#big sis bug🔪🖤

[early20sfailingplenty]

It's been a while, hasn't it?💔

As I was picking up my laptop from the repair shop, I got to thinking about how @darkestamralime 's Bo is portrayed. He's dark, he's so close to canon it hurts in the best possible way, he's very true to it. You were one of the very first people who got me into House of Wax, and we had many conversations about why Bo is the way he is and you helped me to overcome my fears just under a year ago (all that time already?🥺).

Your Bo is loving, he's brutal, he's human, he's soft in a really specific way which makes my heart ache, and then I got to thinking about you and how you love Bo, and then I got to thinking about how dark the atmosphere in Ambrose is. Darkness, love, softness, brutality, violence, a man who was never taught how to love or experienced it himself... All this thinking made me get a small brainworm; this piece wrote itself in my head on the way home. Finally got a chance to sit down and write it out!

I tried to pay homage to your Bo with my portrayal here; it's quite unlike how I usually write Bo so I hope you like it and you can connect with it!💖🫂(and if it doesn't satisfy the Bo cravings, then let me know and I'll happily write you something else!!!)

TW; canonical darkness (Bo's a hunter, I don't shy away), different portrayal to how I usually write Bo, violent imagery, child abuse mentions (canon compliant), talks of bodies as artwork & something to be proud of, anti-parental themes (canon compliant).

Word count: 993.

GN!reader, no coded language, "you" used, no "Y/N".

Dark footsteps overhead.

The steps are slow, measured, careful not to scuff the floorboards or press down too hard. Everyone sleeps lightly in this house, too used from years of hyper vigilance to be able to relax in their environment.

A childhood spent entirely on eggshells, corners potentially full of people waiting to bring them harm, has taught the now adults that they are never safe.

Especially when they dare to think they are.

The steps are rhythmic.

Heel, toe, heel, toe, a tiny pause between each movement. Emphasis on the toes, where most of the weight-bearing is safer. Lighter. He is not naturally a light footed man, but when he hunts, he does his best to mimic Vincent; the more dangerous of the twins and the deadliest Sinclair.

He moves cautiously.

Not hesitation.

Care. Planning.

Hunting.

You picture him then, head moving side to side, icy blues narrowed and a sinister grin on his face, an enjoyer of what he does. He thrives in the symphony of destruction he and his brothers have always worked so hard to compose, the screams of their victims serves as the welcomed background music to the work they carry on in the name of their dearly departed momma.

Her death was the best thing she ever did for them, and they thank her for it every day.

As he hunts for you, you track him. Ears straining against the still of the night, a ringing in your ears to accompany your pulse.

Uncomfortable. Unsettling.

His.

You track him across the living room, lingering by the pool table to finish off the beer cans he and his brothers cracked open that evening. Waste not, want not.

Creaking on the stairs. Coming up. One step at a time. He's not as quiet as he thinks he is; you prefer that to the way Vincent moves. Like a ghost. Only know he's there if he wants you to. Most of his victims die with the flash of a blade which looks more like lightning; dead are they before they hit the ground. Dead before they could register what killed them.

You picture wrists hanging gracefully by his sides, thumbs stroking along seams held together by sheer force of will. Much like the man who wears them. Without you and his brothers, he would unravel, much like those trousers. Coming apart at the stitches to look at himself, to really look.

Silence.

Your heart pounding in your head, fingers gripping your pillow tight as you lay in the dark, eyes wide open but not seeing anything. Too dark. He is coming. But you are unafraid.

You're grinning.

He is the hunter, you are the hunted, but you're both after the same thing. The same person. The same moment. Time has passed and roles reverse sometimes, but you are each other's constant and without each other, nothing would ever be the same. You arrived here on an accident, spared purely by chance, and it would take an act of the devil to tear you away from his side.

Not an act of god - there's nothing holy about this place. No one's going up. No one's going down, either.

Ambrose is a purgatory for the living as much as it is a graveyard for the dead. A museum of all those lives snuffed out years before their time, a collection of people who committed no crime quite like being in the wrong place at the wrong time, unknowing of what was to come until it already had.

The bedroom door opens and an imposing figure, darker than the pitch which surrounds you, steps into the room. You are unafraid, warmth building up in your chest as the figure draws ever closer, bending at the waist to toe off bloodstained boots and shirk off trousers, a shirt, leaving him in dark blue boxers.

Bare to you now is his skin and his heart alike.

Not a hunter.

Not a monster.

A man.

A show of trust is the way you deliberately stretch, nice and slow, and turn your back on him, letting him get comfortable in the space you leave behind. Your body heat protecting him from the chill of the night.

Arms wind around you like a boa constrictor, plush lips press to the back of your head, the nape of your neck, your shoulder, nosing clothes out of the way to reach more of you. Craving satiated, hunting turns to resting and he rests his head on the pillow, your hair tickling his face. He hums contentedly, burrows into your back as you shuffle across to meet him in the middle. Meet him where he is.

You reach for him and slide your fingers in between his, squeezing, squeezing, don't let me go. Please, please stay as much as I'm here, I'm here, it's okay. You tell him you want him there, you need him, without saying a word, and he hears you in your silences. Says it back in the way you feel him smile into the dark, his chest aching in that way only you can induce, crinkles up his nose to ward off the tickle, and he closes his eyes. Grants himself rest in the town which killed him long ago; all that is left now is for his body to catch up.

Or so he thinks. You disagree. He doesn't argue. The very limited world he knew when his parents were alive took him away from himself and he's never quite bothered to take him back.

One day, you'll show him. One day, he'll see.

Until that day, he lets sleep make his body heavy beside you, your bodies tucked so tightly together that not even a sheet of paper could get between you. He keeps his eyes closed, sinking, falling, lost and alone until Morpheus reaches inside him and once more guides him to your side, for nowhere can you go where Bo won't follow you.

[ajokeformur-ray]

What's wrong with bugs?? I kid. I kid 💕💕

Nothingggggg ~ I love bugs!!!!

Especially YOU, Bug! You’re my favourite🥺💜

[early20sfailingplenty]

Let's talk about you convincing The Boys to turn Ambrose into a cheesy kissing town for valentines day.

BUG, YOUR BRAIN!!!😍😍😍 I personalised this just for you mwah mwah <33333

This isn't a reader insert - 'Bug' used as name & reader described as having blue eyes.

---

"Y'wanna what?"

You blink at Bo, wondering where he misunderstood. "I want to turn Ambrose into a kissing town for Valentine's Day." You say everything again in exactly the same tone, your icy blues stubbornly fixed on Bo.

Bo scoffs. "No. Nu-uh," He shakes his head once, twice, thrice, "Not fuckin' happenin'."

"Why?" You grin at him, holding a cheesy Valentine's banner in your hands, "Scared I won't kiss you?" You're very clearly joking - even Lester chuckles from where he's sat whittling at the dinner table, but Bo's eyes sharpen and he steps into your personal space.

"The hell you won't!"

You've long stopped being afraid of anything Bo could do to you and you've been put through hell so many times that you don't even flinch at his growling tone or step back. You stay where you are and you barely - barely - avoid rolling your eyes. "Relax," You dismiss his irritation, "I'm kidding."

"Fuckin' better be," The bite in Bo's tone is gone and your own smirk begins to die down a little; banter is only fun if you both know it's banter. You hear the slight edge in Bo's voice, one tinged in desperation, and you understand what he isn't saying.

"Hey," you say quietly. reaching out to touch his arm in the space above his scarred wrist, "I was only joking,"

Bo nods, takes a deep breath and turns his face away from you, steeling himself. He's come so far in learning how to ground himself since you came to Ambrose many months ago. "So, a kissing town, huh?" That charismatic smirk is back in full blast, but you wisely say nothing about the slight glisten of unshed tears in his eyes, "Where'd ya' wanna start?"

You don't stop once you got started. The only places left untouched by the deliberately gaudy decorations you buy are Vincent's workspace underneath the House of Wax and the rooms in the home which are so out of bounds that even Bo didn't go in them and hadn't done ever since his parents had been murdered by him and his twin. His garage is sticker-bombed with pictures of cartoon lips and lipstick smeared kisses, his truck is full of pictures of you kissing him on the cheek, a look of fondness on Bo's face forever immortalised (it's his favourite picture of the both of you, for there's a smile on your lips, too), Lester's truck has the same treatment (and there's a picture of you kissing him on the cheek too, his smile so wide that it threatens to split his face in two), and even Vincent's truck is decorated as well. Vincent keeps the picture of you kissing him on the cheek in his basement, where he looks at it often.

The level of love which you have for the brothers is made very obvious once you're done decorating and though Bo acts like he absolutely hates it, the way Vincent voluntarily comes out of the basement and stays in the house with you and his brothers all day makes Bo's chest ache, and the way Lester hasn't stopped smiling for the better part of three hours makes him truly, genuinely happy.

And you... oh, Bug, no one else but you could do this for the brothers, for yourself, and though there's no kissing booth like there should be, it doesn't matter, because Bo's face has been kissed to within an inch of its life and your lips are a bit numb from all the pressure you've put on them to love on your husband, and his cheeks ache from all the smiling he's done and, fuck, what have you done to him?

"Jonesy!" You coo, ducking down late in the evening just before you go to take all the decorations down before bed, "You're the only one I haven't kissed today," Your wiggling fingers entice her over and she barks excitedly, which makes you laugh as you cup her face in your hands and kiss her so firmly on the forehead that Bo feels a genuine spike of jealousy.

"Hey, quit it!"

You ignore Bo in favour of giving the sweet girl more kisses, and Bo's actually counting them.

He'll make you pay the difference later between the number he's had today and the number Jonesy is getting, but for right now, Vincent's got a camera out, filming the moment, Lester is giggling, and his chest aches. Again. Because of you. Again.

You've wrecked him, Bug, and he fucking loves it and you.

[early20sfailingplenty]

Alright. TMI! When my periods are bad, they are baaaad. Debilitating cramps. Night sweats. Crazypants emotions. And the obvious, Aunt Flooooo. Why do I bring this up? Aside from personalization is honestly, I think Bo thinks his partner is kinda badass for just making it through most months. But when it's bad he's needed, desperately. You know he loves it! He loves they can't get all big and bad for him, they're needy for attention, and he gets to eat all the gross food he wants to because they have cravings. I just feel like all them boys would be great at dealing with it honestly. But I crave Bo. Hehe

Big sis!!!💗So, you know why I offered to write you a personalised blurb (👀), and I'M SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU!!!! You and Bo always flow so beautifully when I write the both of you and I'm more than happy about diving in once again! Hopefully this piece lives up to the last one I wrote you! And if not, please don't be shy about letting me know and I'll happily write you something else!🌸 I love you lots!

Been working on this for a while but I figured your birthday was the best day to post it!! (Hence my question about timezones...👀 didn't wanna miss the day!!!) Hope you're having a wonderful day (one as lovely as you or I'll square up to the universe!🔪) and some goodness!! You deserve it all and MORE!!!!💖

So, warnings! THIS IS NOT A READER INSERT PIECE; she/they pronouns, "you" and Bug used, talks of periods, blood, pain, taking unprescribed painkillers, strange emotional patterns, Bo is My Brand Of Soft™ (so you KNOW I made myself cry writing it😂), swearing, possessive language ("his Bug"/"your Bo" etc.), canon typical depictions of co-dependency between the beautiful and terrible twins.

Word count: 2, 153 (😳)

Every month, you dreaded the inevitable. Every month, you had to mentally prepare yourself weeks in advance to experience debilitating pain, night sweats, the cravings which changed every time you thought you had it satiated, emotions on such a rollercoaster that you wanted to get off the ride even before you were fully boarded, and the blood... who needed horror films, when you got to deal with a massacre in your underwear every few hours for days on end? God, if it wasn't for the fact that you experienced periods so you were used to it, Bo would wonder how the fuck you were able to stomach the sight of all the blood he and his brothers occasionally came home caked in. Sometimes, he still marvelled at how well you handled yourself when Aunt Flo came to visit... he could never fuckin' do it.

Shit, even if he could, he wouldn't want to. Neither did you, but you dealt with it anyway. A blank stare or a teary eye roll and a, "for fuck's sake" would be your only reaction before you took your stained clothes and sheets to cold water. No matter how well you prepared yourself, you were almost guaranteed to leak and to ruin at least two articles of clothing. You fucking hated it. You were a constant mess throughout, no matter what you did or didn't do to help yourself along the way. You were always able to get the majority of the blood out before you tossed the clothes in the washer to salvage the material from whatever your bare hands couldn't remove, and your intimate knowledge of bodily stains and how to remove them was just one of the many, many things Bo admired and appreciated about you. He had learned so much just from watching you take care of yourself, and he was a quick study. He could take just as good care of you as you could after just a few months of witnessing your periods and what it did to you; before, during and after the bleeding stopped.

So, in fact, could his brothers.

It wasn't unusual to find you curled up in bed or on the sofa for much of the time you were menstruating. Bo had taken to leaving your favourite blanket always slung over the back of the sofa for times like that; sometimes he couldn't - wouldn't - move you from the sofa to the bed for all the pain you were in. Sometimes it was best to leave you where you had found a comfortable position, even if, to the brothers, it looked extremely awkward. Still, when you were found there but stretching hurt you, one of the brothers would throw the blanket over you, adjust any pillows, and make sure that the pad of paper next to the sofa was updated with what medication you had taken to help with the pain - if you took anything - when you had taken it, and how long it took for it to kick in. The living room almost seemed to become an at-home hospital room for the clinical attitude with which Vincent approached taking care of you. If you voiced how unnecessary it was - for, indeed, he was known to be overprotective - then he would simply glare at you through his mask. A clear message to let him take care of you; he was going to, whether you wanted him to or not. It felt like being stabbed with a shard of ice to the heart, so you kept quiet. If Vincent was anyone else, you wouldn't have done, but you had learned to appreciate the... strange ways with which Vincent showed his love and support to other Sinclairs.

If you questioned his methods of self-expression, he would clam up so fast that you would never again be able to peek over the top of the walls built up so high within him that even Vincent had to stand up on the very tops of his toes to see over the broad edge. He was so much like Bo when it came to his emotional unavailability, among a great deal of other traits, or perhaps Bo was like Vincent in that way. It was hard to tell, even now, for their ways of taking care of you were so similar. They fed off each other, co-dependency fostered, festered, between them from so young a age that there could have been any other path for them but the one they had been on for decades before you had come into their lives.

No Sinclair was easy to read, and that was why love and gratitude hit you as hard as they did when Bo was sweet on you and took care of you. He thought that you were such a badass for being able to get through each month as it came; your periods knocked the absolute six out of you and it was all you could do to keep the space between your thighs and your clothes, bedsheets and anything else you touched clean of blood (it got everywhere), let alone handling your daily responsibilities and duties on top of your cravings, emotional whiplash, and everything else which plagued you as your body went through a mini birth to expel the uterine lining. It was amazing how you were able to function as if you weren't bleeding non-stop, and Bo couldn't help but to shake his head in wonder at you as you, yet again, moaned your way off the sofa to help him with something which he had already told you thrice was handled by him and his brothers. All he wanted was for you to rest, especially when it was so bad that you could only lay down, staring blankly at the television, tears rolling down your face from the pain despite the regular doses of painkillers which Vincent gave you.

"Would ya' quit movin' around? Y're starting to bug me," Bo's minute smile at his pun, just a small upward quirk of those sinful lips, died just as it was big enough for someone else to notice, because you looked rough and he so hated seeing you looking every inch as miserable as you felt. But, still, you were gorgeous, beautiful, and he loved you dearly. "Makin' y'reself hurt more, s'not right, darlin'. Keep still, yeah?"

Bo's hands hovered on either side of you, as if to stop you from getting up, but you were in too much pain to notice. When you needed Bo, you needed him badly, and he would lying if he said that he didn't love this one part of your period. Your need for him and for his comfort only increased, as did your dependency on his brothers to help take care of you, though you could and would take care of yourself; they just liked to support you and you let them because you loved them. If they overstepped, you told them. If they didn't do enough, you would tell them. You were very communicative; you had had to learn to be from too young an age.

You wanted Bo's attention more than anything right now, you needed his touch, his voice, his smile, his eyes, the very particular way he tucked your feet in with the blanket and made his way up your body by tucking you in at both sides at the same time, then making sure you were able to move around if you needed to, his hands delving under the blanket and searching for the heat pad, fingers rubbing at your belly as he did so. You needed Bo and he played into it as much as possible, not just because he needed to be needed by you, but also because he wanted to thank you, in his own way, for showing such vulnerability in front of him. It wasn't easy for you to be strong but it wasn't easy to show the true extent of your pain, either. You loved Vincent and Lester, you did, but you craved Bo.

It was the one craving you could never satiate; the more you had of Bo, the more and more you wanted him. It was a sweet torture, the most delicious burning, and he was aflame right beside you, for a flame shared is a flame doubled. Bo seemed to reward you for loving him by returning that love to you tenfold, especially when Aunt Flo, the callous bitch, was in town. She could give Trudy a run for her money for all the pain she put you through each month.

"Bo ~ " You practically whined as you lifted your arms up to Bo, as if to say, 'pick me up'. "Hurts." Oh, but even that small movement caused you pain and you winced, that frown Bo hated deepening on your face. Immediately, Bo straightened up and grabbed the notepad left on the side table, icy blues scanning the page to see when you last had some painkillers. Two hours ago, he could say with confidence, thanks to Vincent's meticulous and thoughtful record keeping.

"M'sorry, darlin'," Bo sighed, his lips turning down in a genuine look of sympathy, "Can't give ya' anythin' for at least another hour."

You shrugged. It wasn't the pain bothering you. It was the lack of Bo cuddles. "Don't want medicine," You held your arms up again and this time, Bo leant down, down, until he could gingerly wrap his arms around your middle from where you sat on the sofa, his chin resting on the gentle slope of your shoulder, "Want my Bo."

"Your Bo, huh?" The smug tone Bo was trying to achieve was utterly ruined by the more than obvious affectionate expression. He turned his head and pressed a series of kisses to the side of your face; starting at your temple and moving down to the corner of your jaw. "I got'cha, darlin', y'know I ain't gonna' say no. Not when yer' like this."

"Or ever."

Bo nodded in agreement as he eased himself down beside you, lifting an arm up so you could curl right into his side, practically sat on his lap. "Right." A pause and then, "C'mere, love, get in real tight. Make ya' snug as a bug in a rug."

Lester's fond chuckle in response to his brother's penchant for shitty puns (where else did Lester inherit his sense of humour from? The twins had practically raised him) coming from the other room made Bo smile, which in turn made your heart melt and you smiled, too, a sweet reprieve from the constant pain you were in. Seeing you relax into Bo's body made Vincent happy from where he was painting across the other side of the room, and sweet Jonesy, spread out on the kitchen floor, wagged her tail slowly as she took stock of all her humans under one roof together. Mama Vincent was her favourite, though.

You hissed in pain and Bo cooed. The sound was devoid of his usual mockery as his hand slid beneath the blankets, fingertips quickly finding and then brushing against the skin just beneath the waistband of your trousers. Your navel tingled with the ghost of his touch as Bo rubbed small circles into your skin, the pressure just right due to how carefully you had taught him to look after you; Bo loved you just as much as you loved him, and he was eager to learn, wanting to please, needing you just as you needed him.

"Shush, darlin', s'okay," Bo pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and let his lips rest there, as if his kiss could sink into your skin and ease your pain from the inside out. He certainly wanted it to. "Bo's got'cha."

He did. Come hell or high water, Bo would always protect you. And if he couldn't, well, he'd stay right beside you until whatever it was passed, even if that was your body carrying out a very natural and normal function. Especially then, for he so hated seeing you in pain. His Bug.

With that, he turned the television on, put the volume on low, and you fell asleep to the feeling of fingers in your hair, lips at your temple, arms and a blanket around you, the distant sound of a paintbrush over a canvas, the quick sounds of a knife whittling away at a piece of wood, and the quiet thump of Jonesy's tail against the tiled kitchen floor. You found your rest in Bo's embrace and as for Bo, well, his rage was stilled by your presence, but his nerves amplified.

Your birthday was coming up, and he had a ring in his pocket with your name on it. Quite literally; it was a personalised pre-emptive congratulatory touch from Vincent.

You and Bo were practically already married; what was making it official?

[early20sfailingplenty]

Is me. You know I want Bo. I'm just sick of being in gjus bed! I mucked up my leg. I can't really walk. Totally helpless. Can't work. Ack! 💕💕 Also, you need to sleep my sweet

Big sis!!!!! Hhhhhh I'm so worried about you; it's so shitty that you're having to go through this.😩Take care of you and know I'm here if you wanna vent or scream or chat or anythinggggg ~ 💖 And I always need sleep, but I manage!🥺💗

You want Bo? You shall have him!😉

Hey, Bug.

You n' I are so alike, huh? We ain't afraid of goin' head to head wit' someone else to protect ourselves, an' I always appreciate the fire you got in you. Never shoulda' had t'learn how to light it up, darlin', wish I coulda' been there to help ya' back then, though I'on know how much help I woulda' been, considerin' I ain't had a pretty life. We both got a temper, is all m'sayin', an' it makes things more interestin' for us, don't it?

One'a the things y're teachin' me is that there's a time an' a place to fight an' a time t'be quiet. Goin' in guns blazin' is more my style but I'll give it t'ya', lettin' it roll off ya' like water on a duck's back is sometimes a better approach, even when it leaves poison on the tongue. Gotta' swallow that shit down and put it somewhere else 'fore it kills ya'. S'another thing y'taught me; full o'gems, ain't'cha?

An' that's what I'm writin' this lil' note for, darlin', m'leavin' it on m'pillow so y'see it when y'wake up.

It ain't no secret that I got a bit of a limp sometimes, especially when the weather's turnin' a bit near the end of t'year or I've been workin' too hard an' I get how hard it is to stay in bed restin'. Between me an' this paper, I do it t'myself on purpose sometimes 'cuz I love the way you love me, Bug, even when you lecture the hell outta' me fer doin' it an' get that Look in yer' pretty eyes. Joke's on you - m'into that shit.

I know how to protect myself an' so do you, that fight you got is one of the hottest fuckin' things I've ever seen, but now's the time for quiet. You gotta' stay here in th'bed, darlin'. There's only one'a you an' I ain't ever gonna' find someone like you again. Hell, I wouldn't wanna even if I could; ain't no one fer me like you an' that's the way I want it. All y'gotta do is take care of yer'self an' I'll sort out the rest; ya' ain't totally helpless 'cuz y'got me an' I got you. Wouldn't last long wit'out you, darlin', an' we all know it. S'only fair I take care of you but 'specially when y're sufferin' like this. Fuckin' hate seein' you in so much pain, wish I could take it all away. Maybe if I hold you tight enough...

An' listen, even wit' all this soft shit, don't think I ain't put trips in doorways where y're not s'posed to be so's me and m'brothers know where y'are. I left a bell on the side table so if y'need somethin', Vincent will hear ya' hollerin' and get'cha what y'need 'til I make it back.

Sorry I ain't there to see ya' wake up, darlin', y'look warm an' cosy right about now. Shame I gotta' leave ya' but I gotta' run some errands in town wit' Lester. I'll be home real soon, darlin'. Left the remote, some food, pills and water on the bedside next to this note, should tide ya' over.

Bo.

[early20sfailingplenty]

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUG

PLEASE YOU'RE MAKING ME DROP ALL MY UWUS🥺😭🥺😭💖

You're so important to me, genuinely. You're always there for others, so kind and wise, you give lots of advice and tough love where it's needed, you've taught me MUCH about setting and voicing boundaries, and you've taught me a lot too about myself and the world. Your Bo is amongst my favourites and I wouldn't be in the community without people like you in it to encourage me.🥰I'm 100% rooting for you to have EVERYTHING you want in the world and MORE.

All my love to you, Big Sis!💖

[early20sfailingplenty]

[early20sfailingplenty]

I DON'T KNOW WHO TO GUSH OVER FIRST, BUG OR BO🥺🥺🥺

BOTH ARE GETTING SQUISHED IN HUGS THOUGH MWAH MWAH💖

[early20sfailingplenty]

Look all politics suck. But at least in some countries they pretend to give you a choice. Not England. I know that! And I know Tories are basically like English republican/conservatives, right?

Politics are stupid. Bo Sinclair is my leader!

Bug!!!!😭Pretty much, yeah!!! The overall climate in the UK is just. TERRIBLE. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with it so tbh I only really check the news once every few days; anymore than that and I just can’t/won’t handle it lmao.

It really is stupid :(

YOU’RE SO RIGHT THOUGH OMG!!!! At least Bo, y’know, does what he says he’s gonna and takes care of his family🥺

[early20sfailingplenty]

I know too many things to have too much speculation.

I hwadcannon you're a fun person to spend the day at a mall with. We could share a Cinnabon

Wahhhhhh Bug🥺🥺🥺🥺 I'd love that sm hhhh good luck pulling me away from the coffee stands 🤣 I'd buy you many things bc you deserve the best!!

[early20sfailingplenty]

BIG SIS BUUUUUG😭😭😭😭😭😭

In conclusion, I love you MORE!!!!!!💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

[early20sfailingplenty]

Buuuuug beloved😭😭😭😭😭���🥺🥺🥺🥺 so happy you enjoyed it! Writing for you is a gift in itself hhhhhh hope you're safe and well!!!! Missing you lots 🥺😭💖💖💖💖💖

Alright. TMI! When my periods are bad, they are baaaad. Debilitating cramps. Night sweats. Crazypants emotions. And the obvious, Aunt Flooooo. Why do I bring this up? Aside from personalization is honestly, I think Bo thinks his partner is kinda badass for just making it through most months. But when it's bad he's needed, desperately. You know he loves it! He loves they can't get all big and bad for him, they're needy for attention, and he gets to eat all the gross food he wants to because they have cravings. I just feel like all them boys would be great at dealing with it honestly. But I crave Bo. Hehe

Big sis!!!💗So, you know why I offered to write you a personalised blurb (👀), and I'M SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU!!!! You and Bo always flow so beautifully when I write the both of you and I'm more than happy about diving in once again! Hopefully this piece lives up to the last one I wrote you! And if not, please don't be shy about letting me know and I'll happily write you something else!🌸 I love you lots!

Been working on this for a while but I figured your birthday was the best day to post it!! (Hence my question about timezones...👀 didn't wanna miss the day!!!) Hope you're having a wonderful day (one as lovely as you or I'll square up to the universe!🔪) and some goodness!! You deserve it all and MORE!!!!💖

So, warnings! THIS IS NOT A READER INSERT PIECE; she/they pronouns, "you" and Bug used, talks of periods, blood, pain, taking unprescribed painkillers, strange emotional patterns, Bo is My Brand Of Soft™ (so you KNOW I made myself cry writing it😂), swearing, possessive language ("his Bug"/"your Bo" etc.), canon typical depictions of co-dependency between the beautiful and terrible twins.

Word count: 2, 153 (😳)

Every month, you dreaded the inevitable. Every month, you had to mentally prepare yourself weeks in advance to experience debilitating pain, night sweats, the cravings which changed every time you thought you had it satiated, emotions on such a rollercoaster that you wanted to get off the ride even before you were fully boarded, and the blood... who needed horror films, when you got to deal with a massacre in your underwear every few hours for days on end? God, if it wasn't for the fact that you experienced periods so you were used to it, Bo would wonder how the fuck you were able to stomach the sight of all the blood he and his brothers occasionally came home caked in. Sometimes, he still marvelled at how well you handled yourself when Aunt Flo came to visit... he could never fuckin' do it.

Shit, even if he could, he wouldn't want to. Neither did you, but you dealt with it anyway. A blank stare or a teary eye roll and a, "for fuck's sake" would be your only reaction before you took your stained clothes and sheets to cold water. No matter how well you prepared yourself, you were almost guaranteed to leak and to ruin at least two articles of clothing. You fucking hated it. You were a constant mess throughout, no matter what you did or didn't do to help yourself along the way. You were always able to get the majority of the blood out before you tossed the clothes in the washer to salvage the material from whatever your bare hands couldn't remove, and your intimate knowledge of bodily stains and how to remove them was just one of the many, many things Bo admired and appreciated about you. He had learned so much just from watching you take care of yourself, and he was a quick study. He could take just as good care of you as you could after just a few months of witnessing your periods and what it did to you; before, during and after the bleeding stopped.

So, in fact, could his brothers.

It wasn't unusual to find you curled up in bed or on the sofa for much of the time you were menstruating. Bo had taken to leaving your favourite blanket always slung over the back of the sofa for times like that; sometimes he couldn't - wouldn't - move you from the sofa to the bed for all the pain you were in. Sometimes it was best to leave you where you had found a comfortable position, even if, to the brothers, it looked extremely awkward. Still, when you were found there but stretching hurt you, one of the brothers would throw the blanket over you, adjust any pillows, and make sure that the pad of paper next to the sofa was updated with what medication you had taken to help with the pain - if you took anything - when you had taken it, and how long it took for it to kick in. The living room almost seemed to become an at-home hospital room for the clinical attitude with which Vincent approached taking care of you. If you voiced how unnecessary it was - for, indeed, he was known to be overprotective - then he would simply glare at you through his mask. A clear message to let him take care of you; he was going to, whether you wanted him to or not. It felt like being stabbed with a shard of ice to the heart, so you kept quiet. If Vincent was anyone else, you wouldn't have done, but you had learned to appreciate the... strange ways with which Vincent showed his love and support to other Sinclairs.

If you questioned his methods of self-expression, he would clam up so fast that you would never again be able to peek over the top of the walls built up so high within him that even Vincent had to stand up on the very tops of his toes to see over the broad edge. He was so much like Bo when it came to his emotional unavailability, among a great deal of other traits, or perhaps Bo was like Vincent in that way. It was hard to tell, even now, for their ways of taking care of you were so similar. They fed off each other, co-dependency fostered, festered, between them from so young a age that there could have been any other path for them but the one they had been on for decades before you had come into their lives.

No Sinclair was easy to read, and that was why love and gratitude hit you as hard as they did when Bo was sweet on you and took care of you. He thought that you were such a badass for being able to get through each month as it came; your periods knocked the absolute six out of you and it was all you could do to keep the space between your thighs and your clothes, bedsheets and anything else you touched clean of blood (it got everywhere), let alone handling your daily responsibilities and duties on top of your cravings, emotional whiplash, and everything else which plagued you as your body went through a mini birth to expel the uterine lining. It was amazing how you were able to function as if you weren't bleeding non-stop, and Bo couldn't help but to shake his head in wonder at you as you, yet again, moaned your way off the sofa to help him with something which he had already told you thrice was handled by him and his brothers. All he wanted was for you to rest, especially when it was so bad that you could only lay down, staring blankly at the television, tears rolling down your face from the pain despite the regular doses of painkillers which Vincent gave you.

"Would ya' quit movin' around? Y're starting to bug me," Bo's minute smile at his pun, just a small upward quirk of those sinful lips, died just as it was big enough for someone else to notice, because you looked rough and he so hated seeing you looking every inch as miserable as you felt. But, still, you were gorgeous, beautiful, and he loved you dearly. "Makin' y'reself hurt more, s'not right, darlin'. Keep still, yeah?"

Bo's hands hovered on either side of you, as if to stop you from getting up, but you were in too much pain to notice. When you needed Bo, you needed him badly, and he would lying if he said that he didn't love this one part of your period. Your need for him and for his comfort only increased, as did your dependency on his brothers to help take care of you, though you could and would take care of yourself; they just liked to support you and you let them because you loved them. If they overstepped, you told them. If they didn't do enough, you would tell them. You were very communicative; you had had to learn to be from too young an age.

You wanted Bo's attention more than anything right now, you needed his touch, his voice, his smile, his eyes, the very particular way he tucked your feet in with the blanket and made his way up your body by tucking you in at both sides at the same time, then making sure you were able to move around if you needed to, his hands delving under the blanket and searching for the heat pad, fingers rubbing at your belly as he did so. You needed Bo and he played into it as much as possible, not just because he needed to be needed by you, but also because he wanted to thank you, in his own way, for showing such vulnerability in front of him. It wasn't easy for you to be strong but it wasn't easy to show the true extent of your pain, either. You loved Vincent and Lester, you did, but you craved Bo.

It was the one craving you could never satiate; the more you had of Bo, the more and more you wanted him. It was a sweet torture, the most delicious burning, and he was aflame right beside you, for a flame shared is a flame doubled. Bo seemed to reward you for loving him by returning that love to you tenfold, especially when Aunt Flo, the callous bitch, was in town. She could give Trudy a run for her money for all the pain she put you through each month.

"Bo ~ " You practically whined as you lifted your arms up to Bo, as if to say, 'pick me up'. "Hurts." Oh, but even that small movement caused you pain and you winced, that frown Bo hated deepening on your face. Immediately, Bo straightened up and grabbed the notepad left on the side table, icy blues scanning the page to see when you last had some painkillers. Two hours ago, he could say with confidence, thanks to Vincent's meticulous and thoughtful record keeping.

"M'sorry, darlin'," Bo sighed, his lips turning down in a genuine look of sympathy, "Can't give ya' anythin' for at least another hour."

You shrugged. It wasn't the pain bothering you. It was the lack of Bo cuddles. "Don't want medicine," You held your arms up again and this time, Bo leant down, down, until he could gingerly wrap his arms around your middle from where you sat on the sofa, his chin resting on the gentle slope of your shoulder, "Want my Bo."

"Your Bo, huh?" The smug tone Bo was trying to achieve was utterly ruined by the more than obvious affectionate expression. He turned his head and pressed a series of kisses to the side of your face; starting at your temple and moving down to the corner of your jaw. "I got'cha, darlin', y'know I ain't gonna' say no. Not when yer' like this."

"Or ever."

Bo nodded in agreement as he eased himself down beside you, lifting an arm up so you could curl right into his side, practically sat on his lap. "Right." A pause and then, "C'mere, love, get in real tight. Make ya' snug as a bug in a rug."

Lester's fond chuckle in response to his brother's penchant for shitty puns (where else did Lester inherit his sense of humour from? The twins had practically raised him) coming from the other room made Bo smile, which in turn made your heart melt and you smiled, too, a sweet reprieve from the constant pain you were in. Seeing you relax into Bo's body made Vincent happy from where he was painting across the other side of the room, and sweet Jonesy, spread out on the kitchen floor, wagged her tail slowly as she took stock of all her humans under one roof together. Mama Vincent was her favourite, though.

You hissed in pain and Bo cooed. The sound was devoid of his usual mockery as his hand slid beneath the blankets, fingertips quickly finding and then brushing against the skin just beneath the waistband of your trousers. Your navel tingled with the ghost of his touch as Bo rubbed small circles into your skin, the pressure just right due to how carefully you had taught him to look after you; Bo loved you just as much as you loved him, and he was eager to learn, wanting to please, needing you just as you needed him.

"Shush, darlin', s'okay," Bo pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and let his lips rest there, as if his kiss could sink into your skin and ease your pain from the inside out. He certainly wanted it to. "Bo's got'cha."

He did. Come hell or high water, Bo would always protect you. And if he couldn't, well, he'd stay right beside you until whatever it was passed, even if that was your body carrying out a very natural and normal function. Especially then, for he so hated seeing you in pain. His Bug.

With that, he turned the television on, put the volume on low, and you fell asleep to the feeling of fingers in your hair, lips at your temple, arms and a blanket around you, the distant sound of a paintbrush over a canvas, the quick sounds of a knife whittling away at a piece of wood, and the quiet thump of Jonesy's tail against the tiled kitchen floor. You found your rest in Bo's embrace and as for Bo, well, his rage was stilled by your presence, but his nerves amplified.

Your birthday was coming up, and he had a ring in his pocket with your name on it. Quite literally; it was a personalised pre-emptive congratulatory touch from Vincent.

You and Bo were practically already married; what was making it official?