Mr Thief | C.

mr thief | c.

(note.) this fic is pwp with 2k+ words! i intended to do this for a christmas event but what the heck,, let me release it early and get working on the other two parts. hope u enjoy <3

summary: childe breaks into your home with an intention to rob you, but when you, drunk and barely aware that you’re not dreaming, start to seduce and beg for his touch… he can’t help but steal something more than just expensive items.

warnings: smut fic. dubcon. mentions of alcohol. fembody!reader. fem!reader. vaginal penetration. thief!childe.

part two

After a long day from work, sinking into your soft couch by the fire seemed like heaven. Once you came home, you immediately shrugged off your coat, dusted the snow off, and hung it near the door. Your boots, heavy with melted snow, were pulled off and tossed to the side before you began with your scarf and hat.

You sighed with relief and weaved your way to the kitchen to grab wine. Hot chocolate would have been better, but you were too lazy to brew you some, so you settled with alcohol instead. You grabbed a bottle, a cup, and then made your way to the couch where the fireplace was crackling with flames.

You sunk into the couch and popped the cork of the wine bottle. You were immediately filled with comfort and warmth. Being home after a long day was the best feeling in the world. Your overbearing boss had piled up the papers since he heard the news that you were taking a three day vacation break for Christmas, so you had to work twice as much.

But it was all worth it. Because now, you get to enjoy a good bottle of dandelion red wine while sitting across your fireplace. As you drunk from the cup, you flicked on the TV, switching it to the news channel.

A news reporter was standing outside of a building, her hair flicking wildly from the rough winter breeze, and she struggled to talk into the mic because of the frosty weather. You weren’t able to grasp much from what she was trying to say, but you managed to catch the word thieves and a few other things as the screen showed a collection of pictures.

The thieves in the pictures are shown and you gawked at how surprisingly cute they were. One of the pictures shows a redhead with cold eyes, and the reporter says that he would be the one active in stormy weather. You want to fantasize about him, but scold yourself. He’s a thief! A bad guy! It doesn’t matter if he’s cute.

You sighed and finished the wine in your cup. The reporter begins to say to beware of a blizzard tonight and remember to lock everything.

You tried to recall if you locked your doors and windows before you came in. You’re positive you did. But instead of checking to be sure, your eyes felt too heavy from the wine, and you quickly fell asleep.

-

Childe trudges through the snow with ease. He’s been doing this for a long time, running in the snow for hours on end until he finds a poor lonesome house to rob. He’s been in these conditions far longer than his other two buddies who prefer to rob places when there’s no heavy snow. However, in Childe’s opinion, these were the best conditions.

At this late hour, no one would be staying awake in such cold weather. They’d be cuddled up near a warm spot, deep in slumber.

Childe spots your house. It’s secluded and near the woods, and your neighbors are blocks away. In this heavy snow with the cold pelting at your face, no one will pay attention to the clinking of your locked doors.

He finds his way to the front door and notices that your porch lights are bright. Inside, however, it’s dim. The only source of light comes from the far end of the room, and Childe can tell from the flickering that it’s a fireplace.

He searches the area before concluding no one is awake and starts fiddling with the locks. In no time, there’s a soft click, and with the push of a handle, the door creaks open. Childe steps in carefully and glances at the snowy mess of your coat, boots, scarf, and hat. He concludes that there’s only one person living here, and it was a woman.

He’s right, of course. When he begins to scout the room, he notices your feet dangling off the side of the sofa. When he gets closer, he chuckles at the sight of you. Your hair is disheveled and flaky from dampness, your eyelashes are freckled with snow, and your office clothes are still on and in a crumpled mess.

You’re drunk, tired, and most likely not gonna wake up anytime soon. You were working very well to his advantage. He took this opportunity to snatch up the most valuable and subtle things. The small statue on your mantle, the abstract painting on your wall, and even your dandelion wine (solely for him to enjoy).

Childe picks up a few smaller things before he decides it’s enough. Before he heads out, he takes one last glance at you. You’re kind of pretty, he thinks. There’s something charming about your unruly appearance. He can’t really put his finger on it. When his eyes linger longer, he catches a glimpse of your necklace. A diamond necklace.

If there’s something Childe knows, it’s definitely jewelry.

Childe puts the sack of stolen goods down before inching close to you. He’s quiet and stealthy, careful not to alert you. Still, it’s highly doubtful you’d wake up. He’s certain.

His fingers sweep behind your neck and begins searching for the lock. He freezes when he hears you whine. Maybe you’re a light sleeper. When you settle down, he begins again. He finds the lock and presses down to pull the hook when, suddenly, your hand grabs his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Your tone of voice is drowsy and slurred.

Childe doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been caught in the act before. Shit, he knew he shouldn’t have gone for the necklace. He just stares at you, and soon realizes that you’re barely conscious. Hell, you’re stupid drunk and crazy tired.

“Am I dreaming?” You mumble.

Childe breathes out. “Yes, you are.”

“Mm…,” You pull his hand away from your neck and lay his palm on your cheek. “Feels real…”

Childe’s breath hitches. Your cheek is soft and warm. He’s confused. If you were dreaming of an intruder, why would you be touchy and affectionate? You have him touching your cheek for crying out loud!

“Definitely a dream,” he assures. “Go back to sleep, sweetie.”

And now he’s murmuring pet names to you, trying to lull you back to sleep.

“Don’t wanna,” you reply. “‘s cold. Cuddle me, Mr. Thief.”

Childe’s eyes widened. Thief? So you’re not drunk then? Panic is slowly setting in, but confusion is still much more prominent.

You tug at him, but it’s weak and lazy. “Please. I won’t tell.”

Childe gulps, but he climbs into the couch with you anyway. It’s a fairly medium couch, so your bodies pressed together softly. He feels the heat of your body radiate against his before you pull him closer to you. He stiffens.

What is he doing? He questions himself. He’s conflicted. Are you drunk? Are you aware? The questions keep punching him in the gut.

“Mm, you’re warm,” you whisper. “You smell good.”

“Thank you?” Childe rests his arm over your body.

You don’t answer him. For a second, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. However, when he slowly tugs away, you only pull him closer, and your leg crosses over until he feels something damp pressing against his thigh.

“Aren’t you here to steal something from me, Mr. Thief?” You murmur.

Childe gulps and slowly tilts his head down to look at you. He notices your eyes are closed, and when you breathe out, the smell of dandelion wine clogs his nose. You are drunk and you are barely conscious.

Childe’s a bad guy, he can admit. He’d break into houses and steal, but he’d never ever touch someone, let alone kill them. But… you… he squeezes his eyes shut and pleads for you to let go so he can take the stolen item and haul his ass out of your home, but all you do is pull him closer. Not only that, you’re beginning to rub your body against his in a not so innocent way.

“You gonna steal?” You murmur again. “I’m not a virgin though… but we can pretend.”

Childe’s heart picks up a few paces, and he can feel sweat dribble down the back of his neck despite the cold. “O-oh?”

His voice crack makes you giggle. He feels your legs tighten and your body flush closer. This time, he can feel the hotness of your core pressing tight against his thigh and rubbing the moistness over the thick material.

“Feels good,” you exhale. “‘s so good, Mr. Thief.”

You rub and rub, and Childe doesn’t stop you. He lets you use him, partially because he doesn’t wanna alert you to be conscious that it isn’t a dream, but also because—he hates to admit it—he likes it. All his years of thieving and he’s never had something like this happen before.

“Mm…” Your moans begin to pick up and so do your thrusts.

Fuck, you’re dry humping his thigh, and it’s turning him on. It was insane. He can feel his cock twitch in the confines of his pants, and to his luck—quite literally, he’d say—you found it.

Your hand brushes over his tent and softly squeezes him. Childe groans and hunches forward. This elicits an erotic reaction from you because his leg brushes higher, hitting your clit.

“Ngh. So good,” you whimper. “Want you…”

Childe’s getting ballsy now. He’s feeling confident. Never mind that he doesn’t take advantage of people like this… he’s fucking needy and you are too. You’re grinding on his thigh, palming his clock, whispering that you want him… he can’t resist. He’s not a good guy, that much is established. And if you think you’re dreaming, then why should he stop you? He always liked good dreams anyway. He should give you that.

Yeah, that’s right. You wouldn’t know anyway.

“You want my cock, hm?” He whispers. He clasps his hand over yours and has you palming him harder. “Oh, fuckkk…”

“Yes. I want your cock so bad,” you whimper.

You grind harder into his thigh and Childe holds your hip to halt your movement. “I’ll give you it, sweetie. Just hold still, alright?”

“Mm, yes. Still…” Your eyes flutter open slightly and Childe’s heart stops for a second, but the way your colored orbs glint only suggest that you’re too far gone to even notice that this was real.

Childe pulls you on top of him carefully, and your face buried in his neck. He feels your hot breath tickle his skin, and he shudders. Thank god you weren’t wearing anything too complicated. A button up blouse and a pencil skirt was perfect access. A careful tug of your cotton skirt had it immediately bunched up at the hip, and a small push of your panty to the side exposed your pussy to the crispy cool air of the room.

Childe listens to your soft breathing before carefully reaching over to press his nimble finger on your pussy. He practically chokes at how wet you were. Your lips are soft and warm, slick with wetness, and his fingers slide across your folds with ease.

You whimper and jolt against his touch. “‘s cold…”

“It’s okay,” he coos. “It won’t be cold for long. You’re so hot here.”

He presses a finger into your sopping heat and feels your tight walls stretch to accommodate him. His mouth practically salivates when he hears you moan and praise at how delicious his fingers feel in your cunt.

“Please,” you whimper. “More. Feels good…”

You’re slurring on your words even more, but Childe doesn’t really pay much attention to it. He fits a second finger and moves it, feeling inside your hole, searching for a spot where you’re sensitive the most. When your hips stutter and you whine pathetically in his ear, he strokes the same spot until you’re huffing and drooling on his neck.

“There… good… there…”

Childe smiles at your response. When he feels you tighten, he takes his fingers out and hears a whine of disapproval.

“So close,” you say. “Again… please.”

Even for someone practically asleep, you were quite responsive. Childe says nothing and reaches down to release his cock. It’s hard and suffocating in his briefs, and when it’s finally out, he lets out a sigh of relief.

He positions his cock carefully to your hole and rubs the swollen tip over the slick folds. You whimper and try to find your way back into his cock, but Childe holds you.

“Shh… keep still for me,” he whispers. “Don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Want it so bad,” you whimper.

“I know.” Childe strokes your hair before he repositions his cock again. He strokes himself a few times, readying his cock with his precum, before sliding the tip inside of your sweet cunt. “Fuck.”

You moan and move your hips down, taking him into your tight cunt. Deeper and deeper until he’s at the hilt, and Childe squeezes the globes of your ass. He takes a few breath and doesn’t let you move. He allows you to adjust.

“Move,” you beg. “Want more.”

Childe chuckles at your impatience. He listens. It’s not like he can hold back for much longer. He slowly begins to move, setting a soft pace. It’s cautious. It’s to make sure he doesn’t thrust too hard and drown himself in pleasure that can suddenly pull you to your senses.

His cock drowns in the slickness of your wet cunt as you ride his cock slowly. The way he presses into your walls has his own feet curling. You feel so fucking good. So tight and warm, yet he slides so easily in and out. He groans and squeezes your ass, careful to not make it too hard, before he gradually picks up his pace.

You’re a garbling mess. You’re drooling on his neck and shoulder, panting and moaning, whimpering profanities and praises as Childe fucks your sweet cunt—as a thief who broke into your home fucks you.

“So good, so good, so good,” you cry. “‘m coming. ‘m coming.”

“Me too,” Childe groans. “Me too, holy shit. Fuckfuckfuck.”

The room is filled with the background noise of the TV and the fireplace crackling, but also with the sound of your wet pussy squelching from Childe’s constant thrusts. More and more, he keeps going until your legs squeeze and your cunt clamps tightly around his length. He feels another slickness coat his cock, and he knows you’ve come.

“Shit. Fuck, you feel so good. I’m coming,” Childe groans.

After a few more thrusts, Childe becomes sloppy and his hips stutter. He feels his cum coat the inside of your walls and slide down his length, forming a ring that drips down from your pussy and all over his pelvis and balls.

“Mm, thank you, Mr. Thief,” he hears you grumble.

Then, your body gets heavy.

Childe is left breathing heavily under you until he gathers his strength to hoist you off and rest you on the couch. It’s crazy. You’re dead asleep again, as if nothing ever happened.

Childe cleans himself up and trashes the napkin into a trash can in the kitchen before cleaning you next. You mumble and talk in your sleep, your words mixed between the words “thief” and “good.” Childe smirks. He knows enough to know what you’re talking about.

When everything is back to what it was, he grabs the sack and wine and heads out the door, back into the blizzard. Next time, he thinks, he’d be sure to pay you another visit. Next time, maybe he’d bring a friend.

i miss that thing when ur being fucked in doggy but then they start pounding into u harder n ur knees cant hold u up anymore and u eventually end up flat on your tummy with them fucking all their weight into you and holding ur head down for leverage

tattoo artist!bakugou

inspired by @heartofjasmina’s tattoo artist!bkg hc. 🧡

18+ content, mdni. you will be blocked.

tattoo artist!bakugou seeing you walk into his shop for the first time not thinking much of you when you say you’d like to schedule a consultation with him because you like the work he’s put online. you’re suddenly questioning your decision because this man can’t be much older than you and he looks like a fucking model hiding out in a tattoo parlor, not an established artist with at least ten years under his belt.

tattoo artist!bakugou being thankful you’re separated by a counter when you show him pieces similar to what you’re thinking of: a bold but classy floral tattoo that starts at your hip and wraps over the majority of one ass cheek, curling its way up the lower back just slightly. he knows how to remain professional because it’s his job, but he can see how hard you’re blushing and his thoughts are racing. your mind is more distracted than it should be by his huge, strong hands and a gruff voice that sunk into your bones.

tattoo artist!bakugou knowing the moment the consult started that he should hand this one off to the bubbly, pink-haired artist who’d knock it out of the park just as easily as he could; he’d rather spank and grope and eat your ass than tattoo it, and he didn’t want to risk looking like a fucking tool with his dick hard while trying to lay ink into your soft, pretty skin. but fuck, you were just too damn cute, probably already soaking your panties because of him if the flush on your cheeks was any indication.

tattoo artist!bakugou trying to ignore the ever so slight way your ass pushed into his hands when he applied the stencil before you both checked the final placement for any last adjustments, but he definitely noticed. at least he could get away with staring a little bit without looking like a creep.

tattoo artist!bakugou being smart enough to put up a few partitions to give you some privacy, but stupid enough not to block off the whole shop on the books. on a fucking saturday no less, the busiest day of the week. seeing you laid in front of him in a pretty, pastel thong he wanted to rip right off your body, circumstances be damned, had him swallowing hard.

tattoo artist!bakugou, whose hands are massive and hot against your skin as he works. you’re (shamefully) already clenching and fluttering around nothing but your own arousal before he’s even finished the outline. you breathe deeply to will yourself to relax in an attempt to make it stop. (it doesn’t.) because there’s no way he doesn’t know and isn’t put off by it.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who can just barely feel you clenching under his hand as you shift more often than you should. he’s irritated that there’s a swelling ache in his groin every time, but relieved that you’re faced the other way, unable to see what’s impossible for him to hide. “quit yer fuckin’ squirmin’,” he mumbles, “‘m tryna work, here.” he’s wondering how red your face just got from him calling out your subtle movements, a smirk touching his lips.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who can see your body go rigid before your breathing slows as you try to calm your body again, and eventually it does. “‘s a good girl. just relax for me,” he says, the words slipping out like butter before he stops to think. his stomach drops because he’s a horny fucking idiot and now he’s trying to stay calm, hoping you won’t think anything of it.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who knows you must have felt something because can fucking see the wet spot on the pathetic piece of fabric you’d call panties. he can smell the scent of your arousal and fuck does he want to bury his face inside you and inhale it. “atta girl, you’re almost done.” your body is hot and aching and you’d swear if he says anything else like that, you be might too weak to stand once he’s finished.

tattoo artist!bakugou rubbing antibiotic ointment into your skin after the final pass as you swallow a groan. he hands you a mirror to see his impeccable work and you thank him. he’s wrapping the tattoo and taking off his gloves as he calmly goes over aftercare instructions when hot fingers trail across your thigh, closer and closer to your cunt.

tattoo artist!bakugou, who’s leaning into your ear, whispering, “you been thinkin’ about me this whole time, haven’t ya, sweetie? be a good girl n tell me the truth.” your face is burning with shame but of course you whisper, “yes,” your legs opening even though you know they shouldn’t.

tattoo artist!bakugou telling you to, “look at what you fuckin’ did t’me,” as he gently teases your clit, holding back a groan of his own with the soaked fabric of your thong at his thick fingertips.

tattoo artist!bakugou rubbing your eager cunt as you push into him, his other hand clamped tightly over your mouth. “maybe i’ll let ya cum for me if you’re good. better not hear a fuckin’ peep outta ya ’nless you want everyone t’know what kinda girl you really are.”

banners made by @cafekitsune.

i just feel like tying a man's hands behind his back while he's sat in a chair so i can grind my needy pussy against his bulge and bounce my cute tits in his face would cure a few of my problems rn.

I love men that are so hairy they can't even hide it like they have hairy ass forearms and it's creeping up their wrists and knuckles and poking out of the collar of their button up shirt... your slutty whore DNA is bursting at the seams. Whore.

Sunburned baby 🐳