Can I request headcanons for Jing Yuan, Boothill, Aventurine, Phainon, and Mydei reacting to his shy gn reader whispering your feelings to him because you couldn't say it loud enough for him to hear please?
Phainon
he's smiling so brightly you swore you felt like looking away just to shield your eyes, yet it was so beautiful to see his face brighten up the way it did.
he was awaiting for this day to arrive. he wasn't stupid nor naive to the way you would stare at him with a certain within your eyes, like you were seeing him in colour for the first time. or how you'd always linger close by him whenever possible like you were his second shadow he could help but find adorable, he knows you can take care of yourself in battle but socially? you'd rather be left alone, which is where he'll step in.
He will whisper the confession back to you as though he's sharing a secret with him that was poorly hidden in the eyes of others.
he doesn't want to be loud or overwhelming with his confession, he felt as though it would not befit the situation he found himself in.
he wanted to meet you at your level of comfortability, he would give you the clothes off of his back to keep you warm or give you his hands to hold and ground yourself if needs be, alllow him to rub your knuckles with his thumbs soothingly whilst he echoed your cofession back to you disguised as his own, eager to take you anywhere and everywhere because he finally had the one thing he wanted the most of all: you.
Mydei
he's stern of face, his arms crossed over his chest as he listens to your confession as though you were guiding him through a complex battle plan.
his ears sharp and honed in your each and every word, not allowing anything to pass him by, every vowel, sylabel, noun was absorbed for him to digest and understand where you were coming from, where this feeling started and how it blossomed into something deeper. all without saying a word, as though mulling them over in his head.
he would ask once you were done 'would you allow me to speak from the heart'
he was asking for permission more so then anything.
once you say yes, mydei would admit that while in Kremnos there wasn't such words for romance nor love nor affection in the slightest, they were always warriors first who favoured the sword and fighting rather then poetry and intellectual debates, not to say they couldn't hold any of their own, they could it was just the sword and fighting were better forms of ecpression for them the better suited their personalities.
however even he had to admit yet his feelings and confessions were as if he was making a vow a knight would to his king, vowing to protect you and keep you safe and promising to fight by your side if you would allow him to be your partner in the battlefield as well as in romance. it wasn't flowery words nor poetry that left his mouth. they were steel and strong and to the point, much like he was but yet his words left a warmth that would stay with you as long as he was there to keep the cold out from your heart.
Aventurine
teasing little shit.
acts like he couldn't hear you at first but is quick to stop and back off the teasing when he sees that it was draining you of your courage to continue to confess, afterwards his attention was yours, he knew you had a thing for his eyes and finding them rather hard to avoid looking upon them with awe and wonder.
while he's listening to your confession, his hands would wander to hold your elbow, your hand or trail up and down your arm all the while he hummed and said 'even i could've told you that.' playfully as his touches made you loose focus and where you were within the confession.
he doesn't mean to let you be caught off guard in the midst of your confession before asking if he could be allowed to speak for himself and not on the behalf of someone else, allow him to drop the act for a minute and hope that luck was on his side to help him get through his words without faltering along the way with how foreign but powerful they were.
aventurine bares his heart out to you, letting you into the thoughts he had but kept well hidden enough, telling you of everything he could without possing them as a joke or a jab, it was the first of many times you would see the true face of Aventurine.
Boothill
might look as though he was grinning or grimmacing depending on how you wanna look at him.
however he was wondering how he had gotten here, to this point where he's leaning in closer to hear you better, one hand pressed to the wall next to you, maintaining eye contact the entire time to let you know that nothing you were saying was amiss.
he's wondering whether he's hearing you right when clearly he knew he was hearing clear as day, hearing your sweet confession almost felt like a dream come true, and yet he feels as though he was within a dream of sorts.
he's not sure what it was that you see in him, he could barely feel your touch as you reach out to hold his hand or press it against his chest, he couldn't feel a thing and he hated how now of all times he wishes he could still feel your touch no matter where it landed. his body had advantages and disadvantages and he was left figuring out which side of the scale he was willing to sit upon.
he wasn't one to dictate your feelings, he didn't know your heart like you did, so he had no reason to take your feelings for other then the truth when you looked at him the way you did the moment you finished your confession. 'you sure have a way with words darling.' he'd say, 'i don't know how to compete with you there but hell i can sure try to prove to you and myself that i'm more then just a gun waiting to go off.'
Jing yuan
he would have taken you somewhere private, somewhere where prying ears wouldn't hear such a personal confession. he would make sure you were both comfortable when you confess to him with nothing but the words of your heart.
he listens intently, listened to you as though nothing else held more importance, glad to know that his theory of your recent attitude towards him wasn't flase but in fact true, from the hitch of your breath to the twitch of a muscle he knew his theory to be true but wanted you to come to him to admit what he already knew.
he commended your bravery and courage for confessing, he knew it wasn't easy for you, even if it was whispered into his ear as sweetly as it was, that didnt mean it didn't take strengh to admit to such a thing as raw and powerful as love and be brave enough to know that those feelings might not be reciprocated.
however your feelings weren't unrequited, not that you were aware of this just yet.
once you were done with your confession Jing Yuan he would let you know that your words weren't lost on him, not a single bit.
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: Cock-y man with a sharp grin. I'd never say no to him. Love him so much.
There was no reason for him to be jealous over some waiter telling you how pretty you were when you dressed up for Boothill specifically. You drew a few more eyes than expected and Boothill noticed. "If you're gonna dress like a slut I'm gonna fuck you like one." He growled in your ear as he hammered your cunt from behind, his hips smacking against yours and making the wooden bed protest.
"You're so jealous. Just admit it. It's okay." You sassed through moans, making him fuck you even rougher.
"So what? You're my woman. I get to be possessive over you if I want to. Have a problem with that?" Boothill grabbed your chin hard enough to leave bruises. He angled your hips upwards, his cock hitting the deepest parts of your pussy. You clenched the sheets desperately and rolled your hips back, meeting his thrusts. "Tell me that you're mine."
"I am. I'm yours. I need you to remind me that I'm yours. I need you to mark me." You goaded him on fully knowing what it'll do. You didn't even flinch when you felt sharp teeth sink into your shoulder so hard it made you bleed. The pain sent a jolt right to your pussy and clit. "So good… want to be yours… your good… slut…" This is exactly the reason you loved making him jealous from time to time.
Sex was better when your boyfriend was jealous.
Boothill pulled out just as he felt your pussy tightening around his cock, you mourned the loss until you felt his cum paint your ass and your lower back, "There, all marked up in red and white."
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀 boothill x m!reader
— 3.3k words, not proofread, minors do not interact
TO NOTE: mechanic!reader, sub!reader, reader gives boothill a dick, reader takes away his censorship, mean dom!boothill, maybe ooc!boothill, fingering, heavy heavy dirty talk, boothill calls reader a whore & slut, boothill steps on reader's dick, blowjobs (boothill receiving), degradation. lmk if i missed anything!!
KAI SAYS: boy am i down bad for this little space cowboy
As a hardworking mechanic, you often pride yourself on your accomplishments. You—like any decent one—had many. From what you worked with to what you managed to fix, there were many things that could be considered impressive to a crowd.
None of them, however, were as impressive as the time you managed to remove Boothill’s censorship and give him back what he called: “a missing piece of his heart.”
Your dimly lit mechanic shop is cluttered with tools amongst other sharp things. Scattered about every flat surface usable is a screw, nail, wire, metal board—anything you could make use of. In the centre of the workshop is the only real space you kept clean.
Sitting in the middle of the room is a large, metallic workbench. It’s impressive, to say the least. Hooked up to an uncountable number of wires, switches and knobs decorating the sides, tools hanging from hooks, everything about it is a sight to behold.
What’s more impressive—even more magnificent—is the man sitting on top of it.
With his legs sprawled out and his head idly lolling from side to side, Boothill himself is a man to bless the eyes. The way his body worked, how each wire and sensor inside his cyborg body worked in tandem with each other to create the masterpiece that was him.
Of course, you only think like that because you’re a mechanic. You know how hard it is to put together a synesthetic body part, let alone a whole human being.
To people who don’t know the complexities of machinery, they might just think he’s a handsome cyborg. And really, they weren’t wrong. Whoever created his body, whether it was Boothill himself or another person, was quite the artist with the way they’d managed to create Boothill as a cyborg and still leave in his human charm.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Boothill grumbles, pulling you very quickly out of your thoughts. “Ya gonna continue starin’ or ya gonna actually help a guy out?” He waved at the dent in his hip, a noticeable cave to the metal plate.
“Yes, yes.” You huff. While you did find the cyborg part of Boothill impressive, his personality… not so much. He was endearing at times, but mostly he could be a pain in the ass.
A lot of the time, he’d get himself scratched and broken just to come back to you only when he’s on the brink of shutting down. Or, he’d either only come to you with the smallest, most irrelevant and easy-to-fix problems known to man.
His current state being the latter.
You make your way carefully over to Boothill, dropping to your knees beside the workbench to inspect the minimal damage done to his hip. “It’s… not even that bad.” You murmur, eyes darting up to his. “You could probably play it off as a hip dip or something.”
“Nope!” Boothill grunts, moving his metallic hand to tap against the metal of his hip. “Not happenin’ cutie. Need this body o’ mine to be in tip-top condition for my next bounty.” He grins widely, stretching his legs in front of him as he rests his arms back behind his head.
You only roll your eyes in response, already pulling out your screwdriver to replace Boothill’s so-called “broken” hip. “Whatever you say then…” You grumble, working away at the screws on the plate.
“Thanks, sweet cheeks.” Boothill hums, absentmindedly picking at the metal of his shoulder.
You wince at the nickname, your eyes shifting from where you’re working to Boothill’s face. “What’s with the nicknames…?” You say, voicing your curiosity. “We’ve known each other for what, six months now?” You raise an eyebrow at him before you continue. “Six months, and we're not even dating yet you always seem to use some form of a nickname.”
“Well,” Boothill hums, “the guy that made this good ol’ body of mine decided I would benefit from losing a thing or two. Those bein’ my ability to swear and of course my clock.”
“Your… clock?” You give him a confused look as you screw the metal back into place, finishing off his new hip.
“No, no, cutie, not an actual clock.” Boothill rolls his eyes. “My, uh, manhood, ya know?”
“Your…” You trail off. “Oh.”
He grins at you, opening his legs widely on the table. “Look if ya want, I got nothin’ to hide down there.” He gives you a wink before leaning further into your workbench.
You glance down at his crotch and see that it is, indeed, very flat. I guess what he said is true then…
You’re about to pick up your tools when you hear Boothill call for you, his name dropping from his lips. “Hey, uh, you don’t happen to have any o’ those synesthetic clocks, do ya?”
You give Boothill a blank look. While you did have a few lying around, as per a customer who was willing to pay a hefty price of seven million credits for one, you didn’t think Boothill would want one.
“Yeah…” You eventually respond. “I do.”
Boothill’s eyes widen as if he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes. “Oh, mother fudgin’!” He says before eagerly jumping off the workbench. “Please,” he begs, “ya gotta hook me up with one! Haven’t felt it in so long, ‘s like a piece of my heart’s been missing!”
You cringe at his choice of terminology before looking up at the pleading man. “Well, they cost a hefty price—”
“I’m willin’ t’pay!” Boothill cries, the same pleading tone still present in his voice. “Please, anythin’ for my clock back!”
“I—y’know what, fine.” You grumble, not having the energy to think up an argument. You wave your hand at your workbench. “Sit on the edge while I grab one. I’m just gonna assume you want the biggest size.”
You hear the faint rumble of Boothills laugh. “Oh, darlin’ you know me so well!”
You roll your eyes, pulling out a key to unlock a drawer where you kept your synesthetic… manhoods. You eye them all, cautiously taking one on the very left end before closing the drawer and going back up to Boothill.
“So.” You say, holding the synesthetic member awkwardly in front of Boothill. “Eight inches, pretty thick, the colour an’ design of the metal goes pretty well with your cyborg parts, I think it matches you.”
“Oh-ho-ho!” Boothill grins, his sharp teeth shining under the light. “Now that's what I’m talking about. Can’t wait to have my fudgin’ shift back.”
You roll your eyes at the censorship before tapping Boothill’s knee. “Spread your legs, gotta get to you if you want me to actually put this on.”
Boothill gives you a teasing look and you already know what he’s about to comment on. “If you wanted to see my new duck in action, ya could’ve jus’ asked.” He grins and you roll your eyes again. Just what you predicted.
“Shut up and spread your legs.” You say, a harsh tone evident in your voice. This time Boothill complies, his knees spreading as you once again take your place, kneeling on the floor—this time between his legs.
Slowly, you unscrew the metal panel on Boohill’s crotch area.
Once it’s fully out, you take a peek into the hole you just opened, trying to grasp what you’re working with. You puff out your cheeks, sighing as you peer into the hole between Boothill’s legs.
There’s an assortment of jumbled wires, a few switches, and—is that a remote control? With two fingers, you manage to pry your way into the cavity in Boothill’s crotch. Lithly and carefully, you pull the remote from the little clasp it was stuck in before sliding it out.
You inspect it cautiosly, taking note of how there’s only one singular switch on the flat of it. You contemplate flipping it, but then it crosses your mind that touching random things that came from inside Boothill’s body wasn’t the best idea.
Setting the remote to the side for later, you continue your work with Boothill’s new member.
Carefully, very, very carefully, you attach each wire to the base of Boothill’s new appendage, making sure everything is kept neat and tidy. With a quick glance up at Boothill, you can instantly tell he’s at least somewhat relaxed.
“Boothill.” You call, tapping the inside of his metal thigh. “I’m gonna connect the synesthesia now, so you might get a bit…” You cough awkwardly. “Aroused… But just ignore it and try not to like—y’know, cum all over my face.”
Boothill grins down at you, once again flashing you his sharp teeth. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, I’ve got some self-control.”
You nod your head, cautiously pushing the two wires together. The instant you twist them into place, you hear Boothill let out a loud groan. “Fudge, I missed this.” He murmurs, his dick twitching to life right in front of your face.
The sight, being able to watch as the new tip of his metal cock twitches and lifts, sends a shiver down your spine—one you chose to ignore as much as possible. Your hands go back to his shaft, gently pressing a screw in and Boothill lets out a loud hiss, his dick twitching in your hand.
“Darlin’ you’re teasin’ me.” He grunts before peering down at you through half-lidded eyes.
You don’t say anything, making sure to work carefully at his dick, making sure everything is functioning. As you trail your hand along the underside of his shaft, Boothill’s thigh twitches, pushing against your head and forcing your face closer to his cock.
You let out a squeal of surprise, eyes darting up to Boothill, whose face is flushed a warm pink with his teeth pulled between his lips. “Didn’t know this would affect you this much.” You murmur, a playful edge in your voice. You hate to admit it, but you’re already half-hard from being so close to Boothill and working on him in such an… intimate way.
“Shut it, darling.’” The cyborg grunts, and you laugh at the way his hands curl into fists beside him. “Haven’t felt like this in a while.”
“I can tell.” You hum, tapping his tip a few times and smirking at the loud groan that leaves his lips.
“Fudging—” Boothill grunts, his hand grabbing tightly at your shoulder as you stand up. “Such a fudgin’ tease, aren’t ya, sweetie?”
“Dunno what you're talking about Boothill.” You say, feigning innocence. Sitting up from your kneeling position you grab the remote. “Any idea what this is?” You question, showing it to Boothill.
He eyes it carefully before shrugging. “Nah, got no clue.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” You huff. “Cause I found it inside you.”
Boothill gapes at you, his jaw going slack. “Inside me!?” He roars. “And you just—just took it out!? What if I need that to live?!”
“Relax, cowboy,” you groan, his loud voice getting on your nerves slightly, “it wasn’t connected to anything, and you seem pretty fine now.”
Boothill glares at you seemingly having forgotten about his rock-hard erection standing tall against his metal abs. “Give it here.” He says, making a ‘give’ motion with his fingers. He practically snatches it from your hand the instant you’re within arm's reach, his hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer as he grabs at the remote. “Hmm…” He hums, inspecting it in his hands. Slowly, he slides the panel down, revealing two short words that make the two of you gasp.
“Censorship… Control.” Boothill reads, and you instantly snatch the remote into your hands.
“Hey!” Boothill yells! “Wait a darn minute—I need that!”
“No,” you respond flatly, “you don’t. Whoever built in that censorship must’ve done it for a reason—”
“Yeah!” Boothill grunts. “To annoy the fudge outa me!” He growls again, desperately trying to reach for the remote again. “Oh, fudgin’ give it! What’ll it take for you to give me the darn thing?!”
You grin.
Finally, he asked.
“I think a good enough payment would be to test out this new dick of yours.”
Boothill’s expression turns from anger and annoyance to a smirk in the blink of an eye. His hands are no longer grabbing at the remote, and instead resting on your waist. “Oh?” He coos. “Didn’t know you liked me that much.” He smirks, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “But a test drive would be so much more fun if I had my swearin’ back. Think of all the dirty lil’ things I could say to you, hm?”
Your face flushes as you feel Boothill’s cool breath fan over your ear. “I bet you'd really like if I turned it off, be able to swear to your heart’s content” You do your best to stand your ground, ignoring the blood that rushes to your cock and the way your pants grow tight. “But I think I can think of a better way to put your mouth to use.”
Boothill growls lowly, his grip moving from your waist to your ass to give it a harsh squeeze. “Turn it off and I might just show you what this mouth of mine is capable of.”
“Hmph.” You grunt. “Fine. Let's see how dirty this mouth of yours can get, Boothill." You whisper, your warm breath fanning over his chest. With that, you’re flicking his censorship off, once again leaving Boothill free to say whatever he wants.
“Atta boy.” He growls.
Boothill’s eyes narrow as you flick the remote, effectively ending his censorship. Your face flushes, watching his lips pull into a wide grin as he grips your ass, tugging down your pants and leaving them dropped at your ankles. “Don’t worry whore, I’ll show you just how good I am.” Boothill growls, his voice dropping an octave. “I’ll have you screaming my name while you’re wrapped ‘round my cock.”
You don’t say anything, only moving to press your face further into his neck.
“I’ll tell you every dirty word, every filthy thought that crosses my mind while I pound into your tight fuckin’ hole.” Boothill groans, starting to tug down your boxers too.
And suddenly, like he only now could process the extent that he could speak, Boothill is tugging you away from him only to press his lips harshly into you, murmuring into the kiss as he does. “You little slut, I’m gonna fuck you till you’re stuffed fuckin’ full of my dick. You’ll be drenched in your own cum, worshiping my cock, begging for more.” He lets out a loud groan, pulling away. “And don’t think you can fuckin’ hide, ‘cause I’ll take you right here an’ now, on your stupid workbench.”
A wicked grin spreads across his face, watching the sight of your absolute arousal dripping down your dick.
“Look at you, so fuckin’ hard.” He wraps his palm around your cock, giving it a sharp tug before pulling his hand away only to return with a sharp slap against your tip. “Bet you’d pull your pants down for anyone on the street, like a common whore.”
You whine, knees buckling at the slap. You collapse onto Boothill’s chest, letting out a plethora of pathetic sounds as you do.
“Aww.” Boothill coos, lifting your chin to face him. “This weak already?”
He grips your body, getting off your workbench only to lay you on top of it. You lay flat on your tummy, with you face pressed into the thin padding of the workbench.
“You’re gonna be a good boy now, an’ take what I give you, ‘kay?” Boothil says, bending your knees to push your ass into the air. His finger teases your puckered hole, tracing your rim, but never pushing anything in,
“Boothill.” You whine. “Put it in already!”
“What’d I say?” Boothill growls, bringing down a hand against your ass in a harsh spank. “That you’re gonna take what?”
“T-Take what you give me!” You whine, pressing your face into the cushion in embarrassment.
You can’t believe what’s currently happening. Here you are, face down and your ass in the air as Boothill eases a finger into your tight hole, occasionally giving mean spanks against your balls and ass.
Eventually, Boothill presses his first finger in. The feeling makes you gasp out, your back arching against the workbench. His fingers are so thick. You whine out, instinctively rocking your hips against his fingers.
“That’s it.” Boothill praises, bringing a hand to rub your back gently. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, like a good lil’ slut.” He presses in another finger, beginning to match the pace of your hips as he curls them.
He thrusts them in and out, and in and out until you’re seeing stars. Your eyes are rolled back, drool slipping from your lips as you moan and writhe against Boothill’s hand. He curls his fingers, easily finding your prostate and laughing cruelly when your dick twitches.
“Fuck, you’re so easy.” He moans, watching you fuck against his fingers. Slowly, he grabs his new metal dick, dragging the cool tip across the crack of your ass. You whine, your eyes squeezing shut at the cold sensation.
“Boothill!” You moan out. “D-Don’t stop, I—I’m so close!”
“Oh?” He questions. “And who told you that you had any right to tell me what to do?”
Just like that, he’s pulling his fingers away from you. You’re a whining, crying mess at that. Sobbing about how you needed his fingers, his dick, his anything to make you come. “Please!” You beg. “Need t’cum so badly!”
“Really?” Boothill smirks. “If that’s really what you want…” He tugs you off the workbench, watching you fall to the floor into a pathetic heap. “Then beg me for it.”
You nod eagerly, instantly getting on your knees and kissing against Boothill’s hard cock. The rough concrete of the floor is painful against your bare knees, but you can make due.
You’re quick to take his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the cool metal before pressing your lips slightly lower. Your tongue presses down, forced to drag along his underside the more you take him in.
You blink up at Boothill, tears welling in your eyes as you plead with him to help you. Help you. Use you. It didn’t matter.
Boothill lets out a tsk before grabbing your hair harshly. “What happened to my smart mechanic I knew so well? When’d he get replaced by this cock-hungry bitch who can’t even suck dick to save his life?”
At that, Boothill’s pressing your face all the way down. Your nose pokes at the cold metal of his pelvis before he’s pulling you back and thrusting his dick deep down your throat. He sets a quick pace, fucking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a fleshlight for him to use and throw away at his disposal.
Your jaw hangs slack, tongue forcefully dragging along the metal of his cock. Drool slips from your lips but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when your mouth is being stuffed so full. Boothill’s pace quickens and you moan weakly around his cock, feeling something poke at your own.
From what you manage to see through the corner of your eye, Boothill is stepping on your dick, rubbing the sole of his dirty shoe against your tip as it leaks precum all over the rough concrete. The feeling of his shoe on your dick, his cock stuffing your mouth—it’s all enough to send you over the edge.
Your eyes squeeze shut, your cock twitching pathetically under Boothill’s shoe as you shoot ropes of cum from your tip. Some of it sticks to the bottom of his shoe, and some squirts farther. Boothill laughs, rubbing his shoe harder into your dick, watching you whine around his cock.
“C’mon slut, you can take it. This is the payment you wanted, so don’t go crying on me now.”
— some headcanons about certain things the hsr men would do while in a relationship.
— warnings: none
— author's notes: self-indulgent, once again credits to @.cafekitsune for the banners. this is lowkey dedicated to the stellaronhvnters <3
𐙚 AVENTURINE
would always accompany you on your spontaneous night drives around pier point. before you can even leave your room to drag aventurine to his car, he’s already leaning on your doorframe, his car keys in hand as he flashes you a smile; not the gambler like smile he shows to his enemies but a child-like one filled with uncontained excitement and wonder.
its half past midnight and your both in your pajamas (he insisted that you both wear matching ones) as he rolls down the roof of his very expensive car to let the wind flow with your hair. your phone connected to the speakers as you blasted your shared playlist. loud enough to satisfy your needs to have a mini carpool karaoke session but quiet enough you won’t disturb any civilians trying to sleep the night away.
aventurine shakes his head in fondness and amusement when you scold him as he skipped a song he didn’t particularly like. the pout on your lips would soon fade as he reached to pull you by the chin and give you a peck on the lips. your nagging turned into panic as you hit him in the arms for not keeping his eyes on the road.
𐙚 VERITAS RATIO
always comes home exhausted. even in his tired and slightly dazed state, he always comes home at exactly 7 pm and each time his arms wouldn’t fail to snake around your waist and his lips press a soft kiss on your neck in greeting.
when you ask about his day, the doctor just grumbles and complains about his students. but you knew deep down he was proud of them after they finally managed to solve this one particular problem he gave them without his help. they’ve been making fast progress, he once stated, making a smile bloom on your face when he checks their papers.
you chuckle under your breath as ratio continues to chatter away about his students' progress. your back flushed into his sturdy chest while arms kept a steady hold of you – tight enough that you could feel his muscles but still be able to move around the kitchen. a melody starts to fall from your lips as you hummed and swayed, and ratio follows with his own humming as you both start a pseudo dance in the middle of making dinner.
𐙚 BOOTHILL
date nights with boothill usually consisted of going bar hopping and hiding away in a dark alley as the IPC passed by. you’ve grown fond of the excitement as your lover drags you out the bar with officers high on your tails. it never fails to rip out an uncharacteristic laugh from you and cherry grin from him.
tonight was a lot tamer than other nights. sitting in a bar counter, a cup of whiskey boothill had asked you to hold while he gets another bounty for the both of you. he knows you wouldn’t take a single sip of his drink, your alcohol tolerance was nonexistent he says making you roll your eyes. your peaceful night was disturbed when a new face popped out from seemingly nowhere, taking the seat your lover once occupied as the man tried to buy you a drink
boothill always had impeccable timing. just as the man was about to take a hold of your – his – glass, a cold arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest. you try to look up but a familiar hat was instead placed over your eyes as the glass in your hand was taken. the liquid disappeared in a flash as boothill downs it in one go. just to prove his point, he gingerly lifts his hat over your face and press a kiss at the corner of your lips, making it known to the man that you were with him.
𐙚 SUNDAY
not many would believe you if you told them the stories of how easily flustered the head of the oak family. everyone would picture him as a full package gentleman – opening doors for you, pulling back your seat, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, etc. – but what they don’t know is that, in your relationship, the one being worshiped wasn’t you.
without a doubt, you were the one who always opened the door to his office for him, offering to carry his things even if he protested, even going to one knee to tie the laces of his shoes. sunday was always in competition when it came to being a gentleman and he always loses to you every time. and he doesn’t make any effort to make you stop despite his embarrassment; one drag of your knuckles under his eyes when he’s overworked and tired and he’s putty in your hands.
how could he resist your pampering when you always take off his gloves when it's just you two in his office, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles and whispering sweet nothings to him. admiring the writing calluses on his right hand as you talk about your day.
A/N: I am just starting to play Honkai so if there is anything wrong or that just doesn't make sense, please tell me!
A/N ²: This is me attempting to adopt and protect my babies, wrapping them in cotton and never leaving their side... And I got sleepy at the end, or else I would have written Aventurine and Dan Heng too :( If anyone has ideas for Honkai SAGAU, please do send some asks 👏🏻
Imagine... The Creator!Reader in Honkai verse. You were just idly passing by, to see what your children were doing after the Ones you left in charge... Pretty much usurped your throne.
Imagine the Creator!Reader seeing, witnessing all the deaths and sorrow IPC created...in the name of "economy". Such thing was absurd, why would they do that, slaving and using people for their benefit to make more and more when you gave all the humans and even the Aeons enough source to love in harmony?
Why would they destroy people, families, lives... Planets?
Imagine... Creator!Reader's disappointment as They slump back on their throne. They gave them life, opportunities to overcome their mind's limit and be someone to be remembered... They gave them life sources, water, air, planets to live on, souls to feel and think and passions to find a reason to be alive... And yet, there were some people, the people of your Aeon Qlipoth, who was usualy indifferent, deciding that they were the ones to destroy the harmony and balance you had settled for everyone.
They thought Yours wasn't the final saying, that your word wasn't the absolute
How many more times did they have to go through all of the syages of self-destruction before they finally used their mind and consciousness together? Before they realized your Balance was the most beneficial for everyone?
Imagine... Knowing what would happen, even though pain was a constant part of human life, They didn't want their creation to suffer such a fate. Loosing humanity, everything that made humans humans... Loosing your family and witnessing their deaths right before their eyes, only being seen as the sins someone that wasn't you did and being exiled, pushed aside and running away for not to be hunted and all the reasons for your disappointment... Creator!Reader decides to take the reigns.
First, they go to visit a certain father and daughter duo. They watch from the side as they spend time, caring for the horses, playing guitar and braiding each other's hair. They couldn't help the smile that slowly took over their face, watching with fondness at the innocence of that little toddler... Before their eyes met, and a spark erupted.
From now on, as much as Boothill was first skeptical about them, he accepted to have Them around since his daughter and siblings loved Them so much. The little girl often slept on Them while cuddling, her soul immediately knowing the presence of its creator... Of course They didn't tell them everything, that their lives would be over because of Their greedy creations... And of course, the fact that They were the Allmighty Creator they kept telling tales about.
They loved this little found family a lot, with the human body They crafted to blend in, and soon found Themselves attached. Soon, They found Themselves cooking and cleaning around, running after the children with a toddler attached to their hip as the silent affection between Them and Boothill grew with all the loving and fleeting touches, hugging and cuddling, stargazing at night but never leaving their eyes off of each other...
But an omnipresent being falling in love with their creations was...against the balance... Especially when the day of their death too, came closer, and They were the one who lied, although it was to protect them.
But please, they were the Creator, to Weaver of All Fates, were the measly humans really going to stop Them? Take what was rightfully theirs?
Don't think so.
Before the fall of the planet, when all the equipments of IPC broke and the Path of those who worked under it, alongside Qlipoth's, were taken away for some time... That was when Qlipoth understood that they initially fucked up and angered the Creator. Now, another Aeon who had a head over their shoulders, would probably go nuts with fear and cower at some kind of corner of the universe...
But greed? Greed was often stronger that rationality.
Did any of that shitty behaviour stop? No, not really.
So, it was up to you to save and protect all those traumatised kids... And also make sure that a whole race didn't get wiped out.
…ft! boothill, the herta, jiaoqiu, black swan x gn! reader
…tags! fluff, text chats
…wc! n/a, but this was made using this site so credits to the maker!
…notes! me trying so hard to get to writing again... have some goofs first off to kind of slide in casually into the Sphere. lmk if you want another part!!
Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!Reader, metal vibrating dick, metal vibrating fingers, semi-public, spanking, fingering, Boothill can’t curse, Boothill calling himself “daddy”, creampie
Synopsis: Boothill had been on a mission for quite some time, and you had missed him dearly. So, when he finally returned, you were bursting with excitement to greet him — and he felt the same way too
A/N: special dedication to my beloved @crystalwolfblog & @shonen-brainrot
OTHER FANDOMS MASTERLIST
In the dim light of the station, the air was thick with the faint scent of rust.
The weeks without Boothill had felt like an eternity, each day dragging on without the comfort of his presence. When his message finally came through, the simple words, "On my way back to the station," sent a jolt of happiness through you that you couldn't contain.
You quickly put on his favorite short skirt and a plain shirt, the anticipation making your hands tremble slightly as you smoothed down the fabric. Your heart raced as you made your way to the hangar, the familiar paths of the station feeling new and exciting again.
As you approached the hangar, you caught sight of him strolling through an empty technical corridor. His confident stride, the glint of metal and the familiar outline of his figure were unmistakable. You didn't hesitate. With a mewl of pure joy, you ran to him, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. "Boothill!" you cried, leaping into his arms.
He caught you effortlessly, his strong, mechanical arms wrapping around you with a firm yet gentle grip. "Missed you, darlin'," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine warmth. He peppered your cheeks with kisses, each one soft and lingering, his lips brushing against your skin in a series of tender touches.
You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent mixed with the metallic tang of his body. "I missed you too," you whispered, your voice muffled against him.
The weeks apart had been difficult, but now, in his arms, everything felt right again.
He put you down, and pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. "You look beautiful," he said, his gaze roaming over your outfit.
"I wanted to surprise you."
"Consider me surprised and very pleased," he replied, his metal fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulders. "You know how to make a guy feel welcome."
His words brought a blush to your cheeks, and you felt a warmth spread through your body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the station. "I couldn't wait to see you," you admitted, your fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt.
Boothill's expression softened, a rare vulnerability showing through his usually confident demeanor. "I couldn't wait to see you either," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Being away was tough, but knowing I'd get to come back to you made it bearable."
He kissed you then, a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of all the longing and desire that had built up during your time apart. His lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak, and you clung to him, pouring all your emotions into the kiss.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.
After that, Boothill’s fingers gently traced the curve of your jaw. His touch was cold, yet you didn’t mind in the slightest. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the intensity of his desire. "Do you know how much I missed ya, darlin’?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seemed to vibrate through the very air around you.
The words were both a question and a declaration, and your response was caught in your throat, replaced by a soft gasp as his fingers slid into your mouth.
Boothill's lips curled into a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His free hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, the coolness of his body a stark contrast to your own heated flesh. "Shhh," he whispered, his lips curling into a dark, seductive smile. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. "I want to hear every sound you make," he said, his tone dripping with desire, "But we can't have you wakin’ up the whole station, can we?"
You nodded eagerly in agreement as he trailed open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck.
With a dark, predatory smile, he brought his fingers to your lips, his eyes locked onto yours. “Now, be a good little girl and open your mouth f’me, baby,” Boothill commanded.
You obeyed, parting your lips as his fingers slipped inside. The sensation was strange but exhilarating, his fingers exploring your mouth with a deliberate, teasing slowness.
He watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he pushed deeper, his thumb stroking the outside of your lips in a soothing gesture as his digits hit the back of your throat.
The taste of metal filled your mouth, and you moaned around his fingers, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Your gaze never left him.
Boothill’s eyes darkened with desire, his own breathing growing more ragged as he took in the sight of you, moaning like a pathetic whore, even when he didn’t touch you fully yet. He began to move his fingers, sliding them in and out of your mouth. “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Do you like the way my fingers feel in your mouth?”
You nodded, your response muffled by his fingers as you sucked on them earnestly.
Boothill’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he pushed his metal digits deeper, the sensation intensifying. The taste, the feel, the sheer dominance of the act — it was all driving you wild.
Boothill's free hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. "Good girl," he praised again, his eyes darkening with lust as his free hand cupped and fondled your breasts through the fabric of your shirt.
Your nipples were perky, and it made him grin as he gently pinched one of them.
Before you could respond, his fingers that were fucking your mouth began to vibrate. The sudden, intense sensation caught you off guard, your eyes widening in surprise. The vibrations sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body, your moans growing louder, more desperate.
"Didn't expect that, did you?" he said, his tone dripping with amusement. Boothill’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you squirm.
You clenched your thighs together, trying to rub them, seeking so much needed friction.
The tension that had built up during the weeks apart seemed to melt away under the gentle pressure of his vibrating fingers against your flexed tongue.
With a deliberate slowness, Boothill withdrew his fingers from your mouth, allowing you to gasp for breath.
Your lips were swollen, your face flushed with desire.
"Turn around," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
The authority in his tone left no room for argument, and you obeyed, your heart pounding with anticipation.
Boothill's hands moved to your hips, guiding you into position. The cool metal of his fingers squeezed your ass, possessive and demanding, as he pressed you forward, your chest flattening against the cold wall.
"I want to have my ways with ya, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to be in your cookie so ducking much."
Boothill’s hands slid down your body, his touch firm and possessive. He reached the hem of your short skirt and lifted it, his eyes widening in surprise and delight as he discovered your secret. “Well, well, darlin’,” he drawled, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your bare pussy, your folds already glistening with slickness. “So that’s the reason your scent was so intoxicating and intense today.”
You weren’t wearing any panties. Your cheeks flushed at his words, but there was no time for embarrassment.
Boothill’s fingers moved to unfasten his belt, the metallic clink of his buckle echoing in the quiet corridor. He undid his fly and pushed his pants down to his ankles, revealing his metal member, already hard and glinting in the dim light.
His hands returned to your body, spreading your ass cheeks apart.
You felt the cool air against your warm, slick, exposed pussy, and you gasped, biting into your knuckle.
Boothill’s vibrating fingers teased your entrance, and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. “Fuck…”
“Such a pretty sight,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So wet and ready for daddy.” He slid two of his fingers inside you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
Your forehead pressed against the cold wall, your hands splayed out for support as you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely.
Boothill’s fingers moved with expert precision, stroking and teasing your warm, spongy walls until you were trembling with need. His thumb was pressed against your clit, rubbing it ever so slightly.
The sound of Boothill's fingers moving in and out of you was a wet, obscene symphony that filled the air with the undeniable evidence of your arousal. Each slick, squelching noise echoed through the quiet corridor, a testament to just how drenched your hole had become under his expert touch.
And you weren’t ashamed in the slightest.
After a few agonizingly pleasurable moments, he withdrew his fingers, slick with your arousal. He brought them to his metal member, spreading your wetness over the shaft as a makeshift lubricant.
You gasped and mewled at the sight, looking at him above your shoulder.
With a predatory grin, Boothill brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting your wetness. He hummed in satisfaction, his metal member twitching upwards in anticipation. “Delicious,” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvety whisper. “You taste as good as you smell.”
Boothill positioned himself behind you, the tip of his metal member pressing against your slimy entrance.
The vibrations of his cock were subtle but unmistakable, and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation already.
His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pushed forward, the metal shaft sliding into you, inch by inch, with a slow, deliberate motion as he guided his metal cock upwards into the opening of your vagina.
When he bottomed out, you moaned in pure ecstasy. His cold, heavy balls pressed tightly against your ass. The combined sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel yourself spiraling out of control. “B-Boothill!”
Boothill groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself completely inside you. “Yeah, darlin’. You feel so freaking good,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “So tight and perfect f’me.”
He began to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your entire being. His hands roamed over your body, one hand slipping around you to tease your clit while the other held you firmly in place. The vibrations of his member buried deep inside you, combined with the relentless pace of his thrusts and how painfully your walls had to stretch to accommodate his girth, pushed you closer to the edge.
“Smack me, smack me!" you pleaded urgently. Pressed against the cold wall, your chest flattened more against the unforgiving surface as you could feel every inch of him vibrating inside you, his metal shaft filling you completely.
Boothill grinned widely and gave you a sharp smack on your right cheek, leaving a red mark in the shape of his hand on the meat of your ass.
Your back arched, and you went rigid, a cry strangled in your throat and your pussy spasmed around his cock, gripping it so tight it was almost painful. "Again," you gave a strangled cry. “Fuck, spank me ass again!”
Boothill spanked your ass, this time harder than before. And then he did it again, and again, and again.
Your ass was completely red, and throbbed with a fiery heat, the skin flushed and sensitive from all the spanking.
As Boothill trailed the metal pads of his fingers over your tender cheeks, a sharp jolt of sensation shot through you, causing you to whimper and instinctively jerk upwards.
“Yeah!” you moaned, not caring at all that someone could have heard your desperate sounds. “Oh, fuck, yeah, I’m gonna cum soon.”
As you were pressed against the cold wall while your boyfriend fucked your tight cunny hard, a funny yet strange thought crossed your mind: Boothill, your beloved man, was serving as a good vibrator. The absurdity of the thought made you want to laugh, but the relentless sensations coursing through your body as he kept on fucking you quickly snuffed out any amusement.
“Yes,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Just like that, Booty!” The intensity of his movements was overwhelming, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. “Fuck me hard!”
His metal hips were pistoning into yours, the tip of his metal cock kissing your cervix with each of his thrusts. Boothill’s pace quickened, each thrust more forceful than the last, your bodies moving in perfect sync as you rolled your hips to meet all of his thrusts. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a dark, possessive whisper. “Every part of you belongs to me.”
The words sent a thrill through you, your body responding to his claim with a shudder of pleasure. You cried out once more, flaring your nostrils, breathing fiercely in and out in quick spurts like a woman in labour easing the pain, trying to relax. Your cunt started gripping and releasing his cock in a fierce rhythm. You were nearing your orgasm.
Boothill’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your warm flesh as he drove his cock into your tight pussy fast enough to push all of the air out of your lungs. The amplified vibrations of his metal member, combined with the force of his thrusts, pushed you to the brink of ecstasy.
“Come for daddy,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Come on my ducking iron rod, darlin’!”
The words were your undoing. With a final, shuddering cry, your pussy pulsated around him, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as your velvety walls clamped convulsively around his metal shaft still buried deep within your drenched hole.
Boothill’s thrusts became sloppy, and his body shuddered against yours as he grunted. With a deep, guttural groan, he reached his own climax.
You felt his metal member twitch inside you as he released his thick seed, the sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced. His semen quickly blended with your runny cum.
Boothill's metal member twitched one final time, shooting the last ropes of cum within you before he began to withdraw.
The sensation of his cock leaving your pussy with a pop sound sent another shiver down your spine, and you gasped, your body trembling from the aftershocks of your shared climax, making you pant loudly. “Oh holy shit…”
As Boothill pulled out, the mixture of your releases began to dribble down your thighs, the combined fluids glistening in the dim light of the corridor. He stood back for a moment, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you — shaking, breathless, and utterly spent. A dark, satisfied smile played on his lips as he watched the evidence of your intense sex trickle down your legs after he cupped your ass cheeks and spread them wider, watching your beautiful, abused pussy still clenching but this time around nothing.
After he pulled his trousers back up and adjusted them, he gave your ass one last spank. "Darlin', you seem distracted," Boothill murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "What’s on your mind?"
You bit your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. "I’ve been just thinking... how you're really good at... multitasking," you managed to say, improving your hair and pulling your skirt down. “I didn’t know your fingers could vibrate too.”
Boothill chuckled, the sound a low, mechanical rumble coming deep within his chest. "Well, darlin', I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and pride. "Glad to see you're enjoyin' the multitasking." He leaned in closer, pecking your cheek, and moving to your ear to whisper, "Those fingers can do a lot more than just vibrate, you know. But now that I’m back, I aim to show you every last one of their talents."
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: There's a slick black-clad little gal who's been messing with his bounties recently. Boothill's been dying to rustle her up and take a bite
⁀➷ Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, war trauma, Genie trying to do a cowboy accent.
⁺₊𝄞₊⁺: Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett
And I don't hardly know her,
But I think I can love her,
Ah, now when she comes walking over,
I've been waiting to show her,
My mind's such a sweet thing
I want to do everything
What a beautiful feeling
It's not like the movies, they fed us on little white lies.
~💜
The first time he sees you there's a tempest of bullets rattling off his chest. Metal singing metal, as shells vie for an opening. It's all very lethal,
like the center of a rabid dust storm. Kissing death and sucking in her poison. Boothill can't tell where the bullets are coming from only that there's a dozen at a time ringing over his head. He shields his face with the metal of his forearms peaking through the gap to catch a glimpse of black.
Pure black.
That's the first thing he notices as your frenzy yields, You're clad in black from head to toe, even going so far as to dawn an eerie familiar mask. He's seen this scene play out somewhere before, he just can't remember where. "Morning mister", he likes that voice, jejune and teeming with confidence. It reminds him of himself, back when the sunset used to mean something and he could still feel wheat stocks under his soft palms.
"Howdy lil'lady I reckon you're in my way. Mind stepping aside before you get yourself hurt?" Your answer comes in the form of an aimed pistol, spine straight, midnight serape caught on the wind. He thinks you look a little too much like the folks back home -back when there was a home- blood boiling over eager for a fight. His bounty is standing just over yonder, blocked partly by your stubborn shadow. Boothill doesn't think twice before firing two rounds.
He's met with four...
He's in a cheap motel on Penacony, screwing in bolts that came loose. In the end, you laid claim to his bounty. Dragging him away to the hills. He's left growling at the thought, bested by a muddle-fudging fox. Lil gal probably ain't never even been in a proper shoot-out. The screwdriver cracks under his metal fingers. Boothill ain't about to start letting some pretty little thing get in the way of him and his targets.
The TV screen flickers to a melancholy monochrome. The films are old, distorted, crippled in parts. But he keeps them around, much like everything else about him, it's a bygone thing refusing to die.
He still likes to play them from time to time, trying to elicit the tastes of home. Hearing Nick and Graey setting plates out for dinner as his siblings rush downstairs. The movies are older than the new universe in more ways than one.
They come from a simpler time.
He'd always wondered why someone would bother painting such precious things in black and white. Spilling melancholia into picture frames, leaving everything tasting of vodka and vanilla.
It doesn't matter though, not really. All that matters is the sound of hooves on sand and bullets shooting. So long as the cowboys live their stories, everything else can be forgiven.
But this time something's off. The bandit's black mask shines through, gleaming something awful making him grind his sharp teeth. That damn mask, sitting pretty over a sly smirk. it reminds him of you, little cutie with your slick attitude. What bandit goes around doing hero's work anyway? What kinda twisted little lady are you?
He's getting mighty sick of this. Do you think you own the universe or something? "Been seeing way too much of you lately." There's sand in his Synesthesia Beacon his voice coming out horse, brittle. He kicks the head of an IPC lackey trying to drive home a point. "You getting on my nerves cutie". The ground looks nothing short of a graveyard, bodies scattered some piled. The blood paints the sands in a deep maroon, reflecting the glint of the distant stars. The last soldier is cowering behind you, his whimpers singing in Boothill's ears, one more bullet, that's all it'll take. "This one's mine" you mutter, and he wonders for a moment if the dry weather is getting to you too. "Not a chance pumpkin" his gun's drawn, firing bullets before you can even feel for your holster. The smirking bullet impales your abdomen, aimed point blank at the officer's head. But before the last body can be claimed you kick the man out of the way.
"Damn it" Boothill's anger is tangible, he knows you can feel it between your teeth. He's going to kill you, tear off that star-saken mask, and riddle you with bullets. You're getting too confident.
He doesn't notice your bullets at first. Protostars trying to act all rough and mighty. There's a temporary cluster of dust, a fraction of a second where his eyes aren't pinning you down. That's all it takes and then you're off. Sinking into the darkness and swimming away, taking his target with you.
It's only after the initial anger wears off that Boothill notices a tear on his thigh. A letter scrawled on the frayed leather of his pants. So you've started leaving your own marks, ay cutie?
He almost wishes he could feel the sting of your blade on his flesh. Feel your nails scrapping along his shoulders as he pins you to the ground.
Boothill fires at the moon.
Next time.
Next time for sure....
He's been chasing you for some time now. But catching up with you isn't as easy as he first thought. Seems like you go wherever the wind takes you and he's too busy with revenge to be following your capricious whims. The IPC ain't going to kill itself you know. And Boothill damn well wishes you'd start sitting still. He's heard from a reliable source that the IPC soldiers are throwing a little get to together down in one of the bars. Just a happy birthday for a colleague, nothing fancy. The thought alone makes his mouth water, place will be crawling with pests just waiting to be gunned down. Maybe tomorrow he'll try looking for you again, but tonight? Tonight's his night.
The neons have dulled now, they never were terribly bright to begin with. Penacony may be the land of dreams but not even dreams can stop reality from seeping through. The bar's loud, some new pop singer's music blasting from every speaker. Boothill downs his drink, liking how the ice cubes chime like a bad omen. He shoots the speakers first, needing some peace to focus on what comes next. The peace corp's lackeys are drunk, they stumble over themselves trying to reach him. He shoots each one like a kid playing carnival games. It's almost too easy...
The door is stampeded over by a heard of reinforcements. Somehow even in his drunken daze one of those yella-bellied lapdogs called for help. They're swarming the place like panicked rats, pushing past tables and chairs. Firearms aimed at his head. And for the first time, in a long, long time, Boothill feels a sliver of panic run down his bionic spine.
Motherfudger...
Boothill hears the familiar tumult of bodies hitting the ground before he sees what's actually going on. He feels you before he actually sees you. You're pushed up against his back, guns drawn locked, and loaded. "Heard you needed some help" Even though you offer your usual bravado, Boothill still picks up the nervous lilt in your voice, despite everything he thinks he likes it. It almost tastes sweet. "Best get away before you get yourself hurt little fox." "And let you have all the fun? Never."
"Certe murmur pugnando" Boothill laughs, he remembers those very words coming from a buddy of his before a duel. 'At least we'll die fighting' Somethings never change, even if you've carved out every principle from your body with a rusted kitchen knife. You'll always have those pesky morals stuck inside. He hears you chuckle, wonders if you find it odd that a rowdy galaxy ranger such as himself knows a dead language.
Well, he knows a lot about the dead.
The shoot-out lasts longer than he'd have expected.
But the real surprise lies in how neither of you are dead. Boothill's half laid across the bar, looking at you from under his hat. You're making him a drink following his instruction like a good little wife, not contradiction dressed in ebony. Gunpowder withers on his tongue, the bullet smoke permeates the air mixing with the gleeful tang of spilled blood. "Your drinks sure are complicated" you mutter pushing him his cup before picking up a bottle and reading its labels. "What's so hard about it pumpkin? Little bit of white gem and gin. All's you need." He sips your drink slowly, savoring your flavor. He imagines he's gulping you down, holding you for ransom behind his teeth, feeling your delicate little fists pounding against him. "I don't drink" you mumble as you sit across from him, you look so damn elegant, like a little princess from a fairy tale he use to read to a certain someone. You drink deeply from your glass of ice and water. Boothill focuses on the gentle motion of your throat. He licks his lips, trying to push down the thought of ringing such a fragile thing between his palms.
"So little lady, s'about time you start answering some questions...The hell you doing? Running off with my targets?" You set your cup down, eyes locking on his, there's the deficiency he's missed all night. The trigger hair that's just waiting for the right push. "They're not your targets...not really. They're just people. People whose planet got muffed up. I've been trying to gather them all in one place." For a second Boothill thinks you're talking about his planet, his home, his people. But it only takes one more look at you to understand.
"So, how'd yours die?" There's shrapnel in his throat when he asks, open wounds bleeding once more, filling his throat with bitter memories.
You stiffen, and he knows he's thumbing a broken bone, letting his finger dig between the cracks and snapping their frail linings. "Don't know, wasn't there. All I ever got to see were a few limbs, nothing enough to make a full person." you squeeze the glass until your knuckles turn white.
There's vindication rooted in your veins.
He knows the feeling all too well.
"We ain't so different you and I, reckon we make a pretty good team." His metal fingers lace between your soft skin, tracing the lifelines like an old map.
There's a goldmine hidden behind your lips, he imagines he'll have to kiss you to find the little nuggets. Your lips part, eyes filled with an odd-looking sympathy. What he wouldn't give to feel your plump lips bleed between his jagged teeth. "So..." you ask as his mechanic heart skips a beat. "What about yours?"
You've been laughing for five whole minutes. Boothill shouldn't find the noise as ethereal as he does. His anger lays heavily on his bones, he should be even angrier, lounging a bullet through your thick skull. But he finds the noise a little too perfect to disturb its source. Even if it's only created at his expense. Instead, he has half a mind to slap you, hard enough to shut you u and another to kiss you so hard you forget to breathe. "Damn hell so funny, cutie"
You look at him with those luminous eyes. Filled with pain and riddles. Boothill never did like solving puzzles. He only likes tearing things into bits. He needs you spartan, easy to read and use, and kiss. Not something he needs to piece together first.
"Dear stars you have no freaking idea how ironic you are." You say between bursts of spiteful-rooted giggles.
Why do those words sound so haunting like a ghost kiss? they should open phantom pains, but they sure as hell don't. Why do you always leave his head spinning? Boothill rolls his eyes, then leans over to pull down your mask. You jerk back, rewarding him with a dark grimace. You're out the window before he can ask your name.
"See you next time, cowboy"
"Next time I'm drawing blood"
The moment's over.
Fiddlesticks..
That night, Boothill dreams of you. He's lying in a stiff musty bed. It's too dark, even the moon is scared of showing her face.
Boothill dreams of the old saloons back home. Of their cracked wooden floorboards and the worn-out plush of chairs. In the dreams, you're wearing a black lace gown, like the saloon girls used to. He finds it all too funny that even in his dreams you still haunt him in black. Only now you're smiling, really smiling. Not that sly smirk, or mirthless grin you gave him back in the bar on Penacony. No, this here is a genuine smile and he's damn sure he's the one who put it there. You reach out for his hand, he feels warmth.
His
Yours
The dream is thick and dense like swimming through molasses. In another scene he's dragging you through the old doors, laughing as bullets and card chips hit the floor. There's a horse waiting outside. His horse. At least he thinks it used to be his. He pulls you up roughly in front of him. He's high off the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the rugged reins. High off the steed he holds in a vice grip between his thighs.
He's riding faster than he's ever ridden before, clambering for the sunset trying to engulf the sun. You hold on tight, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heart is beating something fierce between his ribs. He feels like an Aeon watching the universe collapse under his galloping feet.
He feels alive.
With the sun's rays behind you, Boothill could almost mistake you for the star-dwelling angels Nick used to tell him about. There's something poetic in all of this. The cowboy standing off against the black fox.
Dare he call it cinematic?
Boothill creeps closer. Tilting his hat and watching you flash a nervous smile through his lashes. "Volo sentire te inter dentes meos" so you know that dead tongue too. "You will soon darling, that's what I'm hoping for" his reply only dwindles your smile.
He's missed the old duels. Missed staring into the eyes of the one who could kill you. It's all a matter of skill and luck. Whose faster, who the aeon will trust?
Somewhere in the distance, the tumble weeds begin to rattle.
"Now"
His bullet glides through the air, piercing through the dust and sand. Your bullet reverberates from your gun a fraction too late and ricochets past his cheek. Leaving a juicy trail of blood.
But his bullet was aimed at your chest.
And Boothill never misses...
You want vengeance he won't deny you it.
So long as you stay by his side.
He'll tuck you away somewhere safe.
Somewhere you won't be leaving him again.
Boothill cradles your body to his chest. "I promised you blood little fox, and Boothill never goes back on his word." His cheeks hurt from smiling as he lays his hat atop your head. He's Picking you up and walking into the sunset. He knows a good ol'doc who'll patch you right up. And then it's a happy life together.
