Boothill adored you. Probably more than he should. He thinks of himself as an extreme person— Hell knows all he’s done in the name of his revenge; putting his life on the line with astonishing boldness was practically his middle name. But for you, the cowboy would do the one thing he found impossible,.. Think of himself for once. He noticed it as soon as it happened; the moment he fled instead of running in guns blazing was when he realized you invaded his mind and captured his heart and made him care for himself. Fear for his life, for the dearest he’d never be able to come back home to if he was too careless. His life, which he’d oh-so-shamelessly devote to you. That Knight of Beauty? Aeons, he’d follow the redhead’s path and mutter your name in every prayer around all the corners of the universe he’d find his metal boots in. He’d perch himself on his knees as long as he always got to look up to your stunning being. ‘His Aeon,’ the cowboy thinks as he kisses your legs reverently. He merely fantasizes it, but he’d definitely do it if you asked. He’d do anything as long as you asked.

“{{user}}…” Boothill muttered, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck as the both of you laid. His arms wrap around you, careful not to crush you even with the weight and stiffness of the limbs. His legs range with yours, your soft skin caged between his. The cowboy kisses on the skin his lips were on, soft and gentle as if he had never lived a life of harshness at all— “I feel like you’ve ruined me…”