#boothill fics

[trappolia]

OLD COWBOY’S REPRIEVE — pre-canon!boothill x gn!reader, 543

the light from your shared room casts boothill’s figure in shadows and angles as it streams through the curtains and spills across the covers — in the silence of the bed, you hear the distant bleating of sheep and mooing of cattle somewhere far in the fields. the sound reminds you of a childhood trip to the countryside that you had long forgotten, lost and muddled somewhere in the back burner of your mind, but with this moment and these sounds it comes rushing back to you.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” beside you, your lover’s foul mouth indicates that he is less than pleased to have forgotten to draw the curtains close last night, again. boothill grunts beside you, stirring in bed and burrowing his head underneath the pillow in effort to hide from the sun.

“mhm,” your own bleary eyes blink in the light that filters in through the gaps between the curtains. deciding that yes, it is indeed much too early for it to be so bright, you turn over and away from the window, burying your face in the broad expanse of boothill’s back.

boothill grumbles tiredly, and you — sweet you, darling you, the love of his life and the fire of his loins — just hum. the tension coiled around his wide shoulders eases when he feels your lips press against an old scar on his back, your softer, uncalloused fingers curling along his pec, where the unshaven scruff of chest hair continues to grow.

“c’mere, ya,” boothill rolls over with a shift of the mattress beneath your bodies as you press against him.

your sweet affection towards him in the morning light never ceases to make him weak, and his heart aches from the tenderness of your touch as you press against him, running your hands over his chest while he grunts softly and pushes himself against your hand. he wants to shift closer, push himself against you till he can make a home in the soft warmth of your skin, and the two of you can forever be one entity so he would never have to part from you.

eh, an old cowboy can have his dreams.

you raise your head so boothill can slip his arm underneath, letting his bicep act as a pillow for your soft head. when you do not open your eyes, he nudges you lightly.

“y’ gon’ wake up, toots?” he rasps, voice still groggy from sleep.

“five more minutes,” you groan, which roughly means it’ll be an hour or two before boothill can properly get you out of bed.

boothill sighs as he lets his arms pull you to him completely, your head laying on his bicep now while you remains with your eyes closed. his own head falls back heavily against the pillows, hair cast over the simple linen in a mess of black and white.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply — it is your perfume now that is an irresistible bouquet, the scent of sunshine and something sweet, and boothill relaxes into the embrace he holds you in, closing his eyes as he too lets sleep overcome him.

his chores out in the ranch can wait a lil’ longer.

[bombiix]

Her.

Boothill. Winter was approaching. tw : angst. 2.7k words. NOT a x reader fic!

Winter approached. Wood had to be chopped, house had to be warm, cold had to be kept outside. It was a routine, a simple one he used to follow every years. His long and thin fingers wrapped around the handle of the axe, the polished metal slashing through the deep pine wood, he was preparing himself for winter. Despite the bright sun up in the sky, sun rays sliding across his body, tanning his skin, he could not allow himself to be late. Sweats dripped along his forehead as warmth weighted on his shoulders, his bare arms felt heavier while they rose in the sky to pierce through the wood as heavily as they felt. Few birds sung their arrival to their family, others sung for food and some flew away as the axe chopped through the wood one more time. Ears up in the sky, tilting towards the man loud enough to disturb nature, horses puffed air in curiosity. Disturbance was a big word as they returned to graze, grinding and chewing grass. Tails swinging in the air to chase flies away, their skin twitching at any contact. Sliding a hand on his forehead, he sighed heavily. While he was the only one able to do this job, it was still a tiring one. The sun didn’t help as he felt crushed under it, any movement becoming an extra effort. But the wood had to be chopped, not only for him, but for her. A man of promises keeps his promises, winter would be warm. He rose his arms up in the sky one more time before throwing them down, the metal crashing in the trunk supporting the log of wood. Although it was a beautiful sight for his wife, it became an agony for him. Listening to his body, he started to pack up the cut wood. He knew the crushing sun wouldn’t last for long, he was used to those abrupt change of climate. He learned and had to adapt himself and his cabin, for him. But also for her. Rubbing his hands together, in loud claps, he sighed. Finally, he finished and he could go back inside and enjoy some free time. Hurriedly, he went in the cabin. He made many promises, many that he certainly forgot, but spending time with her was one he would never forget.

She was there. He couldn’t help but feel relieved. A wolf toy in her hand, she made it play with her owl plush. Raising the wolf front paws in the air, to make him stand on his hind legs, a timid howl would leave her mouth.

“Baby, you wanna call wolves?” He said, as calmly as he could, fearful he would scare her. She turned around quickly, leaving her toys to run into his arms. A bright smile appeared on her round face, a laugh escaping her lips. “Do you think we could?” She lifted her head towards him, hope filling her eyes. He took a second, admiring her face. How barbaric of him it would be, to say no. His lips tilted in a smile, his hands sliding in her soft hair. After all, calling a few wolves in the night in the safety of their cabin wouldn’t cause problems. She never had the chance to hear them yet, it was the moment.

“Sure, don’t fall asleep.” She laughed, quickly responding, “Never!”, loud enough to startle birds around the cabin. As quickly as she answered, she went back to her activities. He observed her for anew second before turning to the small wooden kitchen. The wooded floor creaked under his feet, the sole of his boots scraping along the wood. It was a small kitchen with enough cabinets to store food. Few pans were hanging and casseroles were pilled together, all copper. A basket filled with vegetables, such as carrots, tomatoes, onions; vegetables which came from their garden, rested on the kitchen counter. Putting a casserole filled with water on the plates, he lighted up the gas. He took a knife and sat down onto a chair, which squeaked under his weight. Quietly, he peeled potatoes. The knife cut down the skin, his thumb pressed down on the potato and the skin lifted up as the blade slid under it. The scratching of the blade against the potatoes’ skin felt loud, the skin being peeled off buzzed in his ears. He tilted his head up, silence filling his head.

“Where’s mama?” He asked, her absence becoming deafening to him.

“She went to pick mushrooms, papa.” His little girl responded, looking up at him. He put down the knife a moment, his eyes scrutinizing her. He smiled in response, nodding his head. Mushroom stew might not be the best dish but it was the best he could do. A few potatoes, herbs, fresh mushrooms and the dish would be exquisite. He didn’t have the culinary standards of a star chef but the smile of his daughter was enough of a reward. He wanted her to have a belly full of good meat and vegetables. His own belly groaned, hungry like a lion. He didn’t realize that he was late for diner, her wife or his baby used to call him when it was the case. Everyone seemed busy today. Water boiled in the casserole he filled with potatoes, avoiding splashing his hands with the simmering water. A harder task than it was supposed to be, water landing on his hand. He hissed, shaking his hand far from the casserole.

“Are you okay, papa?” His little girl asked, turning to him. He nodded again, cooling his hand under the stream of water in the sink.

“Yeah, papa just burnt his hand a bit.” He sighed. He looked at her. “Y’know how clumsy he can be.” He smiled at her, earning a laugh from her. She hoisted herself on her legs, sore from the playtime on the floor causing her to wobble. It wasn’t rare for her to lose balance, she always had a hard time walking on her legs. It was the reason why her father never liked her leaving the house alone. It took her a few clumsy steps to reach a small cabinet that she opened. Another few clumsy steps to reach her dad to which she handed him the bandages. Her father’s eyes observed her hands, as if she was the one who hurt herself, before thanking her. Sitting down on the squeaking chair, he reached out his hand to her. “You wanna help pa’?” She nodded in response. Holding the bandages in her small hands, she gently unwrapped it around his hand. Soft, quiet, she made sure to not hurt him more than he already was. But pain was already gone when he looked at her. In a world where she was alive, no pain could touch him. Quiet words were exchanged, guiding her to carefully wrap his hand. He looked at his bandaged hand, not hurting as much as he thought it would. Perhaps burn wounds became a habit as he tended to burn his fingers when he filled the fireplace with logs of wood.

Night settled in as the sun rested behind horizon. Bird’s melody quieted down for crickets and cicadas to take their turn in the song. Last sun’s rays pierced through pines before disappearing in the darkness of the night. Purple painted over pink hues the sun left on the sky, blue slowly fading his way over it. Despite the crushing darkness of the night, it could never erase the pink his eyes were seeing. A pink faded with orange, as if the day never wanted to stop. The sun was too stubborn to let the moon take place. Perhaps, it was him, who never wanted the day to stop. Time flew by, too fast for him. Days were too short for him to enjoy his time with his daughter. Despite those short days, every morning was a blessing as he was greeted by her face, her smile, her eyes. Despite those quick days, every morning were the same. A routine he settled, for their own good.

Winter was coming, wood had to be chopped, the cabin warmed up and the cold kept outside.

Warmth weighted on him as he slashed his axe through the wood. Horses went grazing farther away, playing and running around. Despite the crushing sun, they were ecstatic. Birds chirped and flew away with each wood’s log being slit in pieces. Sweats dripped along his forehead, muscled arms flexing with each movements. Cutting woods was always a chores, one his wife appreciated as he always did it without his top on. Rare became their intimate moments since their daughter came in their life. He thought about his wife, who left for mushrooms. She would be coming back, for a nice mushroom stew he would prepare. A bit of vegetables, of meat and herbs, and it would be perfect for his daughter. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear little steps behind him.

“Papa?” He jolted, turning his head towards her. A quiet sigh relaxed his shoulders as he placed the axe on the trunk.

“Don’t scare me like that little one.” He whispered, passing his arm on his forehead to wipe sweats away.

“We didn’t call the wolves.” She retorted, quickly. He looked at her, frowning his brows. He felt confused, hands placed on his hips. He tilted his head on the side, as questioning her. He breathed heavily as the heat weighted on him.

“You fell asleep, papa.”

He looked at her an instant. Pinching his lips, he looked down. How dumb he was. A man of promises who couldn’t keep his promises. He wanted to argue, to tell her they did. He was sure of it but how a father could doubt his daughter’s words? Admitting his defeat, his fault, he knelt down to her height. He gently took her hands in his, hers disappearing in his large hands. She felt soft, as smooth as silk, a tad cold. Placing tender kisses above her hands, he looked up at her.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could reply. He felt guilty and couldn’t bring himself to give her a new promise he couldn’t keep. Excusing himself was all he could do. Perhaps they needed more time together. He decided to abandon chopping woods for her, leading her to the house. He tried his best to be the father she deserved, he was learning as much as her and listened to her needs to fulfill her child’s heart. They were growing together. Walking towards the cabin, he led her to the house. She felt hesitant, wanting to walk longer in the garden but she finally gave in. Following her father’s steps was always a safer choice than wandering alone, with her uncoordinated feet.

Entering the house, he had a shiver. He felt cold despite little flames dancing in the fireplace. He sat down next to the fireplace, the sunshine passing through the windows. She sat next to him, holding her toys in her hands. She went back to it, howling with her wolf toy raising its paws in the air. He couldn’t believe she was satisfied with such simple games. A kid like him needed to run, scream and jump everywhere. He was a “little terror”; adults loved to give him nicknames. Perhaps her clumsy feet didn’t help her, he thought. Turning his gaze to the fire, he thought about the next day. He would take her with him and bring her on his horse.

An uncomfortable silence filled him. He frowned as he turned his head to his daughter.

“Where’s mama?”

His daughter raised her head towards him.

“Who’s mama?”

Silence filled the room, as he stared at her.

“What?”

“She went to pick mushrooms, papa.” She smiled at him before playing with her toys again. He didn’t respond as he stared at her. He shook his head, thinking his ears were playing games with him. Or his daughter probably was, kids often says weird stuff after all, he told himself. A sigh left his mouth, his shoulders falling as he relaxed. He couldn’t help but feel his ears buzzing, disturbing the peacefulness of his silence. It probably was due from the heat outside. Hoisting himself on his feet, he walked to the kitchen. Not a long walk as the cabin was pretty small. It had a second floor for a few beds; it was more of an attic. Quietly, as to not disrupt his daughter’s playtime, he put down a pan on the gas, followed by a casserole. He couldn’t help but shiver again, his eyes staring outside the window. How weird, how cold he felt even with the scorching sun outside. Shrugging it off, accusing it on the cabin’s humidity, he sat down on the small table to peel potatoes.

His eyes felt heavy, his hands having a hard time following his movements. He certainly needed some rest, close to his girl. Void filled his head as humming gently flew to his ears. He fought his fatigue, keeping on peeling those potatoes as if it was his last mission. He couldn’t help but listen to this sweet melody, lips ajar. It felt like a voice coming from another world, echoing in his head. He yielded, his heavy eyelids closing.

He found himself cutting wood again. We were already tomorrow? He asked himself, frowning. He didn’t realize how quick time went by. Days became shorter, mornings became rougher. He kept his routine, despite the guilt of not spending time with his daughter. He shook his head in discord with his own mind. He placed the axe down, sitting on the trunk. Perhaps he should go see her, it seemed like forever since he didn’t see her.

“Papa?” He got startled, turning his head to his girl. Hands behind her back, she smiled at him. Her hair seemed even brighter, the sun shining along her hair. He couldn’t help a smile, admiring the little girl who was his daughter. It felt weird, how he didn’t feel his heart beat in happiness, but knew better how grateful he was for the world to give him such a pretty daughter. He would fight men and gods for her.

“Yea, darling?” He bowed his head on the side, to have a better view of her as the sun was blinding him.

“I keep calling for you.”

Silence settled, as their eyes met. A smile twisted his lips, his head shaking in disapproval.

“Wha’ do you mean?” He puffed, putting down his hat. He was met with silence as she looked at him. Silence filled him, filled his mind, lips ajar. His gaze never left hers as he couldn’t even move his brows in a frown. A nervous laugh left his mouth, as if she admitted to have an imaginary friend. He lifted himself from the trunk, quiet steps approaching her. He felt it, his heart beating against his rib cage. It was painful, agonizingly fast. He could feel it in his wrists, his ears, his throat. It was beating everywhere in his body, his blood rushing in his veins. His knees met the floor, icy cold. He reached for her face, his eyes meeting hers.

“Papa.”

He heard it.

Winter was there, his knees buried deep in the snow. Woods was chopped, packed up near the cabin.

Winter was there and it was overwhelmingly hot. Heat weighed down on his body, knees buried deep in the snow. He couldn’t find the strength to stand up, he didn’t have the strength to scream.

Winter was there and her cries were faded in the roaring growls of the fire, her torment silenced by the cruelty of those flames.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her suffering. He didn’t have the courage to see how lonely she is. He thought about her small hands reaching for the sky, asking for her father. He imagined her cries, desperately calling for her father. He realized how lonely she must have been, consumed by those barbaric flames who didn’t have pity for a small soul such as her. Those mornings were only lies, those days never existed because the sun never rested down; he landed a finger to the house he would curse.

He realized how his mind played him, giving him hopes of living with her. Those days never happened.

Left alone, in front of those blinding flames, he heard them. Wolves howled their despair, trying to reach her ears, never would she be able to hear them with her father.

“She’s gone.”

[kendalzu]

RIDE TILL YOU CANT NO MORE.

boothill x reader | HEAVY SMUT | improper use of gas tank | improper use of USB cord. | riding fingers | cowboy man rhrhhrrhhrrhrh 🤤🤤🤤 | dom to sub teehee | BOOTHILL BRAINROT.

“just like that my honey— ride them just like that. make yourself feel good.” Boothill hissed into your ear, his sharp teeth threatening to nip at your oh so sweet neck. your moans echoing against the small room you guys were in, he kissed you harshly to shut you up.

“honeybun— shut up, you don’t want to get caught now do ya’?” his fingers curling up into your tight hole. but you had enough of his teasing and ‘mean’ remarks. you found the hole below his back, and managed to stick one of your fingers in the hole.

“hey now— that’s not.. mmgf.” his sweet whimper made you want more from him, so that’s exactly what you did. he was so adorable— putting up a face for you, but touch the right places and he will fold. his humanoid metal figure turing his gears— quite loudly..

“honey, shut up now will ya?” you mocked him while inserting one more finger inside him, making his mouth tremble and fight back his moans, but he just couldn’t help himself. his eyes were telling you everything that you needed to know.

unexpectedly— you started toying with the USB’s to the side of his waist, dragging your finger across the rectangular window of wires. if it was possible for cyborgs to cry, he would be sobbing right now.

the pleasure was all too much for him, he whined and begged you to stop or he would shut down from pure pleasure. “honey, honey please! you can’t do this to meee..” his words extended, legs bucking before his eyes went black— he shut down.

the night ended with some kisses, and you bought him home to recharge him.

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐇𝐒𝐑 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐰/𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

synopsis: HSR men and the type of spicy piercing they have

tags: mentions of piercings, body modification, vulgar, explicit

a/n: this one was fun pls lmk if yall want more or possibly a genshin one

₊˚⊹ ᰔ BLADE…

You can feel the cold metal of his piercings pressed against your navel . He trails his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

As he moves lower, he reaches behind you to unhook your bra. His fingers graze your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Once your bra is off, he moves his attention to your nipples, taking one into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

But it's not just his mouth that's working. His luster of sterling silver dropped down lower, placing itself inbetween your lips, adding an extra level of excitement to the encounter. You moan as he continues his ministrations, your body trembling with pleasure.

“You like how that feels huh?” He asks, “feels even better inside I bet.” He whispers, letting the tip of his cock slip in til it reaches your sensitive clit, even more shaken with the cold metal dragging itself back and forth.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ BOOTHILL…

With his devilish grin and tongue piercing. He moves towards you, his eyes locked on yours. You can't help but feel a little nervous as he kisses you, the piercing sharing the room in your mouth.

He pulls away, his tongue piercing tracing a path down your chest and abdomen. You gasp as he reaches your clit, the piercing adding an extra level of sensation as it teases and rubs against you.

'Oh god,' you moan, your hips bucking up to meet his tongue.

He smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. He continues to work you with his tongue, the piercing adding a unique texture and intensity to the experience.

“Mhmm…keep squirming around like that, makes it so much more fun eh sweetheart?”

₊˚⊹ ᰔ SAMPO…

With his playful smile and nipple piercings, he's the last but certainly not least of the group. He moves in close, his chest pressing against yours as he kisses you deeply.

You can feel the cold metal of his nipple piercings against your skin, and it sends another wave of pleasure through your body. He reaches behind you to grab your ass, pulling you closer as he continues to kiss you.

As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples while his own are so close to your skin they make you shiver.. He breaks the kiss, moving his attention to your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

“You like that?” he asks, grinning as he sees the pleasure on your face. “Maybe we should some matching ones for these perfect tits huh?”

You can only nod, completely lost in the moment.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n: 2.1k w.count- boothill needs a lil tune up [...y'all should've seen this one comin' honestly]

you're not sure why you bother setting an alarm every time you go to sleep. you don't even know when you'll be sleeping for one; it could be in the afternoon, it could be in the morning, it could be for ten minutes at your workbench, and on the rare occasion, you can even go to bed at night like everyone else. although, that last option when blessed upon you, never lasted the whole night.

as for the original dilemma of alarm clocks? who needs 'em! the critters getting into your shop and wrecking your tools around were a surefire way to get your blood pumping with a wild chase around the shop with a hefty, swinging wrench. kids stopping by to see the newest hunk-of-junk thing you've been tinkering with or maybe even bringing you some toy to fix with whimpering chins are always sure to keep you awake- you couldn't send them away with smashed hopes. perhaps it was a good natured older lady or gentlemen just stretching their legs one fine morning after you had pulled an all nighter, but now you have to entertain their gossip well into the morning past the ass-crack of dawn because you can't be a bad host!

this instance, however, just so happens to be the familiar sound of heavy, metal boots clanking their way through the shop's public entrance. the sound of the stomping reverberates around your small little rest room at the back of your shop through the camera feed you keep running at all hours (mostly for those critters previously mentioned). having just fallen asleep on top of being hyperaware of sounds from the feed, your eyes fly open. with a well-overdramatic, one-person show worthy groan evolved to frustrated yell, you were throwing your shabby blanket off your legs.

"wakey, wakey!" the synthetic voice of an overly familiar man projects into your room.

you stomp across the room in two short strides. slamming your palm down on a button attached to a small table with all sorts of other switches and knobs, the small indicator that audio is feeding from your microphone kicks on as red as your temper.

"the hell do you want?" you growl, voice muffled at the end of your exhausted question by your free hand running down your face. you hear his voice chuckle on the other end. peering through your fingers into the video screen, he had moved to stand away from your shop door. his arms are crossed across his metallic chest, chin tilted up so his one eye can gaze into the camera that follows his movements.

"now, now, sugar," he chuckles, "just open the door, would ya'? i could use some fixin' up." as if trying to coax you into letting him in, he waves one of his arms around by the elbow.

you're not sure if he heard you click your tongue before you lifted your hand off the audio feed button, but he chuckles nonetheless as the soft click of disconnection echoes on his end. he knew you'd come racing to the door... well, at the very least you wouldn't leave him out to dry.

the cowboy dips his chin and chuckles under his breath as the brim of his hat shadows his face. he could hear you stomping your way towards him and just imagining your irritated face with a possibly twitching brow was highly amusing to him.

the door in front of his toes swings open inwards and the rush of air as it did so flutters his long bangs that always covered the right side of his face. his chin rises a fraction, and he was right. your face was assuming.

standing in a wrinkled shirt that you no doubt had been trying to sleep in, arms crossed and a crease so deep in your brows he was tempted to push his thumb between them.

"well," he starts, swaying his hunk of metal bodyweight to one of his equally metal legs, "ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

"what. do you want." you hiss. before he gives you a verbal answer, his arm swings down and swipes something from his pocket before presenting it in front of your face. your eyes nearly go crossed to examine it. then you're looking back up at him, not any more amused than before. "is this supposed to be a bribe?"

the cowboy shrugs playfully, twisting the covered candied sucker between his fingers.

"do ya' want it to be?"

you roll your eyes, bringing your arm up to snatch the small boost of sugar from him. "just get in here, boothill." you sigh, free hand coming to rub your forehead. turning your body to retreat back into your home, the clanking of him following behind echoes at your back.

boothill whistles at the state of the familiar shop he'll find himself in from time to time for quick fix-ups. a workbench loaded with heaps of scrap metal, tools, random bobbles, and screws all littered on top of pages and printed blueprints of projects or repairs. it's even more of a chaotic mess than last time. he sits on the stool he normally snags as his when he's here and, without speaking, you're hooking up a small machine attached to the wall next to the bench and offering him the end of a circular cord.

"need a charge?" you ask with a small lisp from the candy you had already unwrapped and placed in your mouth against your cheek.

"well, why not," he entertains. taking the thick, extendable cord from your hand and plugging it into the port on his lower back.

you flit around a few other places before your snagging a stoll for yourself and placing it in front of his knees. you push some estranged tools around with your forearm and, while moving your sucker from one cheek to the other, you begin to maneuver your hair out of your face.

boothill enjoys watching you in this way. it felt familiar- just seeing someone move around in rather mundane ways. this small sense of domesticity was familiar and comfortable. it calmed him; reminding him of home.

"what's the problem?" you finally ask, looking a tad bit more awake and more or less ready to work on whatever issue he had to present.

his right arm moves to cross his lap and his palm bangs twice on his opposing forearm where his internal revolver barrel is.

"i got myself in quite a fuss with this dang thing. forkin' bullet got jammed in the goose-dud thing and i can't even pop the barrel open to reload it."

you stare at him like he just said the dumbest thing you've ever heard. "you came all the way here. because your arm got jammed by a bullet." the way you spoke sounded exactly how you looked at him.

"this ain't no one-handed fix, sugar." you stay quiet, not willing to admit he had a point. using both hands to not only try and pop open the jam, but also tinker around with what was essentially his whole arm's motion control- that did require a bit more finesse than just slamming his arm on a wall until it gave way... which is precisely what you could imagine him doing.

"fine," you yield. "take off that sorry excuse of a 'jacket' unless you want that sleeve covered in oil."

you twist away from him, half-standing at a strange angle to reach across your workbench for something as the satisfying sound of the bottom of his small zipper unlatches. shrugging it off, he tosses it onto your bench, covering a few loose tools and scribblings of paper.

you fully get out of your stool and trot over to the other side of the shop to roll over a smaller table with a metal tub. you wheel it to his left and, without instruction, boothill lays his arm over it.

as you begin to tinker around with his arm, picks, pliers, oil and all working on trying to dislodge the stray bullet that had caused such an issue, boothill has taken to lounging comfortably as he watches.

his right arm, free of any issues or problem fixing, was propped up on the corner of your workbench at his side with his forearm resting along the edge. his metal fingers had snagged a stray nail from the workspace and had been twirling it absent-mindedly between his knuckles like a bullet.

the only words spoken between you both as you worked was the occasional quick apology if something you did prods against a wire that sent a shock up his arm or made his fingers twitch.

"easy. last thing we need ya' doin' is settin' my gun off, sugar," he had told you. just because his arm machinery wasn't properly loaded- ain't nothing was stopping you from accidentally relodging the bullet and sending it through your wall. the sudden discharge coupled with his exposed wires could easily kick his arm back with enough recoil to knock you clean out with how close you were leaning in to see what you were doing.

"okay..!" you whisper to yourself before the sound of something sliding down in his arm is followed by a sensation; one he was almost familiar with. "give me a wrench. heavy," you instruct. on hand was spread across his forearm just at the start of the revolver barrel, the other outstretched towards your bench. grabbing the nearest one, he slaps it into your palm.

with a two, heavy whacks using your newly acquired wrench, you slam the barrel shut and boothill lets out a small breath.

"now, that feels a heck of a lot better," he chuckles. you reach around his forearm, release the tension latch and the barrel swings out successfully. with your pliers, you easily remove one problematic, greasy bullet. "knew i could count on you to get the job done."

"and thanks to you, my hands are gross," you chide. fingers greased in oil. boothill grabs a rag from your workbench drawer and tosses it over your sullied hands. you start working the cloth between your fingers the moment it hits your skin. "i recommend you stick around and charge up before heading out on whatever you got lined up next."

"shucks, you mean it?" you can't tell if he's genuinely thankful you'd allow him to stay or if he was just being facetious. once your hands were at least dry, you start using it to wipe down his arm next.

"course i do. i'll have to give you a quick check again before you go. i'll mess around and try and make it so it doesn't jam like that again. whatever tech-doc you worked with before really needed to focus on the finer details." boothill wondered if you knew that you had lifted his newly repaired limb and started rotating and twisting it like you were admiring your work. like you were admiring him.

"they don't matter no more," he tells you. "i got ya' now, don't i? who needs some random rear shirt-bag, when i got the best in the forkin' business right here?"

"careful now. flattery will get your everywhere."

"no shirt?"

"watch your mouth," you tease before you stand. "i mean it though. stay put and charge."

"i ain't no stupid electronic," he clicks. his body moves and twists so both of his arms are now leaning on the workbench behind him. both elbows supporting him as his arms dangle off the ledge. "but I hear ya'." his eye shuts under the shadow of his hat.

his eye reopened no sooner than it shut when the shadow caused by the brim of his cowboy hat disappeared and the light of your shop flitered through his eyelids. with a clear, open eye, he lifts his chin to see you standing in front of him.

you had pinched the brim of his hat between your fingers, snatching it off his head and revealing the fullness of his long, dual-colored hair and cross-hair-infused eye. you take his hat and nonchalantly toss it behind his right shoulder to avoid getting any residual oil from his left arm on it.

"take your damn hat off inside my shop will you? you don't need it." you turn away from him as he continues to stare at your back, slack jawed. you mutter something about washing your hands and arms before you disappear behind a doorway and around the corner of the wall. he'd been in the entirety of your shop before, so he knows where you went but all he could think about was you flicking his hat off him.

the cowboy let his head fall backward, the hair on the backside of his skull tangling with screws and pencils as his right hand comes to rest over his face. he can hear the water running in the other room.

"ah, son of a nice lady...!"

boothill has really got to tell you not to mess with his hat.

a/n: one day i'll write a flirty hat rule fic. *sigh* one day.

[sugar-phoenix]

cowboy, you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly. ✦

synopsis: Boothill doesn't do things quietly. He's loud, and messy, and he likes doing things his way. Even though these all annoy you somewhat, the cowboy starts growing on you. And then one day, he does something unexpected. tags: f!reader, f/m, no smut, fluff, light angst, mentions of Boothill's past a/n: 2.5k words, this was a lot of fun to write. hope you guys enjoy it!

ao3 link here!

Your heels clacked as you walked down the halls, the ground littered with bodies and empty bullet shells. You sighed. Unlike Boothill, who left the remains of IPC soldiers and his mark everywhere in the form of bullet holes dotting the walls, you preferred to do your work neater, quieter. His loud whoops and hollers echoed down the corridor from ahead, making you cringe.

There were many things Boothill was in excess of. Too fierce. Too exposed. Too gleeful. Too loud.

You were not fond of loud.

“I got the place cleared for you, ma’am.” Boothill’s voice rang out like a bell.

“I noticed,” you responded, turning into the server room. In front of you, server towers loomed overhead, blinking with a million eyes. “You’re not very subtle, cowboy.”

“Subtle? Why would I wanna be subtle when I could strike fear into the heart of the IPC?” Boothill chuckled.

“Being subtle can be pretty scary,” you mused, going to the main terminal and typing the code you were given. “What could instigate more fear than an invisible threat you can’t see?”

“I dunno. I like to think that knowin’ who your enemy is and knowin’ that nothing can stop him is way more scary, lady.”

Boothill sank his pistol into his holster, then strode over to where you were standing, the sound of his body moving like oiled machinery.

“After all, ain’t knowin’ how you’ll die the most terrifyin’ thing of all?”

“Touché,” you conceded, scanning the database for the folder you wanted. Boothill waited at your side, and you felt a little shock that the man who was, only minutes ago a whirlwind of gunmetal and gleaming sharp teeth, could now stand so still.

Finally, you found the folder you were looking for, and you loaded it into a drive you inserted into the terminal. Boothill had offered the use of his own ports as a way to store the data, but you had refused. Data was no good to you if you could not parse through it with your own eyes.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as the download finished. “Let’s get out of this place.”

The cowboy at your side said nothing but smiled, flashing his razor teeth. You both stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a new squadron of IPC guards.

“Looks like they sent the calvalry,” you remarked.

“Yeah? Well, if you know anythin’ about cowboys, you’ll know that we don’t take kindly to calvalry.”

And with that, he was off, shooting and hollering and kicking. You ducked back into the server room, letting the cowboy have his fun, and shook your head. When the sound of gunfire had stopped, Boothill leaned around the corner.

“‘S all clear! I took care of ‘em.”

You stepped out to find a pile of bodies and more bullet holes in the walls. Well, I guess this time it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my handiwork?” Boothill commented at your slightly dismayed expression.

“Cowboy,” you sighed, “you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly.”

He only laughed, a rough raucous sound that reverberated down the hallway as the two of you made your exit.

✦✦✦

You stood in the middle of the ballroom in a shape-hugging red gown, fanning yourself with a paper hand fan. Eyes searching the surrounding crowd, you looked for the familiar cowboy hat. You found Boothill standing against the back of the room, looking absolutely miserable in his suit. A smile creeped up your lips. It took a lot of hemming and hawing to get him to wear that suit.

“I need my body bare, otherwise I’ll overheat,” he’d said.

“Boothill, darling, it’ll just be for the night. You’re going to cause an uproar if you just walk in with that sorry excuse for a jacket. It would be absolutely scandalous. We need to be subtle tonight.” You had adopted the pet name after a few missions with him. The two of you were slowly becoming fond of each other.

“What’s wrong with a little ruckus?” Boothill had asked. “I like ruckus.”

“I know you do, but just this once we could do without it. Come on. You get to cause ruckus every other mission we’ve had so far. You can live without making noise just this once.”

To your surprise, he conceded, taking the suit from your hands and walking to a room, muttering and cursing under his breath.

Now you felt a little sorry as you watched him. He looked like a dog that had been forced into a humiliating outfit just for its owner’s enjoyment.

Your eyes met, and you flashed your fan over your face. The signal. You had gotten what you came here for. Relief flashed over Boothill’s face, and he made his way through the crowd to you as you started walking towards the exit.

You stopped abruptly when you saw the exit.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Boothill asked, then, “oh,” as he saw what caused you to pause.

The archways were lined with more security guards than either of you had remembered when you first came in.

“They know we’re here,” you whispered. “They’re waiting to catch us on the way out.”

Boothill said nothing. You saw the calculations happen in his crosshair eyes. Slowly, he smiled, revealing his shark teeth in a devilish grin.

“Oh Boothill. No.” You said with dread.

“Oh but we don’t have much o’ a choice, do we?” he whispered. “Just let me do what I do best, darlin’.”

You looked at him, and he caught the worry in your eyes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I always get out, don’t I?”

You sighed.

“Fine.”

Boothill smiled wider than he had the entire night, and stepped away from you, making his way back into the crowd. You reached under the slit in your dress, hand on the dagger strapped to your thigh. The feeling of the hilt under your hand grounded you. It wasn’t long until you heard three deafening gunshots, and glass raining down from above. Chaos and panic erupted, and over all of them, the familiar laugh you’d grown to love. You watched as the archways were flooded, and the guards rushed towards the cause of the ruckus.

Taking the chance, you merged in with the panicked crowd streaming outside the ballroom, as more gunshots echoed behind you. Once you were out, you rushed to your sports car, and got into the driver’s seat. It roared to life as you turned the ignition, and you took it out of the car park and drove it to wait in front of the entrance. Panicked partygoers ran around your car, but your eyes were focused on the entrance. The way you white-knuckled the steering wheel would definitely leave imprints.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered. “Come on, cowboy.”

A beat passed, then two, then ten, and Boothill was nowhere to be seen. You got anxious, watching the large golden arches that led into the ballroom with the giant crystal chandelier that hung above them outside.

Just when you were about to accept that Boothill had been captured, or worse, dead, he emerged from the entrance, a crazed grin on his face, his expensive suit torn in shreds. You sighed in relief. Just before he reached the car, he turned around, aiming upwards, and pulled his trigger. Five bullets flew through the air, severing the chains of the giant chandelier. The guards chasing Boothill were trapped in the ballroom as the light fixture fell to the ground in front of them, shattered glass scattering everywhere. Boothill cackled, then leapt over the hood, taking his seat in the passenger side. You wasted no time flooring the gas pedal, the car screeching away from the ballroom.

“Should teach those muddlefudgers not to waste money on showin’ off,” Boothill laughed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Hard time wrapping things up neatly,” you said.

“That’s just my trademark, darlin.’”

The two of you glanced at each other, grinning wildly, as your car sped into the night.

✦✦✦

You gazed out the windows of the Astral Express. The endless expanse of space unrolled before you, a landscape of endless opportunities.

Boothill had been called to the Astral Express for a favor, and he thought you should tag along.

“They’re a pretty cool bunch, you should come meet ‘em. Who knows, they might come in handy for ya in the future.”

You didn’t need the cowboy’s persuasion to come and meet the famed Nameless. You were more than happy for a chance to come face to face with these trailblazers, to converse with them and see how they operated.

The Astral Express crew surprised you at first. They were less of an organized team and more like a ragtag family of people from all different walks of life. Pom Pom, the little conductor of the express, scrutinized you for a bit until they sniffed (disapprovingly or approvingly you couldn’t tell), and announced, “Pom Pom welcomes you aboard the Express.”

Soon after, you got to meet the rest of the Express crew. There was March 7th, the cheerful girl with bubblegum-pink hair. There was Dan Heng, the quiet, reserved young man who often kept to himself in the Astral Express' database archives. There was Stelle, the mysterious gray-haired girl who was apparently a repository for a Stellaron. She kept quiet at first, but soon you learned she had a joke for every occasion and didn't hesitate to crack one even at the most inopportune moments, to the chagrin of her companions. Then to the two stewards of the Express: Himeko, the red-haired, confident navigator, and Welt, deep in thought and with a walking stick he kept close to himself at all times.

 Boothill seemed to fit right in. He was the one who introduced you excitedly to Dan Heng, cackling and talking about how they were “best buds.” Despite Dan Heng’s embarassment at first, you could tell he enjoyed the presence of the cowboy. In that way, you felt a sort of kinship with him.

 The two of you hung out on the Express for a few days, as Boothill helped them with one of their trips. They were currently orbiting a planet named Jarilo VI. Boothill had encouraged you to stay aboard the Express and take a break, but today, Himeko saw you watching the window.

"If you want, you can go down with the rest of them," she said.

"I think I might,” you responded. “Forget what Boothill said about taking a break, I'm at my happiest when I'm working on something anyway."

She smiled knowingly.

It wasn't long before you landed on the cold planet, and it was an even shorter time before you found the crew. Stelle, March, Dan Heng, and Boothill were in a clinic, accompanied by a small child with bright yellow hair and a doctor who wore a large apron. You'd soon come to know that these two were Hook and Natasha, respectively.

Boothill made a show of being upset that you weren't on the Express, but you could tell that he was very happy you had decided to join them after all.

Apparently the crew had been on a wild goose chase, and to your mild disappointment they were finished with the whole affair. Stelle, March 7th, and Boothill all attempted to explain the situation to you, and Dan Heng kept sighing and correcting them every five sentences, so in the end you understood very little.

As the four of you walked out of the clinic, Hook caught up to Boothill and tugged at his pants.

"You aren't leaving, mister, are you?"

Boothill turned around, and in a manner you'd previously thought uncharacteristic, he crouched down and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I am, sweetheart," he replied.

 "But, but, you're a member of the Moles now! You have to stay with us."

"Oh, and I'm only an *honorary* member?" Stelle asked, in mock anger. Hook giggled mischievously, then turned back to the cowboy.

"Also, I need your help with something," she added.

"Oh? What's that?" Boothill asked. Hook produced a strange trinket from one of her pockets.

"I wanna give this to my daddy, but I dunno how to wrap it up."

Boothill chuckled, ruffling her hair again.  “Your daddy sure is lucky to have a little girl like you.”

Then he did something that was so unexpected, the action of it was seared into your memory forever.

Slowly, he took off the bandana from around his neck, and laid it flat on the ground. Then, he took the trinket from Hook's hands and put it on top of the bandana, in the center. Deftly, and with a gentleness you'd seen from him very rarely, Boothill wrapped up the object with careful folding and gentle knots, then presented the object to Hook.

"There you go. And once your daddy opens it, you can wrap the bandana around your own neck, and I'll be there with ya and the Moles in spirit."

Tears sprung to Hook's eyes and she surged forward, hugging his neck and wailing loudly. Boothill chuckled, patting her back tenderly.

✦✦✦

The crisis with Jarilo VI solved, you and Boothill bade the Astral Express crew goodbye and went on your way. In the small spaceship you sat in, you gave Boothill a look.

What Hook and the Astral Express Crew didn't know was that the bandana he wore around his neck was very dear to him. A remnant of his past, a past that he had talked very little about with you, even though the two of you had gotten very close with each other.

Boothill sighed, feeling your gaze on him. "You wanna ask me about what happened with the girl, I can tell."

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I guess that's fine with me--" you started.

"No, no it's fine. It's somethin' I should've told ya long before. It's just painful for me is all."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay for him not to tell you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

"What I never told you before, darlin’, was that I used to have a little girl of my own."

You raised a hand to your mouth. Never in your life would you have thought that the man in front of you—loud, brash and reckless—was ever a father.

"Before I was a Galaxy Ranger, before I got this metal body that I have now, I used to be just a cowboy. And one day I found myself with a daughter. Precious thing, loved her to death." He paused, taking in a deep breath, then let it out. "The IPC, they came to our planet... and they took her away from me. Took her and my whole family away from me. Razed everything I had to the ground.

 “That bandana I wore, well. It was my only reminder of her."

"Oh," you said, understanding why he was so guarded about it in the past. There was a long pause as you waited for Boothill to talk again.

 "But that girl, Hook," he started again, "she… reminded me of my daughter." Boothill took a shuddering breath. He had lost his ability to cry a long time ago, and you knew this, but sometimes he did things that told you he was weeping, invisibly. Until now you hadn't known what about.

"They would have been friends," he said softly.

"I'm sure they would have," you agreed.

You thought about the way he wrapped the gift for Hook.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" you asked.

"Do what?" he replied.

"What you did with the gift. How you folded it."

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "Some things you pick up being a dad."

There was another pause before you decided to speak again. "Well, I'll admit I was wrong about you then."

 "Wrong about what?" he asked, and you chuckled a little before answering.

"Turns out, cowboy, you do know how to wrap things up neatly."

Boothill laughed then, a soft, light sound, and you smiled.

comments are also very appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[brynn-lear]

Yandere rancher!Gallagher vs Yandere cowboy!Boothill over a mail order bride!reader fic when? When I'm done with the event probably-

Tentative fic title: Holding A Wedding On Top Of His Funeral

“Let my spouse go.”

“Or what, eh? Send a herd on my way? Chuck that flimsy shot in my direction? Don't act tuff when I can put a bullet on your skull.”

“You know nothin' about Penacony. Let (Y/n) go. Now.”

“Ha. Well I'll be. Time to get serious.”

[3rosx]

Boothill x Fem!Reader, angsty smut headcanons because his lightcone story was leaked and it's kinda sad so of course I had to make something out of it.

Boothill likes kissing you, he likes the feeling of your warm mouth on his. The way his mechanical heart would need to run more power whenever you ask him to lean down so you could place your soft lips wherever you'd like, and the tingly feeling his face gets after you do. Because his head is the only thing left of him that's human, the only part of him that can feel things while the rest of his body is just a big chunk of metal and wires that keeps him functioning.

Boothill likes giving head, likes the feeling of your thighs squishing his cheeks when you squirm. He loves it when they shake right against him when you're close to cummin' and goes even harder on you just too feel those plushy legs suffocate him.

Boothill hates that his body doesn't feel anything, yes he does feel arousal, but it's different from the way normal people with normal parts do. When he get's aroused, his system gets all bugged and runs on more steam than usual. His metal body gets all hot, like a laptop that's been running for days. It didn't bother him that much at first, he just had to take a few breaks when he gets too hot when he's eating you out. It was fine at first.

But times goes on and he starts to wonder if you're fine with how things are, even though you assure him time and time again that you are okay with it. As long as it's him. But even if you're okay with it, there's still a thought in his head that he's not giving you enough. You deserve more than he could give you. You might be fine with it now, but who know? After a few or so years you might think that this arrangement isn't enough for you and leave him for someone who can, someone whole and not broken like him.

[grimm-writings]

don’t you repeat that!

…ft! boothill x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, but gets kind of sad at the end there, established relationship, inspired by boothill leaks, cursing

…wc! 394

…notes! trying to scavenge back some writing motivation so a tiny lil bootsy drabble while i manifest for him LMAO. speedrunning penacony quests rn i must see the cowboy by any means necessary…

Your boyfriend knows some colourful language.

How he comes up with such a unique string of curses and insults confounds you.  Even now you can hear the unfortunate sound of him stubbing his toe, the loud hiss as he draws in breath and…

“Fucking dumb shit riding on horseback in the middle of the God damn night!”

There it is.

“Language,” you call out.  You look down at the little girl sitting on your lap and shake your head at her, as if to communicate to her how irresponsible her old man is being, especially when she’s nearby.

Finally, your boyfriend’s head peeks out from behind the doorway, as if about to retort that his poor toe has been painfully attacked by the edge of a table.  Instead, he sees you, crossing your little girl’s arms disappointingly at his action.

He sighs and strides forward, dramatically overselling a limp, before crouching into a squat.  He points at the little baby with a pout.  “Don’t you go repeating what I say.  Or else this one here’ll never forgive me.”

A toothy grin is shot your way and you can’t help but scoff.  “She can only babble so far.  Though, under your wing?  I wouldn’t be surprised if her first words happen to be a curse at an Aeon.”

“I’d be quite proud if that was the case,” he returns, picking up the baby from your lap.  You let him.  Despite his foul mouth, your partner has proven himself very capable of handling a newborn child.  From the very day he entered your shared home with her in his arms, you knew she carved something new and special out of the cowboy you lived with.

Almost made you feel like a real family.

“Let’s get you to sleep, eh?”  He speaks to her as if she can understand full length sentences.  “Can’t have you driftin’ off when I’m trying t’ introduce you to our steeds, princess.”

For a second, you really considered asking then and there.  Seeing how the little girl reaches up and tries to brush dark hair away from your boyfriend’s eye makes your heart melt.  This could be your future.  Your forever.  A family with your favourite people.

Though, as you watch him, maybe you’ll wait.

Or, maybe, you won’t even get that opportunity at all.

It’s not like Boothill ever knew anyway.

[heavenlyraindrops]

BOOTHIL X READER PELALSPELLSLS I KNOW NOTHING AB HIM AND ITS BEEN A BIT SINCE I OPENED THE GAME BUT I WANT HIM SO BAD AND I AM SAVING SO MUCH TO GET HIM PSLSOSLSLSL

ʙᴏᴏᴛʜɪʟʟ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ——> saw this pic in a post by @lynettess then I got this req and I just. I had to

Warnings: profanity, very suggestive, Boothill kinda has an accent or smth idk it’s not bad or anything

A/N: see more of her as in, more often? Or in the other way…? Thanks for the ask Adonis. Sorry this was so short tho :( mayb if it gets enough notes I’ll write a pt. 2…

Your plans for a Friday night definitely weren’t to get drunk in some obscure bar in the middle of nowhere, lost all sight of your friend who had dragged you out for a ‘good night.’ They definitely weren’t to be sitting so close to Boothill, to the point where his metal torso was pressed against your warm one, sending a thrill through your body- but his breath fanning across your face was warm.

The alcohol coursed through your system, making you more sluggish than usual- though you were sober enough. Not sober enough to stop and think about whether or not you should get so close to a stranger, and a cyborg at that- albeit an attractive one. Boothill tilted his head to the side, smirk playing across his lips as you giggled at something he said while taking another sip from your glass. 

Your eyes searched your friend out through the crowd of the hot bar, but couldn’t see her anywhere. His hand went to your chin, fixing your gaze back onto his own face. 

“Eyes here,” he said. You grinned, again, face burning, although you couldn’t tell if it was from the heat or from his actions as you swept a couple of strands of hair from your own face. “Didn’t anyone tell ya it’s rude to not look at someone when they’re talkin’?” 

You leaned precariously on your elbow, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “Apologies,” you teased, hand pressed to your chest. His eyes followed the action. “How ever could I make it up to you?” 

He leaned back, away from you, and you leaned into him again, and his grin only widened. Your eyes traced the marks under his eye and your heart thrummed against your chest. “A favour? From a pretty thing like you? I could never accept that.”

You held up your hand. “Hey, when did I offer you a favour?” You complained, trying to fight the colour rising to your cheeks at his little remark. He tipped his head back to laugh and the sinful thoughts filling your head as you looked at him were definitely not seeing you through to the pearly gates. 

The past hour had been a blur, from when he had slid into the seat next to you, smoothly talking you into flirtatious conversation, up until now, where the tension was tugging at your fervently. And you were so, so close to grabbing him and simply begging him to-

“What’s wrong, sugar? Can’t handle a little compliment?”

No, no, I can’t. Not when it comes from you. Great, now I’m fucking wet. You smiled coolly and took another sip of your drink. “Not when it comes from you,” you shot back, echoing your previous thought. 

“Nice to know I have that sort of effect on ya, sweetheart,” he murmured, and the metal tip of his finger tracing a path along your collarbone. You froze at the provocative touch, hands tightening around your glass, growing more and more restless. 

“Is it?” You stuttered, fighting to keep your voice level. He chuckled, hand dropping down to your waist. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, and suddenly moved back. Your muscles tightened with apprehension- anticipation? You couldn’t tell. 

And then he took his hat off and set it on your head. 

You burned at the thought of the implications of the action as his finger traced the rim of the accessory. “I’m assumin’ ya don’t have any specific plans for the rest of the night?” You took off his hat, setting it in your lap. 

“Well, I didn’t.” You locked eyes with him. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“But I do now.”

[endlesslytired]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Boothill react to his gn s/o telling him that they can't sleep in the same bed as him because they will cling onto him like a koala bear in their sleep?

‘Don’t be ridiculous sugar, I’d love me a clingy koala bear.’ Boothill said cheekily before his face became a somber. ‘And besides I won’t be able to feel you clinging onto me anyway.’ He adds with a shrug but you could tell it was something that deeply affected him.

If Boothill could make a deal with the gods to allow his body to feel the slightest touch, he’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant he could feel you cling on to him like you claim you would.

But he wasn’t blessed with that opportunity just yet and until then he’d had to make do with the fact that the only part of his body that could feel was his face.

Only in his wildest dreams could it be achieved where he would be able to feel you pressed up against his side, face pressed against his chest as your limbs went whether they felt and locking him in, but he wouldn’t care because he could feel you.

He hated everything about his body and its inability to feel but you loved him nonetheless and made sure to express your affection however you could and he loved you all the more for it.

‘Well I’ll just have to sleep like this then.’ You said as you cupped his cheeks in your hands and pulled his forehead so that it was pressed against your own and your noses were touching. ‘If that’s okay with you.’ You added in a whisper, looking into his eyes.

‘It’s more than okay with me sweetheart.’ He tells you softly, pressing his face further into your hold the moment your thumbs caressed under his eyes. ‘It’s more than okay.’ He repeats, feeling himself melt further into your touch when your fingers ran through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He was in heaven, he must be. Was all he think as he drifted of to sleep, the lingering warmth of your hands guided him to the land of dreams where you would be there, waiting for him with outstretched arms.

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

“hold your tongue...Unless you gon’ lick on my clit-!!”

synopsis: Unbeknownst to you, you did something to make both Argenti and Boothill mad….so now you’re gonna make them happy.

tags: poly relationship, vulgar, explicit, cunnalingus, fingering, clit play, nipple play, pet names, etc.

wrd cnt: 0.9k

a/n: this was a request and it just has to be as freaky as possible

Your relationship with the knight and the cowboy is something only believable in a fairy tale. Except…”fairy tale” sounds quite too amateur and misleading.

This was more like a risqué story you tell your bestfriends at a sleepover when you’re too drowsy to have shame.

Argenti and Boothill are two very…conflicting entities. With you in the picture, it’s a harmony. Except the times when you somehow become the main point of both their anger and pay the price, not like you’re unwilling.

How could you be when they’re both between your thighs, hungrily eyeing at your dripping pussy before Boothill blows air onto your already sensitive clit, cooing at your sharp reflex. While Argenti soothes your thigh, giving you a few kisses that only heighten your arousal before both of the men use one strong hand to push your plush thighs open, exposing yourself even more to them. Don’t even dare to try to shut your thighs even a bit, they'd be pushed right back open, along with a quick slap on your plush skin.

All the heat in the air would naturally cause some bickering, Argenti and Boothil were already mad, and could barely come to a consensus on who gets the first taste of you. The air was thick with tension, you could barely breathe. Or maybe it was your excitement.

Argenti being the gentleman that he is, gave it up to Boothill.

The gunslinger wastes no time spitting on your clit before wrapping his lips around it, tongue immediately caressing your sensitive pearl. He couldn't decide between roughly sucking on the poor thing or moving his tongue side to side, all while Argenti kissed and nipped on the soft skin of your thighs while his hand finds itself on your bare breast, squeezing roughly every once in a while to keep you on your toes. His favorite thing to see is your nipples getting harder, and they always did when under his thumb.

He can only be so generous for so long, kissing his way towards your center before nudging Boothill head with his own; both their tongues massaging and rubbing against each others while fighting over your clit. Their eyes both glued up to watch your expression, each hand of yours stuck on both of their heads, tangles in different shades of hair.

"A-Ah!!! please-" your back suddenly arched off the bed as you felt two hot tongues on your clit. Not knowing whose name to moan out. Argentis moving up and down, like he were trying to savor the taste of your essence—not too hard or too fast....just sensual. Boothills tongue on the other hand, settled on quick harsh licks that made you twitch, his tongue flat on your clit before he sucks on it harder.

"s'good right? hm darlin’?" Boothil slurred into your pussy, sloppily kissing his way down to your dripping hole. Argenti took this as an opportunity to cup your entire clit in his mouth, hid two fingers spreading your folds apart more; revealing more surface area for him to enjoy. He hummed around your clit, spit dribbling from his lips from the sloppy kisses he was giving your weeping pussy.

As soon as you felt Boothill shove his tongue in your pussy, your back arches slightly off the bed as you came with a loud, pathetic whine. He moaned almost just as much when he felt your cum began to coat his tongue in little waves.

Argenti, pulled away from your clit with an obnoxious pop. Red eyes admiring at the mess your pussy has already become. "Saved some for me, right?," he mumbled, leaning his head down to lick a slow strip up your pussy. His long finger ran slowly up and down your petal soft slit, occasionally applying light pressure to your clit. Without any warning he plunged two fingers in with a lewd squelching sound following Boothills interruption of: "we're supposed to be sharing- don't be so greedy!

“please-just be gentle m'still a little— hah! sensitiveeee," you request. It went from synchronized licks, to absolutely destruction of your perception of cumming. You felt your body react in ways you didn’t think possible before.

You tried to keep your eyes on them but you could only handle so much before you head fell back against your bed, eyes rolling into the back of your head. "You like my fingers inside you, don’t you, sweet thing?," Argenti spoke into your thigh, giving it a sweet kiss before plunging two fingers inside you again. His fingers began doing a scissoring motion, and to help you avoid the stinging stretch Boothill sucked your throbbing clit in his mouth. What a great team.

“gonna cu-cum again, you're gonna make me-" your body tensed as another orgasm washed over you, a pleasing sight for the two men before you. "Fuck she's squeezing me real fucking tight, feels that good baby? Boothill growled, curling his fingers in the most delicious way possible to make you feel it even more.

Eventually, you felt the stretch of four fingers inside.

"oh-… my fucking.." your mouth dropped as both men began to move their fingers at a synchronized pace, digits bumping against that special spot inside they knew you liked so much.

Argenti eyed your lonely breast and brought his free hand up to tweak at your nipple, Boothill following.

“look at how wet she is.... dripping all over the fucking bed, I though my oil changes were messy… " Boothill chuckles, him and Argenti already in a agreeance that this was just the beginning.

Wait…why were they even mad at you again!!?!

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

boothill thinks it’s fun to play around with his synesthesia beacon. turn it to a million different pitches or inflects just to see what irritates you most. sometimes, he’ll even do his best to recreate the voices of your boss and coworkers to watch you jolt out of your skin. to him, it’s hilarious and a worthwhile endeavour.

but your favourite is when he keeps it closest to his voice. when he tunes it just right to sound like himself after he’s done messing around. you like it when he’s himself as he hums and sings along to different songs, his favourites to sing being ‘Tiffany Blews’ mindlessly, ‘Before He Cheats’ when he feels like being annoying, and ‘Something About You’ while he’s playing with your hair (you introduced him to bedroom pop one night to break his whole only country and rock mindset and it surprisingly grew on him).

he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and perch his head on your shoulder as he twirls a couple strands, “she looks just like a dream, the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen,” with his sweet southern accent and smile. it’s almost enough for you to forget that he’s a wanted man and stole the last piece of bread that morning… maybe next time, boothill.

[hxney-lemcn]

Honkai: Star Rail fic recs ✨

Multi

A Guardian or Two (Jiaoqiu & Moze together) ❥ one shot, flangst ❥ @luvether

Reverse Dating Tropes One (Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade seperate) & Two (Gepard, Aventurine, Sunday seperate) ❥ one shot, fluff ❥ @lowkeyren

that boy is mine (Aventurine, Jing Yuan, Veritas Ratio, Sunday, Argenti seperate) ❥ ficlet, fluff ❥ @pearlymel

First Meetings (Argenti, Sunday, Boothill, Blade, Aventurine, Jing Yuan seperate) ❥ one shot, fluff ❥ @/kisstrela (deactivated)

Veritas Ratio

Jealousy ❥ one shot, fluff ❥ @earthtooz

Sunday

Two can Play at That Game ❥ one shot, hurt/comfort ❥ @lowkeyren

Boothill

Distraction ❥ one shot, fluff ❥ @n0tamused

A lick and a promise ❥ one shot, fluff & smut ❥ @silentmoths

at your beck and call ❥ one shot, fluff ❥ @suashii

Mess ❥ ficlet, crack/fluff ❥ @nvuy

Touch ❥ one shot, fluff/comfort ❥ @k9wa

[boothillz]

steel limbs clank together, the sound akin to the clattering of metal spoons against ceramic cups as boothill shuffles along. he's carrying you in his arms, your own looped around his neck as you rest your head on his shoulder.

the night is dark and starry. the moon hangs high in the sky, a silver disk among the endless black, and the air is crisp and cold. the two of you had just returned from the shooting range and you were exhausted—having used nearly every ounce of energy you had trying to out shoot boothill. you'd failed, of course. his aim was impeccable and you had yet to best him in a single match, but it didn't stop you from trying again and again and again until the two of you finally called it quits.

you can hear the sounds of his joints creaking and the soft mechanical hum of his internal systems as you near your shared room. you’d have to remind him to oil them later—not that he would forget. the man was meticulous in the upkeep of his body, after all.

as boothill sets you down on the bed, you tug at the collar of his jacket, urging him on top of you, his harsh feeling body clunking against your soft one, a dull pain throbbing in your bones at the impact. it fades away quickly though, and you wrap your arms around him, relishing the warmth of his metal chest.

yes, boothill is quite cold. the temperature of his body could sometimes be chilling, his metal limbs frigid to the touch. and while most people wouldn't dream of being anywhere near him, much less touching him, but you find warmth in his company. and boothill found it in yours.

as you lie in bed, wrapped in each other's arms, boothill's voice sounds from deep within his chest, reverberating through the metal frame of his body.

"lil’ shooter," he says. "let's get you to sleep, alright? ‘s been a long fudgin’ day.”

you hum an affirmative and he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, his breath fanning across your face as he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips hot, pleasant.

"night, night, darlin’. aint no bed bugs gettin’ ya whilst im here so rest easy.”