Hiii dis post about my main yumeship!
There will be a lot of headcanons and not much of lore itself aghhhh sorry Im bad at writing stories.
He's an iron cowboy, she's a living, warm, perpetually squeaking little ball of chaos—an incorrigible pickpocket.
Trope: "Pirate and Parrot." Boothill treats Marie like an annoying but amusing little creature that's latched onto him. He doesn't consider her an equal (she's a "runt," after all), but he doesn't chase her away either, because with her around, it's never boring. She trails after him on his business, trying to be useful.
1. About their first meeting:
One day, in some backwater bar, the first thing she noticed wasn't a person or the owner—but a gleaming revolver. Beautiful, catching the warm light with a golden sheen. The whole world seemed to freeze, and nothing else mattered next to such a tempting prize.
She tried to crawl as quietly as possible and sneak the weapon out of its owner's holster.
He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck like a kitten. He expected hysterics, pleading, or a cheap shot. But she just let out a resigned sigh and said: "Ehh... Well, here we go again—no luck today..."
The cowboy didn't even get angry. He laughed—that raspy, grating laugh that sent a chill down Marie's spine, while her heart, on the contrary, dropped somewhere into her stomach.
"Well, well," he drawled, looming over her like a mountain. "A tiny little runt, but you've got your eyes on the sweetest prize, huh?"
She froze, feeling the heat of his metallic body. He smelled of ozone, gunpowder, and something like fuel—a volatile mixture that made Marie's knees go weak.
A good while has passed since then. She looked at Boothill as if he wasn't a walking problem with a revolver, but a man who had hung the moon and stars. It amused him. Boothill didn't consider himself a good man, and he certainly wasn't about to become anyone's prince. That's what he kept telling himself…
Now they're side by side, but "side by side" in Boothill's understanding means that Marie tags along like a stray puppy while he handles his problems with the IPC, carries out missions, and so on—and she just tries not to die while swiping something shiny along the way.
Boothill is brute force and cover. Marie is chaotic "distraction" and an irreplaceable master of "pocket-checking" in the literal sense. His flirting toward her is rough and straightforward. Marie would blush furiously and try to hide from it or getting ashamed of him.
After Boothill caught Marie trying to pick his pockets, he didn't squash her on the spot. Instead, he decided that such a disgraceful thief couldn't be left unsupervised—and didn't chase her off.
But of course, they had to part ways and reunite again, since the thief Marie was a regular visitor to the Astral Express, while Boothill wasn't. Yet she always found him again, and they'd run into each other like old friends, with the cowboy loving to entertain himself by teasing her.
He'd reach out his iron palm to her. And Marie, who usually avoids any responsibility—even for herself and her own choices—would suddenly realize that this was probably the biggest "score" of her life. And even stumbling beside him wouldn't be scary—he'd catch her anyway.
Initially, Boothill took Marie under his wing not as a romantic interest, but as a "rehabilitation project." He saw potential in her (after all, she managed to get close to him unnoticed, even if only briefly), but her professional incompetence practically screamed that she'd get herself killed on her first real heist.
At first, she was a lil bit scared of him, but his reputation and skills fascinated her. And then she started to like him. In every sense. She tries to imitate him: puts on his hat when he's not looking. Or just acts up to get his attention.
Boothill, being a man of action, decided that if this little one was constantly underfoot, he might as well teach her not to get herself killed on sharp corners.
· How to properly hold a dagger (her first successful dagger—Savior—he'd tear to shreds: "That's not a knife, that's a toothpick!")
· How to fall without breaking anything.
· How to choose pockets for picking ("Men don't have pockets in the groin area, that's the payment zone, remember that!")
He'd jab at her for her short stature, for always carrying around a bunch of junk ("Ye like a magpie, except magpies at least go for shiny things, and half of what you've got here is store receipts"). And she'd laugh at his silly catchphrases or his mannerisms.
But there's no malice in these jabs. It's their language. When Marie is too quiet, Boothill starts to worry. When Boothill is too grim, Marie crawls up to him with some ridiculous story or tries to swipe something from behind his back so he'd get distracted and chase after her.
· Texture contrast: The biggest feature of their closeness is the difference between them. His body is metal, mechanics, and rough synthetic skin. Her body is soft, warm, and alive.
· She loves touching him. Running her fingers along the joints of his armor, touching the smooth, cool metal where a normal person would have warm skin. It tingles her nerves.
· He, in turn, vitally needs to feel her living flutter. He often places his heavy palm on her stomach or chest, simply feeling her heartbeat, the rise and fall of her body as she breathes. It reminds him that she's fragile organic matter that he—ironically—protects.
From their first intimacy (which happened without any declarations of love). Boothill treated it as entertainment, a way to release tension. Marie—as union with a deity, losing her mind every time. Their connection was far from ideal. Boothill still wasn't in love (and probably never would be, in the way normal people are)—he was attached in his own way, like one gets attached to an amusing, warm creature that brightens loneliness.
For Boothill, sex is physiological release, and Marie serves as a "cute, living, and warm device" for that release.
And Marie… Marie kept hoping that one day he'd stop calling her "runt" and say something real. But as long as he teased her and dragged her along, she was ready to put up with it, blushing and freezing at every touch. Because sometimes, when she fell asleep on his metal shoulder, it seemed to her that he breathed a little quieter, so as not to wake her.
1. Boothill is a cyborg bounty hunter. In sex, he acts the same as in life: he's in charge. He likes to control the process.
2. He loves her embarrassment. It's his main "drug." He likes watching her blush, avert her gaze when he undresses, or try to act provocatively while asking for something intimate. He deliberately provokes her with dirty jokes whispered in her ear, just to see her ears turn crimson.
3. He prefers quick and dirty sex. Tenderness isn't his forte. Due to his nomadic lifestyle, their intimacy often happens hastily.
1. Boundless trust and adoration. Despite his roughness, she trusts him unconditionally. She lets him do anything to her because for her, intimacy with him is the ultimate dream. She worships his body. It doesn't scare her—it fascinates her.
2. Shyness and curiosity. She's shy about undressing in front of him in full light, preferring dimness. But she's also very curious. When he falls asleep, she might trace the joints of his metal hand with her fingertips, studying how it works, sometimes waking him up.
3. Sounds. She can't hold back. She moans and even sobs from an excess of emotion. This strongly contrasts with her image—theoretically, a quiet thief. When he brings her to peak, she might cry—not from pain, but from emotional overload. This is the only time Boothill feels awkward and might lightly stroke her back.
· Boothill a total dominator, without even trying. Boothill doesn't need ropes or complex games. His main tool is strength. Boothill is dominant, but not rough with her. He's fully aware of the difference in their physical strength and build (she's a "runt," after all). He does everything lazily, but controls every inch. He loves her reaction—genuine, loud, without a shred of pretense. She's like a toy to him, one that reacts exactly the way he wants.
· Her role is helpless pliability. Marie quickly realized that trying to "answer back" or take initiative was a lost cause. It always ended the same way.
· Power dynamics: Their bed relationship is a game of cat and mouse, where the cat (Boothill) lazily plays with the mouse (Marie), perfectly knowing she's not going anywhere. He's always in charge. He sets the pace, tone, and conditions. Marie just desperately tries to keep up with that pace, blushing and stammering.
· "Scrappy foreplay": Their intimacy often starts as a continuation of their usual jabs. She tries to bite his hand in response to another joke about her height. He intercepts her, pinning her arms behind her back (easily, without pain). From this struggle, tension is born, which discharges in the bedroom. Marie likes feeling physically weaker—it makes her heart beat faster.
· Fetish for awkwardness: Strangely enough, Boothill is turned on by her sincerity and inability to lie in bed. Marie, who blushes at every touch, makes funny sounds, and hides her face in the pillow—it's fresh and amusing. He loves teasing her even during the act, whispering obscenities in her ear to see her get even more flustered.
· Weapon usage. (Fetish? Possibly.) Marie, being a thief (and given their meeting story), is partial to weapons. The sight of his disassembled revolver on the nightstand during their intimacy affects her like a red rag to a bull. Boothill notices this and sometimes deliberately places the revolver in plain sight, watching her pupils dilate. "You love weapons more than me?" he teases.
· Her desperate infatuation: Marie pours all her clumsy but passionate nature into their intimacy. For her, every time is confirmation that he really chose her (even if temporarily). She's terribly embarrassed by her inexperience and "runtiness," but the desire to be with him overpowers fear. She agrees to everything, often not even understanding what exactly she's agreeing to until it's too late.
· "Cop and robber" game: Kinda ironic , right? Boothill's flirting almost always revolves around this. He might "search" her for stolen goods, but his hands linger too long, and he checks her pockets with entirely non-official zeal.
· Power imbalance: He's huge, metallic, rough, and deadly. She's small, clumsy, warm, and completely organic. In the bedroom (or any corner of the Express where they often end up), this contrast is something he revels in. He can literally scoop her up with one hand, and she's like a toy to him. Marie, who always cowers and hides in a fight, feels completely safe here. She can allow herself to be helpless, because she knows: he won't truly hurt her.
A literally sketch with em (and a lil bit of headcanons):
He, you could say, was a typical dominant. If you can call it that. He never allowed women to get the upper hand. Well, almost never. Only if the woman was classically dominant. He was old-fashioned and brought up (or not brought up) a little sexist. A very small drop. He just knew - he's a man, so he's stronger than a woman.
This was often manifested in the attitude towards Marie, and she was also younger, smaller, more fragile. She liked him because of his reliability (relative, given his desire to constantly get into trouble and problems). Once she tried to sit on top - it was a disaster. She moved so awkwardly, so ridiculously led her hips that even his excitement subsided a little.
Marie didn't try to command. I didn't try to take the initiative. She was soft, pliable, and that suited him the most. He didn't need to fight her for power - she gave it herself, with a willingness bordering on despair.
But one day she tried it.
They were already warmed up - he was lying on his back, lazily stroking her hips, and she moved slowly, trying to find the rhythm. But everything was wrong. Too slow, too awkward, too inept. She bit her lip, frowned intently, led her hips to the side - and the dick slipped out.
-Damn - she whispered, trying to direct him back.
Boothill looked at her from the bottom up. Her breasts - small, almost girlish - trembled with every movement, brown hair fell on her face, blush burned on her cheeks. She was beautiful. Ridiculous, clumsy, but beautiful. And yet.
- What are you doing there? - he asked, and a lazy mockery broke through his voice.
- I'm trying... - she finally sat back down, exhaled with relief and started moving again. Slowly. Uncertain.
- You're trying, - he repeated. - And I'm trying not to fall asleep.
She puffed up her lips offendedly, accelerated, but the rhythm got lost almost immediately. The movements became jerky, uncoordinated - like a puppy trying to dance on its hind legs.
He then grabbed her by the waist, turned her on her back and said, "Sit back, baby. I'm on my own." And she obeyed. She always obeyed.
And he... He's always in the position of defense or attack. When he enters a drinking establishment, he immediately analyzes all male representatives for confrontation. Constantly in the position of imposing their authority. It wasn't paranoia. It was a craft. When you work with your hands, when your life depends on who first notices the danger, the habit eats into the skin faster than tobacco smoke.
Often got something like "I have a dick - you have a cunt", "I'm a male - you're a female". But of course, he never humiliated women, not at all. He had his own code of honor. I've never beaten women. But he treated everything disorderly and sex life was in this range. He lived to the fullest, that's all. And he rarely preferred to fall in love. Or not to do it at all. Marie was part of this permissiveness. He wasn't looking for her. She came by herself. I stayed by myself. I fell in love like a fool myself.
And he... he just didn't push me away. Because it was pleasant. Because it was warm and soft and smelled like nothing else in his life. Because when she looked at him from the bottom up, with her stupid hope, something was aching inside - either conscience or something else that he didn't want to think about.
He was also distinguished by his fetishism, sometimes "flirting" with Marie, deliberately emphasizing some topics, although in fact he was not a fan of such a thing. He didn't care, but it didn't mean that he wasn't ready to try something new... In general, that's the way things are. He was a difficult young man, with bloodshed, rudeness, rebellion and all that.
"Get to know my ship" with em:
If you’ve read this far, I’m truly grateful. Seriously! I feel like only a handful of people would actually be interested in something like this. A personal kiss for having the strength not to die of cringe while reading this crap 💋 It makes me happy that you’re interested!!
