Jing Yuan's Fans Are The...wildest.

I love you nvr stop making Boothill content

⟁ TOUCH. ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — yearning for sensations long forgotten behind cool steel and blue blood.

⠀ OR

⠀ — you two can get along every once in a while.

⚠︎ mechanic!reader, rev comfort, boothill is a bit of a yearner, can you guys just fucking kiss already. gn reader wc 1.5k.

“you’re less obnoxious than usual,”

your voice snaps boothill out of his daze, eyes blinking quickly as he re-registers your hands in his torso messing with a few wires.

“you sick or something?”

the cyborg keeps his gaze down, watching the careful and precise movements of your hands, actions long practiced and refined. 

it's a little surprising when a flirt or some quick quip doesn't follow your comment— only a small huff of air through his nose as boothill leans further back onto his palms.

“nah. i'm fit as a fiddle.”

you spare a glance up, right eyebrow raising just a tad. you don’t believe him, and boothill’s too clocked out to notice your distrust.

though you don’t comment– not until the cavity in his stomach is closed up and all his pieces are back in place.

“that should be better,” you wipe the oil off your hands with an old rag hung from one of your belt loops. “how's that scratch healing up?”

boothill again is pulled from his thoughts by your voice, cybernetic hand subconsciously moving to the mostly scabbed and healed over cut on his jaw— the one you patched and gave him an earful for getting in the first place.

“‘s fine,” he runs his fingers over it as if he could feel the roughened skin. they linger over it just a little too long. “barely there anymore. we all done here?”

it's another comment that leaves you with a weird feeling in your gut— he always hung around, dragged out his repairs longer than they needed to take just to spend more time with you. to mess with you, ruffle your feathers while you pretend you don’t know exactly what he’s doing. it's almost disappointing when he expresses his eagerness to leave. not to mention the lack of his usual vibrato or high energy is a tad unsettling.

he tries to sit up from your work bench, but your palm against his chest pushes him carefully back down and keeps him seated. unbeknownst to you, boothill actively chokes down the simultaneous urges to swat your hand away and clutch onto it. did you know how insane your touch that he couldn’t even feel was driving him? did you know that he’d had his teeth grit since stepping one boot into your shop— the shop that he was only able to enter after giving himself a firm slap to his own forehead?

“what's with you?”

you folded your arms over your chest, eyes focussed calculatingly on the cowboy sitting in front of you. though the brim of his hat covers a good portion of his face, and his head doesn’t seem too keen on lifting. 

“what’s that s’posed t’mean?'' boothill doesn’t bother looking up, as expected.

“you look like a kicked dog.” 

boothill scoffs. “ain’t no sugar coatin’ it with you, is there?” 

“cmon,” you sigh, unfolding your arms to place them down on your table, caging either side of the cyborg’s hips. you give a slight lean forward as you put your weight down on them, and once more boothill’s caught between pushing you away or grabbing your shirt and pulling you closer. 

“talk to me, it’s weird seeing you all quiet.”

“ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to shut up?”

“boothill.”

he tilted his head back with a quiet groan, steel thumb rubbing at one of his temples. it's embarrassing, really, what he’s so hung up about. 

his thoughts drift to your hands on either side of him, that although calloused and stained with oil you’ll never be able to quite fully get out from under your fingernails, are still soft. human. not exactly delicate but not…clunky. or heavy.

he’s never really been one for vulnerability. where would he even begin? he’d hardened his interior to match the abrupt loss of his fleshy exterior. he didn’t feel he had a choice to do otherwise. now he’s left with the hyper awareness of just how bulky and inelegant he is— it’s not who he was before, not what he had. it never will be. 

“…just missin’ the way i used to be, i s’pose. i dunno.”

his eyes still dodge yours, pulling the brim of his hat down to block out your face from his peripherals. 

“just…forgettin’ things. how things feel against my fingers ‘n whatnot.” his words are half murmured, hesitant behind his lips.

if boothill had a stomach, it would have tightened and churned at your lack of a response. now he just feels silly, like you’re about to laugh in his face for the little bit of himself he’d just bared to you.

“not that i’m moppin’ about it or nothin’,” he quickly tries to save with a clear of his throat. “i mean, this ol’ hunk’a metal come in handy now and again, don’t it?” boothill straightens up a little bit, voice evening out. 

he’s still waiting for you to say something. literally anything— to give a half assed acknowledgement and let him go or call him an idiot. he eagerly awaits for you to just get either over with.

but rather than option a, or b, or even c to z, what he receives is your hand on his cheek, guiding his head to look back forward at you. 

…huh?

he feels frozen. your hand is so warm, it’s making his head feel fuzzy. it’s different than the occasional touch to his face from you, one to tilt his head up so you can see his neck or a lift of his eyelid to check on his eye.

it stays in place, long enough to make the area of his face you’re touching begin to warm as well. his eyes are locked with yours now, slightly wide and filled with uncertainty. he silently prays his cheeks aren’t blue.

“you can still feel here, right?” your question is so…innocent. it’s as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. your thumb slowly smoothing over his cheekbone is enough to make him feel utterly weak.

“…yeah. yeah, i can.”

he’s daring enough to put his hand overtop yours, keeping it in place. you smile slightly at that— not a teasing grin like usual, but a genuine one.

“you know,” your other hand brushes his bangs out of his eyes. boothill’s never been touched like this before, like he’s fragile.

“you don’t have to hide stuff from me.” right now, your voice is the most comforting thing he’s ever heard. he's blanking– you’re the only thing filling his senses. the smell of oil mixed with your body wash, the way you look at him as you speak, every part of it is so…grounding. it’s almost foreign, a sensation long forgotten behind layers of metal and code.

“i ain’t hiding things from ya, sugar plum.”

“quit it with that, okay?” 

your brows furrow lightly as you lean dangerously close. boothill can feel your slow, calm breaths fanning his upper lip. he resists the urge to gulp.

“i know you. probably more than you think.” you tilt the brim of his hat up gently, keeping it out of the way. it’s true, no one’s ever seen him in the ways that you have. comfortable, a little smitten, on and off malfunctioning.

“i don’t like seeing you upset,” boothill’s circuits stutter once your forehead rested against his. “so just talk to me next time.”

it’s not a request, but it’s not a demand either. perhaps “invitation” is a more fitting term.

“can we…” boothill clears his throat softly again, fingers lightly tightening around your hand. “do you reckon we can stay like this for a lil’ while then?” 

you nod.

“okay.”

you pull him a little closer, enough to place your cheek against his and give it a gentle nuzzle.

you’re warm. you’re soft. you smell good, feel good. he doesn’t want to let go.

one of boothill's arms snakes carefully around your waist, and slowly your chest is pulled flush against his while you’re stood between his legs. his face finds itself comfortably hidden in the crook of your neck, all while your thumb gently tracing the shell of his ear is enough to have him purring like a cat.

“you feel nice,” boothill says quietly, voice a bit rough. the rasp is endearing as always. “real nice, sugar.”

neither of you are sure how long you stay there, nor does boothill know when his hand began clutching your shirt as if he was afraid you would pull away. but the gentle whirl and hum of his internals are oddly soothing– like a built in white noise machine that puts your mind at ease.

boothill could have sat there forever, really. nudging his nose against the smooth skin of your neck and gripping tightly at what little physical feeling he had left.

you silently ponder kissing his temple, boothill silently ponders kissing your cheek. neither of you act.

“thank ya.” boothill's voice is nothing above a whisper. “been a while since…y’know.” 

you nod slowly, fingers idly twirling a piece of hair that hangs over his ear.

“you’re sweet when you wanna be.” you can’t help but tease him just a little.

“cmon now, i’m always sweet for you, ain’t i?” and he can’t help but throw a flirt back.

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

What Leona sees when looking at Mc 💀

Who is she?

[This is a my own small drabble for a oc of mine. It's a genshin oc, ilomilo by Billie Ellish and Who Is She by I Monster really fed into this. Thinking of just doing a oc word vomit one day ong]

The dull ache intensifying as their ragged breaths filled the small space. Images of a woman that looked so much like them flashing through their head. Vision blurring from the real world to something that looked so familiar.

But how?

Who was this mystery woman that had their exact face? It was as if the 'thing' they are now is a fake. Her bright smile and gleaming eyes, mockingly staring back at them. As if to haunt them, to tell them that this is just all a past memory. Something they'll never have again but can only crave.

Crave...

Crave?

How could they crave something when they've never felt it before. Right? Their supposed to not feel emotion. So why is it that they are haggard in a small crumbled ball, feeling conflicted. The cool metal lab floor digging into their knees.

It hurts...it hurts...it hurts

WHY DOES IT HURT!?

"A....ye.......Aye....sha..." A muffled distorted voice pushing through their subconscious. As if someone was trying to gain their attention. The splitting headache just making it unbearable for her to withstand. Finger nubs digging into the ruby locks that fall over their shoulder.

Palm flat against the shell of their ear, trying to block out the mess around them. Eyes squeezed shut in hopes that these flashes of this woman would stop. Gasping and eyes shooting open at the feel of an all too familiar gloved hand. The leather making her skin burn, but in this state, a small part of her wanted to lean towards them. Wanting to seek something from them like a distant memory.

"Ayesha!" In front of them stood what everyone referred to as 'The Doctor'. Someone that they refers to as...their creator.

His mask staring back at them as their blood shot eyes stared up at him. Kneeled before them, head fuzzy like they were stuck in a trance. Vision coming back into focus at the swipe of something on their cheek. Gaze tracking down to the material of the doctors glove that was just a few centimeters from them. A glossy substance on the pad of his glove. Reaching up to touch the area that he had touched, fingers ghosting over the mystery substance. Pulling back their hands to examine it, squinting at the clear liquid that had rubbed off on themselves.

Finally focusing on the feel of the wet liquid running down their face. These were...tears?

"Was it happening again? The visions of the woman?" The same question he would repeat whenever they would get like this. It sounded more like a inspection question then one from concern. It's always been that way, as long they can remember at least.

Feeling the urge to hold back about how vivid they became. Even though it was against their training to keep secrets...this time they felt as they should. It was just gonna be the same process as before, it always was. This incident would just be erased from the little memory they had. Most parts of their time here were, the ones that remained were filled with Dottore and metal walls.

The most vivid ones were those behind the glass wall and the cold metal table they'd lay on. Screams echoing in the silence, machinery whirring in the background.

Nodding to Dottore's interrogation as they forced a wad of thick saliva down their throat. Which did nothing much but make it feel more dry than before. Hands clenching on their knees, expecting his next words.

"Hmm, well then, back to the machine it is. Let's go, Ayesha" His gentle hand that was cradling their face immediately pulled away. As if they were a disgust to him, Dotorre's small flicker of emotion showing past his mask. Tight lipped as he stood, heading behind the glass walls.

Sucking in a sharp breath between their teeth, rising to their feet. Following after their creator obediently despite knowing the pain they'll have to endure again. The ache subsiding and feeling the emptiness that comes after their melt down. One of the few emotions that they were still familiar with.

I can't take it no more, I have like 3 diff artstyles in one page.

Y CAN'T I JUST STICK TO ONE

all I can think about every time I see this post is toji 💀

Asra like give me back my love😭😭

FACTSSSSDS I personally apply this to any n EVERY fandom that I get into. It's so hard to find good fanfics nowadays 😔

Sometimes i hate reading (character) x reader’s 🧍

Id like to write myself but i don’t have enough skill to be writing up a whole ass story nor do i have the patience.

I found some Shirou Ogami ff on Wattpad cause thats how desperate i am- and i found 2 acceptable one’s (kinda ig) AND THAT WAS IT

99% of the other ff’s of Shirou was absolutely horrendous and horrifying, some people shouldn’t be writing and some people shouldn’t be making stories with a serious character/nonchalant x reader because they end up making them out of character, and of course i understand some personalities are hard to write BUT PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP CHANGING HIS PERSONALITY 😭

Where tf did the nonchalant/serious personality go🧍 why’s he suddenly giggling like a school girl who’s gotten asked out by the most popular boy on the football team🫵🤨 AND THERES NO SLOW BURN AT ALL

it might just be me but i LOVE slow burns and to read something that just gets into the romantic fluffy shit immediately makes me want to get off my device☠️ some may not agree but i don’t think Shirou would be immediately blushing right as he walks into the doorway with us standing in the middle of the room like cmon

“They’re beautiful..w-wait what am i saying?”

Stop it. JUST STOP PLEASE😭 YOU MADE HIM STUTTER??? IMRUNNING THATS SO OUT OF CHARACTER IT MAKES ME CRINGE SO BADDD

im sorry but i can’t ☠️ imagining someone who lacks emotion or expressions suddenly smiling and giggling rubs me the wrong way😪

I want more of the BNA fandom im so tired i want a season two already im so desperate im🧍

Sorry i know my post’s have been all over BNA but it’s literally my new hyper fixation and i can’t stop thinking about it ☠️☠️

HELP I'M SO SLEEP DEPRIVED

every alien stage couple finally gets a duet together

sorry for the really shitty quality

Don't, don't ask why I had the urge, even the thought to draw babygirl Rook. It had started as a joke between me and my sister until I actually drew it 🧍‍♀️Someone plz take my pencil away from me.

Warning: Slightly suggestive

This is my life now

😩

WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN

Your last used emoji is how your week is gonna go

⚠️

Uh oh