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pedritopascall · 3 years ago

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Stealing from the Devil (the thief x devil!reader)

Summary: Only foolish thieves attempt to steal from the Devil...

Rating: T

Warnings: Allusions to wanting to die, religion viewed from the POV of the Devil

Word count: ~ 2500

Notes: Since I noticed too late that the text at the bottom of the banner is tiny, the gif is by @a7estrellas. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. Is this blasphemous? Possibly...

Stealing from the Devil

You'd heard them claim that all the strongest souls were forged in fire. That pain toughened and abstinence strengthened resolve. That one could not endure and overcome if there had been no obstacles in their path.

They cheered for every underdog's redemption, except for yours. Plucked the brightest shining souls with the most potential and put them through nightmares - that everyone later blamed you for. Then, just when that soul was about to break, they would swoop in, throw them a miracle and watch them soar back up towards the light, all while taking credit as if they hadn't been the ones to clip the wings in the first place. Divine intervention, they called it, and it made you sick.

Well, they seemed to have forgotten what else was forged in fire. Weapons. And this one would make an excellent addition to your arsenal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You move through the apartment as silent as a shadow. The afternoon sun struggles to shine through the dirty windows and you watch the dust particles dance around each other as the stale air shifts around you.

This place is a dump but somewhere in it is a soul brimming with so much potential that you barely register the dirty clothes on the floor or the empty food containers on the kitchen table.

You'd sensed him as soon as you'd entered his home. You wonder what God's plans for him are. Must be something big. Maybe he'll cure a terminal illness, unite a country, or save a dozen orphanages. Something that Heaven surely will have no trouble taking credit for.

It's going be such a wonderful blow to their pride when you claim him for your side.

You walk through his home, noting the darker squares on the walls where pictures must have hung. It's a home designed for a family but he lives here alone.

Something like sympathy stirs in your chest for this man, all alone in his kingdom of trash.

You know what it was he did that cost him all he had and, as with most divine justice, the punishment can hardly be said to be fitting of the crime.

You find the man in the living room and he's in a terrible state when you do. He's stretched out on the couch, wearing torn jeans and a stained t-shirt. Something about him reminds you of a baby bird that's fallen out of its nest too early for it to have learned how to properly fly. It's a pitiful sight.

Nudging an empty bottle out of the way with your foot, you crouch next to him and allow yourself a few moments to study his face. Then you reach out to gently touch his cheek.

He starts just a little and opens his eyes. His gaze finds yours but he seems to struggle to focus on what he's seeing.

”Oh Hugo,” you say, voice like a velvety smooth caress. A tear rolls down his cheek when he hears his name and you wipe it away with your thumb ”My family has sure done a number on you.”

”Who are you?” he slurs, confused.

”A friend,” you tell him and stroke the sweat-slicked dirty hair from his forehead. He relaxes and leans into the touch. You wonder how long it's been since anyone showed him kindness and comfort.

And people accused you of being the cruel one.

Despite the fragile and broken state of his body, his soul hums strong and powerful just below the surface. Not completely broken then. Good.

You whisper more soothing words to him as you help guide him into a sitting position. He weighs next to nothing in your arms but his limbs seem too heavy for him to maneuver himself.

You sit down on the couch next to him and he surprises you by capturing your hand. His grip is stronger than you had anticipated. You look down at the hand but don't attempt to remove it.

”Are you going to kill me?”

You look up and something aware flickers in the drunken haze in his eyes as he speaks. There's no fear behind his question. If anything, there's a sliver of hope. God's favorite creatures, and this was how he treated them. One day, you'd burn all of Heaven, and the world would be a better place for it.

You place your other hand over his and slowly shake your head.

”No, I'm not here to kill you,” you tell him, and his shoulders slump slightly next to yours. You whisper his name again to regain his attention ”My family has taken everything from you. Punishing you for a mistake that no one with any kind of compassion in their heart can fault you for. They say that a thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy... But I don't believe that. I'm here so that you may have a life, and have it in abundance.”

The man closes his eyes as more tears roll down his cheeks. You wipe those away too.

”I'm here to give you a second chance, Hugo.”

”Are you an angel?” he whispers.

You smile softly.

”Of sorts.”

His hand tightens around yours, and you wonder if he understands, if he realizes who you are.

”What will it cost?”

”For you? Nothing.” You smile and stroke your hand over his hair again. It's the truth. The world might become just a little bit worse by plucking this man from his intended course, but for him, life would flourish. ”Let me help you and you shall never want for anything again. Let me help you and the pain you're feeling right now will be nothing but a distant memory.”

The man is silent, his eyes still closed, and after a few moments, you think he might have fallen asleep. Then his head tips forward in an unmistakable nod. Triumph blooms in your chest.

”I need you to say it. Will you let me help you?”

”...yes...please.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They say you destroy, ruin and wreck. But that's not true. You create and build just as much as they do. Just not things that they can see the value of.

In your care, the broken man on the couch grows and flourishes. His hollow cheeks fill out and the dark circles under his eyes disappear. Life returns to his eyes and you discover that he has a smile blinding enough to rival the sun.

He takes to his new life like a duck to water. The new apartment. The fancy clothes and fast cars. And the stealing. You think he enjoys the stealing most of all.

Why this is considered corruption rather than creation you'll never understand. You've given this man life. Why is everything you touch considered stained when your brothers and sisters get nothing but praise for their creations?

You look at your thief and you would burn anyone who'd dare to call him anything but a masterpiece.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn't spend every moment by your side but you keep track of him, perhaps more so than your other charges. He leads a captivating existence and there's so much life in everything he does that you can't help but feel drawn in.

He learns how to summon you, and the first time you find yourself in his lavish apartment, you're confused, until you spot him standing in the doorway with two glasses of red wine. He's wearing a red velvet suit and he twirls when he notices you looking.

”What do you think?” he asks. You think that the suit, the casually tousled hair, the smile, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, make him look more like what you'd expect the Devil to look like than you do.

”You summoned me. Is something the matter?” you ask him as he walks over to hand you one of the wine glasses.

”I hadn't seen you in a while. Was worried I might begin to stray. Abstain from things...go to church.”

You see the twinkle in his eyes so you know he's joking, but it still doesn't quite explain what you're doing here.

He motions for you to turn around and when you do, you spot the table. Set for two, with a white tablecloth and lit candles whose light reflects off the crystal glasses and cutlery to make them glitter in the dimmed light.

”An expression of my gratitude,” he says from just behind you and, up close like this, you can smell the expensive perfume he wears.

”What for?” you ask.

He's silent for a moment before replying.

”For everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He makes a habit of summoning you after that. When he thinks your visits become too few and far in between. Sometimes it's for another dinner, sometimes to brag about a particularly well-executed heist, sometimes it's just for a glass of wine, and other times it's for some sort of event.

He summons you to the opera once, and looks so excited when he leans in to tell you, in a hushed whisper, what you're about to watch. You refrain from reminding him that you're older than Earth itself and that you've seen and listened to this opera play more times than you can count. And in several different languages. Instead, you just end up watching him, as the lights are turned down and the performance starts. It's just as captivating as what's happening on the stage below.

Another time, you're summoned to fetch him ice cream from the freezer. He's cooped up in bed with a fever, hungry but too weak to move. You don't get him the ice cream. But you do sit down on crumpled silk sheets on the bed next to him and reach out to place your hand on his forehead. He lets out a soft moan of relief as the illness drains from his body, and the sound makes your fingers twitch against his skin.

It should be annoying that he calls on you. You have things to do besides being at the beck and call of a thief. But every time you feel that familiar tug, curiosity gets the better of you and you allow yourself to be swept away to whatever location he's at.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air is heavy with artificial smoke, and the smell of perfumes and warm bodies. The loud music is in stark contrast to the silence you'd just left, and the base sends vibrations through your chest in time with the beat. You scan the crowd of the nightclub searching for the thief. You know he's here somewhere but the low lights and movement make it almost impossible to distinguish any one face from the rest. So instead, you close your eyes and reach through the crowd with your mind, searching for his signature presence. And there he is!

You open your eyes and immediately find him this time. He's on the dancefloor, with a blonde woman wearing a silver dress in his arms. As if sensing your presence reaching for his, he looks up and sees you. The grin he flashes you is bright despite the darkness of the room.

He spins the woman around so she's facing you but her eyes are closed so she's unaware of their new audience. You wonder what he's playing at when he pulls the woman's arms up around his neck where her fingers tangle in his hair as she bites her lip.

Something like possessiveness flares up in your chest, but before it can fully catch, the thief lowers his hands from hers and you see him slip the expensive watch that the woman had just been wearing into his own pocket. Of course...

You roll your eyes and he must see it because his mouth curves up into another teasing smile.

You wait for him to drop the girl and come over, now that he's gotten his prize, but instead of pushing her way, the thief pulls the woman even closer, molding himself against her back. Her mouth falls open in a blissed o as he grinds against her and one of his hands travels up her body to wrap lightly around her neck.

You look to his face, morbidly curious to see what it will look like mirroring the enjoyment of the woman in his arms. But he isn't looking at her at all. His gaze locks with yours and his eyes look pitch black when he stares you down with an expression you can't read.

He bends down to place an open-mouthed kiss to the side of the woman's neck, and even if his hand is around her neck and not yours, you still feel like your breathing is restricted.

When he lowers his hand, the woman's necklace glitters between his fingers.

You've seen enough. Didn't need proof that he was a skilled pick-pocket, but have certainly had your full share now. Tearing your gaze away from his, you turn and head to the bar in the quieter part of the club.

You order a glass of red and slide into a bar chair, disliking the way it feels like something is crawling under your skin.

The thief shows up a couple of minutes later, sliding into the chair next to yours.

”What did you think?” he asks, and you look up from your glass to his smiling face.

”I think your skills are wasted on petty theft,” you tell him, perhaps with more chill to your voice than intended. He pays it no mind.

”You never partake in the more simple pleasures in life, just because you can?” he asks with a wink. ”I find it quite enjoyable.”

”I'm sure you do,” you reply snidely, picturing strong hands slide over the fabric of a flimsy silver dress. It makes that unpleasant something move under your skin again.

The thief falls silent at that, and the smile slips from his face as he watches you curiously. The corner of his mouth twitches.

Then his eyes land on something just over your shoulder and he frowns in confusion.

”What the fuck...” he whispers.

On reflex, you begin turning your head to see what has caught his attention, but as you do, you see the thief's hand inch slowly across the bar disk towards your glass of wine.

Before he has time to retreat, you trap his hand with your own against the flat surface of the bar. He looks surprised over having been caught, but the surprise quickly gives way for another smile.

”Only foolish thieves attempt to steal from the Devil, Hugo,” you warn him.

He stares back at you, that unreadable something on his face again, and a second later you feel his hand turn slightly in your grip to loosely wrap his fingers around your wrist.

You look down at the way he's holding onto you. When you look up again, ready to give him another warning, his face is right there, only an inch away from yours. Before you can think to react, his free hand curls around the back of your neck and he leans in, lips capturing yours and stealing a kiss. When he pulls back, he's smiling again.

”And only the greatest thief succeeds.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @pedropascalito @ohpedromypedro @knittingqueen13 @sociallyantisocialbutterfly @mourningbirds1 @alwaysbethewest @heatherbel @larakazzer @fromthedeskoftheraven @seawhisperer @mrschiltoncat @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @phoenixhalliwell @pajamasecrets @holographic-carmen @ilikechocolatemilkh @dornish-queen @thirstworldproblemss @thegreenkid @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @alliterative-albatross @beccaplaying @gracie7209 @disgruntledspacedad @boxdyeblonde @acourtofsnakes @green-socks @redriots @wantingpedropascal @astroboots @bison-writes @sarahjkl82-blog @gallowsjoker @mstgsmy @seasonschange-butpeopledont @chasingdreamer @hellovanessax @mandorush @brandyllyn @xx-small-town-witch-xx @miraclesabound @mando-amando @fictitious-little-stitious @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @oonajaeadira @tintinn16

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pedritopascall · 3 years ago

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Ren, my beloved. You have me thinking...

What would happen on one of those days where Marcus is desperate for you? Those days where you struggle to get out of the bed without his massive arms banding around your waist to drag you back on tangled sheets already messy from the hours he spent breaking you apart with his hands... his mouth... his cock. Just one of Those Days, where it's all you can do to keep your hands to yourselves. But alas... you have errands to run, thankfully (or perhaps unfortunately) together.

What would happen if you were both stuck at that car dealership? When "I can't wait to get you home... this should only take half an hour at most," has turned into you guys being forced to wait for hours with only your imagination-- with only those chestnut eyes darkened with obvious need boring into yours whenever you risk looking at him. When his tongue runs over the swell of that plump bottom lip when he traces eyes honey slow down your body, where it would be clear to anyone who saw what he was thinking of. I wonder when his breaking point would be... when one hour turns to two-- and his rasps of "honey, I need you... fuck you've no idea how hard you're making me--" becomes needier and more desperate the longer you endeavour to wait.

Because surely, it's been hours now-- you can't possibly be made wait any longer? Right? Or maybe... you'll have just the right amount of time to take care of those cravings-- maybe you'll give up altogether and run home-- or maybe you'll make him wait... wait until you've finished your business however long it takes-- and drive him feral until he gets you home finally and--- well... I think you know better than I.

My love, only you could make my time at the dealership a thot starter.

Quick Errands

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Content: SMUT (Explicit 18+ under the cut, sex in a public place, risk of getting caught, dirty talk, fingering, mirror, dom Marcus)

A/N: Can be read as part of RYLAB or standalone.

-------------

Marcus is getting impatient.

Honestly a rare occurrence for him, and he might not be losing his cool so quickly if you would stop looking at him like that.

It was supposed to have just been a couple errands. A quick supply run. And then the fucking car. He'd been putting off taking it in, annoyed that he didn't have space or the tools to just do the maintenance and any repairs himself.

The shop is busy, the time stretching on and on. Seats in the waiting room had been scarce, but he'd snagged a high bar stool along the counter for you, your long bare legs slowly swinging under your sundress as you perched, pretending to flip through a magazine.

Pretending.

Your thoughts, he knows, are running the same path as his, unless the random reading material you've grabbed really is exciting enough to give you that flush, that accelerated pattern in your breathing. Every couple minutes your eyes flick over your shoulder, your teeth catching at your bottom lip as you watch him pace. It is driving him crazy.

Any second now…

There it is. You turn to look at him again, and he crosses the room fast enough to make several people look up before they return to their own distractions.

"Honey," his voice is a low warning rasp from over your shoulder as he leans into you from behind, a strong arm caging you against the counter on either side. Anyone who is paying attention has probably picked up on the energy between you, but to any onlookers, the move while obviously affectionate still looks mostly innocent. But you...

You can feel him pressing hard and insistent through his jeans against your lower back, can hear the sweet filth he is murmuring in your ear, can smell the heat on his skin. If he spun you on this stool, spread your legs so he could occupy the space between, you would be at the perfect height to…

"How much longer?" The question escapes you as a whine.

Marcus's lips ghost along your shoulder, nudging the strap of your dress with his nose. His tongue traces your skin and you shiver.

"Marcus."

"What's the matter, honey?" His whispered tone is sweet, teasing, devastating. "Can dish it out but you can't take it? You know how hard you're making me. You know exactly what you're doing looking at me like that in this dress.”

"Like what..." You're feigning innocence, but you know he doesn't believe you. You wouldn't either.

He growls as he kisses your shoulder, and you feel the scrape of teeth. "Like you're begging me to take you. Like you're begging me to--"

"Marcus? Marcus Pike?" The mechanic's voice rings through the lobby, and Marcus straightens up. You nearly fall back, not realizing how much you had been pushing into him, but he is aware enough to steady you with the expanse of his palm on your back. He drops a light kiss on the top of your head before moving away.

When he does, you hop down from the barstool, run your hands over your dress as if you're smoothing it and not masking unsteady legs.

"Going to be another half hour." You hear the mechanic say the words, and you start walking towards the bathroom at the end of the back hallway.

When you look back over your shoulder again, Marcus's eyes are already on you, watching. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you disappear behind the bathroom door.

Marcus joins you about a minute later, locking the door with an exciting click.

"You could have waited a few more minutes," you say with a laugh as your voice turns breathy and his hungry mouth slants against yours. "Not make it so obvious."

He chuckles, too, but shakes his head. ”Can't wait any longer. Need you now."

His hands are already all over you, tugging your straps down so he can see you, running his mouth over the newly exposed skin, using his size to move you further into the room until you feel the cool porcelain sink at your back.

You have a fading mark on the swell of your breast, just barely concealed by the neckline of your dress. He takes an opportunity to renew it as your fingers fist in his hair and you whimper.

He brings his face back up to press his forehead against yours, cups each side of your face with his hands. The gesture is tender, adoring, but his eyes are dark as the storm he’s trying to contain.

"Turn around,” he says. It’s a request but you obey it like a command, your hands finding purchase on the small sink as he rucks up your dress from behind. You look wild in the mirror, the bodice of your dress pulled down, your chest heaving, skin wet and freshly bitten by his mouth. It's nothing compared to the way he looks or the way he’s looking at you.

"Fuck, you are so wet." He shoves aside your underwear and his fingers dip between your folds. You moan and his other hand quickly covers your mouth. "Shhh...someone is going to hear if you’re loud like that. You been like this all this time we’ve been waiting?"

You nod and your eyes roll back as he slips a thick finger inside of you. Marcus makes a low hum of approval. Then his hand falls from your mouth, and you can see him in the mirror making quick work of the button on his jeans, pushing them down, freeing himself so that you can see just how badly he’s been wanting you. The anticipation makes your stomach clench.

“I’ll bet you can take me just like this,” he says, leaning closer to you so that you bend against the sink, the heat of his chest contrasting the cool tile counter. His hand returns to cover your mouth, clearly not trusting you to stay silent, and he slips another finger into your heat, starts a steady rhythm that dials up your desperation to a fever pitch.

“My perfect girl,” he murmurs against your cheek, his eyes traveling up and down your reflected form. “You still ready from when I fucked you this morning? How many times did you come? Did you keep count? You ready to add one more?”

Your eyes narrow in the challenge, and you buck back into him. Hurry up.

He grins, that fucking dimple that makes you weak in the knees making an appearance. Marcus withdraws his fingers, and you ache at the empty feeling. His eyes lock with yours as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucks them clean with a soft groan. You shiver.

When he lowers them again, pressing his hand and still slick fingers against your hip, guiding you to a deeper arch of your back and into an angle that he knows will send you soaring, the thought occurs to you that only Marcus would take his time like this, even knowing that you could be interrupted at any second. His focus always remains on you.

With his hand still in place over your mouth, he thrusts into you, overwhelming what little control you had left, burying himself inside you in one smooth motion. Fuck, he’s big. And fuck he’s deep, especially like this.

On instinct, you try to shift your stance wider to accommodate, and he gently refuses with his firm hand on your hip, urging you to stay like you are. You know why. You’ll be tighter this way, you’ll feel him more intensely as he stretches and fills you again and again. You groan, wanting him so badly, and you feel rather than see him smile against you.

He doesn’t move right away, instead, he lets you adjust while he praises you. “That’s it. Fuck, you feel amazing. Good girl.” He moves his hand away so he can kiss you, and then his lips move up to press against your forehead. You whimper at the sweetness of it, the slight balm when your body feels on fire for him.

The hand that isn’t guiding your hip, the one that had been resting at the hollow of your throat after he dropped it from your mouth, moves lower, slipping under your bra to cup your breast. He captures your nipple between his fingers, rolls it until you keen, begging him to move.

“I’ve got you, honey. You tell me if it’s too much.” He locks eyes with you in the mirror, waits until he hears and sees you say, “Yes.”

He starts and sets a devastating pace as if he’s aware again of the time constraint that’s pressing against you both. You’re still gripping the sink with both hands like it’s a cliff’s edge, but you already know you’ll never be able to stop yourself from falling. He’s everything you need, and all you want is more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your shoulder, watching as your body jerks with each hard thrust. His hand moves to your other breast so he can give it the same attention he’d given the first. “You are so fucking perfect. Look at you take me.”

You do, and another moan slips past your lips. He shushes you again, his hand flying from your hip to your mouth, his rhythm never faltering.

“You have to stay quiet for me, honey. Can you do that?” You nod desperately, and he thrusts harder, testing. Your involuntary whine is muffled by his palm. “It’s okay, sweet girl. I’ll help you.” He turns your head so that he can put his mouth on yours again, swallow each sound that escapes.

Fuck, he’s everywhere. Moving inside you, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke, building a pressure that’s being stoked even higher by the way his fingers circle, caress and squeeze your breasts, the way his tongue invades and explores your mouth. You’re so close, so close and then his free hand is slipping under your dress, cupping the apex of your thighs, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit, grinding down, grinding you back against him until you shatter. Marcus groans into your mouth as you cry out into his.

He keeps going, working you through the aftershocks until you are soft and pliant beneath him. Both of his hands, one still wet with your release, find their way back to your hips as he keeps you in place.

“Fuck, honey, you get so tight when you come. I’m not going to last. Can’t wait to get you back home. Want to take my time. Want to hear you.”

He thrusts into you three more times before he hauls you back against him and spills deep inside you, filling you up more than you can possibly hold. He stays like that just a bit longer, holding you snug against him, telling you how perfect you are, how much he loves you. You return every word in hushed whispers.

The loud bang of a door opening and closing out in the lobby, jars you both back to reality…and your current situation. “Fuck,” you say, starting to giggle. Marcus grins and pulls out, grinning wider when you can’t help but whine at his absence. He gives you an affectionate kiss on your nose.

“Better get you home before I have to talk our way out of here with my badge,” he says. “Stay right there.”

He’s moving fast again now, tucking himself back into his jeans, wetting paper towels to delicately clean you up, adjusting your dress back into place.

“Okay, honey, I’m going to go out first,” he says conspiratorially as his hands cup your face. “Check on the car. You can—”

“I’m going to slip out the front, and go to the shops next door,” you finish for him.

“Don’t want to face your audience?” He teases.

“No one heard—”

“I don’t know. You were pretty loud.”

“Marcus Alexander— ”

“Fine, fine. You go out the front. I’ll get the car. I’ll swing around and pick you up, then we’re going home. No more errands.” He kisses you again, deep and claiming. "You'll be lucky if I even let you out of bed."

You smile at him sweetly, compiling a whole new type of list in your mind. “Likewise.”

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