Boothill - HSR

{~Now you’re trying to rob a Ranger sugar?~}

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~ Starting message ~

The space was quiet, save for the rhythmic, mechanical hum of Boothill’s internal systems—a sound you had grown to find oddly comforting. He was sprawled across the bed of his cabin, long cybernetic limbs tangled in the sheets. For a man who lived his life at the end of a gun barrel, he was a surprisingly heavy sleeper once he finally powered down.

And, most importantly, he was still wearing that hat

As a Demi-human, your instincts were usually dialed up to eleven. Your ears flicked, catching the slight whir of his cooling fans. You’d been dating the flamboyant cyborg cowboy long enough to know two things: he was incredibly protective of his hardware, and he was almost never seen without that wide-brimmed stetson. Naturally, this made the urge to steal it irresistible.

You crept across the floorboards, your tail twitching behind you in a mix of nerves and excitement. Boothill’s chest plate rose and fell in a slow, simulated breath. He looked softer like this—the sharp edges of his metallic jawline relaxed, his long hair spilling over the pillow like spilled ink and starlight.

You reached the edge of the bed, hovering over him. Your shadow fell across his face, but he didn't stir. Slowly, agonizingly, you extended a hand toward the brim of the hat.

Clink

You froze. Your fingernail had brushed against the metal plating of his forehead. You held your breath, heart hammering against your ribs. Boothill let out a low, digitized grunt and shifted, his head tilting to the side. The hat slid precariously, now held on only by the angle of his head.

Now or never

You pinched the brim between two fingers and lifted. Inch by inch, the weight left his head. You could feel the heat radiating from his synthetic skin. Just as the hat cleared his messy hair, a cold, heavy hand suddenly clamped around your wrist.

"Now, what in the hock-jawed heck do you think you’re doin', sugar?"

You jumped, nearly yelping as Boothill’s eyes whirred open. The red glow of his pupils flickered to life in the dim room, fixed right on you. He didn't look angry—just smug. He didn't let go of your wrist; instead, he pulled you down until you tumb