it stopped there.
"I'm sorry for taking so much of your time, everyone else has gone home...but I just have a few more things..." using one hand to point at a specific art reference that he did and then back to your book. You're learning through him, forcing memory and skill through imitation and repetition, he'd be flattered if your hand you're using to stable yourself wasn't brushing against his thigh on the seat. By the end of it all, if your intentions weren't clear enough, you coax him into a talk. You talk about the river in the back woods, the wildflower field on the hill not too far away. You say you'd maybe like to go but it's not like you have anyone who'd go just to sit with you or draw with you, pushing the strap of your bag over your shoulder while you sigh in your seat. In finality you're ready to say goodbyes again, opening your mouth and closing it again. "I'll think about you--what you said tonight. Goodnight, Vincent, Sir." In the sweetest honey voice he's ever heard. It's not typically proper to call a mentor by their first name but Vincent really doesn't mind, especially if its said like that. Sweet, near loving.
-💙
Going through my inbox and how dare I deprive the people of this delicious Professor Sinclair meal. You got me thinking thoughts, Blue. 👀
I'm gonna be a lil stinker and tag @sugarpopss bc I know it's finals week babe, take a snack break. 😉
Do you think Vincent, or Dilf!Vincent has any accidental turn-ons? Putting your hair up to expose your neck, when you wear a specific one of his shirts, rubbing his shoulders or back? Or maybe a guilty pleasure kink?
Yes yes yes and yes.
Try to get him to name a body part he doesn't find attractive on a person. But the neck especially he really likes. Wants to kiss and bite and hold and squeeze.
Anything you do to indicate you're his, or he's yours, has him melting. Man didn't think he'd ever have that.
And oh boy, even if you've been together for a while, he is all about the guilty pleasure. The indulgence of being able to satisfy himself whenever he wants. The second he's even a little bit hornier than he can stand he's rubbing up against you, touching your hand and face and hair every chance he gets, pawing at your clothes, just waiting for the opportunity to pull you into some private corner and release that pent-up energy.
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.
Genuinely losing my McFucking MIND over how gorgeous dilf vincent is, I just KNOW that if I walked into a lecture and saw that man I’d have to turn around and take some deep breaths. I desire him carnally and you need to know what your dilf!Sinclairs stuff has done to me
I get it I get it can you even imagine let me share my vision. You think he's a sight to behold now, with the hair and the starving artist grunge--
Imagine him in his prime. He's gray at the temples. He's cut his hair to his shoulders and at this length, it's got more of a wave to it, you can see the resemblance to Bo. When he's in his studio, he's the same grungy art monster in baggy pants and shirts stiff with wax and paint (or no shirt at all because who needs clothes when there's art to be done and also I'm a whore).
But if he's on campus? Dark academia professional gothic probably a vampire daddy yes please. I think he still covers at least the right side of his face in public and he does it with masks that are intricate and gorgeous if still usually subtle and generally flesh-toned--sort of still trying to go unnoticed but if you do notice, you are doing double, triple, quadruple takes like you think you maybe just saw a fey creature.
He understands he can't blend in. He's over six feet tall and has a presence. He's in his fifties, he's sick of the constant shame and diminishing himself, and the world beyond Ambrose is much more accepting of eccentricity. He's still timid, he prefers to avoid going into public as much as possible, but it no longer paralyzes him the way it used to, and he gains such validation from interacting with young artists it makes it worth it.
Kslsjfkslsls I just love him and I want him to be happy and creative and thriving 😭 Bo you know you're the love of my life but I want to fuck your brother
Oh I would just LOVE to pick your brain about Dilf Vincent! The more I think about it the more obsessed I get 😩
What are your headcanons for him? 👀 I would literally read anything about him and you already write so good so I'm chomping at the bit for any tiny morsel
-🙊
Aww thank you!! Here are a few thoughts I've had in the context of my particular dilf Sinclairs AU (long story short, all brothers lived and left Ambrose). By no means is this my definitive ideal of dilf Vinny, just for this particular story. 🤗
His hair is shorter now, about shoulder length and streaked with gray. He's the same age as Bo obviously (around 50) but he looks younger, fewer lines in his face, less sun damage.
He makes art full-time as his primary source of income and has amassed a pretty significant following. He's known for being particularly reclusive and eccentric and does most of his public dealings through an agent.
Lives alone in a comfortable studio space. Rarely ventures out during the day. Does indeed venture out at night. 👀
Has become so sick of the weight of his shame that he is frequently maskless unless he's in public. He keeps to his home most of the time anyway, but it's a big deal to him to exist outside of the mask. He still has several and on bad days, he wears them even at jome. They give him...not comfort or relief...the support of familiarity, I suppose. He hates every second he has them on.
Where Bo has buried his hangups deep down in order to mask his Issues® and Tendencies™, Vincent has kind of done...the opposite. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.
In the context of AGAAS, Vince and Bo are not on speaking terms. Both do communicate with Lester on a fairly regular basis. And frankly...I can't say I blame Vincent on this one.
