#nowyouseemee

PARADISE - bosco leroy x fem!virgin!reader

TW: smut with plot, p in v, cunnilingus, exhibitionism, degradation kink, loss of virginity, angry sex, grinding, experienced!bosco x virgin!reader

a/n: mastermind is lowkey hyping me up a bit too much although i appreciate it VERY MUCH !! now i didn't know how deep you wanted the spice level so i'm keeping it very medium to appeal to my vanilla and borderline bdsm readers !!!! if yall want more tame / fluff with any characters or taboo smut (except for extreme taboos) request it in my inbox! for now, enjoy this bosco x fem!virgin!reader smut

wc: 2.5k

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The four of you had been rehearsing for hours, stuck in the crammed apartment that smelled of microwave noodles and old carpet and the stress of four chronically sleep-deprived magicians. June and Charlie sat on the couch, watching you and Bosco run the pickpocket sequence again. You dangled the silver watch in your fingers, swinging it rhythmically as you reached for the burner phone in Bosco's pocket. It should have been simple. It had been simple yesterday. But tonight, your fingers brushed the phone at the wrong angle, knocking it to the floor with a loud slap that echoed through the room.

Bosco dramatically threw his head back, groaning as if he'd just watched the world end. "Get it together, Y/N! Seriously, unless you want to be out on the streets, maybe try, I don't know, focusing?"

You snapped upright, eyes blazing. "Oh yeah? Maybe I could get it right if you quit nagging like you're my mother! Last time I checked, that's not part of the job description."

He stared at you, something sharp and unreadable behind his eyes; instead of arguing back, he pressed his lips together, spun on his heel, and stormed out the front door. It slammed so hard behind him that the frame rattled.

Charlie sighed, like he had aged ten years in ten seconds, and rubbed his temples. “I’ll go after him,” he muttered before slipping out into the hall.

June got up and walked over to you, her expression softening. "Ignore him," she said calmly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "He's been like this for a while. So tense. Maybe it's his crush on you."

Your head whipped around so fast, your neck popped. "HUH? His-­Bosco doesn't-­what do you mean?!" Your voice practically squeaked, cheeks flooding with heat.

June raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Whatever you say, Y/N/N." She then walked away, leaving you steaming, embarrassed, and much more unsettled than you wanted to admit.

The next day arrived a lot sooner than you had prepared for. Despite the most concerted effort to appear calm and collected, your heart rattled around in your chest like a trapped marble. You refused to let Bosco know that you were nervous. June gave you a little nudge as the four of you approached your usual street-corner performance spot on the busy Manhattan sidewalk. The crowd was already forming, eager and unsuspecting.

Bosco stepped forward first, slipping easily into his charismatic showman persona, flicking cards through his fingers and grinning like he owned the city. You joined him a few seconds later, slipping with ease into your happy-go-lucky stage character, an energy that people tipped extra for. You and Bosco always did the face of the show, while June and Charlie worked the technical sleight of hand behind the scenes. It was a system that generally ran flawlessly.

You began the fake hypnosis bit, dramatically waving your hands in front of Bosco as he pretended to fall under your spell. The crowd laughed, eating it up. Then you invited up the target-your mark-the rich businessman whose pocket held the black card you were after. You knew his face from weeks of watching him. Shady investments, stolen wages from workers, a man who practically had "thief" printed on his forehead. Stealing from him felt like community service.

You dangled the watch in front of him, your voice smooth, your illusion shimmering subtly to distract both him and the crowd. Bosco worked beside you, performing an elaborate distraction that should've kept all eyes off your hand. You reached for the man's wallet-slowly, gently, the way you'd practiced-

But his hand shot up, gripping your wrist in a bruising hold.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he barked, yanking your arm into the air so all could see.

The crowd gasped. Phones raised. People shouted. The heat flashed across your face as the panic settled like heavy fog. You saw police at the corner turning toward the commotion.

A sharp whistle from Charlie sliced through the air; it was the emergency abort signal.

Everything burst into action. June knocked a table over to block part of the view, scattering cards everywhere in the process. Charlie threw a smoke bomb. You grabbed Bosco by the wrist and began dragging him hard through the crowd before he could get cuffed. You heard people yelling behind you, but you didn’t dare turn back. You sprinted with him across streets, ducking down alleys, leaping over trash bags, until the noise of Manhattan dulled into the city's distant hum.

In time, you both blundered into one of the rougher areas of town: the street lights flickered, dogs yapped incessantly, and old brick walls were spray-painted with art and anger. You leaned your back against the alley wall, heaving for breath as you checked your watch: 1:34 AM. Perfect. Just perfect. You still had to walk all of the way home, and your legs felt like jelly.

You pushed off the wall and turned toward Bosco to tell him you needed to start heading back-but you didn't even get a word out.

He grabbed you by the front of your hoody and slammed you back against the brick. It shook your lungs and dust fell from overhead.

“What the hell, idiot?!” you snapped, trying to shove him off. “Get off—”

"NO." His voice was sharp, furious, and hot. "What did I tell you, huh? I said practice the damn trick. You never listen. Do you want us arrested? Do you want everything we've built to crumble because you can't focus for five minutes?"

Anger swelled in your chest so hot it felt like steam: "Stop blaming me for everything when it's CLEARLY your mediocre acting skills that couldn't distract for shit!"

His eyes darkened. The alley thickened with silence, the kind that vibrated under your skin. You were chest to chest, breathing hard, both of you glaring like you wanted to hit each other-or run-or scream. Then, without warning, without hesitation, without logic— Bosco grabbed your face and crashed his mouth against yours.

There was nothing sweet and final about the kiss. Neither one of you had been expecting anything like this to happen. Sure, you've dreamed it, pictured it, jerked off to it—

His tongue shoved into your mouth, wrestling with yours as he breathed deeply. His hands held your face tightly, yours running through his hair with a feverous intent you had never felt before. You tugged his hair, eliciting a guttural groan from his throat, his mouth moving from your now swollen lips to your neck, then chest, kissing the fat of your breasts.

You looked into the street as you panted and whined at the feel of his fingers groping your entire body, "W-wait, Bosco. Someone might see us—"

"I don't give a fuck. I need you, baby," He declared, a whimper in his tone as he grew needier by the second.

All morals of yours were thrown out the window at the sound of this, immediately bucking your hips forward against him.

"God, you fucking little slut. You need me that badly, don't you?" You were speechless, mouth open in a silent cry. His hands dragged down your body, one resting on your clothed pussy, cupping it as he reached for your underwear under your skirt.

You whined, shaking your head and pushing him away for a moment. His eyes bore into yours, seeing the nerves in your eyes.

"I'm a virgin."

You knew of Bosco's experience with women. You lived with the man, after all, you heard his tall tales and sessions.

"Still wanna be?" He asked with a smirk on his face, head tilted in a way that felt as if he was taunting you. His hands felt up your body once more, your nerves floating away with every grab, squeeze, press.

Without another word, you pulled his face back down onto yours, simultaneously yanking your skirt up your thighs, hooking one leg around him.

His prominently hard cock pressed against your clothed sex, rubbing back and forth as you two entered a silent rhythm, the feel something you could've never imagined while you rubbed circles on your clit in bed, picturing him fucking you mercilessly.

Bosco yanked your underwear to the side, his cold and long fingers raking through the slick of your virgin folds. He bit back a moan at the feeling, his thumb rubbing your clit as one finger infiltrated your throbbing hole. The pain was loud and raw initially, slowly turning into a pleasure unlike any you had felt before. Your jaw was slack as one finger turned into two. Bosco's eyes remained locked with yours as he applied more pressure, his thumb circling your clit with a patience that was both infuriating and incredibly arousing. Your breath hitched as you felt the familiar sensation of arousal building, your hips lifting slightly off the alley wall in response to the delicate dance of his fingers.

He took his time, exploring your pussy with the precision of a master at his craft, his touch growing bolder as you grew wetter. He slid a finger along your slit, collecting the slickness that coated her, and brought it back to your clit, spreading it around the sensitive area. The feeling was electric, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on the sensations he was eliciting. The street was filled with the scent of your desire, the only sounds being the slickness of his fingers against your skin and the quiet moans escaping your lips. Bosco leaned down, his warm breath on your inner thighs, and you felt his tongue replace his fingers, delicately lapping at your sensitive flesh. The sudden wetness of his mouth was almost too much to handle, and you bit your bottom lip to keep from crying out.

His tongue traced the outline of your clitoris, the light touch making you squirm. He could feel your body tense as you held back, your legs quivering as you tried to maintain control. But Bosco was in no hurry; he knew exactly how to push your buttons. He swirled his tongue around the little nub, alternating between flicks and broad strokes, all while keeping the pressure just shy of what you needed to climax.

Your hands found their way into Bosco's hair, gripping tightly as you attempted to guide him to where you needed him most. He chuckled against you, the vibration sending a delightful tremor through your core. He knew you were close, your legs now tightly wound around his neck, pulling him closer, urging him on. With a flick of his wrist, he slid two fingers into your warm, welcoming pussy, curling them slightly to stroke your inner walls.

Your body responded immediately, the muscles clamping down around his fingers as he found your g-spot. You gasped, your eyes shooting open to meet his, a silent plea for more. Bosco increased the tempo of his tongue, the pressure building in time with the strokes of his digits. Your moans grew louder, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension within you coiled tighter and tighter.

With a final, firm flick of his tongue and a deep thrust of his fingers, you shattered, your climax ripping through you like lightning. Your body arched off the wall, and you screamed his name, the sound echoing through the neighborhood. Your juices spirting out of you in arc after arc of fluid, covering you both in your essence. He lapped at your pussy, savoring your sweetness, as you rode the waves of pleasure.

He stood up, and impatiently, you fumbled with the buckle of his jeans, desperately attempting to pull them down.

"For a someone who just came, you're a desperate little whore, aren't you?" You whined at his words as he wiped your cum off his lips, his hands reaching down to yours and pulling his pants down, along with his boxers and shirt.

She pulled down the waistband of his boxers and gripped him gently. Precum leaked out of his tip. A perfectly manicured thumb smeared it across her fingers. Heat pooled in his stomach.

“Fuck…” She whimpered, “Need you inside of me. Now.”

She guided him to her opening. She pressed herself flush against him, enough for her to feel the pressure but not enough for him to penetrate her.

“Wait. Do you have condoms?”

Bosco shook his head, “Nope. Didn’t think we’d be in this situation.”

You sighed, “Fine. I’m on the pill anyway…just don’t make a habit out of it.”

"We're going to do this often enough for this to become a habit?" Bosco questioned with a smirk.

You were deadpan. "Just fuck me already."

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he pushed in. Her eyes screwed shut and she exhaled sharply.

“You’d think I’d be used to you by now, huh? With the way your fingers stretched me out, and all.” You laughed weakly. You kissed his nose, “You can move.”

His thrusts were shallow at first, trying to get you accustomed. You started rolling her hips against him, trying to set a faster pace. “You can go faster,” You breathed, “I’m not made of glass.”

Fingertips dug into your hips to the point of bruising. He went faster, whispering things in your ear that would make even a whore blush. You were much louder, practically screaming his name.

“Shit…” Your eyes scanned the floor, looking for something to quiet yourself with, “Shirt…your shirt…give it to me.”

Bosco made a mad grab for it. You buried your face in it, trying to muffle your moans.

“Good job Princess,” He chuckled darkly, “Now I’m sure that only half the street can hear you.”

You couldn’t form a coherent sentence, just a mess of ‘Please, more, Bosco, fuck, need you.’ You were clinging to him like he was a lifeline—like he was the only thing anchoring you to Earth. You were pressing your face against the shirt, but he could still hear you.

It was kind of a power trip. Being the one to draw out these noises from this trembling, demanding, thing pressed against him gave him a high he hadn’t experienced anywhere else. You were wrapped around him like a vice. Tight and warm and wet, it made his head spin.

You were like heaven. A paradise on Earth.

A familiar heat coiled in his stomach and down into his pelvis. You were trembling again.

“Are you close?” He whispered in your ear. A choked sob of a yes answered his question. He smiled and kissed your forehead, tasting salt on your skin. You're scrambling for purchase against his shoulders, crying out into his skin. You come again, weak and spent against him.

“C…Come inside me.”

He crumbled, letting out a string of curses as he came. He kissed you all over, listening to you purr and giggle. He pulled out slowly and you whined, feeling empty. He sat you down gently, stroking your hair and whispering sweet things in your currently burning ear.

He threw your underwear at you, “Get dressed, sugar plum, before June and Charlie get worried.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance and slipped into your clothes.

"Aren't you feisty?" He retaliated, outstretching his hand to you.

A HEARTBEAT. A KISS -- bosco leroy x fem!reader

NOTE! who missed me who missed me.. anyone... no ok fuck u very much then, ANYWAYS. i missed myself so thats what counts AND i stay true to my word that i was itching for a now u see me fanfic and a sweet person requested mr bosco so ask and u shall receive!! pardon me for being very fluff / angst with this im still a bit rusty, but if yall want a now u see me smut you KNOW im your girl.. if ur a bit apprehensive just go read some of my other smuts they get freaky!!! any of ur wildest imaginations turned into text by urs truly so go request away!!

FLUFF / ANGST ! ۫

WC: like 1300 i think

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The theatre is loud tonight-lights flashing, music pounding, smoke curling across the stage in perfect choreography, as Bosco, June, and Charlie go through their newest act. The crowd is hypnotized by their chaos. Perfect. That means no one's paying attention to you.

You linger at the back, hood up, posture slouched, fingers already twitching at your side. A simple flick of your wrist-your silver bracelet swinging-and the man in front of you follows the motion with his eyes. One little blink later, his wallet is gone.

You weave through the crowd with fluid rhythm, flashes of glitter on your nails and the glint of a dangling earring serving for misdirection. A couple quick hypnotic snaps here, a whispered "look here!" there, and another rich couple loses track of the shiny things in their pockets. You're working alone, as always, but that just means every part of the performance is yours to command.

Onstage, Bosco is showboating with that flair for drama the crowd just loves. You happen to catch his eye for half a second-sheer accident on your part-but it's enough. His expression falters. His head turns. His eyes narrow.

He sees you.

Too late; he sees you.

You smirk, slipping toward the exit as June nudges Charlie and tilts her head sharply in your direction. They're annoyed-they always are-but not as much as Bosco. His scowl could cut glass. It would be cute if you didn't know he was already planning to chase you the second the curtains fall.

You blow him a mocking kiss over your shoulder before disappearing into the shadows of the alley outside. Another clean heist. Another night you beat them.

Bosco's gonna come for you, you know it.

And he does-at every opportunity.

The game carries on for the next few months.

He's tired of you showing up to their heists and pulling one over on them again- taking from their hard-earned profits. You're tired of their melodramatic responses when you outsmart them once again. It becomes ritual. A rhythm. A dance neither of you ever speaks out loud but both of you cling to.

One night, just as their act ends, Bosco bolts off stage to catch you. He's fast, but you're faster, slipping into shadows, weaving between dumpsters, blending into darkness. But June's his friend and partner, and he's learned a thing or two from her. So he's smart about it. He anticipates your escape route. He's right.

He catches you in a corner.

Your back strikes a wall as you spin around, blade already out before he can blink. Your chest heaves. Your hand shakes, just slightly. He sees it-your fear, your instinctive panic-and something in him shifts.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders drop, and his expression softens into something unreadable.

He raises both hands in surrender. He sees you're just trying to get by.

He steps back.

One step.

Another.

Then he turns and walks away, leaving the alley without touching you, taking absolutely nothing from you-not even your pride.

But not before giving you one unreadable look. Your brows furrow, and your heart starts to pound until it hurts.

What just happened?

He spared you?

No. Not possibly.

There were probably cops.

There had to be.

You try to convince yourself of that logic, and yet it gnaws at you for days.

A few nights later, you aren't pulling a heist. You aren't following Bosco, June, or Charlie. You aren't stealing anything.

Instead, you get Thai food from the street vendor on the corner: an older couple that has seen you more often than anybody else in your entire life. They treat you like their stray, always slipping extra dumplings into your bag, always telling you to be careful. In return, you make sure nothing shady happens around their shop.

You sit at the pier with your food untouched beside you. The waves crash below, the grand New York City lake churning under the last sliver of sun. The sky is bruised purple, fading into darkness.

Your fingers play with the gold pendant hanging from your neck, flipping open the small, attached locket. Inside: a photo of your mother. The woman you so desperately hated… yet desperately loved.

You slam the locket shut, your jaw clenched. You push it back beneath your shirt, as if hiding it would hide the ache in your chest.

The wind whips through your hair, harsh and cold for a summer evening, pricking at your tear-stung eyes. You blink fast, forcing the tears away—because crying is weakness, and weakness is dangerous.

You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them tightly. Your sleeves brush your face, soft fabric absorbing the heat of your skin. You rest your head on your knees and breathe out one small sob—quiet enough that not even the waves could hear it.

Then, without thinking, you grab the necklace and rip it from your neck.

You stand at the edge of the dock, arm raised, with the locket dangling over open water, only moments from letting it fall forever.

“You shouldn’t throw away valuables,” a voice warns behind you.

Bosco.

You don't turn around. You don't know what's worse, him seeing you crying or him pushing you in while your back is turned. Probably the former.

“You need to leave,” you mutter. Your voice cracks. You flinch at yourself.

“Shitty parental figures?” he guesses.

You turn your head slightly, enough to see him leaning against the railing of the dock, shuffling a deck of cards like it's nothing.

"None of your business, actor boy. Now keep it moving."

You pull your hood up, stomp past him, refusing to let your face betray anything. He doesn't follow. He just watches, nods once, understanding in some quiet, wordless way. Nobody chooses thievery. It chooses the unlucky. The forgotten. Bosco never had good luck either.

But even after that night on the pier, the game of cat and mouse persists. Every time you catch him, you let him go too. Neither of them ever actually finishes the job. Neither of them ever stops. Something fragile forms between you, something unnamed, threaded between stolen glances and narrow escapes.

Until the night you snap.

Again, he corners me, breathless, sweat-damp, his eyes afire with frustration and with something else that I will not name. I have had enough. More than enough.

“Do something already!” you shout furiously, fists up, blade steady. “Don’t be a chicken. Man up and finish the job!”

Bosco freezes.

For a moment, he looks stunned: caught off guard. Then his usual cocky demeanor slides back into place, slow and deliberate, like a smirk stretching across his soul.

“Really?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. Dangerous.

He steps forward.

You step back.

Again, he steps forward.

You step back again.

Which is exactly what happens- you step back, he steps forward-until your back hits the alley wall and his chest is almost pressed against yours. The air between you is thick. Heavy. Impossible to breathe through.

You raise your knife to his neck. He looks down at it. Then smiles—casually, maddeningly—as if you're holding a feather instead of a blade.

"Do something already," he murmurs in return, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't be a chicken. Woman up and finish the job."

Your breaths clash, both of you panting, both of you on fire. One of his hands rises slowly, deliberately, and continues toward your waist. Your heart lurches. Your fingers tremble around the knife. The air crackles like a flash trick moments before detonation.

And then-

You snap.

You grab him by the collar-

-and yank him down into a kiss.

His lips crash against yours in a blur of heat and adrenaline. His hands find your waist instantly. Your knife slips from your fingers, clattering onto the pavement. Everything freezes. Everything burns. Everything falls apart. Months of tension explode in that one kiss. And for the first time in your life-you allow yourself to trust someone. If only for a breath. A heartbeat. A kiss.

…been through alot of movies regarding illusions and magic and all i know is that it would definitely have a twist in the end.. such as “The Prestige” and “The Illusionist”.

I enjoyed the movie and their grand acts.. what I didn’t like was the lack of character build up. I was expecting that there might be a side story with the magicians but oh well, the movie might be a little longer and be criticized as “boring” or “too long”