fem boothill x afab!reader, warnings for implied homophobia, angst, self hatred, self indulgent
Happy Boothill Anniversary everyone !!!
Boothill is a shameless woman. Now, contrary to how those words may sound, you meant them with all the kindness and love in your heart.
Boothill didn't know shame the way most folks did. She didn't care to sit prim and proper or soften the rough edges of her words just to be all lady-like. What is gender if not a social construct meant to make our lives as miserable as the stuck-up and greedy city-slickers that run rampant like a bad infestation.
No, Boothill was a woman who ran free like her beloved horses, across grassy plains. She belonged to everyone and no one and you envied her deeply.
You had met her a while back, a meeting of pure happenstance. If you hadn't been passing by at that very moment, hadn't chosen to come out of your shell just this once, perhaps you never would've come to know she whose laugh was as mischievous and boisterous as the coyotes she admired. You would've never come to know she who loved loud and proud and would never let anyone look down on her.
Despite your differences, you and Boothill got along well. Incredibly well, even. It shocked you, and you could tell she shared the same sentiment, that the two of you were so similar despite everything. You both held the same fears of being left behind, of inadequacy. You both wanted to do nothing more than to cling to those you cherished yet vulnerability was such a burden.
And despite, despite, despite. Vulnerability came easy between you both.
"Sometimes, I find myself askin' jus' where the hell you've been, girl," Boothill tells you one night, her hair tickling your skin as she shook her head. "It ain't a many a time I find mahself listenin' more than speakin'."
You hadn't answered. You didn't know what to say, despite Boothill's claims of you being a proper yapper around her.
The words simply rushed forth when around her. You wanted to say anything and everything on your mind. You wanted her bullets in your heart if only so she'd be in your soul forever. A physical memento of she who consumed your every waking hour, despite your best attempts and despite your shame.
However, even the torrential waterfall of your words was controlled. You didn't wish to tell her everything, for fear of coming off as too much. Hypocrisy, you tell yourself, when Boothill herself had once confessed to you how she feared she was too much for others, that her muchness would lead to abandonment as would her un-muchness.
Eloquent woman, you are, Boothill.
Only once, had you confessed, in a moment of weakness, about one of your failures. Another woman that you'd loved previously. A dirty secret that had come forth during a panic attack and that had nearly left you disowned and outcast. Boothill had listened and said you were brave and stronger than most.
You didn't believe her. You never would.
But you don't tell her that. Much like the countless other things that you don't tell her and many more people who assume they know you well. It's a lost cause in your mind and you've learned your lesson.
That is, until the day comes where you see Boothill again after a long absence in which you had left for the city for the sake of work. The day you return, the cowgirl awaits you with that radiant smile in the field of wildflowers she often took you to.
With her hat in one hand, wild white hair blowing in the wind, and a makeshift bouquet of flowers in another, she tells you: "Never thought it'd happen but… ah hell, sugar. You've got me soft down on you an' I dunno what to do with mahself no more."
You had never thought, never would've dreamed or dared to even imagine. This wasn't supposed to happen. People like her didn't fall for you. The strong protect the weak yes, but never would they stoop to their level. Never would the strong allow themselves to be shackled and caged like the weak.
You open your mouth and close. Words fail you and your heart pounds loud enough that you think this may be the end. The end of what exactly, you don't know. All you know is that you wish the next time you open your eyes, this would all be a bad dream.
You loved Boothill. You loved her and wished to take the flowers in her hand and hear her call you those sweet words again, this time with more weight to them. But you can't.
You're not strong enough to bear the brunt of your family's disdain. You're not selfish enough to say yes and keep her as your dirty little secret. Nor were you selfless enough to just let her go.
Boothill stands there, expectant and smiling. You stand there, struggling to breathe. You blink rapidly, nails digging into your palms, and your mouth stuffed full of cotton.
I'm sorry that I love you. I'm sorry that you love me. And I'm sorry I don't love you enough to be strong.
