MR. TELEPHONE MAN!

MR. TELEPHONE MAN!

"𝘔𝘳. 𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦! 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺'𝘴 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦!"

Synopsis: Pick up, pick up, pick up— still no answer. Desperately trying to reach you after your argument, Boothill finds himself repeatedly directed to the operator's automated voicemail. 'Please hang up and try again, baby.' Genre: Comfort, fluff Character: Boothill x gn!reader Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of Dan Heng, a little strayed from canon events maybe, slightly ooc, mentions of prior argument, slight angst if you squint, half of the fic is just Boothill and Dan Heng having a heart to heart bro talk lol [masterlist] [about me]

Boothill cursed himself silently, though as vigorously as he could manage since his synesthesia beacon was malfunctioning. Walking briskly around the Parlor car, phone gripped tightly in hand, he couldn't escape the relentless sound of the dial tone on repeat. Meanwhile, Dan Heng observed him with a quizzical expression, one brow arched in curiosity.

Witnessing Boothill in such evident distress was a rare sight for Dan Heng. The ranger typically exuded an aura of nonchalant confidence, often adopting a "fudge it, we ball" attitude towards life's challenges. Consequences were either dealt with head-on or circumvented through sheer audacity.

Reckless. Yes, that word seemed to define him perfectly. And perhaps that's why he was so visibly agitated now. Boothill's thumb hovered over the name 'sweetcheeks' on his phone, a term that made Dan Heng cringe inwardly, yet he dismissed it knowing it was a manifestation of love.

"May I inquire as to your purpose for boarding the Astral Express today? If your intention is merely to cause a disturbance, I suggest you reconsider," Dan Heng stated firmly, crossing his arms and adopting his usual stoic expression, his brow arching slightly. While he and the other nameless welcomed all aboard the Express with open arms, Boothill remained a figure of caution, especially given recent events, despite the significant assistance he had provided.

"What? Ain't you the one who said I could drop by anytime?" Boothill retorted, his frown deepening as he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His attention flickered momentarily to his vibrating phone before returning with disappointment when he heard the all-too-familiar phrase that had been echoing for the past half-hour. "Sorry, please hang up and call again."

"I never made such a claim," Dan Heng countered, a faint hint of amusement dancing in his narrowed eyes as he observed the disgruntled expression on Boothill's face. "Apart from the conductor, Pom Pom, none of my colleagues have had the pleasure of meeting you. It would be prudent for you to acquaint yourself with them before boarding."

Boothill let out a derisive snort, his thumb instinctively jabbing at the 'dial again' button as he locked eyes with Dan Heng. "Aw, come on now. The conductor already gave me the green light. Ain't that sufficient? And you, you actin' like a youngster. Do I gotta meet your folks before I can come over and play?"

Instantly, Boothill regretted his words, his lips forming a tight line as he realized he had overstepped. "Well, shoot. My apologies," he conceded, his voice softened with regret as he retrieved his hat and made his way to the nearest couch, slumping down with a heavy sigh. This was his perpetual dilemma— he was too forthright, too bold with his language. His words spilled out before he could filter them.

Boothill was baffled by his own behavior. Apologizing to strangers or mere acquaintances came naturally to him, the words slipping out effortlessly, whether they were genuine or not. But when it came to you, it was as if his internal wiring malfunctioned. His mechanical body buzzed with static, sparks dancing erratically, and his words emerged in a tangled mess. The simple phrases— "I love you" or "I'm sorry"— seemed trapped behind a barricade, struggling to find their way past his lips.

"Forget it," Dan Heng sighed, striding over to the dejected figure slumped on the couch. "But do enlighten me as to why you're here just to make a phone call, presumably to your significant other? Is it a must to reach them while aboard the Express?"

Boothill simply shrugged, emitting a grunt of frustration before pulling his hat down over his face, a gesture of defeat. "There ain't no signal anywhere else, I reckon. Figured your train might lend me a hand, even just a tad."

As the number continued to ring with no response from you, Boothill finally opened up, his voice softening as he admitted, "Got into a spat with my partner."

With those words, he began to dismantle the barriers surrounding his emotions, allowing them to spill forth within the confines of the Express. Dan Heng listened attentively, offering a supportive presence to the troubled man.

Boothill couldn't shake the feeling of remorse gnawing at him. He knew he had deeply upset you this time, and he had no one to blame but himself. Who wouldn't be hurt if their own partner hurled insults at them, especially when all they wanted was to show care and concern? Boothill couldn't help but imagine how he would feel if the roles were reversed, and the mere thought made his stomach churn.

"I think I really got under their skin— no doubt about it," he muttered to himself, replaying the scene in his mind where you were left with a furrowed brow and glistening tears threatening to spill. In that moment of frustration, he couldn't fathom why you would bother caring about him. After all, he was no longer flesh and blood; he was encased in metal, his heart silent, and his tear ducts dry.

He couldn't feel pain or sorrow like he used to. So why should you waste your concern on someone who couldn't be harmed or hurt? He couldn't feel anything beyond his face. There was no need for you to worry about him getting into trouble or getting hurt, because he wouldn't feel it.

It was a selfish thought, he admitted, yet at the same time, it wasn't. After all, you were human— a fragile being whose existence could be snuffed out in an instant— while he remained invulnerable. So why waste your energy worrying about him, when he should be the one worrying about you?

As Boothill drowned in his sorrows, his metal hand tapping incessantly on his phone in a desperate attempt to reach you, Dan Heng listened intently, a somber hum escaping his lips as he nodded along.

'Sorry, please hang up and call again.'

Well, fork me.

"Have you apologized?"

"I want to," Boothill admitted, his brows furrowing with guilt. He mulled over various ways he could make it up to you without actually uttering those two crucial words—an apology. Perhaps he could buy you your favorite cake, shower you with affectionate kisses until you couldn't help but giggle, and lavish you with words of admiration.

"That sounds more like a birthday celebration, Boothill. It would be selfish and ignorant of you to avoid apologizing," Dan Heng interjected, cutting through Boothill's thoughts with a firm reminder.

"But— But it's dang near impossible to say those words!" Boothill groaned, frustration evident in his voice as he sat upright on the couch, dialing your number once more, silently pleading for you to answer. "It's like pulling teeth."

"And that's precisely the issue you need to address," Dan Heng replied firmly, his gaze unwavering.

The Ranger slumped back, averting his eyes and releasing a heavy sigh of defeat. "…What do you suggest I do, then?"

"Apologize."

"…you—alright. Fine."

"But apologize like you actually mean it, not just because you have to."

As Dan Heng's words sank in, Boothill felt a sudden jolt of realization. Apologize like he meant it— not just because it was expected of him. The gravity of those words hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to freeze in place, his wide eyes meeting Dan Heng's steady gaze.

With a nod and an encouraging thumbs up from Dan Heng, Boothill was left to ponder his next move in solitude. Did he truly mean it, this apology? Absolutely. It shouldn't be so difficult to utter those words, right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar automated message playing once more: "Sorry, please hang up and call again, baby."

A small gasp escaped Boothill's lips as he jolted upright, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his phone. Could it be? Was it really you on the other end? "W-wait—! Darlin'? Sweetcheeks? Is that really you?" he stammered, lifting the phone to his ear and pacing in circles, heart pounding with anticipation.

"Forgot my voice already?" Your retort hit Boothill like a punch to the gut, and he could almost see the frown forming on your face. He let out a noise of frustration, his head bowed as he nervously fiddled with the hem of his jacket, rendered momentarily speechless. "Erm— nah. How could I?"

If he still possessed skin and flesh, Boothill was certain his palms would be sweating profusely right now. A man who had faced countless bounties on his head, vanquishing his enemies with a flick of his gun, and executing daring escapes from perilous heights— now reduced to a speechless fool at the mere sound of his lover's voice.

"I, uh… I wanted to talk to you," he finally managed to breathe out, his voice laced with uncertainty. He could almost hear the slight scoff on the other end of the line, a sound that made his heart ache with regret.

"About what? I don't think there's much to talk about after the tantrum you threw at me," your voice came through, laced with a hint of bitterness. Were you being immature? Perhaps. But you had every right to be upset, every right to be salty.

Boothill swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he stumbled over his words, the apology he wanted to offer caught in his throat. "I- uh, um…" He cursed inwardly, his free hand nervously tugging at a few strands of his hair in a panic.

Darn it, why didn't he ask Dan Heng when the Express would reach the planet where you resided?

"I wanted to say that I…I'm so—" He groaned in frustration, slapping his hand against his face as he gritted his teeth in irritation. Why was it so blasted difficult to express himself? "I-I'm sorry, darlin'. Truly, I am."

The silence from your end only intensified Boothill's nerves, sending a wave of panic coursing through him. Was this it? Were you going to leave him, leaving him to wander aimlessly without a home once more? "Please, sweetheart. I'm pourin' my heart out here," he pleaded softly, his voice trembling with genuine sincerity.

He listened intently, straining to hear any sign of your response. From the muffled sounds of sheets rustling, he could only guess that you might be on the verge of tears again, and it tore at his nonexistent heart. "I'm sorry for…for yellin' and such. I was actin' selfish and ignorant, and I know that was wrong of me," he confessed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and guilt as he cast his gaze downward.

Desperation clawed at him, the longing for your touch, the warmth of your presence beside him each morning, the comfort of your embrace— it all flooded his senses. He yearned for a home to return to, a sanctuary where he could find solace in your love once more.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear," Boothill vowed earnestly, feeling a spark of hope ignite within him.

He heard a quiet sigh escape your lips, and he squirmed with anticipation, eagerly awaiting your response.

"You've got 10 minutes to get your behind back into our home, right this instant," you blurted out, attempting to inject a joking tone into your words, but Boothill could detect the slight tremor in your voice.

His heart soared with relief and joy at your words. "Alright— okay, I'll be there. Just let me ask Dan Heng when we'll be arriving, alright?" he replied eagerly, his demeanor brightening considerably. This was his chance to make things right, to rebuild what he had almost shattered. He wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers.

As Boothill's metal boots echoed through the halls of the Express, his heart lightened at the sound of your voice. "I miss you," you confessed, the sniffle in your tone tugging at his wired heartstrings.

A chuckle escaped him, his hand reaching for the doorknob that led to Dan Heng's room. "I missed you too, sweetcheeks. I'll make it up to you, I swear on my bounty," he promised, determination lacing his words.

He could sense the relief in your giggle as you bid him goodbye and hung up, prompting him to knock on Dan Heng's door. "Yo, bro! When we makin' a stop at my planet?"

"We're not," Dan Heng's muffled voice responded, causing Boothill to freeze in his tracks. "We're stopping at Penacony to go to The Reverie to pick up my colleagues."

"…We're what."

a smutty mindless boothill rumbling; fem!reader (even though it's only stated in one phrase); pretty self-indulgent; some weird comparisons to canines

N.B. English is not my native language

MDNI

Do you think Boothill pants like a dog while he's balls deep into you? Red tongue lolling out, strings of saliva drip-drip-dripping down on your skin? Do you think his voice module cracks and wheezes with static, his breath a white noise against your own shaky moans?

With each thrust, each slap of his balls – soft, smooth silicone, warm almost like a human skin, a delectable stickness connecting your bodies, – he pants: ah, ah, ah. He sings of desperation and need, but the undertone is thick with untamed, unknown and unexpected lust.

Boothill takes you with the selfishness of a starving coyote that finally sniffed out a piece of meat. He's greedy, cocky and perhaps a little too self-assured, throwing 'sweets' and 'm'ladies' and 'darlin's' left and right. But when you take off this hat of his, when the cold metal meets the silk of your skin, that's what he turns into – a dog.

He's rutting into you, movements uncoordinated and jerky, his body, a machine that's supposed to be deadly in its precision, failing him time after time, thrust after thrust, and he doesn't even need to breathe, not really, but he wheezes and whines, and groans, and almost coughs with the phantom feeling of pleasure creeping up his broken throat.

And if you look up at him, he'll smile down on you, all teeth, a crooked cut across his face, a feral display of desire to bite and rip apart. But that's what he's about – all bark.

Boothill laughs, the sound of it almost hurting your ears, and he's handsome and wild and perhaps a little fucked in the head, but you've never been more enamoured with a man before. And when he starts moving again, his brows drawn together, eyes hazy yet all-seeing, gaze heavy with lust yet all-knowing, his hot mouth close to your face, saliva hitting your cheeks, nose, forehead – that's when you know that between the two of you you are even crazier.

Because you'll definitely stay here, in his bed, come morning. You'll take the coffee he'll make for you and wear the hat he'll generously clap on your head. You'll let this scoundrel of a man whisk you away – and to hell with it all if you won't let him fuck you like this again and again.

'Atta girl'.

guilt🥀

TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN

wriothesley x sub!fem!reader. nsfw content. 1 degrading name [whore]. rough sex at first. unprotected p -> v. r uses the safe word. fluff. mean wrio but den he's really nicey. petnames [baby/baby girl, honey, pretty baby].

"wrio— ! wrio PLEASE !" you cried out. not in pleasure, but in pain. none of it felt good anymore. your whole body hurt. your throat hurt from your cries, your cheek hurt from being pressed into the pillow, wriothesley's hand holding it down. and your back hurt from the way it was arched, with your bum in the air. his cock felt like it was tearing you in half. barely getting any prep of foreplay before this all started.

"hmm, how come ? can the baby not take it anymore ?" his voice was mocking, lips right next to your ear. so close you could feel his breath brushing against your earlobe. "you were begging for daddy earlier."

that wasn't necessarily a lie. you were the one who had brought up the idea of wriothesley being rougher than he usually was. having seen in a few video clips you had watched to entertain yourself while wriothesley was in his office. it seemed so enjoyable when you were watching it. but you were learning now that you were far too sensitive to actually experience it.

"you were begging for it. begging for daddy's cock like a stupid little whore" his words hurt more than his actions. striking you straight in the heart, feeling like you were being stabbed with something sharp.

"i-i can't ! i can't take no more !" fat tears ran down your face, staining your cheeks and dripping off your chin. "red !! red, wrio red !!"

the second you cried out the safe word, wriothesley's movements and words stopped. taking not even a second before pulling out. the sudden emptiness was welcome, like you could finally breathe again.

it was like a switch flipped in wriothesley, which suddenly reminded you that none of what he was doing was with the intention to hurt you. you felt bad for a moment, for using your safe word. but the sweet and worried look in wriothesley's eyes as he helped you to your back, and cupped your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with rough thumbs made it melt away. he wasn't upset that you used it.

"oh baby. my baby, what happened ? are you okay ?" he asked, his voice dripping with worry and concern for you. "are you hurt ? tell me what happened, baby girl"

you chewed on your lip, eyes gazed down towards the silky sheets you were wringing in your hands. "i just... didn't like it like i thought i would" you mumbled.

"oh babbbyyy" he cooed, reaching out and scooping you up in his arms. "my sweet little baby. i'm so sorry"

you shook your head, instinctually curling up against him as he held you. "no, it wasn't you" you said, voice quiet and eyes heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to you. "i just didn't like it. seemed better than it actually was is all…"

wriothesley peppered kisses all over your cheeks and forehead, "i'm so proud of you baby" he whispered against the sweaty skin of your temple.

you looked up at him, brows creased in confusion and curiosity "proud of me ?" you asked

he nodded, smiling down at you with such sincerity it made your heart flutter. "of course i am baby, usin' your safe word ? that's huge, honey." he slid you off of his lap, getting off the bed and pulling his underwear back on. brushing the hair from your face, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "i'll go draw you a bath, okay baby girl ? nice and warm, with those lavender bubbles you like. does that sound good pretty baby ?"

you rose off the bed, holding yourself on your knees. you reached out to him, fingertips grazing against the muscles of his chest, before falling back onto your lap. "actually... can we just cuddle" you asked him.

wriothesley smiled, crawling back onto the bed and pulling you close to him once more, head resting on his chest. "of course baby. whatever you want. you're my little princess after all"

you grinned at his statement. he certainly made you feel like a princess. "you haven't told me about your day yet" you said

"baby i don't wanna think about work." he responded with a light scoff, before tilting his head to give you yet another soft kiss "you're the only thing i want to pay attention to right now"

Whoever was the first person to think 'Hm, Boothill should definitely have a golden tooth', I owe them my life because now I literally cannot imagine him without one. Like, it's almost a physical reaction, it just feels right to see Boothill having a golden canine tooth in my mind's eye, see it shining in his cocky grin... or him deliberately biting the bullet in half with it... He's so endearing.

So it’s some kind of weird cult where they wear vegetable costumes and dance around a big thing. They seem nice enough.

Over the Garden Wall (2014) 🍁🎃🍂