#this gd proofread

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

Oh god i got so swept up with work I completely missed the full release drop

[sunlightbuck]

anyone else think this echo chamber can get a little repetitive? i shout. “anyone else think this echo chamber can get a little repetitive?” i hear back. Oh hey see, this guy agrees with me.

[aloyssobek]

i am truly having a "this should be self explanatory why are you making me do this extra work" moment which ik always makes my work not do as well and i just LFKJWEN

[cowboycunt]

girl why is is metre but then diameter., like pick a struggle cmon

[silentmoths]

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you. 

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.” 

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you. 

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead. 

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

-

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’ 

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb. 

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived. 

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on. 

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up. 

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?” 

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear. 

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him. 

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny. 

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array. 

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.” 

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing? 

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore. 

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!” 

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life. 

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ���old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.” 

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.” 

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack. 

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him. 

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it. 

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

-

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day. 

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips. 

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage. 

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive? 

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

-

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you. 

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired. 

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.” 

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated. 

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles. 

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so. 

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?” 

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing. 

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly. 

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles. 

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.” 

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him. 

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch. 

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens. 

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him. 

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it. 

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.) 

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play. 

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots. 

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now. 

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you. 

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…” 

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear. 

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand. 

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.” 

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter. 

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates) 

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass. 

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard. 

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you. 

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you. 

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful. 

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?” 

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.” 

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

[7ndipity]

Dating Yoongi headcanons

Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: swearing, lil suggestive, not proofread.

A/N: Alright, if we're gonna do this series, then it's time we talk about my ult. The man, the myth, the meow meow(I'm sorry Yoongi)

(Also, I'm already planning a pt.2 for this series that's more on the crack side, so if anyone wants to send me headcanons for the members to possibly be included in future lists?)

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Dating Yoongi is comfortable.

So soft for you, I can't even begin. Like, I don't understand how people ever think he's cold, he is the epitome of soft boi.

Blushes when you complement or brag on him.

Turns into a scrunched up, spluttering mess if you call him cute(we love our tsundere).

Very cautious at first with his feelings, but once he feels comfortable enough to open up, he's very straight forward.

To call it dating is a bit generous though. Like, y'all immediately go from 'kinda dating' to 'married-but-not-married'.

Tells you he loves you for the first time in one of those long ass, 3am texts like he sends to the members.

Random,(half-)joking proposals(Marry me, Yoongi uno reverse card!)

"What kind of ramen do you want?" "Marry me." "Both it is."

So many songs about you, but you will not know until they're released(or he makes them into a playlist/mixtape for your birthday or anniversary)

Actually really hesitant about letting you in his studio(sorry fellow writers). He just prefers to have a level of separation between his work and you.

Dates are usually pretty chill(except for special occasions or when he wants to flex and rents out a whole fucking skating rink for y'all or smth)

Another who lives for domestic activities with you, like cooking together or even just grocery shopping. Idk, he just likes getting to be with you.

Probably would love going camping with you in one of those little camper vans.

Likes to teach you things?

I mean, he won't want to be your full time teacher, but if you show an interest in smth like piano or producing, he'll get a kick out of teaching you the basics.(let him teach you about basketball, he'll lose his gd mind)

Not big on nicknames(big shock🙄). Like, you have a perfectly good name, why not just fucking use it? Also calls you 'Jagi', but that's if he's feeling particularly soft or needy.

Acts of service King.

Have you eaten? He's making food. Are you cold? Makes you take his jacket. His top priority is making sure you're taken care of.

Gets lowkey jealous of Holly getting too much of your attention. "Yah, are you dating me or my dog?!"

Sass and bickering are basically a second language for you two.

Subtle about pda. If he's not holding your hand, he has to have one resting on your back.

SOMEONE HOLD HIS FUCKING HAND FOR THE LOVE OF-(sorry, I'm calm)

Not always vocal about wanting physical affection, but when he is, he's lowkey dramatic.

*laying on the couch*"If you don't kiss me, I'm gonna die." *kiss* "Better?" "Hmm, still in critical condition. Keep going."

Another who gets more than a little enjoyment in winding you up into a flustered mess, and is smug about it(again, shocking no one, I'm sure)

Slow, lingering kisses as he holds onto you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

Gets really quiet if you fight(and sulks), but is usually the first to apologize because he absolutely cannot stand y'all being mad at each other.

Holds you to go to sleep.

"Marry me." "M'kay."

Okay, that's enough delulu for right now, Imma go cry.

[byanyan]

2111 words. i hate it here.

another ask is turning into a fucking novel, someone come slap me please

[translation-graveyard]

Bansan Blues (2025) ENG SUBS

You can reach out if any of the links break so I can upload them back up.

HARD SUBS ONLY (For the time being)

Trailer (outdated TL): GD Episode 1: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 2: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 3: GD / Download copyright issues, again Episode 4: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 5: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 6: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 7: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 8: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 9: DailyMotion / Download / GD Episode 10: DailyMotion / Download / GD END

I've recently been eating away at everything Kai Inowaki, so when I saw he was announced as a lead for a new food series I knew I had to do it!

This show is very soothing. The two chapters have made me company during breakfast, and they just make me feel so full? All the love that was put in this series SHOWS. Save me, comfort food friendship shows, save me.

Huge thanks to Donut (!) once again for proofreading, this wouldn't have been possible without them.

Episodes 3-9 Raws were courtesy of DO

[summercourtship]

Hiii, I love your work!

Could I request something like prompt 96 (“You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”) and expanding on Jonathan being very excited about the reader being his patient at the asylum 😳

Thank you!  Okay, so what I imagine happened here was that Jonathan managed to get her committed to the asylum after the whole ‘helping Edward escape and keeping him in her apartment and also stealing medical records’. Does it make sense that she’d be committed? Not really, but this is also Gotham and he’s also very persuasive (see: Batman Begins). This backstory doesn’t matter but I like to have it. Tbh might have to expand this bc I’m obsessed with this (not me thinking about writing an AU of my own gd fic)

Warnings: dubcon, obvious power imbalance, restraints, possessive behavior, a solid mature rating. minimal proofreading.

stbotdi anniversary special

 Jonathan watched from outside of the cell, his face carefully composed and expressionless as he looked through the small window into the derelict room. Any passing nurse or orderly would think he was just observing the patient inside, doing his duty before deciding on her treatment. After all, her transition into the asylum had been shaky and he was her doctor. Not that any nurses or orderelies would be passing by her room, anyway.

Bracing himself, he entered the cell. 

At the slow metal creak of the door opening, her head lifted up off the bed, taking in his appearance for a second before her expression twisted into a snarl, her teeth bared. 

“Get me out of here.” She was carefully still now, though he knew her mind was almost entirely preoccupied with the restraints on her wrists and ankles keeping her virtually immobile. But she was being a good girl, staying still and trying to show that she could be trusted enough to be untied. He sighed her name, looking down towards the thin folder he had clasped in his arms which was labeled with her name and patient number.

“You committed some pretty heinous crimes-”

“Heinous, my ass.” She spat, dropping her head back on the flat mattress with a dull thud. “You know I don’t belong here, Jon-”

“Dr. Crane.” 

“Fuck you.” 

She’s lashing out like a fox with its foot caught in a trap. 

Jonathan blinked once at her, letting silence fall over the tiny cell again until the only sound was the slight hissing from the rusty pipes that ran along the ceiling. With his eyes, he traced the lines of the pipes around the room, his head tilted back so he wasn’t looking at her when he spoke. A perfected imitation of distraction, one that worked all too well on her. 

“You look a bit tied up right now, I’ll come back later-” He turned, lingering at the door handle and counting down the seconds until-

“Wait!” He looked back over her shoulder at her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of completely turning around. She was struggling against her restraints again. He preened at the fact that even though she hated him- but only in that moment, she’d come back around to her infatuation- she was desperate to keep him in the room with her. Afraid of being alone. “Can you-” She fell back against the bed, exhausted. The sedative they’d administered upon her arrival must still be in her system, though it was clearly working its way out if her earlier viciousness was anything to go by. “Can you at least untie me?”

She’d put an affectation over her voice, something she’d used a few times when they’d been intimate before. Pitiful, pouting, pleading. Jonathan weighed his choices carefully, torn between the trust he would gain by releasing her with the control he would maintain by keeping her tied up. 

But then again, he had her here indefinitely. He had plenty of time to try both options, and more. No one wanted to be the one to defend the girl who helped the Riddler escape. Not even the Batman was coming to save her from the shackles she’d forged herself. 

Deciding then and there, he spun around. 

Jonathan could practically feel her sigh of relief as he sat at the edge of her bed, placing her file on the floor next to it, even though she was pointedly not looking at him. He reached down to her leg, running his hand down her bare calf. He could feel her shiver beneath his touch, though she was barely acknowledging his presence. 

He fiddled with the ankle restraint, moving his eyes from the leather strap up her body. She was staring at him now, her chest rising and falling steadily like she was carefully regulating her breath. Deftly, he undid the restraint before he could change his mind. But instead of letting her leg go, he kept it in his hand. He brought her ankle to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the tender skin before finally placing it onto the bed. 

Turning his attention to the other restraint, he repeated the process. Caressing her leg, undoing her binding, bending to place a kiss on her skin. She watched, the entire time, lips parted. 

He shifted, moving so he lay halfway on top of her, slotting one of his legs between hers.

“What about my arms?” She said, once his face was close enough to hers that she could get away with whispering.   

“I think I’ll leave them bound.” Jonathan whispered back, watching as her face turned from confusion to dread. “I thought about this months ago, before I even took you home that first time. Locking you away, where only I could get to you.” He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her sweaty face, her eyes bewildered as she looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her lips. 

His hand moved down her body, briefly lingering on her breast before venturing to the hem of the hospital gown they had her wearing. He much preferred the gown on her than Arkham’s typical uniform, especially since it made it so easy to slip his hand underneath and find her clothed cunt, already damp from her arousal. 

Her legs, no longer bound, fell apart at his touch. Jonathan pushed the fabric of her underwear aside, exposing her wet folds to his touch. She gasped, a loud inhale, when he finally ran his fingers over her with no barriers to soften his touch. 

“Jon-” She stopped speaking at the sharp look he gave her, quickly correcting herself. “Dr. Crane.” 

He wondered if she could feel his hard length pressing against her thigh, if she could feel the way it twitched when she called him by his earned title. 

“Fuck me, please.”

Oh, he was glad to oblige her request. 

And he was even more glad that she had been put at the end of a seldom-used hallway in the asylum, so that when he fucked her so that the bed creaked against the screws it was secured to the floor with, that when her gasps became shouts, that when his possessive whispers turned into low growls, no one would be around to hear it. 

[pleasespellchimerical]

gd fuck I hate justify. why anyone ever thought that text should be justified is beyond me. fuck this. fuck the missing spaces. fuck the extra spaces that aren’t actually extra spaces. fuck how hard this makes shit to proofread. fuck it all

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

caryl first date headcanon

i wrote a stream of consciousness caryl headcanon i was thinking about when i couldn’t sleep last night. no i did not proofread it. yes it is rambling nonsense. yes you can read it if you want: 

so i genuinely don’t know what the timeline for canon is gonna be now that we got bottle episodes, s11, and the spin-off, but just for a moment let us pretend that it happens during the bottle episodes and then we have all of s11 to watch caryl trying to figure out how to navigate a relationship with each other

cuz like, they gon fuck right away, bc things are gonna get heated, and tensions are gonna be high, and they’re gonna snap like a trip wire and fucking ravish each other, that’s without question

so the first little while of their relationship will be mostly getting intimately familiar with each other’s bodies down to every last freckle

but once they’ve simmered down some they’re gonna need to address the “oh shit, wait, how does a relationship work?” problem

cue: caryl’s first date

it’ll take place in commonwealth, and i’ve never read the comics and i know jack all about it outside of what i’ve skimmed, but we’re gonna ignore that for the sake of my fun post

i know enough about it to know that there are definitely places to have a date

daryl knows this too, tho he doesn’t rly think about it right away. at first he’s more confused and sort of standoffish about the whole place, bc he was always a forest-dweller even before the apocalypse, so seeing this new metropolis-like place after years of living like a gd pioneer is gonna throw him way off kilter

right up until he’s chillin’ with judith and she’s talking about how she’s excited to see her first concert, and they have restaurants, and things she’s only ever read about, and then out of nowhere she’ll pull out, “are you gonna take aunt carol on a date?” 

and daryl will stare at her

and she’ll be like “rosita was telling me about how father gabriel took her on a real date and how nice it was. you should do that for aunt carol” 

and daryl will stare at her

and then will hastily change the subject (she’ll see right through him, ofc, but she’ll let it slide)

but the thought will stick with him, and suddenly he’s looking at the schedule of upcoming concerts and plays and wondering if carol would care about any of it. does she like shakespeare? the most experience he would have had with shakespeare was ripping out a couple pages of his school copy of romeo and juliet to use to light some firewood

but maybe she’s into it???

eventually he’ll reach the inevitable conclusion that the only way this is going to work is if he actually asks her to go on a date with him, which should be easy, right? like, he was ball’s deep inside her last night and told her good morning by putting his face between his legs, so surely asking someone on a date is simple

it will not be simple

bc yeah, they fuck all the time, and obviously they’re head-over-heels in love with each other, they’re each other’s soulmates, yada yada, but also daryl’s extremely emotionally repressed and has the romance skills of a fifteen year old having his mom drive him and his date to his first homecoming dance, only worse bc he never even went to any school dances

but after Dwelling On It for ages he’ll finally get fed up with himself and will vow to stop being a pussy. he’ll ask her before the day’s over or he’ll shoot a bolt into his own foot, ok, no more excuses

so the whole day he’s jittery af

you’d think he’s trying to pop the question, but all he wants to do is go eat dinner with carol and then watch some people recite lines from a play written hundreds of years ago, like, what is his Deal(tm)??? 

(his deal is, ofc, that he waited so long to have her, and now every new thing feels tenuous, bc he’d rather die than lose her, and sure she knows him better than anyone, but never in this context, and plus her last dude basically bled passion and romance no matter how obnoxious, and what if she realizes just how fucking clueless he is and decides she doesn’t really want to be with a middle-aged man who still gets tongue-tied around a pretty girl?)

(but also she deserves a gd date, alright? she deserves it, and so he’s going to give it to her, even if going face-to-face with a walker horde is less intimidating)

carol notices something’s off with him right away, but she waits until after dinner, when the kids have gone to their rooms and the two of them are alone washing dishes to ask, “hey, so what the fuck?” 

and daryl will be like, k, it’s now or never

and he will 100% make a fool of himself by stumbling alllll over his words, like, “nothin’s wrong, i’m fine, everythin’s real fine, i was just wonderin’ if mb you’d wanna, y’know, i dunno, they got all these shows and shit that we ain’t had in forever and i didn’t know if mb you’d wanna go see one? and mb get some food? with me, i mean. like, together. like i’d take you there and we could do those things, like a, you know, a date. but it’s cool if not, no worries, i get it if it’s not your thing, but i just thought i’d ask, but no, you’re right, it’s stupid, forget i said anythin’, hey look at the time, well i’m beat, gonna go to sleep now, goodbye”

and carol will go, “hold up”

and she’ll take daryl by the wrist before he can flee the room (bc he definitely intends to), and pulls him close and kisses him all sweet, and she’s gotta stand on her tiptoes to do it bc she’s in a pair of knit socks and he’s got his boots on so there’s more of a height difference than usual, and after she’s successfully managed to keep daryl from falling straight into a panic spiral, she’ll whisper, “i’d love to, let’s go this weekend”

and then she’ll just turn back to doing dishes without another word on the matter 

(bc, as previously stated, she knows daryl better than anyone, and she knows exactly what all his insecurities are and how much it must have taken him to ask her that, and so she’s not gonna harp on it or tease him)

(daryl recognizes this and loves her desperately for it)

the actual date is way easier than daryl expected

bc he spent all this time hyping it up, but when it comes right down to it, he just gets to spend a night with carol where they don’t have the kids to worry about, or any council business, and they just get to enjoy each other’s company

she even dressed up a little for him, which was unnecessary, but he most certainly appreciates it and can’t wait to tear the outfit off of her later

(it does make him regret the fact that he’s only had one pair of pants for the past ten years, but she doesn’t seem to mind)

they end up seeing a shakespeare play

daryl understands like 2% at best, but carol holds his hand and rests her head on his shoulder the whole time, and apparently it’s a comedy bc she laughs a lot, and that alone makes it worth it

they fuck like crazy when they get home, obviously

but it’s different than it had been previously, bc now their “togetherness” seems more solidified

like, they’re officially a “couple” now

like the type of couple that gets a babysitter for the night so they can go to the apocalyptic version of dinner and a movie together and then have sex and then fall asleep right afterwards bc they’re domestic af

and like, deep down both of them knows that this isn’t the life that they’re meant to live in forever, a la commonwealth/domestic bliss, and he wasn’t kidding when he told her new mexico was still out there, and he can feel a shift coming sooner rather than later

but he also knows they’ll be together when it happens, and they’ll figure out their own version of “date night” when they’re out exploring

but for now he’s content to do it the old fashioned way, though

when she falls asleep on his chest that night he rubs her back and kisses the top of her head, and he’s already planning their next night out

he might pick a show with modern english, though

but it’s not required

just so long as they’re together

the end 

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Six Sentence Sunday:

So @forabeatofadrum actually tagged me in this LAST Sunday but uhhhh a bitch had covid so she was busy having body aches and dissociating but it’s still Sunday and I have the Sunday scaries despite the fact that about 40% of my kids are missing bc of this penumbra and I won’t be able to be productive tomorrow, so to fight those bad boys off I’m finally gonna do this lmaooooo

I’m doing two bc usually peoples reactions will motivate me a bit to ACTUALLY write lmaooo NEW YEARS RESOLUTION??? FINISH MY GD WIPS!!! LEGOOOO

this first one is from a story I may or may not finish called We’re Not Really Strangers:

“Excellent, I’d love to make this as short and painless as possible.” Blaine shoots Kurt a look.

In the thousands of times he’d faced Kurt in his head, it was much easier than this. There of course was lots of groveling on Blaine’s part, explanations, etc. He never figured he’d have to deal with Kurt not being open to it.

It’s odd how it takes so long to get to know a stranger, and yet the person you care for the most can become one overnight.

This next snippet is from The Comfort Bookstore which again, I need to FIGURE THE FUCK OUT but so far I quite like the concept!

It’s been a crap day.

Like, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, level. Except Kurt’s an adult now, and he can just say it’s been a really fucking shitty day.

He’d stayed up late proofreading three articles Isabelle had thrown at him last minute. Well, to be completely fair, she didn’t throw them at him, she asked very kindly if he had the time to look over them before today and it’s not like Kurt has a social life, so he said yes.

Even in a city with a population of 8.3 million, Kurt has yet to make a single friend besides the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. And maybe the bodega cat from across the street, but even then, that feline is finicky.

Idk who to tag BUT if you see this and you want to do it, THEN YOU HAVE BEEN TAGGED!! @me so I Can read it :D happy Sunday everyone!

[ziracona]

I refuse to believe that anything gets proofread by the higher-ups in Fgo. There's so much shit. For my own sanity, i have to believe that a group of ppl look at encouraging stuff like imperialism, genocide, pedophilia, mass rape, racism, terrorism, ect and go 'Yeah, that's good. Oh, and make it so that all of this is in the Right and that the Player gets scolded for choosing otherwise'. I can't, im not strong enough

Seriously about to kill the LB3 writer like. This is my least favorite arc of the whole game, thus far and that’s...SHIT that is saying something (not counting events. There has been worse events at least once >.> Probably anyway. Bad in different ways). dear god I miss Yuuichirou Higashide. I’m actually impressed with myself, because I knew they rotated writers, but I had guessed for a long time there was one writer I liked a lot, one I was ok on, and one I couldn’t stand, and I looked it up and I’m RIGHT. That’s exactly what’s happening up till CitLB, and I could like, just tell from the writing; extremely proud. Higashide did Okeanos and E Pluribus which are my fave two OG arcs, Nasu wrote all the ones I was more medium on, and Fkn Hikaru Sakurai my behated write the ones I was dying to get past. They are, however, all blessed with not being mother fucking Urobuchi Gen, or Hiroshi Hiroyama & Hazuki Minase, writers of the worst arc to date and worst event the game ever had, respectively. I just...

I’m hanging in by a thread. When it’s the one writer I like, it’s some amazing shit, but. Like. I-I’m just... I’m hanging by a gd thread. I wish they would quit cycling it makes it a nightmare. I know that Japan is in general waaaay more casual about shit like overt racism and imperialism then western media, but good god. It’s...Like I’ve said before, the best thing about Fate is it’s untapped potential. Which makes it really fun when it’s a good writer, and super fun to come up with fan content for, and kind of a nightmare anyone medium-irresponsible or below gets put in the driver’s seat. Girl help :’-]

[bitchesgetriches]

Hi! I saw your advice about emailing employers about the job you want instead of waiting for the job post to open, and I was wondering if you could give some more advice on how to write this kind of letter?

Sure thing. Make sure to read the examples in this post first:

Ask the Bitches: What the Hell Else Can I Do to Get a Job?

And I found my actual email to my actual first boss. Here it is, with identifying details deleted:

Dear [BOSS’S FIRST NAME],

           I am writing to apply for the position of editorial assistant at [PUBLISHING HOUSE]. This summer I attended [GRADUATE CERTIFICATE PROGRAM], where I was inspired to start a career in [SPECIFIC FIELD]. [COMPANY NAME]’s commitment to publishing books on [SUBJECT] is what initially drew me to the company. I am very interested in being part of a press that strives to facilitate the advancement of knowledge for all members of the community. I believe that [COMPANY NAME] is the professional outlet I need to thrive and grow in the field of book publishing.

          Through my studies—both at [GRAD PROGRAM] and as a publishing major at [UNIVERSITY]—I have been able to delve into various aspects of the book industry. As an editorial intern at the [LITERARY AGENCY] with literary agent [AGENT], I was responsible for responding to submissions, maintaining the agency’s database of clients, keeping track of subsidiary rights in contracts, and also flexing my creative muscle with reader reports and title brainstorming. When I interned at [PUBLISHER], a magazine publisher, I did a considerable amount of fact checking, proofreading, and writing articles, in addition to contributing ideas for new content for the publications. Most recently I was the in-house copyeditor, copywriter, and personal assistant to the CEO and director of [COMPANY NAME], an event cinematography company in [CITY]. This position required me to maintain organization in a fast-paced, multimedia industry, and to think on my feet as I assisted director [NAME] in the field.  

          While I understand there may not be an opening within [COMPANY NAME] at this time, I hope you will keep me in mind for when the need arises. Working for you will give me the professional opportunity I need to learn and grow in the field of publishing. I believe that my patience, enthusiasm, and ability to multitask will make me indispensable to [COMPANY NAME]. Attached are my resume and a list of references. I am always available for an interview, and you can reach me at [PHONE], or [EMAIL]. Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to meeting with you.

Sincerely, Piggy

Like I said, that is copy-pastaed DIRECTLY from my email archives. I was 22 when I wrote it, and I’d probably write it a little different now. I’m kind of surprised at how I managed to spin so little experience into such a long gd paragraph, but there you go. Again: I GOT THE JOB I APPLIED FOR WITH THIS LETTER.

Hope that helps!

[a-lockman5]

Things were different now Pt. 2 - 2AM Toast {Devi x Paxton}

A/N: Ayyyy so I just felt the creative juices flowing and wanted to whip this out before they went away again. I had a blast writing this. I kept trying to proofread it but got caught up in the story again (Whoops!), so if I missed some typos, apologies. Also, I don’t own these characters (obviously), but I do love them. 

Warnings: more fluff/angst, blood/injury - NO SELF HARM, scared Paxton is cute

Here is part 1 if you haven’t read it yet!

Take a look at my MASTERLIST for more to read or inspo for requests :)

“Paxton?”

Holy shit. Paxton jumped six feet in the air at the sound of her voice. It was two o’clock in the morning. Why was anyone up? Why was Devi Vishwakumar in his house?

“Devi, what the hell?” he panted, still catching his breath from the scare she’d given him. “What are you doing?”

“I was getting a soda from the garage,” she replied, eyes wide. “I thought you were on a college visit this weekend.”

“Tomorrow. Dad and I are driving up tomorrow. What are you doing in my house?”

“Becca invited me over.” He could tell she was still tense, her eyes staring directly into his. “I didn’t think you were here.”

They’d hardly spoken since she and Gross started dating. She tried to apologize a few weeks ago when Rebecca invited her over for dinner. Paxton acted like it was fine. Why wouldn’t it be? They were just friends. Sure, they’d kissed after the party that one night, but it wasn’t like she owed him anything. Besides, he was the one that blew her off at school two days later. She didn’t owe him anything, and he knew that. And besides that, she and Gross made sense. They were both way smart and in the same class and could challenge each other intellectually and her friends seemed to like him and… he was rambling internally. The point was, he and Devi agreed they were friends and things wouldn’t be weird. And now, almost a month later, they were talking in his hallway at 2AM, and it was definitely weird.

“Cool,” he crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Becca told me you were helping her with more stuff for her portfolio. I guess that photographer didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“What?”

He shook his head slightly as his cheeks heated up. “Sorry, I just meant that he kept wanting you to stop posing, but here you are booking another gig. You’re like a real model, and I just… I don’t know.”

She laughed then. He was so embarrassed, but still couldn’t help smiling into his chest. It was her laugh that helped him be brave. “Look, Devi, we agreed things wouldn’t be awkward between us, but things feel pretty weird right now. Can we just let it go and be cool?”

Her eyes widened again and she gave him a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, definitely. I just didn’t expect” –

“To see me in the middle of the night in my own house?” he smirked.

She nodded and continued, “in your underwear with a…” she gestured wildly below his waist with her eyes closed tightly.

Paxton felt the color drain from his face. He’d been half asleep when he got up to go to the bathroom. Had he really not noticed? His hands instinctively covered his privates, though they weren’t feeling so private right now, and sure enough, there was some definite tenting going on. His eyes screwed shut, and he felt himself stumbling backward a few paces before turning his back on Devi entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t… Shit. I need to go.”

He made a beeline for the bathroom and didn’t look back at her again. He slammed the door in a rush to escape the mortification he was experiencing and found himself crying out in pain. He’d shut his GD finger in the door. Jerking it out as fast as he could, he pressed the door closed with his back leant against it.

His head dropped, and a sigh escaped him. As he reached a hand up to push his hair out of his face, he almost missed the flash of red. “Goddammit!” he whispered furiously. His nail must have ripped off when he closed it in the door. Shit, did it hurt now that he was looking at it. Paxton turned to the sink and ran his finger under lukewarm water before forcing himself to put soap on it. He winced a little as it burned, but it was no where close to the painfully embarrassing encounter he’d just had with Devi. He looked down at his boxers at the reminder. Nothing like mutilating his ego and his hand to regulate his hormones – his erection had disappeared.  He sighed again.

Why did he have to run into her? Why like that? Why did he just have to lose every shred of dignity he had left? Things were not like this for Paxton. He was Paxton Hall-Yoshida for goodness sake! Paxton H.Y. did not get nervous around girls. They got nervous around him! But Devi… he never got nervous around her before Gross’s party. Not like he had tonight. He was too cool to be nervous. He was good at being cool. What the hell happened?

“It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. He just needed to dress his finger so that he didn’t get blood everywhere. After rummaging through the cupboards one-handed for a few minutes, he remembered the first aid kit was in the garage from his biking accident a few months ago.

The coast was obviously clear, he knew that. He’d been in the bathroom far longer than intended, so there was no way he would cross paths with Devi again. Still, Paxton took a deep breath before nervously poking his head out the door. Sure enough, the hall was empty. Another deep breath, this time in relief, and he padded down the hallway to the garage. When he flipped the light on, his nightmare continued.

There was she was sitting on the couch –  the couch they had sat on when they first met and she wanted him to… do something with her that she definitely didn’t want anymore. Her head whipped around to look at him, and her mouth fell open. Paxton pressed his head against the doorframe in defeat.

“Devi, why are you still out here?”

“I was just trying to…” she trailed off, but Paxton could tell by the look on her face that their encounter had affected her as much as it had him. He didn’t need to hear her say it.

“Alright, just let me put some shorts on.” At least the laundry room was right off the garage. He started to climb into a pair of basketball shorts while keeping his right hand aloft with toilet paper wrapped around his middle finger.

“Holy shit, what happened to your hand? Did you do it on purpose? Did you bite the nail down until it bled? Is it some side effect of the ‘roids you’re taking for swimming?”

Paxton jumped in surprise at being scared by Devi’s presence in the middle of the night... in his house... for the third time. This time, as he was off-balance, he immediately got tangled in his shorts and ended up on his side against the cold tile floor. He wanted to cry, he thought as he laid there. Why had this night turned into such a terror? Was he actually dreaming? Was he going to wake up and Devi would be asleep at her own house, in her own bed, and he the same? He would pray to a million gods to make that happen.

“Devi, why are you doing this to me?”

“I wasn’t trying to” – she broke off. “Here, come on, I got you.”

She steadied him at the elbow as he leaned on her to stand. She continued to let him lean on her as he finished donning his shorts with his affected arm out of harms way. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Sorry, I asked about steroids. I know you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know that,” she nodded. “Sorry for scaring you too… What did you do to your hand though?”

Paxton exhaled in a huff. “I shut it in the bathroom door.”

“Oh good! When you yelled, I thought you racked yourself or something.” Devi sighed in relief. Paxton’s eyes narrowed in a glare at her. “Sorry. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“It’s in the garage,” he laughed despite himself.

“Ah. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, come on.”

She led him back into the garage and over to the couch. He sat down at her instruction. “Devi, you don’t have to” –

“Shut up. You can’t dress it with one hand. Besides, I’ve watched so many medical YouTube channels, it’ll be fun,” she said, plopping down next to him. “Come on, give it here.”

He knew there was no use arguing with her and let her pull his hand out of his lap. He took his time looking over her as she worked on him. He’d always thought she was objectively pretty from the moment they’d met, but he didn’t know he’d end up here, thinking about how cute she was. She was careful and focused as she peeled the toilet paper away, knowing it had started to dry and stick to his wound. She whispered a quiet apology when he hissed in pain, but never took her eyes off her work. She cleaned it, applied antibiotic ointment, wrapped it up in gauge, and secured it with tape. At some point, he found himself staring at her lips, thinking about how desperately he wanted to kiss her again – how desperately he wished she wanted to kiss him.

“There, finished!” She beamed at him. It was almost enough to jerk him free of his fantasy. Almost.

“Thanks,” he smiled lazily at her.

“For sure, I owe you for all the times you rescued me.”

“Yeah, ignoring that it’s your fault I got hurt,” he smirked at her.

“What? How do you figure?”

“If you weren’t wandering the house in the middle of the night” –

“I wouldn’t have seen your pork sword through your boxers.”

“Devi, what the hell?” he looked wildly at her. “Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

“People say that,” she shrugged.

“No, Devi, they really don’t,” he shook his head and started laughing. After a moment, she laughed too, and for that moment, things were good. “God, how did you do this to me?”

That sobered her immediately. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I used to be the coolest guy in school. I’ve been going to prom since middle school. My friend’s mom hits on me. How did you make me the guy that injures himself trying to escape an embarrassing situation? That used to be your thing!”

“Paxton…”

“It’s kind of funny, ya know? The first time we were ever in here, you ran away after I took my shirt off,” he continued, unable to stop himself. “I may not be an honor student, but I do realize now that your mom does not have polio.” He saw a hint of a smile on her face and felt himself smile back. “And now, look at us: sitting on the couch together, legs touching,” he accentuated his point by bumping his knee against hers, “I’m shirtless and you’re not scared of me anymore, but…”

“But what?” she asked after a moment.

I’m so scared of you. He blinked, pushing the thought away before he could stick his foot in his mouth. “But we don’t get to act on it. We’ve come so far since we first met, but we don’t get to talk to each other like we used to… I miss talking to you.”

“I miss talking to you too.” He thought she sounded genuine. She was the only person, outside of his family, he’d ever felt comfortable opening up to. Now that she was dating Ben Gross, he didn’t get to have that anymore? Why?

“Look, I think we can agree tonight has been super weird, but you don’t need to only come over when you think I’m not here.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean, I know we said that before, but I mean it. I want to be your friend, Devi. I like you, I like hanging out with you. Can we make that work?”

It felt like hours passed while she looked at him silently. He could practically hear her thoughts pinging around in her head at a million miles a minute, but he had no idea what to expect. She was quiet for so long, he began to think she would say no. No, they couldn’t be friends. It wasn’t what she wanted anymore. Things were going to be weird between them, and there was no way around it. Paxton would have to just go on shutting his hands in doors and tripping over his gym shorts until he could move on from her – that was the only acceptable way to handle their situation. Then he saw it; he wasn’t sure if it was compassion, pity, or something else that made her eyes warm to his, but he knew he liked the way she looked at him in that moment.

“Of course, we can. I like hanging out with you too. Here,” she scrambled up off the couch and went to the refrigerator they had in the garage. She pulled out a diet mountain dew and a cherry coke zero, handing the latter to him.

“How did you…?” he stared at the soda can. His parents bought a variety of sodas, they and Becca both enjoyed having choices. The cherry coke zero was his and his only. He didn’t drink soda often, but when he did, he needed something with more flavor than a diet soda, but that wasn’t as sweet as a regular cola.

“Becca told me I could drink whatever I wanted except that. If it was hers, she’d let me have it or would have at least had some herself. Your dad was drinking a mountain dew when I got here, and your mom had a sprite when I was over for dinner a few weeks ago. It only made sense that it was left for you.”

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re smart, Vishwakumar?”

“Actually, no,” she pondered the question before flipping her hair over her shoulder and winking at him, “everyone else says I’m a genius.”

For the first time that night, he smiled a real, big smile. She mirrored his actions, and he felt warm everywhere. When she reached across the space between them, his breath caught in his throat.  She popped the tab on his soda, and he felt a shaky breath escape him. “What are you doing?”

“Paxton Hall-Yoshida, we are toasting,” she replied, popping the tab on her own can.

“Why?”

“This is a new chapter in our lives, in our friendship, and we need to make it official.”

You are something special, Devi, he thought with a grin. “Okay, I’m in. What should we toast to?”

“Umm… how about no more injuries?”

“No more avoiding each other in the hallways?”

“Or each other’s gaze during history.”

“To not keeping it a secret when you’re hanging out with my sister”

– “and not scaring each other in the middle of the night with your pocket rocket at full salute.”

He snorted. “To literally never bringing that up ever again, especially not with any of those phrases.”

“Cheers!” she laughed, clinking her can against his. They both took drinks of their soda, and fell quiet again for a moment. For the first time since they’d kissed, it felt comfortable again though. There had been a very real shift in the energy between them. They could make friends work. They could spend time together. Was it going to help him move on? Certainly not. Was it going to help him cope? It was worth a try.

“There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” she said quietly. After their entire experience tonight, somehow she found a way to be nervous again.

“Shoot your shot, Lil D.”

“I want to go swimming. Will you help me?”

<< Part 1, Part 3>>