#lil’s brainrot moment

[helloiamthatlilwitch]

“I’m sorry it’s giving jealousy”🤫🧏

Inside out 2 got me mixed feelings (in a good way)

also the fanart revived me

:)

[totallynotzzombiecat]

·· Commorragh moments ·· ♫: Jakob Ahlbom - Fracture

[vampkomori]

little fun fact: in a cn video for the dreamjolt holstery event they have aventurine (with the hat and glasses!!) order a drink called Station of Freedom thats clearly designed after him considering the name and the colors matching him perfectly 💛💚

[randomfingthings]

I had to get this gem of a moment out of my system! Definition of when inspiration strikes 🤗

[jessamine-rose]

*squeezes aine this time*

Read my Yandere! Dottore fics first (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)

Chemistry ๑ Magnum Opus

So @ainescribe decided to surprise me with more Darling fan art, this time of Dottore’s Assistant!! *sobs* I love it so much ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Once again, feedback will be in the tags. Thank you so much for enjoying my writing, Aine <3

[generalsmemories]

points at xipe

look at my favorite aeon everyone, the silly aeon who just gobbled up numerous aeons and now is quite literally a gathering of aeon condensed into one harmonious being

[whimsicalcotton]

.

[coldshrugs]

what i see in you, i hope you find in me

characters: io laithe (wol), alisaie leveilleur, estinien varlineau wordcount: 1.6k note: io feels out of sorts in garlemald. her friends seek to comfort her. the first part of this is directly before "in from the cold" and the second part is the following day. [read on AO3]

There is a fragile warmth in Camp Broken Glass.

The Ilsabard Contingent troops, faces familiar and foreign to Io, begin the difficult work of welcoming the Ist’s soldiers into their camp. There are wounds to mend, fires to stoke, and enormous pots of soup to simmer and disperse. Not all of her people are cheery about it, but there is a sense of purpose in each of them. This is why they’ve come all this way, faced the perils of the north, faced their bloody history.

Healing is rarely a painless act.

Io stays on the fringes. At best, she is a divisive figure in this land–at worst, she is the manifestation of Garlean terror. It’s better if she lets the soldiers process their new circumstances without meddling and, truthfully, she could do with a moment of peace.

She heads toward a building adjacent to the cookfires to escape the frigid wind. This is as good a place to hide as any. She tugs her fleece-lined coat around her more tightly and leans against the near-frozen wood.

Miles away, the Tower of Babil looms over the city, angry, crimson, and waiting for her. The next leg of her journey, perhaps the final one, will take her there.

To him.

For nearly three years, Zenos has consumed Io’s thoughts. He has stoked her rage, sometimes indirectly, most of the time for his deranged satisfaction. He reaches for the darkness in her that no one else wants to touch, let alone acknowledge, and he sets it aflame. She hates him for it, yet she is grateful to him. One feeling lays on the other, like oil on water, and she cannot find a way to blend them.

At least not one that makes her sound sane.

Footsteps approach and the crunch of snow shakes Io from her thoughts.

“There you are.” Alisaie stops at her side. She glares at the Tower for a long moment, then turns to Io. “Are you alright? Some of the Contingent have asked about you.”

Io nods and pulls her attention away from the repulsive skyline. “I’m fine, Alisaie. Trying to stay out of the way for the evening.”

Alisaie frowns. “Would you care for company? Alphinaud and I have tended the worst of the injured, and have been all but forced to rest. He’s run off to find that witless oaf he admires so much.”

“He’s not so bad,” Io laughs, and gestures for her friend to settle in against the battered building. “In a few short months, you two will be thick as thieves.”

“You are not often wrong, but I fear this will be the exception.”

Io glances across the camp. It takes a moment to spot them, but Alphinaud, Alberic, and Estinien sit on a couple of low benches, sipping hot soup from hammered metal cups. All three appear to be in good spirits, smiling and laughing as Alphinaud recounts some story or other.

Something strange and sharp twists in her chest at the sight of them. The knowledge she isn't welcome to join them, perhaps.

Her second reason to hide.

“He’s angry with me. I suppose that is his right. I shouldn’t have let them take you two.” Io grits her teeth, fighting against the knot of guilt that has resided in her stomach since the morning.

Estinien is her friend, perhaps the closest she has here besides Alisaie. She understands him, so she can hardly blame him for being upset with her. They are family to him, Alphinaud, and Alisaie by extension. No less than they are to her. He has given Io little more than one-word responses since the twins were found. She may pretend otherwise, but his cold shoulder wounds her.

“Oh, to hells with Estinien.” Alisaie waves a gloved hand dismissively in his direction. “He’ll get over it. Would he have you fire upon civilians while negotiating peace? He may love my brother like a… well, brother, but he must admit there was no ideal series of events to be had. We all did our best, and we all made it through.”

Her hand lands on Io’s arm. Her fingers must feel like ice inside her glove, but Alisaie squeezes anyway, firm and reassuring.

“Thank you, Ali,” she whispers, and her gratitude hangs as a visible breath between them. They stay tucked between the buildings until Y’shtola calls them to dinner.

○––––––––––––––––––––––––––––○

Articulating what it is like to be outside oneself is something Io cannot bring herself to do. How could she describe watching her loved ones nearly cut down by her own hand, while she occupies the body of another? While an intruder operates hers. To be the stringless puppet and the feeble voyeur all at once

She has never been more afraid.

And Zenos… Though something in her heart still quakes like a plucked string at the thought of him, a modicum of sympathy she can't seem to erase, she finally accepts what she has known for so long: there is nothing for her there. Her most monstrous facets are reflected in him, a dark mirror she's been staring into for too long, but she could never do that to someone. Never.

With nothing more she can say to the others, she retreats to her closet-sized room in one of the less-dilapidated buildings. Io shrugs out of her coat, sighing with exhaustion. The icy air bites at her skin, even through her shirt, and she moves toward the ceruleum heater struggling to keep the temperature up in the corner. There is no time to rest. The assault on the Tower is happening in mere hours, and she needs to be armored, armed, and briefed.

Someone knocks, two heavy raps. Io leaves the tepid warmth to open the door.

Estinien?

He's the last person she expected right now.

His jaw is locked, and his hard stare passes over her in quick inspection, missing nothing. Fury lingers in his gray eyes, but unlike yesterday, it’s not her he wants to burn. Is he no longer upset with her?

Unable to meet his gaze, Io looks away. “Is something wrong?”

“I came to ask how you’re doing,” he says, “after yesterday.”

Io opens the door wider, inviting him into the space. He glances at the wooden stool in the corner, then back at her, and crosses the threshold with a reluctant step.

She sits on the cot, too far from the meager rays of heat. The air is heavy between them. Something is on his mind, and Estinien is never one to hold back for long.

“Are you hurt?” He asks after settling on the creaky stool. It’s too small for him, and she bites back her amusement. This is not the time to fall back into their comfortable patterns, no matter how much she longs for them. “They tell me you aren’t, but I would hear it from you.”

“I’m uninjured.”

“And your mind?” Estinien presses, facing her head-on. He searches her face, grey eyes refusing to shy away from whatever the answer may be. She has seen him like this before, harboring an indignant, singular focus, though that was years ago. Yesterday’s irritation was a shadow of this.

“Fine.” She tucks a knee under her chin. It is almost the full truth.

“Io. You're shaking.”

“Perhaps you should blame the climate.”

He grimaces, teeth grinding in frustration. “I have seen you cold before. Do not pretend we're strangers.”

Io runs a hand through her hair. Trying to fool him is as futile as attempting to forget the last twenty-four hours. But he is here, talking to her, and she doesn't want him to go just yet. “And what of your mind, Estinien? You don’t seem yourself.”

His next breath stutters out of him, followed by hesitant words. “Before I found them,” he starts, and she knows he means the twins, “I could only see the worst outcome behind that door. How late would I be, this time? What could I have done to save them? …I prepared my grief. Then the door opened, and they were fine. Just whinging about the cold. It was easy to blame you for what could’ve happened. Easier than going back to the first time I lost family.”

He pauses and looks at her. Looks into her. And there’s the man she knows like the back of her hand. The friend she knows so well, they communicate across silence and stillness. She offers him a half-smile.

“I scoffed when you disappeared, still angry at the false burden I thought you cast upon me. Had I known what happened to you…” The words trail into silence as Estinien forces his eyes away from her to the window and the malevolent tower beyond. “I realized you, too, are… I will lose no more family, Io.”

Her sharp inhale stings her lungs. She watches him as he gazes out the window, projecting his anger toward Babil, Zenos, Fandaniel. Everywhere but her direction.

“Estinien,” she calls across the small room, embarrassed by the soft crack of her voice, and he turns back to her. “We’re alright, all of us. I would never let the twins come to harm. Garlemald has taken much from me, so much that offering aid to this land is agonizing, but it will not take them. I hope you trust me.”

He rises and gives her a firm nod, lingering by the window as if he’s not finished here. He shakes his head, clears his throat.

“Don’t let it take you either.”

That doesn’t feel like the end of it, but he leaves before she can say more.

[helloiamthatlilwitch]

To all my Filipino mutuals…

I heard there’s gonna be a typhoon heading to your country

BE SAFE EVEN THO TYPHOONS HAPPEN REGULARLY THERE (I think)

PLEASE PROMISE ME THAT YOULL BE OKAY I BEG OF YOU-

[houseownerz]

Max: it's okay to ask for help

Pooki: you're not a burden

Jerry: your feelings matter

Ross: murder is okay :D

- 🌌 Anon

Max: he's right!!!!!! he's just a lil guy!!!

[emeraldbabygirl]

ive been in yong junhyung brainrot for 3 days. hyunseung a bit also, but mostly junhyung. hes so pretty and talented and his song flower is so good ugh

Yes you 100% correct. Is Flower a title track tho cause I didn’t think he had an album out I thought it was like a single type thing. Maybe I’ll check out highlight and things today

[ervotica]

fix your head

pairing; perv!stepbro!rafe cameron x fem!stepsister!reader

warnings; stepcest, smut 18+ only, fingering, p in v sex, somnophilia, free use kink

a/n; just been having brainrot abt stepbro!rafe so here’s a lil drabble/thot abt him! (yes i am insane)

A rough palm presses to the small of your back as the covers lift, a chill twining around your suddenly exposed skin that has goosebumps raising even in slumber. You whine, brows scrunching as lax fingers loop around his wrist and you twist further into the sheets. Your eyes open and desperately try to acclimatise to the darkness of your bedroom, but all you can decipher is a looming silhouette that begins to crawl on top of your slack body.

"Shh, shh," Rafe soothes. His breath is hot against your prickling face. "'S just me. Go back to sleep. Just g'na fix your head a little."

"Mm, okay." You settle once you realise it's only your stepbrother, eyes fluttering closed once more. His touch immediately has your pert nipples hardening, the soft sheets beneath you enough stimulation to make you squirm even in your half-asleep state.

Bruising fingers curl around your hips, lifting them until your back arches and your face smushes into the pillows beneath you; he makes light work of your panties, pushing them to the side as his big palms knead the fatty flesh of your bum.

A finger sinks into your weeping hole and you gasp, pushing back into the touch as he curls it just right to rub over your g-spot. Your gummy walls contract at the newfound pleasure and an arm flies back in seek of purchase against Rafe's wrist.

"I know, I know," he coos, slipping in another digit and picking up the pace until the delicious friction has you stifling moans into the sheets. "Keep quiet for me, kid. Wouldn't want your mom finding us, would we?"

The feeling of fullness is gone as quickly as it appeared and you're still for a few moments, features crumpling in vexation.

"Don't get bratty on me now, you little shit," he chuckles, watching as your face falls once more when he lines his mushroom head up with your drooling entrance. You garble and gasp as your cunt parts and flares around him, fluttering walls hugging him and moulding to the shape of his curved cock.

Fingers splay against the base of your neck, effectively silencing you as he starts to rock his hips; fingernails dig into the delicate flesh there and you whimper, tears tickling at your waterline as he presses you further into the pillow to keep you quiet.

"Got this pussy trained f'me, haven't I, kid? Attagirl, nice and quiet for me."

He twines an open palm into the length of your hair and tugs to reveal your blissed visage, watching with rapture as your expression changes the more he toys with you.

You squeak as he reaches down to pinch and roll your swollen clit between two fingertips, teeth baring into a growl when he clasps a merciless hand over your whining mouth.

"I told you to be fuckin' quiet, slut. Too much of a whore to take it nicely, hm? Too ungrateful?"

You shake your head vehemently, tears pooling at the base of his fingers as his thrusts pick up speed, head of his cock kissing every spot inside of you until you can't think of anything but how good he's making you feel.

He wrenches his hand free and you sag like dead weight, a punched breath of air expelling from your lungs with every cruel rut of his hips.

"There's my girl," he croons with a wicked smile, satisfied now you're fucked too dumb to do anything but drool onto the pillows beneath you. "You just, relax, kid. I'll be finished with you soon.”

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

might i request reader fucking boothill after they take off his arms and legs? he's got mechanical limbs, so it won't really hurt and they can be put back on again, but like. the brainrot. he'd look so cute fr fr ♦️

Author's Note: You must also be a mind reader, because I have been plagued with all sorts of scenarios like this. Either with a robot/android character having their innards played with, or robot/android reader. — All of that to say; I went with a mechanic reader doing some maintenance on Boothill, and things get a lil spicy 👀 (ended up making the reader a bit southern too??)

Pairings: Boothill x male reader

Warnings: Male mechanic!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Boothill, robo sex, robo genital functions, Boothill's goofy swearing, fingering, grinding, mild objectification

“What seems to be the problem?” You ask. The man on the other side of the desk rolls his shoulder back a few times, complaining of some joint issues.

“Alrighty, follow me. I'll take a look at'cha”

The cowboy follows you into an examination room. Various posters are taped to the walls — cheesy motivational posters and diagrams of machinery, mostly. He comments on them, saying that he appreciates a place like this, as opposed to the squeaky clean shops he'd been referred to previously. You chuckle and thank him for the compliment.

Some tools are pulled out and placed on a workbench next to the table. As you're prepping things, you tell your customer to remove any articles of clothing and have a seat on the table.

“Well shoot, at least take me to dinner first, darlin'!” He teases, smirking at you when you slowly turn your head around and playfully squint your eyes at his remark. Still, he does as he's told, and removes his cropped top, pants, hat. Literally everything is off, and he takes his seat, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“Lift this arm for me. Ok good. Now the other one.” You instruct him through a simple visual check. All four of his limbs seem to stutter through their movements, acting worse when he tries to rotate his legs.

“Ok... Um, I think this'll be an easy fix, but uh...”

“But what?”

“I... am going to need to detach all of your limbs to fix you–”

—

While your customer was clearly not used to a procedure like this one, he did a wonderful job of following your instructions so as not to damage anything while you're removing his appendages. All four of them detach smoothly, and you set them aside on a spare table until you'll need them again. With the heavy lifting out of the way, you're ready to go in for the delicate work of recalibrating his connecting joints.

“You know, you're probably one of my best customers.” you say as your fingers tug on one of the small wires buried deep within his hip socket, “Most people aren't too keen on doing it all at once. And even when it's two at a time, they squirm and babble anxiously.”

Boothill inhales sharply as the sensation of your hands literally inside of him stirs something within his belly. His lower lip is scored with the marks from his sharp teeth.

You tighten a few of the mechanisms in there, and he prays that you keep your eyes on your work, otherwise you'd see how stupid he must look as his eyelids droop and his mouth opens in a silent moan. It's taking all of his willpower to hold those sounds in.

“Geez, this one is crazy loose… do you uh, have regular maintenance done? Because you really sh-”

As you grip another wire and pull it, a compartment on Boothill's crotch suddenly opens up, revealing a fleshy, dripping hole.

If the cowboy still had legs at the moment, he'd be trying to close them and hide his arousal from you. Already, his breathing has become ragged and heavy, on the verge of making other, lewder sounds…

“Ah! O-oh I am so sorry–”

“Naw, s'okay…” Boothill slurs before the beginning of a moan, futilely attempting to hold composure that is clearly long gone by this point. He can't really buck his hips, but you can tell that that's what he's trying to do. You take the hint, and curiously move between his legs- or, what would be the area between his legs, anyway. He gives you permission immediately, almost begging to have this spot touched.

It's… strangely soft… humanlike in both appearance and touch. It's unclear whether this is human flesh or synthetic, but realistic flesh. Whatever it is, it has nerve endings of some variety, because Boothill whimpers as you prod around the edges of the opening. More liquid oozes out as you toy with him, gasping ooh's and aah's with a curious grin on your face. It's so much that you need to grab a couple towels and place them under his hips so it doesn't drip everywhere or seep into his open sockets. Seriously, it's like a waterfall after a couple minutes…

“You're sure this is ok? I'd hate to make you uncomfortable…”

The hole between his hips pulsates, opening up just slightly, as if it's inviting you inside.

“Darlin', please– you already had yer fingers inside of me today, just… put 'em back in.” The cowboy whines. And if a customer needs a little extra service, who are you to ignore them? Especially one as gorgeous as Boothill.

A rush of the sticky liquid comes pouring out when you push two fingers inside of his pretty hole.

“Fuck, not that I get around much, but I've never seen someone get so damn wet just from my fingers before. Is it always like this?”

A quiet 'mm-mm' is his response. His head flies to either side as your fingers sink in up to the knuckle, effortlessly, thanks to his built-in lube. His hair is hanging off the other end of the table, swooshing around every time Boothill flings his head around. It's so pretty, you really wish it was between your fingers right now…

For now, your focus comes back to the multitude of wet noises coming from Boothill's hole. The towels under him have long since soaked up everything spilling from his entrance.

“M-more… gimme more–!!” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut.

Removing your fingers, his hole squirts out a bit of liquid, and he resembles a sad puppy until he notices you removing your clothes. When your hard-on is more visible, Boothill drools at the sight.

You free your cock and give it a few pumps, licking your lips as your eyes flick between the cowboy's fleshy entrance and his sweaty face. He returns your gaze with his own obvious lust, lolling his tongue out once you touch him again.

It's incredibly soft and wet on your dick. You rub your length against the opening a few times, grinding against him and imagining how it will feel once you're inside–

“Shi- fuck! Mm that's tight, cowboy. Holy shit.” You exclaim, almost going cross-eyed from pleasure as his hole squeezes you so good. It doesn't take long for you to grab his hips and thrust like your life depends on it.

“Goddamn, yer like some hi-tech fleshlight! Oh yeah, take that dick! Take it, slut.” Mechanical wheezing is the only sound coming from Boothill now, unable to speak as you pound his hole mercilessly. In a moment of animalistic lust, you crawl up on the table and fuck him like a sex doll, curling over his body with your own and pistoning your hips, drilling into his gushing entrance as he squirts heavily.

You groan right into his ear, “M'gonna cum in you now- is that ok?” Boothill rapidly shakes his head, shivering at the way your breath hits his earlobe. Within seconds you're fucking your seed further into his squishy hole, ramming in so deep you make the cowboy's eyes roll completely back, and he exhales a shaky “Fork yeah~”. It's hard not to chuckle at the ridiculousness of what he said, but coming down from your high takes most of your energy — including the energy to realize that this man did just say "fork yeah" when you came inside of him……

His hole is still greedily sucking your juices in, and you can already feel yourself humping the glorified fleshlight that is your customer. Needless to say, this repair will take longer than you planned…

[6gumi]

i won’t break ya ! (full fic ver soon !)

cw. mentions of breeding | bear!gallagher x bunny f!reader :3 | thinkin’ hard about . . . bear!gallagher right now . . >< small lil brainrot / thirst ! ! if he was ever a hybrid of some sorts . . he’d be a bear 100%

thinkin’ about bear!gallagher who manhandles you by accident sometimes . . especially during intimate moments. he’s just so so desperate for you, who can blame him ? !

thinkin’ about bear!gallagher who’s cock is . . . big to say the least. he has to take simple precautions whenever he fucks you, scared he might break you. gallagher let out a satisfied growl as he felt your tight warmth enveloping his shaft. you were so small . . he could crush you. eat you up maybe. "so cute . . so so damn tight . . i’m scared i might break ya."

thinkin’ about bear!gallgaher who’s fond of your size differences, more than he ever expected, really. gallagher is gentle yet rough with you, wanting nothing but pleasure for his precious bunny girlfriend but . . . he also wants to claim you. show you just how good he is with his girthy cock ! "damn, you're good, bunny . . . you’re making me cum. so small, so perfect . . so damn cute.”

gallagher shifts, pulling you close enough that your back pressed against his chest, one large arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in tighter. thrusting upwards into you, his thumb teased your sensitive bud as he licked his lips. “you’re so small baby . . i could pound you ‘til you scream my fuckin’ name."

“y—you’re gonna break me, gallagher . .” small crystal-like tears shimmered from your pretty eyes, his seed spilling out of your pussy as he came inside for the fourth time this hour. “break ‘ya? nah, i won’t break ‘ya, bunny. only bullshit i’m breakin’ today is this damn bed.”

thinkin’ about bear!gallagher who pulls on your little rabbit ears every-time during intimacy. “slow,” he growls. "savour it, sweet bunny.” he breathes, his eyes flickering down at your ears as he tugged on ‘em tighter ! his muscles were tense as he continued his relentless thrusting. then, tug. he tugged you back at his chest, forcing you to arch your back !

gallagher’s eyes glint with hunger, devouring you with his gaze. "that’s my girl. time to see if you're as tough as you say you are, bunny." his cock drilled within you, his tongue invading your mouth . . . eager to make this pleasurable for you. “stretch those holes, baby. take my dick like the good girl you are . . such a pretty thing. this pussy of yours . . it belongs to me, right?”

[aria0fgold]

Okay, that's enough isat for the day cuz it's time for me to prepare for bed but ooooOOO I LOVE IT SO MUCH ALRDY! So many things to know... I just wanna keep playing but I'd just sleep early instead and wake up early so I can play early too!