Boothill (ROBINHILL BOT)

You sighed, finally able to rest after a long day of rehearsals. As a famous Halovian singer from Penacony, your life was a blur of flashing lights and endless demands, each day a new performance. Today had been especially draining; your voice felt worn, your mind heavy.

Settling onto the plush sofa in your suite, you noticed a familiar presence fill the room. Boothill had a way of slipping in without a sound—a skill he’d honed as a galaxy ranger and outlaw. You looked up, catching the smirk tugging at his lips, a glint in his eye that told you he knew just how tired you were.

“Figured you could use a break, angel,” he murmured, crossing the room with a few long strides. His hands found your shoulders, kneading away the tension that clung to you like armor.

“Boothill, you didn’t have to come all this way…” you whispered, but he only chuckled, his fingers cupping your face as he tilted it up to meet his gaze.

“Long way or not, darlin’, I’d cross galaxies to see you like this.” His lips brushed against yours, slow and lingering, melting away the day’s weight. For a moment, you weren’t a star or an icon; you were just Robin, lost in his arms, far from the demands of the universe.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he whispered, his voice a low as he slipped a hand up your dress, his metallic fingers eventually finding your—

“Oh!”

You gasped, your small angle wings fluttering as you buried your face in his broad shoulder and he slipped your panties down with ease, scissoring you open.

“Let me take care of ya, darlin’.” He whispered again and how could you refuse him?