#demon!steve

[bucksangel]

i swear to god this fic has me not acting right this is so fucking good😭😭

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

[sp0o0kylights]

I dont want to see Robin as Steve and Eddie's emergency contact, I want to see Eddie as Steve and Robin's emergency contact.

He gets called when they got drunk and locked themselves in the bathroom, when theyre being too catty to the older Hellfire members, when they've managed to fan the fires of the parties many relationship problems and its not even noon yet.

Disaster Duo Stobin just crashing around in life being utter bitches and its Eddie whose striding through the doors of Home Depot apologizing to the traumatized employee who dared to try and mix them paint.

DMing for a new group of friends and middle of his first session, his phone starts ringing off the hook.

It's Max.

Ominously, she says; "They're at the animal shelter."

Eddie abandons the game.

Like give me a man who everyone thinks is so dangerous and deadly until they realize Stobin is walking him like a dog.

[cheer-nympho]

Demon Eddie this, Demon Eddie that…take a minute to picture Demon STEVE

Theres so much fun to be had with that. Maybe that’s how he got to the top, favours and exchanges

People come to him with requests and they don’t know how, but he always gets it done.

And then they owe him.

It becomes a thing for him to jokingly go “you owe me!” With a big smile, but they literally do. And he always cashes in, but usually just for small things he wants in the moment. Like a spare cigarette or a drink at a party.

And hey! Maybe Eddie DOES try to summon demons…

And one night, after he’s playing dress up as a satanist, he finally manages to summon one successfully.

Not that he knows that, all he knows is that Steve Harrington is knocking on his door all of a sudden.

Stupid puffy hair and goofy grin staring at him while he leans in.

“You called?”

And Eddie looks towards the phone slowly and back to Steve. Because no, no he didn’t.

He’s too tired and high to even pretend to be polite, just shutting the door in his face before leaning against it with a deep sigh.

But when he opens his eyes, Steve is stood there. In his trailer. As if Eddie didn’t just block his only way in and- okay, yeah. His eyes are fucking red.

He probably shouldn’t have used that book.

[ms-spkhd]

Part one

Admittedly, Eddie feels really fucking stupid about it in retrospect. Jeff tells him, in that soft and placating way he tells him anything, that he should stop worrying about his hindsight bias. Yeah, right. Hindsight bias doesn't apply for Steve Harrington dangling himself in front of Eddie's face like the metaphorical carrot on a stick.

It feels like a kick in the head, if anything. One that rattles his brain against his skull like the ricochet of a bullet. Or a maraca with a single, tiny bead in it, if he wants to be more technical about it.

But that's beside the point. What's important is that Steve Harrington is, like, into Eddie--which definitely throws all of his preconceived notions about boy wonder with serial monogamy problems of the heterosexual variety out of the fucking window and past the goalpost--and Eddie's been farting around for the past few months twiddling his fucking thumbs about it.

Well, it's not definitive.

The more that Eddie ruminates on it--and he spends several nights ruminating on it--Jeff's theory that Steve might be tipping the Kinsey scale sounds like...well. A theory.

It's the doubt that comes rearing its head that stops Eddie in his tracks from actually doing anything.

("Wow," Jeff grumbles as they hotbox in the back of Jeff's hand-me-down olive green Pinto a week after their stunning revelation, "trust Virgin Supreme to self-sabotage when someone is begging for you to climb on his lap and--"

"I told you that in confidence," Eddie spits as he digs through the glove compartment for a cassette to replace the oft-abused Kill 'Em All tape that's been blaring on repeat for the past two hours. "You're really mean when you're high, you know that, right?"

Jeff shrugs and takes a hit of the blunt they've been sharing. "I'm releasing my inhibitions. You can't silence me.")

Eddie trusts Steve. Of course he'd lay down his life for the man that dragged him out of hell without a single look behind like a preppy fucking Orpheus. But there's always the lingering thought that, despite everything they've gone through together, Eddie loving Steve would be the tipping point that ruins everything.

He finds himself balancing the line of keeping it in, too scared of the risk his heart will pose on their friendship, and fully committing to the pipe dream of Steve Harrington possibly wanting him back.

And, in Jeff's wise words, Biblically.

"Hey, Bird," Eddie asks Robin one night at the drive-in theater when Steve's out buying their snacks--medium popcorn loaded with cheddar powder and butter for Eddie, since he just popped a Lactaid ten minutes beforehand, and Milk Duds for Robin--"What would you do, hypothetically, if you think someone is really into you--"

"Here we go," Robin sighs, leaning back in the passenger seat. Eddie can't help but feel miffed at her dismissive attitude, but he knows for a fact that she's all ears.

"--And you, hypothetically, really like them back, but you don't know for sure if they actually, hypothetically, want you, or if it's just wishful thinking on your part?"

"Any you mean this totally hypothetically?" Robin says as she turns to face the rear seats where he's sitting and chewing at his cuticles.

"Yeah. This is a theoretical situation that I want your input in. Think of it like a...thought experiment."

Robin nods with narrowed eyes, like she sees through the bullshit with an all-seeing eye. "Right. Thought experiment. Is this hypothetical person a queer or not?"

"It never crossed your mind," Eddie confirms. "She looks like the posterchild of suburban heterosexuality, but she's gotten very invested in your very gay sex life out of the blue recently."

"So which one of you is the man invested or tell me about what eating out is like invested?"

"Tell me what eating out is like invested."

Robin hums in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin like the situation is really vexing her. "That sounds pretty gay, Eddie."

She is right, that does sound pretty gay. But it doesn't help him in his predicament at all, since Steve seemed to back off about the 'so do you play rock paper scissors to find out who gets it?' questions after Eddie frustratedly admitted that 'DnD club president and metalhead virgin at almost twenty' wasn't exactly a hot item in Indianapolis, much less Hawkins.

"Okay, new layer," Eddie says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What if, say, instead of asking you out--which you think is her next move--she starts trying to set you up with a bunch of girls you don't know."

There's muffled chatter from outside the Beemer's windows. Cars rev in the distance as they pull into the lot. Eddie watches Robin in contemplative silence as she thinks through her answer.

"That is difficult," she concedes, and Eddie is feeling more desperate than ever. "Can't imagine that ever happening to me."

Eddie mumbles, "Thank God it's a hypothetical."

"But if you think about it, it's either some misguided attempt to put me out there, or it's a Hail Mary to get me to realize I like her."

"Okay, well. Both options seem pretty hard to differentiate when you don't know what the fucking context behind the action is."

"For what it's worth," Robin says, her expression softening ever-so-slightly, "I think it's the Hail Mary. It's not my place to tell, but you should really give up the idea that it's wishful thinking and give it a shot."

Eddie's a millisecond away from asking, is it that obvious? before there's a sharp knock against his window. He yelps, head whipping around to find Steve with that sly grin slapped on his stupid, handsome face.

Eddie rolls down the window and tries to school his expression. He doesn't need to, really, because Steve shoves the popcorn into his hands and declares, "A medium sized popcorn with cheddar powder and lots of fucking butter for you, my friend. Bone of a teeth."

"Just fucking say it regularly," Robin groans as he yanks open the drivers seat door and tosses her a box of Milk Duds. "I know you can, you jackass!"

Steve laughs, full and hearty, as he turns to look at Eddie in the rear seats. He's like bottled-up sunshine contained into the shape of an American heartthrob. He's like Venus as a boy.

Eddie feels like he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

Another week of ruminating goes by, this time with Robin's words echoing in his head like a reverb pedal, and Eddie keeps that yellow pick near his heart the entire time. It's a real push and pull type situation, he realizes. His heart goes one way, his brain goes the other, which is fucking typical.

He doesn't talk to Jeff about it, because he knows he'll get the same answer, and he doesn't dare talk to Robin about it again. He feels she knows too much, and he has know idea how much she's accidentally telepathically transferred to Steve.

Eddie is about halfway through debating shaving his hair off as a way of regaining control when he finds Steve standing on his doorstep like a fucking Mormon.

"Eddie, man," Steve says with zero preamble, "my cousin's boyfriend has a roommate that I think you'd like."

"Nice weather we're having," Eddie responds blankly. Frankly, with the way things are going, he's getting sick of it.

But he can't help the way that Steve still looks beautiful as his eyebrows bunch together and pretty pink lips pinch into a thin line.

"Come on, man. I think this'll be a good start for you. I think he's into the same bands as you. I think Kathy said he was a Skid Row roadie, or something like that."

"I'm not that big of a Hair Metal guy," Eddie admits, and Steve deflates a bit.

"Well, if it helps, he kind of looks like me.' Jesus Christ. "Devastatingly handsome and all."

Eddie's damn near about to snap like a worn-out Stretch Armstrong being mauled by two pitbulls. He feels like he's about to blow a fucking gasket in front of the guy he's been holding very ill-advised affection towards since his sophomore year of high school. The very same guy who's been trying to set Eddie up with literally everyone with a functioning penis with exception of himself, the only guy Eddie has wanted. Ever.

There's no way Steve is that dense, right?

Eddie knows that the guy's smart, despite everyone telling him otherwise. Steve can definitely do mental math better than Eddie can dream of doing--since Frankie Gershwin passed down the sacred Hellfire DM calculator once Eddie took over Hellfire after he graduated--and he actually graduated on time, unlike yours truly.

But Eddie doesn't fucking get it.

"Steve," Eddie blurts, rather unceremoniously, "what are you doing?"

Steve blinks. His smile wanes dangerously low. "...I'm setting you up with a handsome dude."

"I don't understand why you're doing this though. Are you fucking with me, or something?"

"No, dude, I just..." Steve's expression shifts. His shoulders sag and he rakes a hand through his hair. He looks devastatingly earnest. "I just want to see you happy."

"If you want me to be happy," Eddie snaps, "then just ask me out yourself, since I've fucking been in love with you since April."

Steve freezes, hazelnut eyes like full moons on dinnerplates.

Eddie's hand flexes on the doorknob as he resists the white-hot urge to slam the door shut on Steve's shocked face. Maybe he should take a vacation down south to Mexico. Perhaps change his name and never come back. Hopefully there'll be sweet and earnest boys with olive skin and luscious hair waiting for him on the beaches of Cancun. Holy shit this is a fucking disaster.

"Oh," Steve says.

"Yeah, oh."

"You love me?" Steve asks, eyes sparkling like the rural sky. He draws closer to Eddie, raising a hand that begs to touch him.

"When have I not?" Eddie admits as leans into Steve's touch against his shoulder and laces their fingers together.

I guess I was, uh. I wasn't expecting it." Steve smiles softly and gazes at their intertwined hands.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love me too?"

"Oh God." It's like Eddie's staring straight into the sun, with the ways Steve's smile grows more intense with each second. He wants to have it burned into his retinas. "Of course I do. It feels so stupid how much I'm obsessed with you."

"You know, you have a weird way of putting it, what with all the setting me up with guys I don't know," Eddie chirps. Steve chuffs and shakes his head like a guilty dog.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to want me back. I wasn't sure you'd go for guys like me."

For jocks hangs heavy and silent in the air between them, as if Steve hasn't quite jumped over that hurtle of guilt over the person he was in high school. Sure, he was king of the letter crowd, but he's nothing like the douchebag from '83. Steve would never shove him into a locker or be a general chest-beating moron around Eddie, because he's not a moron. He's sweet and dorky and a little misguided, sometimes, but he has the heart of the size of a mack truck and a kindness to show it.

The thought of Steve talking Eddie's ear off about Sportsketball and the works sends an excited little shiver down his spine.

"I would," Eddie says, completely and utterly honestly. "God, I would for you."

He brings Steve's hand to his lips and smacks a wet kiss over the soft skin. "And the necklace..."

"That was my Hail Mary," Steve admits with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

"I haven't taken it off since you've given it to me."

Steve releases his grip from Eddie's spindly hand and brushes his fingertips against Eddie's collarbone, tugging at the chain of the necklace until it untucks itself from underneath Eddie's shirt. Eddie watches the way that Steve lights up like a fucking electrical surge at the hint of sunshine yellow against his pale skin. It makes Eddie flush a bright red.

And when Steve's palm flattens against Eddie's chest and pushes him inside Eddie's new government loaned trailer, he lets himself be pushed against the wall and kissed.

And kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Sufficed to say, when Eddie wakes up the next morning with Steve drooling against the back of his neck and his warm hand splayed against the skin of his naked chest, Eddie vows to always take Jeff's word for it.

____________

holy shit i was not expecting for part one to get that much fanfare. to be honest, i was totally intending for it to be a one and done to explore eddie and jeff's friendship, and believe me, my heart is so warmed by the reception it got. i recently have gotten myself out of a months long slump and have been swamped with college work, so i apologize for my writing being so few and far between. thank you all and i hope this is the resolution you were waiting so patiently for! :)

@grtwdsmwhr @eyehartart @bananahoneycomb @notasmoothman @colidamae

[hawkinsbnbg]

Eddie always thought that he was the biggest freak in Hawkins. But once he finally lucked out and managed to bag the golden boy Steve Harrington, he realized how wrong he'd been. Because everything that left Steve's mouth always appalled him.

Often, they could be doing mundane things together and Steve would casually bring up all kind of kinky stuff he wanted to try out with Eddie. And though Eddie didn't know what the hell was CBT, he still jotted it down for research later. At least, Steve didn't notice the crack in his voice when he agreed to spank him for fun.

[chromakr]

Mean!Cowboy who you happen to meet one day at a bar with your friends.

Mean!Cowboy who buys you a drink while your already tipping out of your seat

Mean!Cowboy who looks at you crazy when you take his hat off his head and sit it on yours

Mean!Cowboy that you tell your friends whose taking you home for the night

Mean!Cowboy who smiles as he closes the door behind the two of you ready to give you the best ride of your life

[nobody-knows-im-here]

Is it demons or ptsd??? 🤷‍♂️

[intistone]

the horrors

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[shushmal]

The latest Family Video customer is barely through the door before Eddie explodes, "Ugh, Tyler."

Beside him, Steve scoffs in agreement, nose wrinkled with distaste. He's so hot. "Yeah, exactly, uugh."

"That should be his middle name. Ugh," Robin chimes in. Eddie's so glad they're in agreement about the bleach-spiked punk guy that graduated three years ago but is still bumming around Hawkins. "Steve, I can't believe you dated that guy."

Seriously, Tyler is the worst— Wait, what—?

"Wait," Eddie says, gaping at Robin. "What?"

"You could barely call it dating," Steve huffs.

"You were together for a month and a half," Robin says. She's got this evil grin on her face and is pointedly not looking at Eddie who is very desperate for Robin to look at him right now, please. "You drove that bum to Indy every weekend. He broke up with you on Valentine's day."

Eddie's weak "Tyler? Tyler Teaks?" gets completely ignored.

"I—" Steve says with haughty emphasis. "—broke up with him on Valentine's day. Don't get it twisted, Buckley."

Robin snorts and finally glances at Eddie. "Steve only broke up with him because the guy blew him off. On Valentine's Day. Which is basically getting broken up with," she tells him, and ignores it when Eddie whimpers at her.

"Yeah, but I'm the one to ended it!" Steve insits.

Eddie, finally, finds his voice, and says, "Tyler Teaks?! Harrington!"

"Ugh," Steve says, slumping against the counter. "I know." He cuts a glare over at Eddie after a moment. "I blame you for this."

"Me?!" Eddie shrieks, incredulous. He's pretty sure he's stepped into another parallel world. Perpendicular world? A world where Steve apparently dates guys—and guys like Tyler Teaks, no less. Eddie's sure he's gone completely batshit insane. "What the hell did I do?!"

Steve stands, cocking his hip the side, and looks down his handsome nose at Eddie. "You wouldn't be my New Year's kiss at Tina's party," he says. "So I had to settle for Tyler Teaks instead."

"What the fuck?" Eddie says, completely lost. "What—? You—? Tina—? KISS—?!"

Beside them, Robin is grinning, laughing, eyes going back and forth between them, munching on a stolen back of skittles—her own personal dramedy on stage before her.

"Yep," Steve says, popping the P. He looks distinctly bitter. "Pulled my best moves on you, and you turned me down."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. He reaches out, places both hands on Steve's shoulders, intent. The eye contact he forces Steve into is desperate. "I don't even remember getting to Tina's New Year's Party." He takes a deep breath. "I woke up in her mom's pantry the next morning with no shoes and no memory of how I got there."

Finally, Steve cracks, a big smile stretching his face. Robin cackles. "Yeah, I kind of figured as much," Steve sighs, wistful now. "You told me, and I quote, 'Steve Harrington, you are very beautiful and I want to have a summer wedding because you'd look beautiful-er with sunflowers'—"

"Don't forget the 'you look so hot in that sweater' part."

"—'But actually, I am a very straight man. So very super straight.' And then you crouched down on the floor and crawled away." Steve is biting his lip now to keep from laughing. Robin is not so nice. "Like I couldn't see you, and the handkerchief flagging in your pocket."

"Oh my god."

"Don't worry, it was really cute," Steve says, grinning. "But, I still needed a New Year's kiss, and unfortunately for everyone involved, Tyler was my only willing choice."

"Oh my god."

"Totally duped me though, he was super sweet the entire night," Steve sighs. His mouth is twisted into genuine regret now. "Plus, the next week, you acted like you'd never spoken to me before, so—"

"OH MY GOD."

Steve and Robin give him twin grimaces. Robin's is a lot more sympathetic. Steve's is confused. "Listen, man," Steve tries to soothe. "I'm sure that's pretty embarrassing, but it was a cute story! No hard feelings, I promise."

Robin's sympathetic grimace deepens.

"No," Eddie says, standing up straight. "I refuse. There is no way I turned down Steve Harrington for a New Year's kiss. There is no way."

"Wait—"

"Eddie, where—"

Eddie marches for the door, digging his keys out of his pockets. "Good-bye friends, I must go see a supergirl about time travel."

[equalopportunitysmut]

Me preparing my own circle for my Halloween demon.

a deal with the devil comes with wicked strings

pairing: demon!steve rogers x female reader

summary: when you're offered up as a sacrifice to the demon steven grant rogers, things don't go exactly as your kidnapper planned—but the demon still takes you for himself and finds you to be a willing sacrifice.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), reader is drugged and kidnapped to be a sacrifice before the story starts, violence against other characters, some body horror, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, monsterfucking, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, kinda cuckolding, oral sex (m receiving), BDSM, spitting, breath play, bondage, consensual kink & safe words, pain play, dirty talk, dacryphilia, pet names, soul bond, aftercare—there's a lot in this fic, so please let me know if i missed something!!!

word count: 11.5k

a/n: here's another of the halloween fics i wrote and published on my ao3 last year! i think this was the first (or at least one of the first) monsterfucking fics i wrote, and uhhh it might also be one of the filthiest fics i've ever written 😳 so y'know please enjoy some demon!steve!! and don't worry, i've got more monsterfucking fics to come this year 😈

-

The first thing your hazy mind perceived was a droning intonation that wormed into your ears and sparked fear deep in your soul. That sudden burst of adrenaline quickly cleared the worst of the fog in your head, and your senses came to you in sharp relief.

Your shoulders and wrists ached, and when you struggled, you realized you were laying on a cold stone floor, your hands bound together in front of you. The room smelled of old decay so thickly it coated your tongue, making you want to retch. A violent shiver overtook your body as you realized how cold you were, the sensation sinking deep into your bones. Finally, you pried your eyes open, almost too afraid to face what you’d already surmised was a hellish situation.

A quick glance around the room was all you needed to confirm it was just as bad as you thought. You lay on your side just inside a large circle painted on the roughhewn stone floor of a windowless basement room in what looked like red paint—though you suspected it was something worse. There were symbols and candles decorating the outside of the circle and beyond them stood five figures, their faces shrouded by the hooded cloaks they wore. Together, they chanted in a language you’d never heard before, but the sound of it leaving their tongues inspired a primal kind of fear that made you want to run.

As the chanting grew louder and faster, you realized the group was getting to the end of whatever ritual they were performing. Not wanting to stick around to see what that meant, you scrambled up onto your knees and tried to shuffle backwards—you figured if you at least got outside the circle, you might be safe.

Cold hands gripped your bare shoulders, making you suddenly aware that you were clad in nothing more than a sheer white dress that clung indecently to all of your curves. You’d never seen it before, it wasn’t yours. Before you were able to fully process the extra horror that added to your situation, the hands pushed you forward, sending you sprawling back into the circle of bloody symbols.

Crying out, you caught yourself with your bound hands, the rough stone scraping your skin and making you hiss in pain. Around you, the chanting figures worked themselves up into a frenzy. If you concentrated, you could pick out the voice of the person that had pushed you forward, recognizing him as the man—James something—you’d gone on a date with. The last thing you could remember was dodging his attempt to kiss you, giving him your cheek and awkwardly saying goodnight as you turned to unlock your door. A sweet-smelling cloth had covered your face and everything had gone black.

After you quickly pieced together what must’ve happened, you turned sharply, giving the figure the most brutal glare in your arsenal. You were rewarded when he faltered slightly in his chanting, but it only lasted a moment before he rejoined the group. The voices speaking the demonic language rose in volume and vehemence, reaching a crescendo.

A rumbling began beneath the floor, reverberating through your body, making your bones rattle. You looked around, panic sending sharp spikes of adrenaline through your blood, as the candles began to flicker with the force of an unnatural wind. All of a sudden, the voices cut off, their chanting ended. With a sharp gust of wind, every candle in the basement room guttered out. A scream lodged itself in your throat as the room was plunged into darkness.

The longest moment of your life passed as you waited for your death in the pitch black. Then the candles flickered back to life, flames popping up one by one around the room until it was lit again with their orange glow. When the fear finally cleared enough for you to take stock of your surroundings again, you realized another had joined you in the circle.

From your position on the floor, you had to crane your neck to look up at the new figure. He stood facing you, his body relaxed and stance casual, hands buried in the pockets of black slacks that hugged his long legs and strong thighs. He wore a black sweater that fit snugly over his broad shoulders and chest, the fabric straining just a little on his bulging biceps. From the tips of his expensive-looking black shoes to his sharp outfit, you were surprised to find he wasn’t anything like the monster you expected.

Your shock only grew when your gaze finally made it to his face—and found him staring at you. The man was handsome in a way that could be described as angelic. He was blond and blue-eyed, looking for all the world like the sweet and charming boy-next-door type, but that impression changed the longer you looked at him. His full lips were curved slightly in an amused smirk, and as he looked at you from under thick eyelashes, you glimpsed something dark glittering dangerously in the depths of his ocean eyes. His penetrating stare made you shiver, which had his mouth curving just a tiny bit more, so little you barely noticed the change.

The man looked away, freeing you from the power of his eyes, his expression morphing into a scowl as he looked around the room. When no one spoke, he let out an annoyed sigh, pulling one hand from his pocket and running long fingers through his blond hair, pushing it back from his face. “Get on with it, mortals,” he bit out, clenching his jaw against the anger simmering in his tone. “I can’t do this all day.”

“We beseech you, Steven Grant Rogers, all-powerful demon of the realm below,” the figure to your left intoned in a deep voice you didn’t recognize. The man’s head was bent low, his hands held up in supplication.

A shiver of fear raced down your spine at the name, something about it feeling wrong in your ears. The minute shake of your shoulders caught the attention of the man—the demon—in the circle with you. He tilted his head to the side as his fiery blue eyes raked over your body with such interest, you could’ve sworn you felt it like a physical thing. His gaze trailed down to your pebbled nipples, pronounced through the flimsy dress, and over your hips to your legs. Your skin heated under his scrutiny, a warm ache settling between your thighs and making you squirm slightly in your kneeling position on the floor. In that moment, you didn’t know what you wanted more—him to look away or for him to devour you whole.

Before you could decide, the demon’s attention was diverted by the speaking figure. “We’ve provided you a sacrifice—an innocent—in exchange for our requests,” the man concluded, sweeping his hand in your general direction in a way that was so dismissive you knew you were nothing more than a means to an end for these men.

Your spine stiffened as you bristled at the indignity of your situation and you shot another glare over your shoulder at the man who’d taken you on a date and kidnapped you. “I didn’t kiss you so you make me a sacrifice to a demon!?” you hissed, practically spitting with anger. Rage swirled in your chest and vibrated through your limbs until you were shaking with it.

“Shut the fuck up, whore,” James seethed, his hood falling back enough for you to see his face and confirm it was him. But then he was raising his boot and before you could shield yourself, he kicked you in the back, right between your shoulder blades, sending you sprawling at the demon’s feet.

A cry fell from your lips as your hands and cheek scraped across the roughhewn floor, tearing your skin, stinging pain shooting to your brain. You lay there for a moment, thoughts consumed with what you wished you could do to James—starting with cutting his balls off with a butter knife. You were startled from your violent thoughts by a gentle, but firm touch.

“Let’s get a better look at this pretty little innocent,” the demon said in a deep voice that resonated through your body and shot straight to your core. The way he said the last word, a little bit mocking, made you think he somehow knew everything there was to know about you—he knew about your violent thoughts and your deviant desires. The thought of being known down to your soul was too appealing to resist and you softened in his touch.

The demon—Steve—helped you sit up and guided you back up onto your knees. He manhandled your body into position at his feet, with your knees spread wide as you sat back on your heels, your dress falling between your thighs to hide your most intimate place from the men around the room. Steve pushed your shoulders back so you sat up straight and finally, with an almost tender grip on your chin, tilted your face up to look at him.

You were struck again by his handsomeness, your lips falling open with a little gasp. There was something different about him that you noticed up close. He looked so human it would be easy to mistake him for any other man, but he radiated an otherworldly power that was more obvious the harder you looked. When you paid close attention, you saw the unnatural black edges of Steve’s blue eyes, and the inhuman sharpness of his canine teeth when he smiled. They were so at odds with his almost angelic features, it was like Steve’s handsome face was a mask he wore over the feral demon hiding beneath.

But no matter how long you looked up at the blue-eyed, angelic-looking demon, the fear you knew you should’ve felt failed to materialize. Instead, you wanted to press closer to him, you wanted to succumb to the dominance and power he radiated. Besides, he’d already been much kinder to you than James or any of the other men in the room sacrificing you to a demon for their own gain. As you melted further into Steve’s touch, going pliant in his strong fingers, you couldn’t find it in your heart or mind to fault yourself. You were normally a strong and independent woman, but what a willing sacrifice you were turning out to be.

All the while, Steve tilted your head one way, then the other, inspecting your face and body with blue eyes alight with interest. You weren’t sure what he saw in you, but he grinned. The expression spread across his face slowly, making him drop just a little bit of the calm mask and leaving more of the demon behind. Your core throbbed at the depraved grin on his face, making your eyes widen in surprise at your reaction. Steve’s gaze dropped and that was when you noticed the way your hips were wriggling, seeking something you instinctually knew only he could provide.

“Soon, sweetheart,” Steve promised in a low voice meant just for you, desire flaming hot in his blue eyes as he trailed his thumb over your lower lip. You shivered in his hold as the slit between your legs began to dampen with your own arousal. “Soon.”

With that last word, a murmured promise, Steve straightened and stepped closer to you. His foot edged between your spread knees, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body through the flimsy dress you wore and your body swayed into him, leaning into his heat. Steve’s hand slid to the back of your head and he drew you closer until your unblemished cheek was pressed to his muscled thigh. His smell invaded your nose, his scent earthy and intoxicatingly smoky. If not for your bound hands, your arms would’ve circled his leg so you could cling to him. Instead, you pressed your bound hands to his lower thigh while you let yourself sink into the comfort of his dominance as he addressed the room.

“I accept your offering,” Steve said in a louder voice infused with authority as he stared down each of the hooded men in turn. A ripple of excitement went around the room, the greed of those gathered outside the circle a nearly palpable thing. Steve smiled at their reaction, but there was a glint in his eye that no one seemed to notice, like he was savoring their excitement. Beneath your cheek and hands, Steve’s thigh tensed—it was more warning than any of the men got. “But you were sloppy with your summoning circle, so…” Steve trailed off, his voice going from authoritative to casual drawl as he shrugged. The room was deadly quiet as the men processed his words, alarm rising as the hooded men looked around at the circle for their mistake. “Better luck next time.”

With a snap of his fingers, each of the five men surrounding the circle were thrown back by some unnatural force, their bodies hitting the rough stone walls with a sickening cacophony of breaking bones and rending skin. There was silence for a stunned moment before pained groans rose from some of the bodies. You didn’t want to think about what it meant that some of the figures no longer moved.

Looking up at Steve, you caught his satisfied smile before he dropped his gaze to your face. He caressed your injured cheek with the same hand with which he’d snapped his fingers and though you flinched at the slight sting of his calloused fingers on your torn skin, you leaned into the warmth of his touch. Your skin prickled beneath his contact and it took you a moment to realize it wasn’t a natural response to the demon touching you. As he trailed his fingers over your scraped face and hands, you felt your skin knit back together and heal, the pain dissolving along with the tingling feeling. Your mouth fell open as you gazed up at Steve in awe. He smirked at your reaction.

“Would you like to take your revenge, sweetheart?” Steve asked. It took him flicking his gaze behind you, to where you presumed James lay, to understand his question. He may not have read your thoughts of violent revenge, but he’d heard the rage in your voice when you confronted your date with his crime.

Glancing over your shoulder, your gaze immediately found James, laying broken on the ground behind you. His right leg and arm were bent at abnormal angles and his head was bleeding, dripping down the side of his face. Despite James’ injuries, his eyes were bright with anger as he glared daggers at you and the demon.

You wanted to punch your ex-date’s stupid face in, but irrational fear surged inside you when you remembered what had happened the last time you’d gotten close to him. So you fixed your face into a glare of your own, even as you let yourself press closer to Steve, not wanting to leave the protection of his presence. When your fingers dug into Steve’s muscled thigh, clinging to him, the demon chuckled above you. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I can take your revenge for you,” Steve assured you, his voice a mixture of cheer and menace. With another snap of his fingers and a gut-wrenching cracking sound, something happened to James. The man grabbed for his crotch, a high-pitched scream leaving his lips. Steve bent slightly so you could hear him over James’ screams of pain. “He’s never pleased a woman in his life and now he’ll never be able to take pleasure from a woman ever again.”

You let out a sharp intake of breath, staring as your date-turned-kidnapper writhed in pain on the floor of the dingy basement where he’d offered you up as a sacrifice to a demon. Your heart held no sympathy for the man. Instead, brutal glee took flight in your chest, your heart rate kicking up in excitement as you grinned wickedly, relishing the pain James seemed to be suffering.

A chuckle sounded from above you and Steve’s warm palm sliding against your cheek had you wrenching your gaze away from James and turning to look up at the demon. “I like you,” he murmured, almost as if to himself, his blue eyes watching as his thumb traced the curve of your smile. Then his eyes snapped to yours, an unnatural ring of black darkening the edges and making his gaze more intense. “Whaddya say, sweetheart, you wanna be a good girl for daddy?”

In your heart, you knew the question wasn’t as simple as Steve made it seem. A deal with the devil comes with wicked strings, right? You’d be naive to think agreeing wouldn’t lead you down a road straight to hell, but the words ‘good girl’ from the lips of the angelic-looking demon inspired a primal kind of need in your soul—one you didn’t fully understand. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than everything he offered and to give him everything he asked of you. Without bothering to think it through, relying on whatever instincts were driving you, you nodded. “Yes, daddy,” you answered in your sweetest voice, eyes fixed on Steve’s.

In response to your assent, Steve’s eyes darkened, blackness creeping in from the edges, as a devilish grin spread slowly across his face. With his hand not cupping your cheek, Steve snapped his fingers and fixed a glare behind you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw a cloth gag had appeared in James’ mouth as tears streamed down the man’s face. His arms were newly bound together with shackles affixed to the stone wall above his head. “Can’t have you passing out on me, Jamie,” Steve mocked, snapping his fingers again.

James’ body went rigid, the tears drying from his eyes and going unnaturally still as he was forced by some supernatural power to keep his stare focused on you and the demon. You didn’t mean to, but you met James’ gaze and when you saw the way fury raged with something like jealousy in his eyes, you pressed closer to Steve. Your cheek rested against his thigh, letting the warmth of him through his soft slacks comfort you.

Steve grinned in sadistic satisfaction, his tone conversational when he spoke. “You offered me an innocent as a sacrifice, Jamie,” Steve said, stroking his hand over your head, smoothing his fingers down your face in a possessive gesture. “Let’s see how filthy this pretty little innocent truly is, huh?”

At that, James tried to struggle, muffled curses silenced by the gag as his throat worked to protest whatever Steve had in mind for you. But the demon paid him no mind, instead using his grip on your head to shift you on your knees, turning your body and his so James had a better view of what was about to happen. Anticipation curled through you, making your thighs and core clench with excitement.

Cupping your face in his hands, Steve guided you to look at him. His gaze was even darker as he stared down at you, the blackness eclipsing the whites of his eyes, leaving a ring of blue shining through. Even with his unnatural eyes, the beauty of Steve’s face was a sight to behold, making you draw in a sharp breath as wetness gathered on your lower lips.

“Take my cock out, sweetheart,” Steve ordered. The thread of steely command in his voice spurred something in your core that had you squirming a little on your knees as you eagerly did as he said.

With your hands still bound in front of you by rough rope, you reached for the front of Steve’s slacks, fingers fumbling in your impatience. Finally, you managed to get them open and pulled down the zipper, finding him bare beneath. You reached into his pants and pulled out Steve’s cock reverently. A small gasp fell from your lips at the sheer size of him.

Despite James claiming you to be an innocent, you’d been with men before—but Steve was the biggest by far. His cock was longer and thicker than any you’d seen in person, a wide shaft lined with thick veins led up to a broad mushroom tip, precum already leaking from the slit on top. For the first time, a trickle of fear wormed its way into your stomach at the idea of taking him in any of your holes, but you pushed it aside, remembering your promise to be Steve’s good girl. At the very least, you’d try your best.

Your hands circled around Steve’s girth, taking his hard cock in your soft palms and stroking him. His dick twitched and throbbed under your touch, the length so close to your face you could smell him—like smoke and musk. Without you noticing, your lips fell open, saliva pooling in your mouth as you were struck by the thought of how good it’d feel to wrap your lips around him and how good he’d taste on your tongue.

“Looks like you found me a hungry little cockslut, Jamie,” Steve said, a dark kind of approval in his voice as his eyes stayed fixed on your face, watching every needy expression flicker across your features. “Did you know she was so hungry for cock she’d start drooling?” he asked in an almost conversational tone, though there was an edge of need in it. Without waiting for an answer, Steve went on, answering for the man. “No, of course you didn’t.”

The way Steve spoke about you had wetness soaking your slit, making you suddenly aware of the fact that James and his fellow demon-worshipping zelots hadn’t thought to include—or had purposefully omitted—panties in your sacrificial outfit. Ignoring the horror of what that meant, you focused on discreetly trying to bring your knees together so you could press your thighs closed against the ache in your core. But Steve’s foot stopped you, the toe of his shoe tapping against your knees to keep them spread. A whine tumbled out of you before you could stop it.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Steve said in a sweetly mocking tone, thumb caressing your cheek as he looked at you with fake pity on his face. “Need daddy’s cock?”

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but it was what you needed, so you nodded eagerly. You tried to dip your head forward to lick the head of his dick, but Steve grabbed the back of your neck and yanked you back none-too-gently. His roughness shot straight to your clit, making your pussy throb.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted reproachfully, tilting your head all the way back so you had to look up at him. “You can do better than that—beg daddy like a good little cockslut—loud enough for Jamie to hear.”

Running your tongue over your lips to wet them, you tried to gather your thoughts enough to speak. When Steve gave your neck a sharp squeeze, the spark of pain going directly to your pussy and making you spasm in need, it was enough to loosen your tongue. “Please, daddy,” you gasped out, voice ragged with need. “Please let me suck your cock—please, please, please fuck my face until I’m gagging on your dick, use my mouth as your own personal fuckhole,” you begged shamelessly, words dirtier than you’d ever spoken in your life tumbling past your eager lips. Your eyes were wide and pleading as you stared up into the demon’s angelic face.

Steve let out a harsh exhale and cursed under his breath, “Fuck.” His other hand joined the first on the back of your head and he used his grip to guide your lips to his cock. “That’s my good fucking girl,” he praised, the words inspiring pride to bloom in your chest. “Open wide,” he ordered and when you did, he pushed the tip of his cock into your mouth.

You swirled your tongue around the head of his dick, licking his precum from the tip and moaning at the taste of him—exactly as smoky and musky as he’d smelled. The vibrations from your mouth and the way your tongue worked against the slit in his cockhead dragged a tortured groan from the demon.

“Her mouth feels so fucking good, Jamie,” Steve rasped from above you. “So warm and wet for me—it’s almost a shame you’ll never feel anything this good,” he said cruelly. When you glanced up from under your lashes, you caught the vicious grin Steve shot toward the shackled man.

The way Steve taunted James while the demon’s cock rested heavy and hot on your tongue made you squirm, the dampness at the juncture of your thighs growing. Between Steve’s cock, the degrading things he said about you in a sweet tone, and his determination to torture James, you were in danger of dripping onto the cold stone floor. Your inner walls clenched at the filthy thought but Steve distracted you.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Steve asked in a gentler tone than the one he used to speak to James. Your gaze flicked back up to his and you nodded as well as you could. He smiled affectionately down at you. In a lower voice, meant for only you to hear, he instructed, “If you need me to stop, just pinch my thigh, understand?”

You nodded again, squeezing his thigh in your hands to show you understood, then licking his cockhead for good measure as you smiled up at the demon around his dick. All you felt was eagerness to take more of him, to feel Steve use your mouth for his pleasure.

The demon groaned, low and loud, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls. “Shit, I’m gonna ruin you so fucking good, sweetheart,” Steve promised clenching his jaw in restraint. In the next moment, Steve thrust inside your mouth, his thick cock stretching your lips to their limit as you felt him slide along your tongue. The tip of his dick bumped against the back of your throat, but the demon didn’t stop, pressing deeper and making you gag.

“That’s it,” Steve grunted. “Swallow daddy’s cock like a good little slut,” he urged as he shoved himself even deeper into your throat until your nose was pressed up against his pubic bone.

You tried to relax your throat and get used to his thickness stretching you out. Tears streamed down your face as you struggled, saliva leaking out of your lips and down your chin. Through bleary eyes, you saw Steve staring down at you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty choking on my dick,” he said, then turned to look at James. “Doesn’t she look so pretty, Jamie?” he asked in that cruel tone of his, remorse nowhere to be found in the demon’s sadistic grin. Steve shifted more to the side so James could see your nose pressed into the demon’s skin, proof you’d taken his entire length. “Can you see my cock bulging through her throat?”

You swallowed reflexively, the muscles of your throat squeezing Steve’s cock and making him groan loudly. The sounds of the demon’s pleasure had something primal and feral rising up in you. He sounded like a man possessed—and you realized if that were true, you were the one possessing him. You held his cock in your mouth and his pleasure in your hands, and it occurred to you that maybe the deal with the devil had come with strings for both of you. You’d given yourself to Steve, but maybe he’d given a part of himself to you, too.

The realization renewed your sense of purpose to be a good girl for Steve, and you used your wild need to own him as much as he owned you to put even more effort into pleasuring the demon. Your tongue slid along his length in your mouth, your lips tightening around the base of his cock and sucking hard, as if trying to suck his soul—or whatever demons possessed—out of him through his dick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve cursed, pulling his cock from your lips with a loud pop. His dick was soaking wet with your saliva as he gripped the base and rubbed his hardness all over your mouth and cheeks. “Greedy little cockslut,” he gritted out, his precum mixed with your drool and tears, making a mess of your face. Using his grip on his cock, he smacked you against the cheek with his heavy length.

Every soft hit of Steve’s cock made a lewd smacking sound thanks to the wetness covering him and your cheeks. Your lips curled up into a smile at the way the demon degraded you, your brain fuzzy with need and unable to think about anything except how much of a depraved little slut you were. You knew you made a wicked sight, kneeling at a demon’s feet and letting him ruin you, and you accepted it with a smile.

“Good girl,” Steve praised as you sat perfectly still for him while he covered your face in a mixture of your own spit and tears and his precum. He gripped your face in one strong hand, fingers digging into both cheeks and making your eyes pop open—you hadn’t realized you’d closed them. He pulled his cock away and bent over your kneeling body. “Open,” he ordered, his face hovering over yours.

You were unsure of what he was going to do, but opened your mouth obediently anyway. As soon as you did, Steve pursed his lips and spit in your mouth harshly. You flinched a little, but then warmth settled through you as his spit slid down your throat, the sensation making you feel dirtier and more depraved, causing wetness to drip from your soaking little slit. “Thank you, daddy,” you murmured, opening your mouth wider in a silent plea for more.

Steve’s eyes widened just a little and, before your hooded eyes, his blue irises were swallowed by darkness. His gaze darkened to two black pools of sin and, if you weren’t mistaken, there was possessiveness swirling in their depths. “Daddy’s gonna ruin you, sweetheart,” Steve promised in a darkly commanding voice before straightening and sliding a possessive hand to the back of your head. “Daddy’s gonna own you.”

Trying not to pout at being denied Steve spitting in your mouth a second time, you nodded as much as you could in his grasp. “Please!” The one word was all you could manage to gasp out before he was gripping your jaw and forcing your lips open again.

That devilish grin spread across Steve’s face as he gripped his cock and smacked it on your tongue then rubbed the tip around your lips, making you messier. His gaze was transfixed on the sight of his cock teasing your mouth, but a strangled shout from the back of the room pulled his attention away. Steve glanced at James, who was still watching the show, jealousy and fury in his eyes.

Steve laughed loudly at the man, knowing James had wanted you for himself and was now being forced to watch you take a demon’s cock—without any of the benefits of giving you up as a sacrifice. “She’s a lot less innocent than your buddy let on, isn’t she, Jamie?” Steve asked in a conversational tone, like he was asking about the weather, but his voice was hoarser than it had been.

Pride curled around your heart at the knowledge that you’d made him sound like that. The demon may have been using your body for his own pleasure, but you’d given it to him willingly—you were a willing sacrifice. And he was affected by you enough for it to leak into his voice. The corners of your mouth curled up in a proud smile.

“Don’t worry,” Steve shot a mocking wink at the shackled man. “I like ‘em less than innocent.” Steve turned back to you and shoved his cock in your mouth, making you gag and choke on the unexpected intrusion, but his rough treatment only served to make you wetter. “I like ‘em desperate and cock hungry and so fucking willing they’ll do anything for some demon dick.” When he winked at you, it was more playful, the grin on his lips more fond than cruel.

The way Steve used you and degraded you, but still made you feel cherished had you succumbing more easily to the onslaught of his cock. You were already determined to be a good girl for him and the way he treated you made it so much easier. You relaxed for him, your throat unclenching and letting him slide deeper.

Steve felt you submit to him and began fucking your face in earnest, pulling out until just the tip was inside your lips, then shoving deep into your throat. Your eyes watered as you still gagged on him, tears spilling over and mixing with the spit and precum on your cheeks. Adding to the mess, drool overflowed your lips and dripped down your chin to your chest, sliding between your tits.

Unbeknownst to the two men because it was hidden beneath your dess, your pussy leaked and dripped onto the floor, your wetness pooling obscenely between your spread thighs. You reveled in Steve using your mouth for his pleasure, fucking you brutally without care. You never even dreamed of using the safe sign he’d given you—you were enjoying yourself too much.

“Good girl,” Steve grunted above you, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Taking my cock so well, such a perfect little cockslut for daddy.”

The praise made you moan, sending vibrations through Steve’s cock and wrenching a loud groan from him. You licked and sucked on his cock as best you could while he fucked your mouth, trying as hard as you could to worship the demon with your lips and tongue. His black gaze blazed as he stared down at you, his breath sawing in and out of his chest.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he cursed, pushing your head down on his cock and making you choke around his girth, your nose pressed so tightly against his skin you could barely breathe. “You’re gonna make me come, you little slut,” he hissed, sounding angry at the possibility.

Your chest heaved as you tried to breathe through your nose even as it was pressed into Steve’s warm skin, his musky smoky scent consuming your senses. Fuzziness invaded your brain, whether from the way he overpowered and consumed you or from a lack of oxygen, you couldn’t be sure. In your throat, you felt Steve’s cock twitch and you moaned mindlessly.

The feel of you moaning on his cock must’ve been the tipping point for Steve because, with a sharp curse—“FUCK!”—his cock throbbed hard and you felt him spilling himself down your throat. He groaned loudly as spurt after spurt shot from his cock and coated your insides. You swallowed it all down, the tightening of your throat milking his come from his cock.

Steve breathed heavily for a few moments, his cock softening just a little in your mouth. The girth and length of him still filled you full, but didn’t stretch you to the brink of discomfort. Finally, he pulled you off his cock and hauled you to your feet.

Before you could get your bearings, your head dizzy by suddenly standing up after being on your knees for so long, Steve’s lips descended on yours in a bruising, possessive kiss. His tongue licked into your mouth, tasting his own release and groaning into you. Your body came alive at the sound, alight with the feel of his mouth on you, his tongue tangling with yours. With your bound hands, you gripped his soft sweater desperately, holding him as close as you could with your arms trapped between your bodies.

When you felt like you might faint from a lack of oxygen, Steve pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours and breathing harshly against your lips. His all-black eyes flickered open and took in your face. You weren’t sure what he saw, but you had a feeling your expression reflected the swirl of awe and satisfaction and need that was churning in your body.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he said, a promise in his tone. He eased you back enough to take your bound wrists in one of his hands, but something caught his attention. Steve edged you to the side and bent down, looking at something on the floor.

You were still so delirious from getting face-fucked by a demon and then being kissed senseless that it took you a moment to figure out what he was looking at. Shifting on your feet, heat rushed to your face. You’d had the demon’s cock all the way down your throat, but you were suddenly shy about the small spot of slick you’d left behind.

“Did you…” Steve trailed off as he looked back at you. The guilt on your face was a dead giveaway and his eyes widened slightly before his expression morphed into one of pure glee. “You got so wet from sucking my cock, you and your needy pussy made a mess all over the floor, didn’t you?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Unable to meet his eyes, you nodded while staring at his chin. But Steve wouldn’t let you get away with that. He gripped your chin firmly and tilted your face up.

“And here I thought you were some kind of innocent,” he said mockingly, making you squirm in his grip, but you knew better than to protest when he was right. “You’re a shameless, wicked, depraved little slut, aren’t you sweetheart?” he asked, his words more command than question.

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered, feeling your face heat even further. But even the little bit of shame you felt had warmth curling through your body and settling heavily in your core as more arousal leaked from your slit.

“Good thing I came along then, huh?” he asked, one side of his mouth tilting up into a lopsided grin. “You’re such a filthy girl, only a demon could fuck you properly, isn’t that right?” His black eyes were heated with something heady like desire, but more all-consuming—and you wanted to be consumed by him.

His words made your pussy throb, and you pressed your legs together to try to relieve some of the ache, but you only succeeded in making a mess of your upper thighs. Thankfully, they were hidden beneath your dress. “Yes, daddy,” you answered again, your voice breathless with need.

A pained groan sounded from the back of the room and Steve’s face darkened into a glower at being reminded of your ex-date’s presence. The demon spun your bodies until you both stood facing James’ broken and battered body, your back to Steve’s chest. He wrapped one arm possessively around your waist, the other hand circling your throat, holding you steady with his strong grip.

“Go on and tell Jamie what you are, sweetheart,” Steve urged and you could hear the cruel smile in his voice. His broad chest felt solid at your back and it gave you the confidence to do as he said.

“I’m a filthy little slut who needs a demon to satisfy me,” you said, your voice ringing loud and clear in the small basement room. You stood tall and held James’ gaze with your own, knowing he had no more power over you.

Steve pressed a kiss to your temple and your eyes fluttered closed at the sweet gesture. “Good girl,” he murmured in your ear before returning his attention to James. “You don’t get to watch this next part, Jamie,” Steve said in a conversational tone. “But rest assured I’ll satisfy her much better than you ever could have—even before your little…mishap.” He took his hand off your throat for a moment to gesture indifferently at the general area of James’ groin, the move so disrespectful it made you snicker.

James yelled through the gag, clearly trying to force words past it, but Steve ignored him. The tightening of his arm around your waist was your only warning before, with a snap of his fingers, Steve whisked you away from the cold, dank room of the ritual. Wind rushed through your ears and your stomach bottomed out, but the sensations only lasted a fleeting moment before your feet returned to solid ground.

Opening your eyes, you barely had time to take in your surroundings—a rustic, masculine bedroom decorated in browns and grays—before you were tossed onto a big, soft bed. In your shock, as your brain tried to comprehend you’d been teleported by a demon, you barely noticed what Steve was doing with your body.

He manhandled you into the spot on the bed where he wanted you and used his abilities to remove the coarse rope James and his friends had bound your wrists with. It was replaced by softer, smoother rope that didn’t irritate your skin.

That was the first thing you registered when Steve finally finished what he’d been doing in the flurry of movement and snapping fingers you hadn’t paid close attention to. The second was the position he’d put you in. Your wrists were bound together and anchored above your head, while your ankles were tied to either side of the headboard. The end result was your body was folded in half, your thighs open and pussy on display.

It was only then that you noticed your dress was gone, every inch of you exposed to the depthless black eyes of the demon sitting on his haunches at the foot of the bed. His gaze raked over your body, indulging in his first chance to look his fill of your soft skin and smooth curves. The look in his black eyes was hungry and possessive and your core clenched in response.

“Are the ropes too tight?” he asked, his full lips quirked up in a smirk as he prowled closer on the bed.

For a moment you could only wonder how you’d ever thought this demon’s face had looked angelic when his black eyes and arrogant smirk promised nothing but depravity and sin. Even so, the fear you’d been expecting since Steve had first been summoned still eluded you. In fact, your pussy dripped even more for the hellish creature staring at you like he wanted to devour you whole. 

His gaze was so intense, it took you a moment to remember he’d asked you a question. You took stock of your wrists and ankles, but they’d been tied expertly—not too tight or too loose. You even pulled on them to see how much give you had, and it wasn’t much but that was good. “No, daddy,” you answered. “They feel OK.”

“Good girl,” Steve praised, gifting you a satisfied smile that made your heart squeeze, but you were distracted from the feeling by him shifting up onto his knees. The demon pulled his sweater over his head and threw it to the side as he moved up the bed toward your body.

Your eyes trailed greedily down his chest, taking in all the smooth golden skin covering his tight muscles. Your fingers clenched into fists to stave off the need to touch him. You wanted to know if he felt as good as he looked. If you looked any longer, you were worried your tongue would loll out of your mouth and you’d start panting over the demon—though you couldn’t fault yourself, he looked perfect.

Steve settled close to you, with his thighs cradling your ass. His cock was still free from his slacks and, as you watched, he shoved his pants halfway down his legs, giving you your first glimpse of his muscled thighs. Every bit of the demon made your mouth water with the urge to kiss and lick him—you desperately craved to know if every inch of his skin tasted just as smoky and musky as his cock.

“Your safe word is absolution,” Steve said, his voice serious and finally your gaze returned to his face. His black eyes and sharp teeth were a contrast to his handsome, angelic features, making him look otherworldly beautiful. You were so caught up in staring at him you almost didn’t catch what he said. “Use it if you want me to stop at any point, understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, I understand,” you said, trying to match the seriousness of his tone but there was an underlying current of desperation in your voice. Just laying there, tied up and spread open for him, was enough to keep your arousal stoked at a permanent, simmering heat.

“Repeat it to me.” His order was gruff as his hands made contact with the sensitive skin of your thighs, nearly drawing a breathy moan from your mouth, but you bit hard into your lower lip in a meager attempt to hide your need. When his palms groped your tits, fingers digging harshly into your skin, though, you tossed your head back into the pillows, eyes rolling back at the sharp need his touch sent rocketing through your body.

Already, your breath was coming faster, just at the roughness of his hands as they gripped your tits and kneaded your soft flesh. “Absolution,” you said obediently on a gasp.

“Good girl,” Steve rasped, his voice strained with need. His fingers plucked at your nipples, teasing them into straining points before he bent over and sucked one into his mouth. He bit the tip, wrenching a strangled cry from your lips, before moving to the other and giving it the same treatment. When you bucked your hips up to grind your core against his abs, he chuckled against your skin and sat up. His hands trailed down to your center, gripping your thighs and spreading you open for him. “Now let’s see how wet this slutty little pussy got while sucking daddy’s cock,” he murmured.

The flat of Steve’s fingers slid across your drenched folds, making both of you groan loudly. For a moment, it drowned out the wet sounds Steve’s fingers made as he rubbed your juices around your pussy lips, spreading your arousal all over your swollen slit. His fingers grazed your clit, and the burst of pleasure made you cry out, your hips bucking as you sought more of that contact.

“So wet, sweetheart,” Steve praised on a harsh exhale. “S’like you were made for me—made to take my cock in your perfect little cunt.” His gaze was focused between your thighs and his voice sounded distracted, like he was mesmerized by your pussy. You suspected the way he looked in that moment, a mixture of awe and greed in his black eyes, was similar to how you’d looked at him when he’d taken his sweater off.

But his touches weren’t enough for you as he purposefully avoided your clit and remained intent on spreading your wetness all over you folds. Your hips writhing since they were the only part of your body you could move in your binds, and you whined, begging wordlessly for more. As he rubbed, your inner walls clenched pitifully around nothing, making you whine louder. With how mindless you were with need, you didn’t notice what Steve was doing when he pulled his hand away, but in the next moment, you learned.

Steve’s palm came down swiftly and delivered a sharp slap to your pussy. Your eyes widened as your body clenched tight and your cunt spasmed hard in response to the electric shot of pain that surged through your body, devolving into molten pleasure. You moaned loudly as your body relaxed, making the demon chuckle.

“Does my dirty little innocent like getting her pussy slapped?” he asked in a mockingly sweet tone. Still reeling from the pleasure-pain sparking through your body, your mouth tried and failed to form words so you settled on catching Steve’s eye and nodding, your hips bucking up for more. But his face was contorted in an expression of fake pity. “Use your words sweetheart,” he ordered.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted in the same rhythm as your hips bucked against his thighs. Your eyes were wide and pleading, begging him for more.

A devious grin spread across Steve’s face. “Good girl,” he purred, right before he brought his hand down on your pussy in another smack. But he didn’t stop there, delivering slap after slap to your needy pussy, the wet sounds of his palm smacking your dripping folds loud and lewd.

Thrashing your head side to side, you were overwhelmed with the feelings surging through your body. Impossibly, your pussy got wetter from Steve’s rough treatment, the sounds of him smacking your swollen lower lips only getting louder and more obscene. On one particular strike, Steve’s fingers slapped your clit, making you cry out and pull against the rope restraints as your inner walls clenched hard.

“Did ya like that?” Steve asked in a gruff voice, his fingers rubbing your pussy and soothing the sting just a little.

Your whole pussy throbbed and you realized you were careening toward the edge of your release. “Again!” you cried out and Steve was all too happy to give you what you wanted, slapping your clit over and over again until you could feel your heartbeat in the sensitive little bundle of nerves. The rough treatment, the mixture of pleasure and pain, was so much and so good, your mouth open in an endless, soundless moan.

Steve watched your face, greedily drinking in your reactions while his other hand lazily pumped his cock. “You’re a filthy little slut, aren’t you?” he asked, awe coloring his gruff tone. Before you could answer, he continued. “You love it when daddy slaps your pussy and your clit, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy!” you cried out, unable to lie to him with how on edge you were. But a deeper part of your brain realized you were unwilling to lie to Steve—you wanted him to know the truth about just how filthy you could be for him. You wanted him to know so he could use it against you in the way he talked to you, his degrading words driving your pleasure higher.

Tilting his head to the side, an evil smirk curled the demon’s lips. “D’you wanna see if you can come from just me slapping your clit, sweetheart?” he asked, the sweetness of his tone belying his dirty, depraved words.

“Oh god—” you tried to say on a moan, but Steve shoved two fingers in your mouth before you could finish saying the word. Your tongue licked at them, tasting yourself while you stared up into Steve’s face. His blond brows were pulled down in something like anger as his black eyes swirled with seriousness.

“You don’t say his name when you’re with me, do you understand?” Steve asked through a clenched jaw, which ticked in annoyance as you watched. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth so you could answer.

“Yes,” you answered in a soft whisper. “I’m sorry.” Your apology tumbled past your lips before you could examine why exactly you didn’t want the demon to be angry or annoyed with you.

All anger and irritation drained from Steve’s face as he caressed your cheek. “It’s OK, sweetheart, I wanna hear all your pretty little sounds of pleasure—just not that name,” he explained in a gentler tone, affection in his gaze.

“OK daddy,” you said, turning your head so you could press a kiss to Steve’s palm.

Steve took a deep breath, centering himself. “Remind me of your safe word,” he ordered in a calm voice.

“Absolution,” you recited, unable to stop yourself from smiling up at him.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured, bending down and kissing you sweetly. When he pulled away, you whined softly, wanting to keep him close, but his hand was back on your pussy, rubbing you slowly, and it distracted you. Steve’s fingers dipped between your sopping wet folds to tease your empty hole. In no time at all, he worked you back up into a panting mess, your mouth open on a silent moan as your hips writhed under his touch.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart,” Steve started, a charmingly evil grin on his lips as he spread your wetness all over your pussy, his fingers making slick sounds against your swollen flesh. “Still wanna see if I can make you come just from slapping your clit?”

“Oh daddy, yes!” you cried out, mindlessly bucking your hips as you threw your head back into the pillows.

“That’s my good little slut,” Steve praised in a growly voice just before his hand smacked your pussy, his fingers coming down sharply on your clit.

The sting radiated through your body, your arms and legs jerking against your restraints. The mix of pleasure and pain was overwhelming, taking your breath away so that all you could manage were choked gasps and broken moans. Steve alternated between slapping your pussy then your clit, no rhythm or pattern that you could discern. But as your pussy lips grew more sensitive from his rough treatment, you felt each slap more and more brutally, the pleasure and pain tangling up inside your body to the point that you couldn’t tell the difference between them.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you begged mindlessly, not even sure what you were pleading for, just knowing Steve was the only one who could give it to you. His chuckle was a rumble in his chest somewhere above you. You were too far gone—too close to the edge of your release—to know whether you were flying or falling.

“So braindead from daddy slapping your pretty little cunt, huh sweetheart? I haven’t even put my cock in you yet,” he said in a chastising tone, though there was no real heat to it. He delivered a particularly sharp smack to your clit and you cried out. Your pussy clenched hard in a sign that you were about to come. Steve read your body easily, rubbing your clit ruthlessly before slapping the over-sensitized nub again.

The shock of pain-pleasure sent you careening over the edge and you screamed as you came apart just from his rough treatment. Your body writhed hard, fighting against the ropes holding you tied down, as your orgasm swept over you like a wave, your pussy clamping down pathetically around nothing. But the pleasure quickly ebbed, your sounds fading to desperate whimpers as you realized he’d only taken the edge off your desire, but left you needing more—you needed Steve’s cock.

The demon grinned devilishly down at you as you whined for him, his black eyes amused. “I made you come, what more do you want?” he asked in fake offense. When you let out an indignant little whine, a distant part of your brain reminding you he promised to satisfy you, he just shook his head and tutted at you. “If you want my cock, you’re going to have to beg me like the filthy little slut I know you are.”

“Please, daddy,” you begged as you panted beneath him, the pleading words tumbling out of your mouth as if they were desperate to escape. “Please fuck me with your big demon dick, fuck me so hard it hurts.” You sucked in a breath at the way Steve’s eyes glittered as he watched you beg for him. “Please, please, please daddy, I need your cock so bad,” you begged shamelessly.

“Good girl,” Steve growled, sitting up on his knees and sliding his cock between your pussy lips, teasing your hole and your sensitive clit. “You beg so sweetly, cockslut, I don’t know what I like more—when you whine for me or when you beg for me.”

Steve’s cock was hot and hard against your swollen, aching pussy, the slide of him so much a tease that you squirmed and whimpered with desperation. You needed his cock so badly you thought you might die if he didn’t give it to you. “Please, daddy,” you sobbed, so frustrated and needy that tears leaked from your eyes.

“Fuck,” the demon cursed harshly, holding himself still for a moment as he stared down at your face. Then he bent forward and kissed the corner of each of your eyes, licking up your tears in the process. “You’re crying for my cock, sweetheart? You need it that badly?” he asked, something like shock in his tone, but you were too far gone to identify it.

“Yes,” you sobbed as more tears fell from your eyes. In the distant recesses of your lust-soaked mind, you recognized you’d never acted like such a wanton slut in your life—no human man had ever been able to drive you to the point of crying for their cock. And that same part of your mind realized this demon had awakened something you, a feral kind of desire that seemed to match his own. You liked it. You wanted to be a wanton slut for Steve, you wanted to be his good girl, you wanted to be his everything. Because, you realized, he had quickly become your everything.

Your voice was ragged and breathless as you begged for him, “Need you, daddy, need you—need your cock, need you to fuck me, please!”

Steve hovered above you, his black eyes like a turbulent midnight storm as emotions swirled while he stared into your eyes as if he could read each and every one of your thoughts. He licked up your tears, his face taut with barely leashed restraint. As you watched, he seemed to come to a decision of his own.

“You messed up, sweetheart,” Steve said in a strained voice and the warning made your heart beat faster for a moment, unsure what he meant. “I was going to let you go when I was done with you, but now?” He looked down at where his thick cock was teasing your entrance, using his thumb to press the tip of his dick into your little hole. The demon groaned as your tight heat enveloped him and he pushed deeper, stretching you open with his cock, unable to stop himself to give you time to adjust. “Fuck. Now I’m never letting you go—you’re gonna be my good girl for-fucking-ever,” he bit out with a vicious snarl as he buried himself to the hilt.

“Daddy!” you cried out. Even with how wet you were, your pussy was forced to stretch around his thick length, the burning pain mixing with the pleasure of his cock rubbing against your inner walls and making you lightheaded. Moans tumbled from your lips unbidden.

“That’s it, sweetheart, take daddy’s unholy cock,” Steve growled, his voice low and dark as he bent over you. He captured your lips in a fierce kiss, possessing your mouth as easily as he did the rest of your body. You panted against his lips, straining against your bonds, wishing you could touch him. Instead, you nipped at his lips, kissing him just as fiercely as he kissed you. “Let me ruin you, let me own you,” he hissed, his hips snapping against yours with brutal thrusts as he fucked you hard, making it hurt like you’d asked him to.

“Yes, daddy, yes, yes yes,” you chanted mindlessly, your pussy and heart throbbing at his words. There was no filter left between your brain and your mouth and everything you’d thought tumbled out. “Want to be yours, all yours, forever, daddy, make me yours!”

Steve bit out a curse, “Fuck,” before ducking down to kiss and lick your nipples. You cried out when he bit and sucked one nipple into his mouth, the sound fading into a moan when he did the same to the other. Steve let your tit fall from his mouth with a soft pop, moving so his face hovered over yours.

Your eyes were slits as you stared up at him, barely able to keep them open with how good he fucked you. But the way he stared into your eyes like he was transfixed made you unable to look away. His black eyes were mesmerizing and you felt yourself sinking into him, submitting to him more than you had all night. Something pure and certain swelled within you as Steve held you captive with his gaze while his cock plunged into your tight pussy over and over and over again. Based on the way he smiled, baring his sharp teeth, you were sure he felt it too.

“Say you’re mine,” Steve commanded, his voice as rough as the stone of the basement room where he’d been summoned. “Say my full name, say your soul belongs to me,” he urged, his black eyes churning with emotion.

His command was a siren’s call and somewhere deep in your brain you knew whatever this was, it wasn’t something you could use a safe word to get out of later. This was a real deal with the devil, but something told you the wicked strings would be worth it. When Steve thrust deep, his cock battering against a spot deep inside that made you let out a strangled scream and see stars, it only further convinced you.

“I’m yours, Steven Grant Rogers,” you said with conviction, the words feeling right as they formed on your lips. “You own me—my soul belongs to you.”

As soon as you’d said the words, you felt an unnatural warmth unfurl slowly around your heart, warming your chest and making you gasp. It didn’t feel like you were giving up a part of yourself, but like you were gaining something, a part of Steve that surrounded your heart like a blanket of protection. The warmth spread all throughout your body, an awareness of sorts, and you moaned at the pleasurable feeling.

“Fuck, yes,” Steve ground out, fucking you harder—harder than a human ever possibly could—your pleasure reflected in the black pools of his eyes. “Can you feel it sweetheart? Can you feel what it’s like to be mine?”

“Feels so good,” you whimpered, tears streaking down your face at the near-overwhelming sensation of feeling Steve possess you inside and out. “Daddy, daddy, need you,” you mumbled, hands and ankles pushing against your restraints as you felt a soul-deep need to be closer to Steve.

“I know exactly what you need, sweetheart, don’t worry,” Steve murmured, kissing your cheek as he snapped his fingers. The ropes disappeared from your wrists and ankles and you wasted no time, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck and your legs around his waist. You clutched him close in the cradle of your body, crying a little more at the pain of your limbs being able to finally move.

Steve soothed his hands over your shoulders and hips, lessening the pain. Then he wrapped his arms around your back, digging into the bed to hold you close. Your bodies writhed together, the heat of him in your soul as much of a pleasure as his cock pounding into your cunt. He fucked you hard, his hips shoving his cock so deep he made every thrust hurt just a little bit, exactly like you’d begged. It was too good, you felt your orgasm building and building out of control.

“Fuck, sweetheart, your pussy feels too good,” Steve growled, his face pressed against your neck. "I’m gonna come,” he warned as he rutted into you harder, his cock throbbing in your pussy. You moaned and writhed against him, knees climbing his sides so he could fuck you deep. Steve leaned up and stared down at you, his gaze caressing your sweaty face affectionately. “Want me to fill you up? Want me to come deep inside this pretty little cunt?” he asked, a grin quirking the edges of his mouth.

Breathing harshly, you nodded, chanting, “Yes, yes, yes,” even though you were almost too mindless to answer with words.

Steve chuckled lowly, the sound a little strained. “So fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he murmured, capturing your lips in another kiss before speaking against your mouth. “Gonna keep you tied up in my bed so I can fuck you full of come anytime I want—does my filthy cockslut like that idea?”

“Yes, daddy,” you cried out, arching your back and whimpering at the feel of his cock swelling as he pumped deep into your pussy, stretching you until you thought he was going to split you in half. “Wanna be filled with your cock and come always—forever!”

“That’s right, that’s my good girl,” Steve praised, his hips working in an unnatural rhythm as he pounded you harder and faster. “Come on my cock, sweetheart, come all over daddy’s cock like a good little cockslut,” he urged in his deep rumbly voice, his huffing breaths warm against your skin.

When Steve shoved his cock deep in your pussy, his hips grinding into you so your clit rubbed against him, the wave of your release surged up and suddenly crashed over you. You came with a scream. Your whole body clenched tight, your arms and legs locking around the demon’s body as your pussy clamped down on Steve’s thick cock, your hips bucking wildly as you rode out your release. As your scream died out, it was replaced by the demon’s roar.

Your clutching pussy was too much for Steve, who thrust messily into your cunt a few more times before he pressed as deep as he could go and spilled himself in your pussy. He groaned loudly next to your ear as his cock twitched and you felt his seed spurt inside you, coating your insides. The sound and feel of him was so primal it sent another spasm of pleasure through your core, making you moan softly as your both floated in the wake of your releases.

For a moment, Steve let his weight settle over you. It was a delicious feeling, having the demon’s heavy bulk crushing you into the bed and you held on tight with your arms and legs to stop him from moving away too soon. Only when he felt you struggling to pull in a full breath did he roll over, taking you with him, his cock still buried in your thoroughly used pussy.

Your face settled into the crook of his neck and he smoothed his rough palms over your back as you both caught your breath, your heart rate returning to something like normal. After a few minutes, you realized the new, unnatural warmth in your chest was still there, still wrapped around your heart.

“I can feel you,” you murmured, one of your hands pressing to your chest where you could feel your heart beat, the warmth you knew to be Steve pulsing right along with it. A soft smile settled on your lips.

Steve gripped your wrist and turned your hand until it lay over his own heart, pressing your palm flat to the center of his pecs so you could feel it beating. “I can feel you, too,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. Leaving your hand on his chest, he tilted your face up to his and you got a glimpse of that sweet smile on the demon’s angelic-looking features before he pressed a kiss to your lips. It was a slow, soft kiss, one that felt like the promise of all the years spread out before you both, years you’d spend together.

When you pulled away, you looked up into your demon’s eyes. They were a calm ocean at midnight, with the moon glinting off the crests of the waves, glittering a bright, beautiful blue on the surface of their dark depths. And they were filled, practically overflowing with love and affection. It solidified your certainty that you’d made the right choice. But you did have one question.

“Does that mean you’re mine, too?” you asked, the curiosity plain in your voice as a smile tugged on the edges of your mouth.

“You own me just as surely as I own you, sweetheart,” Steve promised, ducking down and kissing either side of your mouth before slanting his lips to yours for a proper kiss.

The demon’s kiss tasted like love and eternity, the pulse of him beating in your heart and thrumming through your veins. You let yourself be possessed by the creature summoned from the depths of hell, pressing your palm against his chest so you could feel where his heart beat for you. If the strings tied to this particular deal with a demon meant you’d be loved and cherished forever, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret giving yourself to Steven Grant Rogers.

[2jihiir0]

Commission for @lilfluffybunbun 🩷 thank you so much!!!

🪽A little trouble in paradise ~ 🔥😈

[fairysteve]

steve is actually a demon but then he decides humanity is cool actually and decides to be nice on purpose but then his kids start high school and their dnd club gets labelled as demonic and eddie gets manhunted and steve's just on the side like "what gives? i'm literally right here— that guy is just some nerd!"

[maikaartwork]

I really didn’t have a lot of time for the past few weeks to post anything, so I’m really happy to show off this commission for @lilfluffybunbun on demon and angel steddie - thank you for commissioning me and for you patience!!!

[wheneverfeasible]

Because I’m terrible and the plots won’t leave me alone, I’ve now got an idea based on this post about a demon who feasts on pain and suffering being a medical practitioner for the chronically and terminally ill and the patients fully loving it. And then my brain rot had to say “make it Steddie” because I’ve lost all control of my life.

—

cw: terminal illness, minor and major character death (with a happy ending tho)

But imagine it. Eddie is a demon, a low ranking one at that originally. He gets a job at a medical facility for the chronically/terminally ill. Over time at the happy and consensual feasting he really does become one of the strongest demons because he’s constantly fed to the brim and he even has human worshippers, not that they’re traditional worshippers.

No, his followers are little old senior citizens who slip him butterscotch candies and other sweets they’re not supposed to have, which technically count as offerings. They thank him for his work, because he does actually take care of their bodies as well and even listens to their life stories, which count as praise and worship. They love and are devoted to him and they bring in their friends and family who are suffering too and Eddie’s accidental cult grows.

One day, things change. A young man, an anomaly in his youth, is brought in by parents who no longer wish to be burdened by their disabled son. Steve just shrugs it off and moves in with a smile, seemingly fine with being abandoned by his parents because he dared to be anything other than perfectly healthy.

He puts around the facility in his terry cloth robe and slippers on some days, others he dresses up in polos and slacks or even jeans when he’s feeling more casual, and always with a smile on his face. He makes those around him smile and laugh too, and his cheeks get pinched and he’s slipped candies too and he listens to others’ stories and he seems happy and content.

But Eddie feeds on his pain and suffering all the same, knows that behind that smile is a young boy who was told he probably wouldn’t live to see 30, who listens to the older folks knowing he would never get to live a life like that. Eddie knows that sometimes Steve cries himself to sleep at night.

Over time, Eddie and Steve grow closer. Steve hadn’t believed that Eddie was a demon at first, had thought it all just a joke, until one night Mr. Wozniak was laying in his bed, and Steve hadn’t meant to overhear, but he was passing by and the door was cracked open.

“Will I go to Hell now?” Mr. Wozniak was asking, but he seems peaceful all the same, like the thought wasn’t the terrifying ordeal so many people thought it was.

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie was saying, but his voice sounds a little off, huskier, like…like brimstone sat in his throat. “I’ve never claimed your soul. It’s still your own. Go find Irena. She’s been waiting for you for too long.”

Irena, Steve knew from speaking with Mr. Wozniak, was his young wife who had died decades earlier.

“Will I get to see you again?”

Eddie’s long fingers reach out, his nails long and sharp, dark in a way that was not nail polish. He lightly and gently strokes the papery skin of Mr. Wozniak’s cheek. “You will be at peace. You will find the afterlife is so much more than this Good-vs-Evil rhetoric so popular in this plane of existence. Go in peace, my child, and should you wish it, perhaps one day we might meet again.”

Mr. Wozniak smiles at that, and he closes his eyes with a softly whispered, “Irena, I’m coming…”

A moment later, he was gone.

Steve watches as Eddie seems to grow smaller, appear more normal, and though he knows he should be terrified, he isn’t. Instead he continues on his way, letting the knowledge of more percolate in his brain, though by the next morning when news of Mr. Wozniak’s passing spreads and Eddie assures everyone that he passed away peacefully and in no pain, Steve knows Eddie speaks the truth and he realizes that nothing has changed. Eddie is still Eddie.

They continue to grow closer. He spends more time with Eddie, lets Eddie in fully on how much he hurts, and tells the demon that he wished things had been different and that they could have met under better circumstances.

Eddie tells him that he never enjoyed the taste of regret. It was far too bitter.

They fall in love, encouraged by their friends in the facility new and old, who don’t seem to care that he is a mortal with a short life expectancy and Eddie is an immortal demon lord. What is all that in the face of true love?

And then it happens, and Steve is the one lying in bed, knowing his time has come. He smiles up at Eddie and decides not to regret any of it, not wanting their final moments to be flavored with bitterness.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers mournfully, and he’s beautiful. It’s not his full true form, but his eyes are a dark blood red, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and his pale skin veined with reds and blacks. Horns curl out from his curly hair.

“You said once that I get to be with my loved ones after this,” Steve says, still smiling, and he reaches up to cup Eddie’s jaw with a weakened hand. Eddie nods against him, and Steve wonders if all demons can cry, or if it’s just his. “Then take my soul, darling. It already belongs to you.”

Eddie flinches back, like Steve knew he would, because souls are not little things. Eddie had explained before, after everything, that he didn’t even actually deal in souls, that that wasn’t the sort of demon he was. Steve had asked if he could, on a technicality, and Eddie had paused because saying yes, any demon could, but souls were priceless. When you gave one up to a demon, you gave up everything. You would be theirs until the end of days. Eddie had said he wasn’t that sort of demon.

“Baby, no,” Eddie breathes now, shaking his head gently enough not to dislodge Steve’s hand. “You would be—”

“Yours,” Steve interrupts. “But I already am. You already own my heart. I now willingly give you my soul. All you have to do is accept it.”

And Eddie protests, at first, because Steve is giving him complete control over him for eternity. Steve gives it freely with open arms, and in the end, Eddie can do nothing but accept it. He tells Steve that he doesn’t know if demons have souls or not, but his belongs to Steve just as assuredly as his own heart does.

Steve’s final mortal breath is gifted into Eddie’s crimson mouth, full of peace and love and the understanding that this thing between them will always beat eternal.

It turns out that, whether it was still unknown if all demons had souls, Eddie was the sort that does.

And it also turns out that, when you’re gifted a demon lord’s soul, you become a demon too.

Eddie’s cult ends soon after, disbanded into non-existence. In its place, however, rises a new one that worships not just one demon caretaker, but two as Eddie is soon joined by another with floppy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes that for once smiles without hidden pain. They take care of their charges, gently coax them into eternal rest when it’s their time, and together prove that true love is forever.

[strawlessandbraless]

Reblog for a larger sampling size, a bitch be curious 💚 💙

Part 1 // Part 2