#this was such a cool reference that they didn't even have to do

[yueebby]

Ok so this is a random and weird scenario i thought of after watching some INTERESTING videos on YouTube, I know but I just need to tell someone(it involves lovesick!Gojo- and no this isn’t a request, more like a rant😭)

imagine- it’s summer and all the second year students are sweating and want something cool to eat. Satoru randomly brings in a watermelon and challenges the others to try and open it without any cursed energy or a knife, just pure raw strength. Nobody can do it except him and he laughs a bit before reader crushes the watermelon between her thighs and opens it just like that…IDK Y I THOUGHT OF THIS AND IDK HOW HE WOULD REACT TO THAT BUT I IMAGINE HE WOULD BE RED IN THE FACE AND LIKE ‘me next🙋‍♂️’ IM SRY IM AWARE THIS IS VERY WEIRD😭😭

2:35pm — gojo satoru

synopsis. a certain challenge makes gojo go feral for you

contents. fluff, CRACK, lovesick!gojo, he is (highkey) a pervert, everyone in jujutsu tech is sick of him

“The one and only Gojo Satoru is here to save the day~” The familiar drawl of a sing-song voice calls over the sound of the dingy fan that you and Shoko were huddling in front of. Both of you were sprawled on a tatami mat with the door wide hoping, hoping to catch a gust of wind.

The grin adorned on his face didn't falter when his only response was three annoyed groans.

“It is way too hot for your antics Gojo,” You look up from the fan to half heartedly glare at the white haired boy in front of you. He stares at you, blue eyes slightly wider than usual before he gulps. You brush it off, knowing that you probably looked like a mess, considering you had just finished training in the sweltering Tokyo heat.

Your usual uniform is long gone, replaced with the dress shirt that you wear below it. Even with the undershirt and your skirt, you’re still suffering from the particularly hot day, skin glowing in the sun as a silent testament.

Gojo is forcibly kicked out of his trance upon Suguru harshly bumping shoulders with him.

“Show them what we got,” Suguru’s smooth voice says. Your eyes follow down to whatever he was referring to.

Without any difficulty, Satoru holds up a large watermelon proudly. Your mouth nearly waters at the sight of the large green fruit. How refreshing!

“Ah you didn’t have to go through the trouble after your mission, Suguru!” You leap from your spot, a bright smile painting itself on your face.

The pleased look on Satoru’s face turns sour. “I was the one that brought the watermelon?” He lifts the large fruit, flexing the muscles that were showcased from his dress shirt being cuffed up to his forearms.

“I should be the one getting the thanks, it was my idea to get it in the first place,” Shoko wraps an arm around your shoulder.

The taller boys in front of you look sheepishly away under her stern gaze.

You wrap an affectionate arm around her, “You’d make a good wife one day Shoko.”

Gojo’s jaw drops incredulously, leaning closer into your face, “What about me? [Name]! Wouldn’t I be a good doting husband too?”

You lean away, flustered at his sudden confrontation. His intense blue orbs never leave your face, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shoko snorts, shielding you from his heavy gaze. “Anyways, how are we going to cut this thing? You brought a knife didn’t you?”

…

There is a long silence shared between the four of you.

You think you see an irk mark appear on Suguru’s forehead.

“I clearly told you to bring a knife from the kitchen,” Suguru snaps his head to his white haired counterpart.

“Must’ve slipped my mind, heh,” Satoru whistles. “We can just break it ourselves, no?”

TEN MINUTES LATER—

“Ready,” Satoru’s smile grows wide. “Go!”

You watch expectantly as Shoko’s hand descends onto the watermelon in a swift chop. To your shock, the watermelon stays unharmed despite the legs of the wooden table below it creaking loudly.

“Wha–?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

Satoru shrugs, “Better stop smoking and start training. You’re falling behind~”

You and Geto have to hold Shoko back from lunging at the smug white haired bastard.

“Next challenger, step up!” Satoru announces.

Fueled with hunger and the desire to get your hands on the juicy watermelon that awaits, you sit down on the cement floor of the school with the watermelon in your lap.

You gently place the fruit in between your thighs, inhaling slowly.

Squish!

The watermelon breaks in half with a crunch.

“Oh,” You blink in shock, surprised that your plan managed to work. “I did it.”

Your joy is short lived when you realize that your legs are sticky as a result of the juices of the fruit. A sheepish smile makes its way onto your lips.

“Gah–?!” Gojo chokes on air as he watches your thighs glisten with the sunlight. Though his mouth is agape, no words seem to escape. He’s nearly certain that the heat rushing throughout his body is not from the sun.

Shoko whistles, squatting down to eye level with your thigh to assess the damage done. She gives your thigh a good squeeze, “Nice legs.”

You’re too flustered to hear Gojo growl from just a couple of feet away at Shoko’s shameless attempt at flirting.

“My face next.”

extras:

- the only reason why satoru forgot to get a knife was because he was practically skipping to you once he got through the gates of jujutsu tech. suguru was nice enough to spare these details from you.

- despite all sorcerers being able to detect cursed energy, gojo satoru is pretty exceptional, being able to mask his cursed energy usage. that, and you were too tired to even notice it. (he lightly coated the watermelon right when each person went up to break it. suguru noticed immediately, but wanted to see how the prank would play out).

[askwenjing]

So... how do I feel about the series finale?

Well, I have mixed feelings about it.

What I like about it:

1. Hemlock and Rampart's deaths - they deserve it.

2. Nala Se sacrifices her life to destroy the databank - it's a fitting fate for her.

3. Emerie survives and starts a new life. I thought she's going to die.

4. Echo gets to shine.

5. Omega causing chaos and leading the kids out of Tantiss.

6. Prison breakout like Narkina 5 situation

7. Omega hugs Crosshair.

8. Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Omega and Echo survive (as predicted)

9. GILF Hunter

10. The epilogue is good - bittersweet to see Omega has grown up and chose to join the Rebellion.

But I have many issues about it:

1. Tech is actually gone... I can't believe that the crew dragged us with false hope. It is so cruel. Tech deserves a good ending!

2. There is a lack of mourning and paying tribute to Tech. He's only remember for his usefulness and intelligence, not as a loving brother. This is hurtful for the ND community.

3. The whole CX-2 identity - it turns out he's a nobody... but why so much focus on him and why so many clues pointed him to Tech? I suspect that CX-2 was supposed to be Tech, but something happened behind the scenes and changed it, but they didn't change the script. It's like they want to satisfy both Tech is Alive truthers and non Tech is Alive people - and they fail both of us.

4. What is going to happen to the Force-sensitive kids? We saw Echo and Emerie brought them on a shuttle and probably went to Pantora to meet Riyo Chuchi. I think they are later sent to Naboo (where Kelleran Beq hid Grogu?)

5. Scorch's death. I was 50/50 for his death, but I really wish they could have kept him alive.

6. Crosshair's hand gets cut off. I know people say that by losing his hand, Crosshair is forced to face his trauma. His arm was trembling, without his shooting hand, and using an unfamiliar blaster. He took a deep breath and took a leap of faith, and made the shot to save Omega. Of course, the mental trauma still remains but at least he now have the space to heal on Pabu. However, they glossed over him still dealing with trauma after returning to Pabu. I don't like that.

7. The memes and "jokes" about Crosshair losing his hand, saying "now he has lost his hand, he doesn't have to deal with his hand shaking anymore!" I struggle with anxiety and depression, and my hand was shaking before and during the finale watch - the episode was anxiety driven to me. I find the scene was giving the message "if you want to solve your anxiety, then cut off your problems!" I can't cut off my problems, and that is just ignoring the problem... it's not healing... It's made worse when I found out the Kiners made a cryptic tweet about a chef chopping off a fish's head and it was referring to Crosshair losing his hand... and they thought it was funny. I lost respect on them.

8. The CX Troopers are basically Knights of Ren - they look cool but quickly disposed of. I hate that.

9. The time jump only made me wonder what was Echo's fate. Since the Clone Rebellion didn't work, I assumed the worst that Echo died for his brothers... and if that's the case, the Bad Batch never mentioned him, as if he didn't matter to them! I also assumed Emerie died as well.

10. I already knew anything about Cody and Wolffe would be left for another series.

11. I can't believe we didn't see GILF Wrecker and Crosshair. They all three should be there to bid farewell to her.

12. Batcher became Hunter's dog... she was more of Crosshair's therapy dog...

13. I hate that they didn't explain much about Project Necromancer - the casual viewers would be so confused.

14. Corbett and Rau still played around Omega's M-Count as a mystery box even in the interviews after the finale. She is NOT Force-sensitive - it's just her blood can accept Force-sensitive blood and retain its M-Count, so it's useful to create Force-sensitive clones. They play around for too long and many people are left confused why Omega never used the Force on the Zillo Beast. I want them to confirm a "no!"

15. The Zillo Beast just left... so why the Empire needed to clone a Zillo Beast?

16. Corbett and Rau said that CX-2 was a mirror of Crosshair, then why it was Hunter who killed CX-2 instead?

17. Some Wrecker girlies feel that Wrecker is treated as a tool for his strength like Tech is treated as a tool for his intelligence. Yeah, it's messed up.

18. I find it a bit sad that Hunter, Omega, Crosshair and Wrecker just choose to settle down on Pabu when the Empire is still expanding its power.

19. They should cut off Fennec and Ventress episodes - they serve nothing to the plot.

20. So many loose threads - Why the Kaminoans created female clones? Did Crosshair really remove his inhibitor chip?

21. I don't like Hunter only has tunnel vision on Omega.

22. Omega didn't even use her energy crossbow! She didn't even bring it in the epilogue! What was the point?!

23. Rex, Gregor and Howzer are not even in the finale! Well, at least Howzer lives.

24. Crosshair saying "Clone Force 99 died with Tech". It sounds like he resents Tech and his family... which is out of character.

To be honest, I was numb about the ending. Something was off, and I could feel it. The more I process it, the more dissatisfied I feel about the ending. I have broken down crying not because I didn't get what I want, but more like I felt betrayed by the writers.

To me, the Bad Batch is about celebrating inclusivity and diversity - that we can be true to ourselves. This series has given me hope for the future that we can love ourselves and others for who they are. This dream seems impossible based on my real-life experiences, but the Bad Batch keeps me safe and nurtures my dream. Seeing the fanarts, fanfictions and headcanons have given me more hope for the future despite all the obstacles ahead. That is why I write so many Bad Batch analyses because I want to share my knowledge and findings to many people, hoping that they can understand the powerful messages from these stories that may change their lives.

I appreciate each Bad Batch member, and I can see myself in them. I want my analyses to assure other people that they are loved for who they are. I even finished the Clone Wars arc analysis hours before the series finale, because I thought that the finale would have parallels with the Clone Wars episodes. After all, the title is "The Cavalry Has Arrived", which is said by Wrecker in the Clone Wars arc. Alas, I don't feel like we have gotten that...

After some discussions and analyses, I feel that season 3 has done a disservice to the Bad Batch, and Omega is the only main character who benefits all. No hate to her, but I just wish the rest of the Bad Batch are given the same respect they deserve. The Bad Batch is an idea of George Lucas that Dave Filoni later brings them to life for Clone Wars before cancellation. I feel that Disney only prioritize characters made under the Disney Star Wars banner, and that's Omega. No hate to her. The series finale feels like Disney has disrespected the last of George Lucas' works, because I couldn't comprehend what valuable life lessons from all of these.

Moreover, to see the crew dragging us with false hope, making jokes about Tech's sacrifice and that he lives, joking about Crosshair losing his hand, remembering Tech only for his usefulness and intelligence, giving Hunter tunnel vision of Omega, sidelining Wrecker and Echo, and ruining Crosshair's character arc in the last two episodes (actually I feel that except Omega, the rest of the Bad Batch suffer from character assassination)... It feels that they never cared about us. It's like my dreams and hopes for a better future where everyone can be true to themselves have been shattered… The Bad Batch is all about celebrating inclusivity, and the crew ruined it.

Besides breaking down to tears about the constant reminder that nobody cares about my anxiety attacks, the whole talk of Tech only being remembered of his usefulness and intelligence opened wounds in my heart. Growing up, my family used my excellent grades to boost their image. My father used my grades and talents to boost how he was a great father when in fact he was rarely present in my childhood. When I was around 24, I learned from my aunt that if I wasn't smart or talented, my father would never recognized me as his child. This realization shattered my worldview and that's how I ended up in a dark place. I was there for more than a year until my epiphany about the Bad Batch pulled me out there. My father did apologize for his actions and want to make amends.

Yet... I am back in the dark place once more because of season 3... and it's been a year since I am out of the dark place... it feel worse than "Plan 99" because I felt that everything I have worked on, with my tears, sleepless nights and heavy research... has come to mean nothing... my mental struggles mean nothing... and it seems life means nothing... it's only hopelessness and the cruel, harsh reality...

Star Wars is about hope. It is a modern-day myth that George Lucas uses to uplift people's spirits. But why do I feel so... numb, empty and betrayed?

I will still stay around the Bad Batch fandom, since I always enjoy the fanfictions, fanarts, fan comics and headcanons, and I prefer them over the actual series. I will eventually write my season 3 analysis, but I still have to process it. For now, at least I make the right choice for my OC to be a Jedi, so I am going to do a "fix-it canon" then.

Will I be able to leave my dark place? Someday, yes. I believe that because Tech says, "we will find a way, like we always do." Although my wounds may take a long time to heal, I will still keep fighting. I know that I must never give up hope. I must keep fighting for that dream, no matter how impossible it seems.

[thesoftboiledegg]

Rick and Morty x Run The Jewels: Oh Mama (2018) // Season 6: Final DeSmithation (2022)

[beveragenightmare]

alright these are my OFFICIAL first time drawing V1 sketches

[neverendingford]

skyglow:

(alternative title: photo dump of a midnight desert run)

[wykart]

2018 | 2022

While finishing off my piece for the last episode of 13’s era, I was reflecting a bit on how far I’ve come as both an artist and a writer since series 11 began in 2018. I was in my last year of high school, posting fanfic on ao3 for the first time, and my ‘art’ at that point was, if I’m honest, mostly tracing. I am a bit ashamed of that (because I posted them all like they weren’t obviously traced :[...), but it did help me get comfortable with drawing, and from that I learnt a lot and eventually developed my own style.

Above is a drawing I made (but mostly traced) after the second ep of series 11, next to my latest one. Thanks for all the nice comments! I really appreciate it since it took a lot of time and effort :) And thanks to everyone who has liked and reblogged my art over the years, and left comments too (same goes for fic!). I’m not going anywhere, of course, but this era of Doctor Who has been a huge inspiration for me as an artist, and my style has really evolved throughout, so it’s nice to reflect on my progress during that time.

[sealovinq]

i need friends /gen (slight rant in tags)

[worldwhampion]

random silly little nms thoughts in ms paint (using mostly a mouse)

[zaras22]

you ok paimon? :c

also

[bookwyrminspiration]

this is completely random but !! dude your eyeliner tips helped so much! i wasn’t the anon that sent the ask but damn i’m glad that they did lol

ignoring the shitty photo quality, this is the first time i’ve done the type of downturned eyeliner that you showed and it looks better with my features than other eyeliner i’ve done so like. just long story short thank you, eyeliner wizard :)

I love random! And also this photo is so pretty I can't help but notice the lighting--and of course the star of the show, your eyeliner!! It looks so good on you! Like it looks so crisp and flows with the shape of your eye seamlessly. You adapted to that so much quicker than I did!!

I'm so glad some of my ramblings could be of use. My three years of experimenting on myself has translated into someone else not needing to fumble around in the dark as much! But yeah I've found that more horizontal/downturned eyeliner translates better on my features and is also just easier to do in general (for me), so I'm glad it worked out for you!

I can't even explain how excited this makes me like I am cheering for you literally out loud rn. Full on clapping I am very happy for you! I hope this aids in your eyeliner journey, whatever that may be! Wait that's the. What's the quote. "Tomorrow Pinky, we take over the world!" something like that. From Pinky and the Brain.

my point is I'm thrilled I could be of assistance and so so excited that it worked out for you! you've done wonderfully, so thank you for sharing it with me!!

[becca-alexa]

love it when i meet with people and find out their sole purpose in life is finding me a husband 😔🙏💗

[gachaparadise]

I've been doing interludes lately (as you do during an interlude campaign) and the gap in quality and character analysis is insane sometimes. I did Qsh and Nezha's back to back and... Night and day over here. Qsh's was so charming and showed me a new side of my beloved moth, as well as some really cute gap moe moments. Nezha's was boring, hardly focussed on them at all, and made the same tired jokes about their gender over and over... Even the blurb on their profile you get after it's complete does it orz

[astrxealis]

sometimes i think gbf is not that “wtf” then remember there was a mcdonalds collab aside from the one for red bull. and . bubs :)) and. recently they made a tsuchinoko snake hot af

[judesstfrancis]

I am once again thinking about scream (2022) and how it had so much potential but they just threw it all away to make the same shitty sort of Ran Into The Ground sequel that they were trying to make fun of within the movie. biting at the bars of my cage

[impeakcharacterdesign]

Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

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

⠀ OR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

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

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

“feel fine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what are you talking about?” 

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

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

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

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

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

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

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

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

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

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

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

“something the matter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

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

“just like watching you squirm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

his own dream, now his downfall. 

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

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

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

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

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