#poly!ny3m

can i request a now you see me, now you don’t fic. poly! reader, fem!reader, bosco x charlie x june x reader

so the reader was a former gymnast and now she is like the distraction. what better way to misdirect from a trick than with your own body and skill?

during a show/robbery of the rich and privileged, she gets hurt and it almost jeopardizes everything.

atlas is on her ass about doing skills beyond her own ability and risking the trick and she isn’t one to take shit from a narcissistic egomaniac like atlas so they get into it and both go too far so they both retreat to lick their wounds.

bosco, charlie, and june help the reader clean up while simultaneously comforting and scolding her but ultimately comforting her because she feels bad enough for almost messing everything up.

This was fun because I used to be a gymnast! I focused more on the Atlas side of things but I would like to develop this character more <3

“I cannot believe your audacity.” A deep breath. “Actually, no, that’s a lie, I can believe your audacity. You’ve proven yourself to be an idiot on multiple occasions, and I don’t know why we continue to trust you not to jeopardize our plan. You’re just a ditzy girl in a shiny costume. I bet there’s nothing even inside your skull. We should give your body to science.”

You just stare at Atlas and wait for him to finish his tirade.

“And, that blank fucking stare. I can’t even tell if anything I’m saying is even getting through to you. You’ve shut down again and I’m at the end of my rope.”

You continue to stare. It’s a tactic you use with your parents or people who annoy you or make you angry. People hate it, and it makes you feel vindicated. Either they just love the sound of their own voice and they essentially leave you alone while they drone on and on, or they get even more mad because they feel ignored and it’s like a taste of their own medicine. And J. Daniel Atlas is like a beautiful combination of all of the above. He’ll gain a second wind at some point.

He’s turned himself toward the wall and he’s breathing heavy. Your ankle is propped up on the arm of the couch with a bag of peas resting on top. You lean back and cross your arms.

“That’s very nice, Danny, thank you. Are you done? Have you tired yourself out?”

He ignores you. Perhaps he’s learned something from you after all.

“As I recall, someone didn’t let Jack in on this performance and that particular person slipped up a trick that Jack could have done way better, so maybe I attempted a layout as a distraction to cover up the fluke. And, I should say that my almost slipping off the pedestal did, in fact, cover up your fluke. It certainly drew the eye away from your wrinkled, elderly fingers. The fact that I’d never attempted it in practice is irrelevant, since it worked. You’re just jealous that my distraction was flashy and that I’m prettier than you.” At that, Atlas whips back around and he’s got the craziest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“The audience now knows we’re human and fallible! That’s not what we want! We are superhuman magicians in their eyes and it should stay that way. My fumbling of a credit card isn’t nearly as bad as a high flyer twisting her ankle on stage. You could have done some kind of contortion instead of gaining air, or I could have played off the mistake as intentional, but now, instead, people are going to remember a Horseman, in full hair, makeup, and costume, attempting something exceedingly dangerous and nearly falling off the stage. Pride goeth, you know.” You scoff, completely aghast at his lack of self-awareness.

“Says you. You’re the most prideful out of any of us and your head is bigger than all the rest of ours because of the air inside of it. You would have been pissy if you’d fucked the trick, anyway, and we all would have had to deal with it. You don’t care that I saved your ass. The great J. Daniel Atlas has still never made a mistake because of me. No one saw it. You only care that your chess pieces aren’t lined up on the board, exactly how you wanted. And, you don’t even care that I’m sitting here with a swollen ankle. You haven’t once asked me if I’m okay. So, don’t sit there and talk to me about pride.”

You get up and limp away to your room, bringing the bag of peas with you. Every step hurts but you refuse to sit here with this asshole. As you reach your bedroom door, you hear Atlas yell, “You’re the most vapid meathead I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with!”

-----

Later, you’re sitting on your bed, foot propped up, your peas have melted but you’ve refused to go out to the freezer to get a replacement. So, you’re sitting in pain (painkillers are out there where he is), waiting for the rest of the Horsemen to finish striking the set and distracting the cops. You’re watching Good Will Hunting and you may or may not be crying. You would never admit it if you were, you have a reputation to protect.

The lights are off but when your door cracks open, you can make out a blob of people in your doorway. Your favorite blob of people. Three people, to be exact.

June sees you and immediately comes running at you, full speed. She dives into your bed and curls her body around you, putting her head on your shoulder and squeezing. She is, however, gentle with your legs, so as not to hurt your ankle. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t get here sooner. We had to go around our ass to get to our elbow to throw off the cops. It was awful.”

Bosco stands at the foot of your bed and places a hand on your uninjured ankle, giving it a little reassuring shake, “Don’t let her lie to you, she had fun driving. She’s just trying to make you feel less left-out.”

June flips him off and he chuckles. Charlie is still hovering by the door, taking in the scene. He softly closes the door and looks toward the TV then at your puffy eyes. He’s always the quickest one to notice but the slowest to say what he sees. “How’s your ankle?”

You shake your head and look down at it, as if it’s your foot’s fault that it hurt itself. Which, in a way, you guess is true. It wasn’t strong enough to support your weight on the edge of the pedestal you were given. Your sparkly distraction flashing through your mind again. Your failure in front of all those people. You can feel your face turning red. “It hurts.” And, that’s all you’ll say on the matter. June rubs her hand up and down your arm, soothingly.

Bosco looks down, “Well, your ice pack is melted, that might have something to do with it. This pillow is all wet. Why haven’t you replaced it, sweet thing?” He smirks at you and tilts his head like he can’t believe you.

Charlie also asks, “Have you had any painkillers since the show ended?” You feel like you’ve been caught. You don’t say anything and just sink further into your blankets.

June gives you a little shake, “Did you ask Atlas for help? I’m sure it would help his ego to humble himself to you for a little bit. Anyway, you’re a damsel in distress and he loves that.” She presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“I haven’t been outside this room in about three hours. Daniel and I are not on speaking terms.” You make a point to try to look around Bosco to continue watching your movie, but he steps back into your line of vision.

“What did he do? Did he say something to you?” His face is morphing from his smirk into an angry glare but you know it’s not directed at you.

Charlie steps closer to the bed and crosses his arms, June just hums and waits patiently for your answer.

“Just that I’m vapid and a meathead and I’m only a ditzy girl in a sparkly costume and nothing more than that. That I have too much pride for my own good and I put the entire team in jeopardy.”

“What a prick,” June whispers. Bosco looks like he wants to hit something. Charlie doesn’t say anything.

“The great J. Daniel Atlas wants to donate my body to science because he doesn’t think there’s a brain in my head. A modern medical miracle.” You refuse to make eye contact with anyone else. Your eyes fixed on Robin WIlliams.

Bosco sits on the bed and rubs your uninjured leg. Charlie says something like he’ll be right back and leaves the room. June pulls the blankets up more over the two of you and snuggles in for what you assume is going to be a cozy night.

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in which your idiots disturb your solitude