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bettyfrommars · 9 months

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hi hey hello i am here to humbly request a sexy lil stevie blurb where he’s getting his succu bussed by demon babe.

go nuts. go wild. maybe steve is a good catholic boy maybe he’s not i dunno the evil power is in your hands.

goodBoy!Steve x demon!fem!Reader

18+ONLY - MDNI - smut, Steve falls in love, unprotected p in v, hint of dubcon but only for a moment, demon sex, oral for all, hints to religious trauma, heaven and hell, mention of demons, curses, star-crossed lovers. wc: 2.9k

Good Boy

Steve Harrington was on his knees that night, praying at the foot of the bed, waiting for the all too familiar rustling sound to come from inside the closet. He prayed louder, faster, but he knew you were coming for him, just like you had every night since he found The Book and accidentally summoned you.

He’d tried to throw the book out the window, he’d tried to burn the book, but every night it returned to his bedside table, right where his bible used to be. His family farm had fallen on hard times; the dirt was dry, and the crops were dying, and an old woman in town sold him a book with a spell inside that would bring life back to the land. Steve had always been a very good boy; he worshiped at church, and he worked from sunup to sundown on the farm. He had sexual relations with women before, of course. Once right out of high school, and a couple times with his first girlfriend, Dora, but she always told him he was too big, and it hurt. Steve didn’t want to hurt anyone, and so he’d been saving himself for marriage ever since.

That is, until, that first night the demon came to claim him.

It’d been 7 unholy days full of sins unimaginable since the night he drew the symbol on the floor, dripped blood from his pricked finger, and recited the spell from the book. 7 days since the rains came and the diseased crops glowed ripe and plentiful like an overnight miracle. The book itself was tanned leather, made from some type of skin, embossed with three symbols on the spine but no other distinguishing markings. At first, he cursed the day he was stopped by that old woman in the street, peddling her wares in a pushcart.

Her wrinkled hand snaked out from under her black shawl to take his wrist with a touch that was hot with fever. “You’ll never know if you don’t try it,” she rasped, hunched over, her face in shadow. “Many people have been cured by my spells; many roses have bloomed in my wake. A good boy like you deserves to be rewarded.”

He didn’t even remember buying the book, but suddenly it was clutched under his arm, wrapped in newspaper, and he was on the other side of the street. He looked around, searching for the old woman, but it was as if she’d never existed. He adjusted his glasses, lip curled in confusion, running a hand through his unruly hair. When he unwrapped the paper to see what he had, he realized the pages in the book were, indeed, not the word of God, and so he threw it away in the nearest garbage can.

That was the first time it ended up back on his nightstand. He tossed it out the window and into the pond, only to have it materialize minutes later. He recited the lord's prayer and begged for God to remove the book, but it was no use.

That night, he lay in bed shirtless, one hand behind his head, kept wide awake by the compulsion to perform the spell in the book the old woman had told him about. In a half hour, the spell was done, and he was wiping the chalk and blood off the wood floor, shaking his head, sucking back tears at the idea of a lifetime in purgatory.

But, the next day, he realized the spell had worked, and maybe the woman was right: good boys deserve to be rewarded, and Steve was a very good boy.

That night, after an afternoon of celebration at the farm for the miracle that had clearly been a gift from God himself, Steve crawled into bed with a smile on his face. Under the covers, he jerked himself off, riddled with shame as he did so, moaning a bit to himself, worrying his parents would hear him downstairs. Blind in the dark without his glasses, he reached for the box of tissues with his cum-covered hand, and touched The Book instead, wiping his seed across the symbols on the spine.

That was the first time he heard the noises coming from the closet: a swoosh, and then a stomp, and then the rattling of the doorknob as something worked it open from the inside.

When Steve snapped the light on, there you were, standing at the end of the bed. Looming formidable, smooth red skin tight against your muscles, two horns curled on either side of your head like that of a ram, eyes wide and glossy black. You wore a harness on your neck, breasts bare and firm, nipples hard. From the waist down, there appeared to be dark fur, as if you had the hips and legs of a goat, complete with the glimpse of a hoof just before it morphed into a human foot, and a human leg.

Steve scrambled back against the headboard, too afraid to even scream, struggling to get his glasses on.

“Begone demon!” His voice quivered. But why did he like what he saw so much? You sauntered around the corner of the bed to get closer, long, pointed tongue flicking out to touch your cheek. There was a purring, or a clicking noise happening in the back of your throat

His cock was rock hard, the tip sticky against the inside of the blanket.

“Do you want me to help with this?” You asked, in the same tone a snake might speak with, finishing with long S’s.

Steve gasped when you pulled back the cover to reveal his generous length curved tight up his stomach above his white boxers. You sat down on the bed near his leg, the springs squeaking, and his cock twitched, aching as he watched every flick of your tongue. With a snap of your fingers, the bedside lamp went out, so now the moon through the thin curtains was the only witness to the weight of Steve’s desire.

Your teeth were sharp, but your lips were soft, and it was all Steve could do not to buck his hips in his eagerness for you to take him. This had to be a dream, and in dreams, you can’t be held accountable for the things you take part in. Maybe he’d even forget it by the time he woke up. He kicked the blanket all the way down with his socked feet, and you ran your pointed nails along his hairy shin, all the way up to the hem of his shorts, making him shiver. You scratched at his balls gently with the tips of your nails through his boxers, tapping tapping, causing more pre-cum to dribble from his tip.

“Are you…” Steve stammered. Sweat shining on the skin under his chest hair. “...what do you want from me?”

“I want to taste you,” you told him, eyeing the tip of his cock hungrily. Knowing full well you could take him even if he said no, Steve nodded, bracing his hands on either side of him.

You bent over but kept your black eyes on him, dropping your long, pink tongue down to taste the sweet skin of his shaft and the fresh juice from his hole, concentrating on the ridge under his flesh tip. You wrapped your lips around the head, moaning as you did so, softly grazing the skin with your teeth. Steve threw his head back, his balls aching to do their job again. Your mouth was so wet, your tongue like velvet. He really did not want to like this, but dreams were funny that way.

"I need more,” you swallowed, rubbing your lips together. “You're such a good boy, so patient.”

“I- I- I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve stuttered as you pulled his boxers down and made your way onto the bed to straddle him. He was concerned with you taking the generous nature of his girth.

The sentiment made you close your eyes, roll your head back and growl, imagining the seed of such a good boy feeding the darkness inside of you. You took his hand, bringing his fingers to the slick slit between your legs.

“Holy moly,” Steve gasped. “Is that…because of me?” His eyes were so innocent when they found your dark orbs, it made you line his cock up with your hole and sink down, pinching the tip with your tight inner muscles, hovering there.

“Remember what I told you?” You waited to hear him whimper with need before you sank all the way down. “Good boys deserve rewards.”

The speed and strength with which you rode him had his eyes rolling back so that only the whites were visible, neck muscles straining when he turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Look at me,” you told him, demanding. You took one of his hands. “Circle your thumb right here,” you brought it to your clit. “Rub it fast, just like that, so I can cum too.”

“Wait, women can cum? Like men do?” Steve blanched in between grunts of pleasure, raising his hips in jerky movements to meet the way you pounded down on his cock. “I don’t think I’ve ever been inside anyone this deep before.” He frowned in concentration, rubbing your clit like he was told, experiencing waves of pleasure he never thought were possible.

“You fill me up so good,” you assured him, bottoming out and then rocking back and forth. Every time you rose, you milked him with your tight walls.

Steve barely had time to bark a warning that he was cumming before the whip cracked inside of him and he was pumping all he had inside of you.

“Oh good boy, good boy,” you repeated, thighs making a smacking sound as you helped him ride his high. “All of it, give it all to me.”

You waited until he was done, head back breathless on the pillow, before you slipped him out of you and got on your belly to lick him clean. Your tongue worked under his balls, tickling at his ass, thinking you’d like to stick more in there one day, enjoying his moans as he discovered sensations he liked but had never explored before.

Steve wasn’t sure what you were doing when you moved up to straddle his head, positioning your dripping pussy above his face. But, then you lowered yourself to his mouth and he understood, throwing his tongue around in your folds as best he could while cum dripped out of your hole and down his chin.

You wanted to fuck that sweet mouth until the end of time. Grabbing the headboard, you cursed in your ancient language, cunt rippling against his full lips as you came. You let out a growl that was animalistic, and Steve realized that the sound triggered a lust deep inside and turned him on, just like everything else about you.

The day after that, Steve had a spring in his step. The best sex of his life had been with a demon in his dream, but still—he felt as satisfied as if it had happened in real life. His parents did say they heard him up late walking around his room, and swore they heard a coyote whining right outside their window, but he brushed it off after he apologized profusely for waking them.

But, that very next night, he was forced to come to the cold, hard conclusion that, not only were you real, but he was starting to have feelings for you.

Fully dressed, Steve took his glasses off and threw water on his face in the bathroom sink, trying to wake himself up when you appeared out of the closet the next night. “No way, no how, no sir,” he shook his head. “There’s no way this is happening.”

He faced you and jabbed his finger at the book, water dripping from his hair and nose. “God will smite me if I continue to fornicate with you, and this book is to blame.”

You were not forced to fuck Steve because of a curse. That first night, yes, he had inadvertently summoned you. But, after that, it was your own free will that had you polishing your horns and sharpening your claws, wanting to look good for him. Steve had free will too, and he could’ve told you at any moment that he didn’t want you there, but he never did.

On that second night, the two of you kissed for the first time, and then you sucked him off, swallowing him deep inside, making his legs shake and his knees buckle. Every night was a new sexual experiment, a new avenue of lust to pave Steve’s way to hell.

On the fifth night, you were next to him in bed, silicone strap-on harnessed in place, still slick with lube, and he took your strong, red hand in his. “You know what? If you’re in hell, I don’t think it would be so bad.”

You turned your head on the pillow. “There’s something I should tell you.”

The sound of your voice made Steve afraid. He turned on his side to face you, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow. “I’m listening.”

You kept your gaze to the shadows of the ceiling. “I’m only here for seven days,” you swallowed hard. “And then I have to go back.”

“Back? Back where? In the closet?” Steve pressed.

‘Back…where I’m from,” you said softly.

“Wait, back to hell?”

You gave a crooked grin. “If that’s what you want to call it. But I am not of your world, clearly,” you used your hand to gesture to your body and your horns.

“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he offered, sincerely.

You blinked a few times, almost shy under his earnest gaze. “There’s a portal in the closet and it’s going to close on the seventh night,” only as you said the words did they start to sink in for you. “We’ll never see each other again.”

The two of you sat in silence for most of the rest of that visit, trying to come to terms with the weight of your realities.

On the seventh and final night, there were tears from both parties. You let him see you that night, in your actual half human, half beast form, and he did not turn away from you. Steve filled you up while on top of you, kissing you, missionary style. It was the most vanilla of all of the positions, but it was quickly becoming your favorite as you wrapped your furry legs around him. You drifted in and out of sleep in each other’s arms; you could only stay till midnight and Steve wanted you there until the last second. You’d had plenty of lovers in your day, back in your world, but none of them had been as tender as Steve. You worried that you cared about him enough to make the separation very painful.

“What will happen if you don’t go in?” Steve asked, holding your hand outside the closet.

“I’ll probably cease to exist,” you shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”

Fair enough, Steve didn’t want to take any chances. If he could summon you once, he could summon you again, and he’d work every spell in the book until he figured it out. When the time came, there was one last tearful look and hand hold before the door shut, but just as it closed flush with the wall, Steve flung it open again, needing one more kiss from you.

But, you were already gone.

You were not the only thing missing. To Steve’s horror, he realized he was no longer in possession of The Book. There was an empty space on the nightstand, and it was not under the bed or in any of his drawers.

The next morning, he tore his room apart, rummaging through the tiny closet, groaning in frustration, flipping shoe boxes over his head and ripping coats off of hangers.

“What’s going on up there, Stevie? We’ll be late for church.” His mother’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m not going!” Steve barked, but then he collected himself. “My apologies mother. I’ll be right down.”

The sermon by Pastor Wilson was particularly long and torturous that day for Steve in his button down shirt and tie. He desperately wanted nothing more than to go back to his closet and find a way to get back to you. Pastor Wilson asked the congregation to stand for a hymn and that was when Steve caught sight of a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye: it was the hunched over figure of the old woman he’d bought the book from. She was standing outside the church window, looking in, her black scarf over her head, bracing against the wind.

But, she was moving now, turning and walking away.

Steve followed, excusing himself, he pushed through bodies as fast as he could without knocking people over while the congregation sang about begging for holy protection from satan.

Steve broke through the church door and out into the daylight just in time to see the older woman disappear around a street corner, shuffling her cart with her. Steve ripped his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt, preparing to run the distance to catch up with her.

“Leaving now?” An elderly man shouted after Steve from inside the church. “You’ll go to hell for that, son.”

“God, I hope so,” Steve barked over his shoulder, arms pumping as he lit out across the street, running toward the devil with all his might.

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