electricapplesauce - Tumblr blog

electricapplesauce · 25 days

Text

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable.

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin.

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’”

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely– i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings.

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.”

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing.

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them.

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up— his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?”

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…”

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out. “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?”

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move.

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.”

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received.

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers.

his own dream, now his downfall.

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl.

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

3K notes · View notes

electricapplesauce · 2 years

Text

thoma has burning need for you

thoma smut headcanons, (gender neutral, you are the one being penetrated in these scenarios) thoma is shown in both a submissive and dominant way, although this post focuses more on the submissive side to him.

in honor of me getting thoma c1…after 90 pulls.. here’s some smut!! I think after this disaster us thoma lovers deserve some love ourselves!! and maybe some cum-

(1k words)

thoma’s obsession with your mouth: thoma can’t get enough of your mouth, to him there’s almost nothing better than gently holding you in his arms and kissing you until there isn’t any air left in either of your lungs.

to be away from your mouth is torturous.

thoma grabs at your clothing, greedy fingers slipping underneath the fabric, grazing against your bare skin.

his head tilts, his lips aren’t an inch away from yours but he doesn’t move without your permission.

thoma is sure you want to kiss him too, his own desperation is mirrored in your eyes. however much your emotions are the same, you’re just the slightest bit more composed than the blond.

your fingers card through his hair, tracing along the horned headwear that stretches across his sweaty forehead.

your actions are dripping with sweet adoration but your softly murmured teasing words fill his head, his embarrassment at himself causes his face to flush an adorable shade of red.

he’s a needy and messy boy: thoma is quite needy as well, hands constantly grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer to him to feel you and to push himself more inside you.to feel more and more of that warm soft heat, he can never be satisfied, he’ll always want more and need more of you.

his own cum: lift your spit-slicked lips from his cock, rest your hands on his trembling thighs, and shove your cum coated tongue in his mouth.

his shaky fingers would grasp at anything, your neck, your shirt, even your hair to pull you in deeper. he begs with his hands, his body, his garbled cries for you to let him cum inside you again.

he’d laugh, such a joyful sound usually but it didn’t cause that same intoxicating happiness when he was slamming his hips down into yours.

he presses his chest against yours as he fixes your thighs over his forearms, the weight and heat of him forces out squeaks and hiccups of ecstasy from you.

when he cums deep inside your body, thoma leaned into your neck to groan in your ear. you’re sure he did it intentionally as the position lets him just a little deeper into your body, it’s enough to have you arching up into him.

he catches you, your legs now thrown over his shoulders and his arms wrap around your waist.

hazy green eyes wander up to gaze at your panting side profile.

thoma’s balls are coated with both of your cum, your thighs equally soaked with the same sticky substance.

he smiles, you can feel the smug grin in the slope of your neck. his cock still buried in your messy hole, he runs a finger along his dick and the dampness of your hole, your mixture gushes out when he applies the slightest bit of pressure to the twitching seam.

not even the thickness of him can keep it all inside, nor can your moans of distress when it slides down your ass.

his fingers catch the drippings, thoma’s hand stills at your entrance, contemplating shoving his fingers in.

with a melodic chuckle, he lifts the curved digits that drip with your cum to your lips. “open.”

thoma will bite, and claim you in whatever he can: thoma will nose along the curve of your jaw and neck, and he won't be able to stop himself from biting into the sensitive skin.

perhaps others won’t be able to see it, but the darkest and possessive part of him is swirling with satisfaction knowing that you’ll be able to feel it.

the ache that comes with markings from thoma, that along with the nail marks scattered across your thighs, leaves you unable to forget the man for the rest of the day.

his sobs of pleasure and pleads to just let him cum, please, bounce in your mind. your legs twitch, the throbbing between them steadily growing more unbearable by the second that you’re without his dick stuffing you with his thick cum.

his weakness is you teasing him, and keeping him from pinning you on the bed and fucking you brainless: personally i don’t think he can handle cockwarming very well but especially not he’s being the submissive one.

he’d barely keep himself from swinging his hips into the heat that surrounds him but he’d try only to fail. with a click of your tongue that sends him into a frenzy of apologizes and begging (not that he stops his grinding and not that you really want him to)

his eyes would roll back as you lift your hips, gently swirling them with only the angry weeping head of his dick inside you, his wet green-eyes would knock into the back of his skull.

he’d pry them open with the will of man who lives to see you, to feel you, to serve you.

he would try to keep quiet, he knows how you laugh when he struggles, but you just feel so good around him. he can’t help but whine out your name, a stream of drool drips from his open mouth as he chokes out a curse.

shove your fingers down his throat to keep him quiet and still, not that it’d really keep him from moving as much as it would just rile him up even more.

the motion is deeply reminiscent of his actions yesterday, the knowledge causes his eyes to water. he’s somewhere between apologizing profusely maybe you’ll let him cum - or let him feel you cum, or getting lost in the heat of the memory.

archons, the arousal, and utter adorable shock that filled your face.

thoma’s moan tears from his throat.

he can feel blood rushing to his dick, his head feels so light. nothing but you, you, you occupy his thoughts, your moans, your body, your smile when you look at him in the morning. your scent, the soap you use that he sometimes holds to his nose when he misses you.

his hands reach up to claw at your waist and you let him.

thoma’s uncontrollable grinding would speed up, his own desperation clouding his mind only leaving him with the thought, the need to fill you up, and maybe the same fog would leave you in a daze as well

to be filled, and to render thoma into a twitching, teary-eyes mess below you.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #thoma smut #genshin x reader #gender netural #genshin thoma

409 notes · View notes