Welcome! As the name suggests, this is where I'll be sharing my Honkai Star: Rail x Reader work from my Tumblr (aventurineswife).
I'd love to hear your requests, so feel free to send them in! I hope you enjoy reading!
Warnings: Most of my fics are...
Summary: Boothill, struggling with the loss of his humanity after becoming a cyborg, asks you to remind him what it feels like to be touched. In a rare moment of vulnerability, you reassure him that he's still more than just a machine, offering him the comfort and love he longs for.
Warnings: Boothill x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Soft Boothill, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Physical Affection, Longing, Fluff, Established Relationship, Trauma, Healing, Mention of trauma and loss, References to cyborg transformation, Emotional vulnerability. and self-doubt.
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As you stepped through the door of your shared abode, you found Boothill waiting for you in the dimly lit living room. His metallic frame gleamed under the flickering light, his tall figure leaning against the doorframe. The sharp glint in his black eyes with white aim symbols softened when they landed on you, though his ever-present cheeky grin was nowhere to be seen tonight.
"Evenin'." Boothill greeted you, his voice carrying that familiar southern drawl, though it lacked its usual playful tone. You could sense the weight in his words, the heaviness in his posture. His long white hair with black streaks hid half his face, but you could still see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something deeper.
You stepped closer, noticing how his sharp, shark-like teeth didn’t flash in a grin this time. His hand, rough and mechanical, twitched slightly, as if unsure whether to reach for you or not.
"I was thinkin’," Boothill said, looking away for a moment, the red star emblems on his hat catching the dim light. "About how I used to feel… y'know, touch. Real touch."
Your heart clenched at the quiet vulnerability in his voice. Beneath the layers of steel and circuits that now made up most of his body, he was still a man who longed to feel something beyond the cold metal, to be reminded of the warmth he once knew.
He took a deep breath, his scarf swaying slightly with the motion, before finally turning his gaze back to you. His cheeky smile faltered, replaced by a softer, more vulnerable expression. "It’s hard sometimes, darlin'. To remember what it was like before all this." His mechanical hand gestured vaguely to his torso, the exposed gears and circuitry visible beneath his cropped jacket.
Slowly, gently, Boothill reached for your hand, guiding it to the one part of him that remained flesh and blood—his cheek. The warmth of your palm against his skin felt grounding, real, in a way that nothing else did. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as if trying to absorb the sensation, to remind himself that he was still more than just a machine.
"Could you remind me, darlin'?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with a rawness that made your chest tighten.
You nodded softly, your fingers tracing the curve of his cheek, feeling the contrast between the warmth of his skin and the cold steel that now made up most of him. He exhaled shakily, a breath he seemed to have been holding for far too long.
“I’m still here,” you whispered back, pressing your forehead gently against his. “No matter how much they took from you… you’re still you. And I’m still here.”
Boothill’s sharp teeth tugged into a faint, almost bittersweet smile, though his eyes remained closed as if afraid to lose the moment. "Sometimes I wonder," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "if there’s anything left of me worth holdin’ onto."
“There is,” you said firmly, your hand moving to cup his other cheek. “There always will be.”
For a long moment, the two of you stood there, lost in each other’s presence. Boothill’s usually flamboyant and brash demeanor was stripped away, leaving only the raw, scarred man beneath—a man who had lost so much, but still clung to the hope that somewhere, amidst the revenge and the battle-hardened shell, there was still something worth saving.
"I don’t know what I'd do without you..." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His mechanical hand clutched yours a little tighter, as if grounding himself in your warmth.
"You don’t have to find out," you assured him, brushing a stray strand of his hair away from his face. "I’m not going anywhere."
In that moment, Boothill wasn’t the vengeful cyborg cowboy, the man on a mission to destroy the IPC and avenge his family. He was just a man—scarred, broken, and aching for the comfort of someone who loved him.
