#“he looks up grinning like a devil” was definitely written for him

[yarrystyleeza]

whenever I'm writing and I drop "The Devil smirked/smiled/grinned" this is what I want to project:

I can't stress enough how much this man has an effect on me.

[yoonmoonn]

taste me┃jjk

04┃show stopper┃masterlist ┃taglist

note: why do i lowk hate it 😐 might rewrite later (also i definitely didn't fell asleep last night while editing this...)

You walked into the arena with a coffee in hand and a swing in your step, humming under your breath like the world was yours and no one else had even been invited.

“Why are you singing that early in the morning?” your manager asked, squinting at you over the rim of his tablet.

You just sipped your drink—half milk, half espresso, a little chaos on top—and twirled once in place, your platform sneakers squeaking lightly on the polished floor.

“Why not?” you shot back, grinning like the devil in lip gloss.

Something was off. Not in a bad way, just...off. You were suspiciously happy. Suspiciously put together for soundcheck. You weren’t pacing, weren’t barking about mic frequencies or annoyingly cold weather. You weren’t even late. You were early.

You, who barely showed up on time for your own birthday.

The venue crew was already buzzing around, and you drifted past them like you belonged in the middle of it all. Half-humming Taste to yourself, fingers snapping along with the beat in your head.

It was going to hit so hard tonight.

Your voice wasn’t tired. It was sharp. Your tone had that sweet, teasing edge that always made your fans scream like they were in on a joke you never told them. You moved from the edge of the stage to the wings and back, spinning once, letting your hair fall over your shoulder like you were in a music video and not just rehearsing.

You walked past one of your stylists and tapped her shoulder.

“Did the tights come in?”

She blinked, nodded. “Yeah. You mean the custom sheer ones?”

You grinned wider. “Mhm. The ones with taste me written just below the hip. In black script. Looks like a tattoo, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, half-shocked, half-impressed. “It’s... intense.”

You just shrugged, eyes glinting under your sunglasses. “It’s for Act I.”

Act I: the corset bodysuit—the baby blue one with rhinestones. The tights would sit underneath, skin-colored and nearly invisible unless someone really looked. But you knew who’d look.

Act II: the black lace capri catsuit. Always made you feel like sin on Mary Janes.

Act III: the two-piece top and micro skirt covered in Swarovski crystals that danced under the lights. That one always got the loudest reaction.

Tonight, though, Act I was the one you were counting on.

You didn’t say anything else. Just sipped your coffee, swaying slightly to the rhythm in your head. Humming again.

By now, everyone around you had noticed.

You weren’t nervous.

You weren’t bitter.

You were dangerous.

Like someone who had something to prove and had already planned exactly how to prove it.

You sang a few lines under your breath again, leaning against a wall, lips curling around the words like they tasted sweet.

“You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you”

Yeah. You were ready.

And if he was watching?

Good. That was the whole point.

The venue was already buzzing when you stepped into the wings.

Cameras flashed like fireworks. Lights swirled across the crowd in glittery loops, and the hum of the pre-show electricity lit up your veins more than the iced latte you'd downed in your dressing room. You adjusted your in-ear monitor with a smirk, fingers tapping along a random beat in your head as the opening scene was played across the big screen.

It was the last show of the tour leg. You should’ve been exhausted.

But you weren’t.

You were alive.

You knew he was here before you even saw him. The air shifted. That strange intuition that always warned you of Jungkook's presence tugged at your spine, made you glance out into the crowd right before the start of Act II.

And there he was. Front row. Black hoodie, hands folded, head tilted like he was trying too hard not to be impressed.

But it wasn’t him that made you pause.

It was her.

Standing next to him like she belonged there, like she hadn’t been the girl that once broke his heart—now suddenly smiling, screaming, recording every second of you on her phone.

Jumping around.

Singing along.

You almost laughed. Of course she was a fan.

Of course he brought her here.

By the time you reached the last track, the air in the arena was thick with anticipation. The crowd was already feverish from the last set, and you didn’t say a word before the music started.

The beat hit—slick, disco-infused, glittering under the lights like a mirrorball cracking open.

Your hips moved with the rhythm, sharp and purposeful, the lyrics pouring out with sugar-laced venom.

"Oh, I leave quite an impression—

Five feet to be exact

You're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin'

My body's where they're at..."

You kept your gaze wide, teasing and cocky, letting your voice carry high over the bass. But you saw him.

He wasn’t leaning back anymore.

His jaw was tense.

“Now I'm gone, but you're still layin'

Next to me, one degree of separation

I heard you're back together and if that's true

You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you...”

You moved across the stage with a steady, practiced grace, a smirk tucked in the corner of your lips. Not loud. Not bitter.

Just surgical.

And when you reached the final lyric—when your voice slipped into that final note, slow and honeyed and sharp as glass—you did it without flinching.

“You'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you...”

You pointed.

Right at them.

The lights exploded behind you.

The crowd lost its mind.

And in that tiny flicker of a second before the blackout, you caught it—Jungkook’s face, still as stone.

His girlfriend frozen next to him, hand lowered from where she’d been clapping.

You turned on your heel and walked offstage, chest rising and falling, sweat beading at your temples.

You didn’t look back.

You never needed to.

Backstage was chaos.

Glitter trailed your heels like stardust as crew members buzzed past, voices tangled in shouts and laughter, someone waving a towel, someone else yelling about lighting cues, someone crying over a broken mic pack. But it all bled into static.

You didn’t hear any of it.

Not really.

You walked straight down the hallway, past the green room, past the stylist trying to stop you for a post-show touch-up, past your manager calling your name. Your matching set was still on, the Swarovski crystals catching every low backstage light like small, sharp bursts of memory. Your lungs burned under the top. You felt too full and too empty at once.

Your heels clicked against the concrete floor, steady and sharp.

The silence inside you, though—that was deafening.

Your dressing room door swung shut behind you, and that’s when it all hit.

The adrenaline dropped like a weight down your spine, dragging heat and ache and a wild thrum of something unplaceable with it.

Your chest rose and fell like you couldn’t get enough air. You reached for the vanity, palms flat against the marble top, eyes closed as you leaned in, forcing your body to stop shaking.

You didn’t know what you were feeling.

Power?

Relief?

Rage?

A sob wanted to claw its way up your throat, but you swallowed it whole. No. Not here. Not now.

You stared at your reflection—flushed cheeks, sweat-damp hair at your temples, eyes wild and rimmed in liner that somehow didn’t smudge. You looked untouchable.

You didn’t feel it.

You felt cracked open.

Like every lyric of Taste had carved something out of you in front of 20,000 screaming fans.

Like you gave them blood in glitter wrapping paper.

You’d seen his face.

That was the worst part.

Not the shock in it. Not even the guilt that flickered there for half a second.

It was the way he watched you like he knew.

Like he always knew you could wreck him, and still let you.

You leaned forward, gripping the edge of the vanity so tightly your fingers went white.

You were supposed to feel better.

That song, that moment, that silence right after—it was supposed to be the closure you never got.

But it wasn’t.

Because somewhere in your chest, under all the performance, under all the glitter and venom and tight stagewear—he still lived there.

Uninvited.

Unwanted.

But there.

You slid to the floor before your knees could give out, the cold tile biting into your skin, arms wrapped around your legs, chin on your knees. You weren’t crying.

Not yet.

You were remembering.

The way he used to show up after soundcheck with coffee just the way you liked it.

The way he always said your voice sounded different when you were angry—hotter.

The way he used to trace your name on your shoulder with his fingers when you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember.

You pressed your forehead to your knees.

The show was over. The crowd was gone.

There were no encores. No more songs to hide behind.

No more lights to blur the truth.

Just silence.

And you—still half-hoping, half-hating—that he’d find his way back here.

Still kind of wanting him to come backstage.

Still kind of wanting him to beg.

The elevator ride felt like a lifetime.

Your condo was quiet the second you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you like a final period to a sentence you hadn’t wanted to write. The city buzzed beyond the windows—horns, sirens, muffled bass lines from someone’s party—but inside, everything was still.

You dropped your keys onto the marble counter with a clatter that echoed louder than expected. Your sneakers came off next, the shoe laces hitting the ground with the softest sound as you kicked them aside and padded barefoot across the floor.

Every muscle ached.

Your back. Your neck. Your voice box.

But mostly your heart.

You made your way to your bedroom without turning on any lights, letting the dim gold glow of the skyline wash over everything. Your room still smelled faintly of hairspray and perfume, the scent trailing you as you pulled your hoodie off your body and threw it somewhere in the room. The cool air kissed your bare skin. Your body felt like it was still vibrating from the bass.

You threw on an oversized shirt—his, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore. Too many pieces of him had ended up here. Too many traces of something that was never meant to last.

You walked back into the living room, collapsed onto the arm of the couch, tucking one leg beneath you. The room felt too big. Too quiet. Too clean.

Your phone sat screen-side down on the coffee table. You hadn’t touched it since the car ride home.

You could still see his face in the crowd.

Not just watching you—but studying you.

His new girlfriend had been jumping around like a fangirl, singing every lyric. Singing your lyrics. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

You tilted your head back and stared at the ceiling, your heart still racing even though it had been hours since you stepped off that stage.

You should feel proud.

That song was good.

You looked hot. You sounded even better. You did exactly what you came to do.

But here you were. Alone. Wearing a shirt that wasn’t yours, mascara still clinging to your lashes, throat raw, with no one to carefully tie your hair up or ask how you felt.

No one to say, you did good tonight.

No one to pull you in when you didn’t want to be strong anymore.

A shaky breath left your lips.

Because the truth—the kind that clawed at you when the noise faded—was this:

You didn’t write that song for him. Not really.

You wrote it for you. To remind yourself that you weren’t just something to be left behind. That you meant something. That he’d feel it—your absence—in every touch he gave her. In every kiss. In every goddamn memory that wouldn’t let him go.

You weren’t the kind of girl you forgot.

And he was gonna remember that.

Even if he didn’t come back.

Even if you didn’t want him to.

It was stupid—how much you missed him.

And even more stupid how you let yourself.

You never wanted to put a label on it. You were the one who kept saying no. You had your career, your image, your press team. The spotlight didn’t leave room for real love—not the kind that didn’t crack under pressure.

But he had made you feel something. Something steady. Something warm. Something that slipped through your fingers the second you tried to hold it too tight.

You closed your eyes and let the silence swell around you.

“He’s not what you need,” you whispered out loud, your voice barely a breath.

You said it again.

And again.

“I don’t want him back.”

And maybe if you said it enough, you’d believe it.

Maybe if you kept singing, kept dancing, kept doing what you did best—being untouchable—his name would stop echoing in the places he never should’ve touched.

You weren’t going to beg.

You weren’t going to break.

You just had to keep pretending you didn’t still want him.

The apartment smelled like vanilla.

Your perfume was still in the air, sweet and sugary the way you liked it—too much, always too much. Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, hands clasped tightly together between his knees. His hoodie stuck to his back from the sweat and heat of the crowd, but he didn’t bother changing.

The concert played over and over in his mind, but not in a nostalgic way.

Just...annoying. Loud. Unavoidable.

That song.

That look.

You pulled the stunt right in front of them, in front of everyone. Typical. Flashy. Petty. Just like you.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t told his girlfriend about your past—why would he? It hadn’t been anything real. Not to him, anyway. Not something worth confessing. You messed around. It was fun. It got messy. You liked playing games. He let you. That was it.

And now you turned it into a spectacle.

His girlfriend walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying her hair, wearing one of his t-shirts and some sweats, eyes narrowed and hesitant. Her voice broke the silence.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?”

He didn’t even look at her at first. Just shook his head, slow and dismissive.

“Jungkook.”

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered, finally standing up and heading to the kitchen like he needed space just to breathe.

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Maybe that the biggest pop star in the world basically just performed a song about you while staring you down from the stage?”

He opened the fridge. Took out a water bottle. Twisted the cap slowly. “It’s not my fault.”

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“She’s dramatic. Always has been.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She does this.” His tone was flat now. Distant. “It’s what she’s good at—getting attention.”

His girlfriend looked stunned. “So you were with her.”

“For a while. Yeah.”

“You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“It didn’t come up,” he said, sharp. “It wasn’t serious.”

“You didn’t think I’d find out?”

“She’s not my problem anymore.”

That hit. Her face shifted, hardening. “Wow.”

He took a long drink of water, like he needed something in his mouth to keep him from saying more.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I made you come tonight because I thought it would be fun. I thought it’d be this cool thing we did together. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t even look at me.”

He met her eyes, cold and expressionless. “Maybe I didn’t want to be there.”

She stared at him, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“Are you still into her?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“But you’re not over it.”

“She doesn’t matter,” he said, flat and final. “She’s just good at acting like she still does.”

Her eyes glossed over but she blinked fast, like she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Right.”

She grabbed her bag off the dresser and pulled her jacket over her shoulders without another word.

He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t even flinch when the door closed.

Just stood there, arms still crossed, the cold bottle sweating in his palm.

And when his phone buzzed five minutes later with a dozen tagged videos from the concert—you, spinning around in glitter and spotlight, dripping with attitude—he hit mute on all of them.

He’d played the game. He was done now.

Or so he told himself.

please don't claim or copy any of my work

taglist: @kam9404 @kissyfacekoo @httpjeonlicious @bjoriis @primadonnasdream @bammbi-jeon127 @emmie2308 @bleumornings @mrspotatas @akirawhore @haveakatekath @plushjeno @stars4kooo @butterymin @kikiflwr @dany2320-blog @diggaidk @kaiparkerswife @wishicouldmeethoseok (you can add yourself to the taglist from the top of the post or the navi)

[povcastiel]

Being Ace’s Lover — A Glimpse

Warnings | None really, slightly suggestive content at the end. ;)

Handsy

Ace is a pirate, an infamous one at that, which means his life is unpredictable. So it’s no wonder he wants you close every chance he gets. That means keeping you on his lap, even in front of the crew. Or holding you tight in bed.

This man couldn’t keep his hands off of you, even if he tried. He’d probably ask you to do him a favor, and shoot him - If he ever was insane enough to reject your affection.

Instant Respect

Aside from Ace’s gentlemanly demeanor toward you—The moment you became recognized as Ace’s girl, the rest was history.

His crew wouldn’t dare overstep, nor would they ever dream to be rude to you. As a result, you’ve won them over with your charm (thoroughly impressing Ace). But are we surprised? You’re a keeper.

This means any outside trouble you encounter is going to be resolved, not only by your boyfriend, but by the rest of his men as well.

Over Protective

Absolutely—no one will convince me otherwise. You’re lumped in with Luffy and Sabo, family, and that means Ace will do whatever he must, without hesitation, to keep you safe.

This goes hand in hand with Ace’s recklessness. Not the least bit afraid to stand up against anyone who verbally or physically dares to attack you.

And he'll drop everything, I mean everything, at a moments notice to help you or to simply be there for you.

Jealousy

Personally, I don't take Ace as a toxic jealous type. But that doesn't mean he'd let anyone get too close to you. If anyone even thinks about making a move on you, rest assured Ace is right there to put them in their place.

But don't try and flirt with someone else to rile him up, you'll hurt him more than anything else. :(

Nicknames

Ohhhhhhh hell yeah-

"Easy, spitfire."

"I missed ya, doll."

"Pretty girl, where ya been all my life?"

“I think they’re right, you’ve got me wrapped right around your finger, princess.”

Must I go on? He adores you.

Perks of Devil Fruit Powers

Definitely uses his powers outside of fighting.

I'm talking about using a finger to light the candles on your birthday cake, just to show off. (You know he's got the biggest, sleaziest grin when you look up too.)

And he without a doubt uses his warmth to keep you comfortable, when the nights on the ship are colder than usual. (Doesn't mean you aren't occasionally sweating to death at night, because this man does NOT let you sleep even an inch from him.)

Don't say I didn't warn you if it crosses over into the bedroom. In fact, Ace will turn it into a game to keep you on your toes. Besides, he loves to watch you squirm.

[I'm reeeeaaalllyy sorry this is so short, I haven't written something like this before, but ILY all. <3]

[of-many-fandomss]

hey can you write that Carlos Sainz is his wife Y/N (she is also Spanish) are nicknamed the couple the funny ones in the paddock because they often play pranks on each other on TikTok and they often tease each other because they have the same personality as it's their humor and that they are both tactile

The Funny Ones

Summary: a reporter asks about you and your husbands ways of pranking one another

Parings: Carlos Sainz x reader

Word count: 0.2k

A/N: Please don’t judge- this is the shortest thing I’ve ever written but I don’t feel like going back and adding more to it

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“So, you and your wife have been dubbed the ‘funny couple’ around the paddock,” The reporter speaking wore a big smile on her face, “You’re both known for constantly pulling pranks on one another and posting it on your social media platforms.”

Carlos grinned, features lighting up at the mere mention of you, “I’d like to say we both have the same sense of humor that makes it easy for us to joke around with one another like that without worrying about hurt feelings.” He joked.

“You two definitely have made a name for yourself in that aspect. From hiding and jumping out to scare one another to various TikTok trends, it seems like there’s never a break.” The woman smiled, seeing the clear look of love and adoration that rested in the man’s eyes.

Sainz’s eyes flickered past her and his features lit up even more- if that was even possible- his grin widening even more, “Speak of the devil!” He teased just as you came into view of the camera.

“Good to see you too, mi amor.” You smiled with a slight eye roll, allowing his arm to rest around your waist as you leaned up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

“We were just talking about you!” The reporter explained, “How you and your husband have become internet favorites with your constant pranks.”

“What can I say?” You smiled, playfully bumping your hip against Carlos, “This guy is too easy to mess with.”

It was then his turn to roll his eyes, gently poking you in the side, “Very funny.”

[hummingbird24220]

Can I request genderfluid! Reader just chilling out with the strawhats. Maybe they have a devil fruit that lets them have complete control of their body (within reason). I imagine Luffy, Chopper and Franky find it very cool, chopper and robin definitely want to find out the limits of their devil fruit. Sanji gets very flustered by their changing (they definitely use their fem body to get more snacks) and shopping trips with Nami. The rest of the straw hats are pretty indifferent to their devil fruit power (unless you have a cool idea for them) Also feel free to play around with how the devil fruit works if you want!

This was more rambling then I expected, you don’t have to write about all the strawhats if that’s too much you can just pick your favourite!

Hello! Yes, absolutely. Ive never written Genderfluid!Reader before, so i hope i did it justice.

----

Shifting Tides - Part 1

One Piece x Genderfluid!Reader

Part 2

The Thousand Sunny bobbed gently on a calm, glittering sea. No Navy. No bounty hunters. No chaos.

In other words: the perfect day to do absolutely nothing.

“Y/Nnnnn!” Luffy's voice echoed across the deck, limbs flailing as he bolted toward you. “Let me see the stretchy one again!”

You stretched your arm lazily above your head, grinning. “Stretchy one, huh? You mean this one?”

Your form rippled slightly as your body shifted—arms lengthening, fingers flexing like elastic, before snapping back into a different version of yourself. Taller. Buffer. Your voice a little deeper, cocking an eyebrow at Luffy.

“YOOOOOOO!” Luffy gasped, eyes sparkling. “THAT’S SO COOOL!”

Franky, polishing something vaguely explosive nearby, paused to adjust his shades and nod appreciatively. “That’s a super fruit you got there, bro! Sis? Bro-sis?”

You chuckled, morphing again mid-sentence—your frame shrinking slightly, hair flowing out longer, features softening. “I’m just me, Franky. But hey, you can call me whatever fits. I shift more than this ship does in a storm.”

Chopper practically popped out of the infirmary, notebook in hand and eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity. “I have so many questions! Do your organs change? Your bones? What about your hormone levels—do you produce different amounts depending on your form?!”

You laughed and ruffled his hat, ignoring how Robin subtly appeared at your side, gaze curious but calm. “You’ll have to join the queue, Chopper. Robin’s been cataloging me like I’m a sentient encyclopedia entry.”

“I simply find the limits of your Devil Fruit fascinating,” Robin said with a small smile. “The Body-Body Fruit, was it? Total control of your own biology, within reason. Do you have to imagine the change or feel it?”

“Little of both,” you answered. “It’s not like drawing a picture—it’s more like… feeling myself stretch toward a different version of me.”

Robin tilted her head. “Have you ever considered turning into someone with wings?”

“Please don’t give them ideas,” Zoro muttered from his napping spot against the mast. “They’re weird enough already.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Love you too, sword boy.”

Sanji exited the kitchen right on cue, tray balanced on one hand. “Snacks are ready for—”

You switched to your more femme form with a flick of your wrist. Your hair bounced, your eyelashes batted, and your voice dropped to a sugary, singsong pitch.

“Saaaanjiii~ You’re so sweet to me~ Could I maybe get an extra plate? For all this shapeshifting, I really must replenish my calories~”

His nose erupted in a predictable geyser of blood as he collapsed backward with a dreamy sigh. “A-a-a-anything f-for you, mademoiselle…”

You winked at Nami, who had just walked up beside you with a shopping list.

“You’re so evil,” she said fondly, grabbing your arm. “Now c’mon. I need backup for the next island. Pretty faces get better discounts.”

“Just say you like shopping with me,” you teased, shifting seamlessly between forms as you posed dramatically. “This look or this one? Or maybe—” you flicked to something androgynous, long coat billowing behind you. “Battle-ready discount mode?”

Nami laughed, dragging you toward the helm. “Doesn’t matter, you’re paying half.”

Later, as the sun began to dip and the crew gathered for dinner, you relaxed in your favorite form—somewhere in-between. Hair tousled, voice warm and casual, you leaned back and watched your chaotic family bicker, laugh, and eat like pirates do.

Usopp was trying to convince Luffy he could also control his body with sheer will (“I can stretch my nose!” he claimed, yanking it violently). Brook played background music that didn’t match the tone at all. Sanji sneakily brought you another plate.

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Zoro said, sipping from his sake cup, eyes half-lidded. “They change shape. So what?”

“Yeah,” you replied, mouth full. “And you fall asleep in every corner of the ship. We’ve all got talents.”

Robin smiled over the rim of her wine glass. “I think it’s nice. You’re truly yourself, however you choose to look.”

Luffy threw an arm around your shoulders. “You’re awesome! I wanna see what else you can do tomorrow!”

You leaned into him, grinning. “I’ll show you the stretchy one again, captain. But only if you don’t eat my dessert this time.”

“NO PROMISES!”

----

It started innocently enough.

Chopper had asked to do some basic testing—nothing invasive, just a few form swaps, flexibility checks, a reaction speed test, maybe a tissue sample or two (he was very polite about that part).

Robin had also taken notes. Pages and pages of neat handwriting. You were about 60% sure she was planning to write a paper on you.

“Can you shift muscle mass instantly?” “Yup.” “What about vocal pitch without altering your throat?” “Sure.” “Can you make yourself taller and still retain agility?” “Wanna race?” “What happens if you do this—” poke

Meanwhile, Luffy sat cross-legged in the middle of the deck, watching with wide, fascinated eyes. He clapped every time you transformed. “DO THE TALL ONE AGAIN!” You stretched up into a tall, broad-shouldered build with a sly grin. “Like this?” “YEAHHH! SO COOOOOL!”

Zoro leaned against the rail, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“…Y’know,” he said after a while, squinting, “it’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” you asked, flexing one arm in a very gratuitous show of your newest build. You had gone with an athletic look—abs on display, golden skin glinting with sweat. It was giving swordsman rival energy and you knew it.

Zoro shifted slightly, cheeks just the faintest bit pink. “I mean… not bad weird. Just weird.”

Usopp peeked out from behind a barrel. “Yeah! Like, one second you look like a cool dude, and the next you're a hot girl, and then you’re just… something else entirely! It’s like—like—brain static!”

You looked down at your current form, which was leaning into gender-neutral grace: lithe, sharp-featured, with a killer jawline and the longest lashes you’d ever conjured.

Then you looked back at Usopp.

“I cause brain static?” you said, smirking.

Usopp made a sputtering noise. “I—I didn’t mean—I mean, maybe! But like, in a cool way!”

You shifted forms again, landing in your soft, femme form—the one with the dewy eyes and curves that made Sanji short-circuit every time.

You turned toward him slowly.

“Sanji~” He was already mid-spin with heart eyes before you finished the first syllable.

“YES, MY LOVE?!”

“…Do you prefer this version of me?”

THUD. Sanji collapsed. Again. Chopper was beginning to consider a “Sanji Nosebleed First Aid Kit” specifically for you.

Luffy wandered over and poked your face. “So wait… when you’re like this, are you still the same you?”

“Yup,” you said easily, shifting again—now back to a masculine build with striking eyes and a lazy smile. “Still me. Always me.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Then how come I feel different when you change?”

You paused. “Different… how?”

He frowned hard. “Like… when you’re the tall guy version, I wanna fight you. But when you’re the pretty one, I wanna give you meat. And when you’re in-between, I just wanna sit next to you.”

There was a silence.

Usopp and Zoro both looked away. Sanji was still unconscious. Chopper looked mildly stressed.

You stretched your arms above your head, cracking your neck. “I think that just means you’re into me, no matter what I look like.”

“OH.” Luffy looked thoughtful. “...Cool.”

You smirked and dropped into a lounging position in a sunbeam. “You guys overthink this way more than I do.”

Zoro groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re too chill about this.”

You looked at him with a raised brow. “Why? You confused too?”

“…No.” “Yes,” Usopp whispered behind him. “Shut up, Usopp.”

Sanji groaned faintly from the deck. “Th-this is too powerful… weaponized attraction…”

You threw your head back and laughed.

“Y’all are lucky I’m nice. I could be so dangerous with this fruit.”

Robin flipped another page in her notes. “You already are.”

-----

It started during another chill day on the Sunny.

Nami had asked for your help at a merchant island—not because she needed it, but because shopkeepers tended to give you the “we-don’t-know-what’s-happening-but-we-like-it” discount.

You walked beside her in a charming, neutral look—cool, suave, just the right mix of soft and sharp.

She was talking about coral bracelets or something, but then she paused.

“…Wait,” Nami said, blinking at you. “Have you always had that jawline?”

You tilted your head. “Nope. Shifted it like ten minutes ago.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then made a very quiet, very frustrated noise.

“…Do you ever not look attractive?” she muttered, mostly to herself.

You wiggled your eyebrows. “You noticing, Cat Burglar?”

Nami elbowed you in the ribs and stormed off muttering about “stupid sexy shapeshifters.”

Later, Robin walked beside you, arms folded elegantly, and said very softly:

“Do you find it enjoyable, causing identity crises in everyone on board?”

“Immensely,” you said, flipping your hair (which hadn’t been long ten seconds ago). “You feeling the brain static too, Robin?”

She hesitated. Then calmly said, “…I will neither confirm nor deny.”

-----

You didn’t have long to bask in your power.

Marines.

A small ship spotted yours, then sped toward it—clearly thinking a frontal assault on the Thousand Sunny was a good idea.

“Want me to take care of it?” you asked, already walking to the rail.

“No killing!” Luffy called from the deck.

“No promises,” you called back.

You were in your tall, femme form—long legs, battle-ready, impossibly elegant. You leapt onto the enemy ship mid-sprint.

“Hello boys,” you purred, one hand on your hip. “Need something?”

Half of them froze. The other half tried not to stare.

“We—we are here to apprehend—”

You shifted mid-sentence—taller, broader, a sharp masculine form with rolled-up sleeves and a very punchable smirk.

“Oh,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “You’re here to die.”

BOOM.

The deck exploded into screams and confusion as you pummeled through them—fluid, fast, a one-person hurricane. When one of them tried to run, you shrank into a petite, lithe body, dodging low and then slamming an elbow into his gut with brutal precision.

When the dust settled, you stood atop a pile of groaning Marines, adjusting your collar like it was just another Tuesday.

“Done.”

-------

Zoro invited you to train with him. That was a first.

You joined him in your most jacked, bulky form—biceps like tree trunks, tank top barely holding on. He eyed you once, nodded in approval, and threw you a sword.

You sparred for a while, clashing blades, sweat flying, both of you grunting in that way that said "respect earned."

Then, just as he swung for your shoulder, you ducked, spun, and shifted—

—into your smallest, most delicate-looking form. Wide eyes, sharp smile. A twirl and a flip over his blade.

Zoro froze. The sword missed you by a mile.

You landed behind him and whispered, “You always this easy to distract?”

He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a gulp. “Don’t—do that.”

You winked. “What? Scared I’ll win cute too?”

-------

Later, you were lounging in the crow’s nest when Luffy climbed up beside you.

He flopped down, chin on your thigh like a lazy dog. “Hey.”

“Hey, Captain.”

“…What were you like before the fruit?”

You paused. Shifted forms once. Twice. A third time. Settled somewhere right in the middle.

“Mm,” you said. “Yes.”

Luffy blinked. “…What?”

You smiled. “Exactly.”

He giggled, kicked his legs lazily, and nodded. “Cool.”

You patted his head. He fell asleep ten seconds later.

---

You hadn’t expected it.

The Straw Hats were not a subtle crew, but they weren’t exactly known for heart-to-hearts either. Chaos? Absolutely. Fistfights? Daily. Group therapy? That was… new.

It started with a dinner.

You had walked in late—fresh from training, barefoot, a towel over your shoulders, and casually morphing from one body to another to get the stiffness out.

Tall to short. Femme to masc. A soft androgynous blend somewhere in the middle. Your muscles still ached pleasantly.

You sat down, yawned, and said, “Smells good.”

Sanji blushed so hard you worried he might combust.

The table was rowdy as usual—Luffy stuffing meat in his cheeks, Usopp talking with his hands, Nami counting coins, Franky yelling about cola, Brook asking someone to see their panties, Chopper taking notes on your post-training flexibility.

And then Robin—blessedly, elegantly, horrifyingly—spoke up.

“You know we love you, right?”

The table went dead silent.

Your brows raised. “Excuse me?”

Robin smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. “All of us. In different ways, perhaps—but we do. No matter how you look, no matter what form you’re in.”

“YEAH!!” Luffy shouted around a mouthful of meat. “You’re YOU! That’s what matters!”

Chopper’s hooves flailed. “You’re so cool and strong and kind and funny and—I don’t care what you look like!!”

Nami leaned her chin on her hand. “Honestly, sometimes you’re prettier than me and I hate it—but you’re amazing. I trust you with my life.”

Usopp raised his cup. “I can’t even explain what I feel when I look at you. But it’s definitely… affection. And fear.”

Zoro huffed, arms crossed, eyes slightly averted. “…Tch. Doesn’t matter how you look. You’re a pain in the ass either way.”

“Translation,” Robin added smoothly, “is: Zoro also cares deeply.”

Franky jumped up, doing an exaggerated pose. “YOU’RE SUPERRRR! Doesn’t matter what body, gender, height, or hairstyle—if you’re one of us, you’re one of us! Forever!!”

Brook tilted his skull slightly. “I do not have eyes, but if I did, they would weep with admiration. You are lovely, my friend—no matter how you appear!”

Sanji, dead silent this whole time, stood awkwardly. He looked at you like you’d hung the moon. Slowly, he walked around the table, stopping right beside your seat.

You watched him.

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I’ve said a lot of dumb stuff. Probably still will. But…”

He crouched beside you, one hand reaching—not to grab, but to rest gently over yours.

“You’re beautiful. All the time. In all the ways. But it’s not about that. I love you because you’re you. You’re strong, and clever, and stupidly good at messing with my head—but you make the Sunny feel more like home.”

You stared at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “Sanji…”

He grinned, a little crooked. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

The whole table groaned.

“You’re the worst,” Nami muttered.

You looked around, heart warm, body soft and relaxed in whatever form it chose. “You guys really mean it?”

Luffy gave you a big thumbs-up. “YEAH! You’re one of us!”

“You’re our crewmate,” Zoro said firmly. “No matter the body.”

Robin nodded. “And always loved.”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “So does this mean I don’t have to do chores for a week?”

“NO,” everyone said at once.

You laughed so hard you almost fell off your chair.

Later that night, after the dinner, after the hugs, after the crew had dispersed into their chaotic sleep schedule, you sat at the bow of the Sunny—alone for a moment.

The wind blew through your hair—short, long, curly, straight. You didn’t even notice what form you were in anymore.

You were just… you.

And that was enough.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Sympathy for the Devil

Prompt: Sold His Soul For A Donut | Word Count: 6666 | Rating: E | CW: Unprotected Sex, The Devil Doesn't Just Want Sympathy, But Praise Too, Mild Dom/Sub BDSM Vibes | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: AU, Accidentally Selling Your Soul, Like a Dumbass, But With A Happy Ending, Steve Harrington is the Devil (No, Really)

Also on ao3.

Now

Eddie runs right into the back of Gareth, not paying a damn bit of attention where he's going, like always. But this isn't all his fault. He didn't expect Gareth to stop short.

"What? Why're we stopped?" Eddie asks, looking around, like he might find the answer. They're supposed to meet Jeff and Goodie back at the hotel in fifteen minutes and they are at least twenty minutes away by foot.

"Don't you smell that?" Gareth asks, looking through the window of the bakery he's paused on the sidewalk in front of, hands pressed to the glass like an unruly child.

"Smell what?" Eddie asks. All he smells is yeast from the bakery. He guesses it smells good, but not so good that he needed to stop and drool on the glass. 

"The donuts. They smell so good."

Okay? He should just get a donut. They aren't rich, but they definitely have donut money. However, there is a long line backed up to the door, and they don't really have time for that. But Jeff and Goodie know they'll be late. That's just a given. They have met them before. It's kind of their fault for letting them wander off by themselves, if you really think about it.

"I'd sell my soul for a donut right about now," Gareth says, and Eddie's laugh is cut short by a voice coming from the doorway of the donut shop, the bell jingling over his head.

"I can help with that," the man in a sharp black suit says, as they both turn to look at him. He pops open the lid of the red bakery box, and inside has to be one of every donut the shop Gareth's drooling over must sell. 

Gareth may have been onto something, they all do look amazing.

The guy holds out the box a little further, and Gareth reaches for one that looks like it might be a carrot cake donut, from the little icing carrots piped around the ring of fried dough. Carrot cake is his favorite, he was never gonna be able to resist that one.

Then the guy then offers the box to Eddie, and Eddie shrugs, taking one too. The one he picked has Honeycomb cereal, Eddie's favorite, stuck atop a bright yellow glaze. 

"Thanks, man," Eddie says, and Gareth nods in agreement, also saying thanks. The guy just stands there grinning, and it would look way creepier if he wasn't so good looking. He watches until they've both taken a bite. It's good, but not as good as Gareth's acting like it is, taking a stumbling step backwards like the wind has been knocked out of him.

And everybody says Eddie is the dramatic one. 

The guy then reaches into his shirt pocket, balancing the box in one hand with ease. Pulling out a business card. 

It's a striking red, and looks expensive. Eddie reaches for it. And it feels like it's linen or some shit that feels good under Eddie's thumb.

But he takes it from Eddie's hand, and gives it to Gareth instead, and that fucking figures that the hot donut man wants to fuck Gareth and not Eddie. Eddie pouts, just a little. 

"In case you need to find me," he says, and Eddie would like to find him alright. Gareth, though, well. Dude's barking up the wrong tree. Sucks to be him. He was just used for his free donut.

Then he's gone. Gliding down the street, his black overcoat billowing behind him before he turns the corner, disappearing from sight.

Gareth hands the card back to Eddie. There's an address on the back and nothing else. 

"Weird. What kind of business do you think he runs? A sex dungeon?" Gareth asks, and Eddie laughs. He fucking wishes. 

It starts slow, a callousness that he's never had before. A bite. And at first Eddie assumes the tour is just getting to Gareth, making him pissy. That happens. Being trapped with each other for days on end. In cramped hotel rooms, living on top of each other. 

But that doesn't feel right. Gareth's never acted like this before, he loves to tour, loves being in the van more than any of the rest of them.

Eddie can't put his finger on it, but it makes him feel unnerved.

The rest of them talk about Gareth in hushed tones behind closed doors. Something's wrong with him, and they're not sure what they should do about his new attitude he's been sporting. But they find there's no answers, no easy fixes. 

Gareth just looks at them, staring blankly and uncaring. You can't shame someone that doesn't seem to have any shame left.

The final straw is when he makes Goodie cry. Goodie, for god's sake. The one well known for dishing it out and being able to take it in return. Eddie's never seen Goodie cry a single tear in all the years he's known him. 

Until tonight.

Eddie has to do something. They can't go on like this.

In the morning, on his nightstand is the business card from the donut guy. He knows it wasn't there the night before, at least he doesn't think it was. Surely he'd remember that. 

But his gut twists with gnawing clarity. What he's silently suspected.

Eddie holds the card in both his hands, like it might disappear if he doesn't hang on tight. The building is unassuming, and he pulls open the door. It's a big, spacious room with a single red elevator at the other end.

His boots click across the marble floor, and despite all the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, he presses the single button.

The down arrow lights up.

Well. He guesses he's going down.

And down he goes. It feels like one of those expensive hotel elevators that moves way too fast. There's no floor indicator, so he's just along for the ride until it comes to a smooth stop. 

His ears pop, and that can't be good.

When the door opens with a ding, he's right in the middle of an office, and Steve Harrington is sitting behind a large, ornate desk.

He motions for Eddie to take the seat across from him.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," Steve says, "I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year and stole many a man's soul and faith. I'm Steve Harrington."

"Uh, that's The Stones," Eddie says with a laugh, and Steve chuckles along with him.

"Perhaps it was written about me. Perhaps a deal was made. Long ago. A better one than for a donut," Steve says wryly, and Eddie swallows. No fucking way. He thought, but not really.

"You took his soul?" Eddie asks, just to make sure.

Steve nods, and waves his hand at the rows and rows of what looks like built-in mailboxes all along the wall behind him, "It's right back there. With all the others."

"Did you take mine?" Eddie asks. He doesn't feel like anything's changed, but maybe Gareth doesn't feel like anything has changed either. Even if it definitely has.

Steve shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.

"Why not me? Why not mine?" Eddie asks, sitting across from Steve, fingers digging into the ragged holes in the knees of his jeans just for something to do with his hands.

"You didn't summon me, you didn't make me an offer I couldn't refuse," Steve says, arms folded across his chest. Smiling.

"I ate a donut, too," Eddie argues.

"That was freely given, because you're so nice to look at," Steve says, and Eddie kind of hates that he's into that.

"So, what? You're the devil? Lucifer?"

"I prefer Steve."

"Yeah, yeah, what can I do to get his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"You want to make a deal?" Steve asks, leaning forward across his desk.

"Not like that! I like my soul right where it is, thank you," Eddie answers. He doesn't want to get tricked into anything, here. He knows he needs to be very careful.

"I could make you all very famous. I've done it before. Many times over. It's my specialty, actually. Keith and Mick struck a hard bargain, Mick studied finance, you know. I could give you the same deal. Not a ten year standard contract. Those are a dime a dozen. Boring."

Eddie hates that he almost believes this shit. If anyone struck a crossroads deal, it could have been Keith Richards. There's no reason he should still be alive and kicking, playing the goddamn guitar that well today.

There has to be a reason. And maybe that reason is Steve Harrington.

"I'm not giving you my soul to be famous. That's crazy."

Steve chuckles, and leans back again, "If you're not willing to part with your soul, then I'm not sure what you can give me of equal value. My hands are tied," he says. Folding his hands under his chin, elbows propped up on the desk. He's wearing a pinky ring, and Eddie can't look away from it. A signet, of some sort.

Now, Eddie's worn lots of rings in his life, but he's sure none of them have ever looked that goddamn hot. 

He forces himself to look away from it.

"You said I'm nice to look at," Eddie says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He digs his fingernails into his kneecaps.

"I did," Steve says.

"You can't have my soul," Eddie says again, "I do not consent. Can you take it by force?" 

Steve shakes his head.

"Why should I believe you?" Eddie asks. You don't trust the devil. That's like rule number one in all the books.

"I'm a man of my word. I only take what I'm offered. What are you offering me, Eddie?" Steve asks.

And a chill runs down Eddie's spine, making all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He never told Steve his name. He's sure of it. 

"Is your dick weird?" Eddie blurts out, and Steve laughs, a truly delighted sound. 

"Do you want it to be?" Steve asks, a glint in his eye, and Eddie can't help it, he laughs. Pulling his hair across the front of his mouth like he's a giggly schoolgirl looking for a prom date. 

Not a fully grown man, propositioning the goddamn devil. 

Eddie isn't sure what he's just signed up for, but Steve snaps his fingers and the room changes, shifts, and he's suddenly in a dark bedroom. All reds and blacks. Expensive draped fabrics.

It's a little on the nose for Lucifer, he's gotta say.

"What do you want from me?" Eddie asks, and he's equal parts concerned and excited. 

Whips, chains, hot pokers. Maybe he'll be hogtied and helpless. It could be anything, everything. Pleasure, or pain. Maybe both at the same time. Eddie'd be lying if he didn't admit to being excited by the prospect.

Instead of any of that, he watches as Steve sheds his clothes, and when he lays down on the bed, it's facedown, head propped on his arms. He snaps his fingers and a bottle of fancy-looking lube is suddenly in Eddie's hand. 

"That's a neat trick," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. He seems so normal, so human, it kind of scares Eddie that he's not terrified of him.

He's not human, he just happens to look like he is. No horns, no tail. Just miles of gorgeous skin. Eddie leans a knee down on the mattress, sinking in as he rubs his hand along Steve's back, over the curve of his ass. His skin is hot to the touch, a few degrees beyond warm, Eddie would wager. And always having cold hands, Eddie's immediately addicted to it. He glides along, caressing him, just barely brushing his hole with the edge of his thumb. Teasing him. Testing the water.

He's even hotter there. Goddamn.

Steve sighs contentedly, and closes his eyes.

Okay, then. Eddie smiles, so much for getting fucking freaky with the devil. But if that's not what Steve needs, well, Eddie will meet him where he's at.

"You like that, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods as his breath hitches in his chest at the endearment.

Well, good. He'll take care of him, then. He can do that.

He squeezes a good amount of lube on his fingers, and rubs them together. He wonders if this is even necessary. If Steve can just snap his fingers, and be loose, ready.

Where'd the fun be in that, though? 

Instead, Eddie works him open, first with his fingers, and then his tongue. It feels like it's burning him from the inside out, and he could get addicted to this. He always knew he'd tumble face-first into hell, he just never imagined it'd be like this. Eating out the devil. His palm pressed into a warm ass cheek, keeping him spread. Getting him wet, and sloppy.

Getting him ready to be fucked by Eddie.

Goddamn. 

Eddie's enjoying listening to him slowly lose control. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that it makes him feel powerful, having the devil himself bowing under his touch, his tongue. Opening for him. Begging for more, yearning for him. 

Turning over his control, which must be deep and powerful. Everlasting.

When Eddie finally pushes into him, he's snug and extra warm. Like he was made just for Eddie specifically. Eddie's never put his cock in anything this inviting in his whole goddamn life. It feels like he was always meant to be here, doing this with him. For him. Eddie leans forward so he can brush Steve's hair out of his eyes. So he can see all of Steve's face. If he's fucking the devil, he definitely wants to see him.

And he has no complaints when Steve's suddenly on his back, legs up, Eddie never pulling out, never even missing a stroke.

That's another neat trick.

Steve stretches his arms up over his head, his chest raising, and Eddie's eyes focus on a previously unseen mole in his armpit, barely visible on the edge of all that dark hair. Then Steve's gripping the metal bars of the headboard, and Eddie watches as his hands are suddenly bound to the bars, red scarves perfectly knotted at his wrists.

That's an even neater neat trick.

Eddie knows Steve's not really restrained, probably can't be, but that he wants to at least pretend he is, is doing something for Eddie.

Face-to-face is so underrated. He loves seeing Steve's face, because he doesn't want to miss a goddamn second of this experience, and he reaches down, wrapping his fist around Steve's hard cock. It's thick, big, absolutely perfect. Like it was designed with every ridge and vein being what Eddie would choose, if his personal preferences were taken into consideration. Eddie wishes he could choke on it while he fucks Steve. He's not sure if Satan has a prostate, but if Eddie had the power to bend things to his will, he'd make sure he had one that was easy to hit for goddamn sure.

Top priority.

Eddie tilts his hips, and Steve whines. 

"Look at you being so good," Eddie says, and Steve keens. Mouth parted, tongue wetting his lips. Interesting. That's very interesting. A subby, needy bottom isn't what Eddie had assumed he was getting when he agreed to hop in bed with the devil.

He rubs his hand against Steve's hairy thigh, fucking into him, "You like that. Don't you?"

Steve nods, white-knuckling the bed frame.

All in all, it's way more tame than Eddie had been expecting. He assumed he'd only leave here limping, scratched, bruised and scarred. But this isn't that. This is good sex, fuck yes it is, but it's not quite tormented sex dungeon.

Eddie jacks him firmly as he thrusts, trying to keep a good pace to keep those beautiful sounds escaping from Steve's parted lips. 

"That's it, darling, let go," Eddie coaxes. And he does. Hips leaving the bed as he comes all over Eddie's fist and his own taut stomach. Thick ropes of white, clinging to the hair below his belly button. 

Goddamn. 

Eddie thinks about pulling out, that's what he'd normally do, but Steve can maybe read his mind, which should scare Eddie more than it actually does, as he wraps his foot around Eddie's ass. Pressing inward, a blatant invitation to stay exactly where he is.

To keep fucking him.

So, Eddie does. Keeps the same pace, listening to him moan with every thrust. It doesn't take much longer, and as Eddie's hips stutter, his rhythm lost, he presses as far into Steve as he can. Coming deep with a long, satisfied groan.

He stays buried to the hilt, eyes focused on Steve's chest, heaving with exertion underneath him. Sweat clinging to all the hair on his chest.

He's gorgeous. 

When Eddie pulls out, his come is already leaking out of Steve's used hole. He presses his thumb against the hot, puckered skin, pressing it back into him as best he can. Fingers toying with him, unable to stop touching him. If he could get hard again right now, he would. He'd slide right back into Steve and fuck him all over again.

He'd never stop.

Instead, he gently lets Steve's legs down, and carefully unties his wrists, even though he knows Steve could do it on his own. He wants to, and when he's finished, he curls up against his side, wet fingers brushing through his chest hair, finding his nipple.

Steve giggles at the sensation, and Eddie laughs. Kissing both of his wrists, even if there's no indication he'd been tied up at all, before he presses his face into Steve's shoulder as they lay there together and catch their breath. Coming back down to earth, or wherever the fuck they are. Eddie isn't really sure, honestly. He might literally be in hell.

He can't find it in himself to care either way.

But he does have a question that's itching the back of his skull, demanding an answer.

"Why would you give us your card? Wouldn't it just be easier to disappear without a trace with his soul?" Eddie asks, laying in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, in his entire life. The silk sheets are a little much, but the mattress truly is to die for. 

Steve turns his head to meet Eddie's eyes, and smiles. He looks a hundred percent human, with his tanned skin, moles and chest hair. 

"Well, that's the general rule, yes."

"Then why—"

"—you, of course," he interrupts. 

Eddie smiles, "Me? Seriously?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He's here.

"You don't bring everybody home after you try to steal their soul?" Eddie asks.

"First off," Steve says, a hint of bitchy in his voice that really works for Eddie, "I don't steal anything. I take what I'm offered. And second, no, this isn't part of the arrangement most people get."

"How unlucky for them," Eddie teases, and Steve laughs. "Besides making a deal with The Stones, who else did you make deals with?" 

Eddie has to ask. He's super curious.

"In modern musical history? I'd say it starts with Robert Johnson," Steve says.

"So the crossroads legend is actually true?" 

"Not fully true, no. I didn't tune his guitar. That was an embellishment to make the story better. I don't even know how to play the guitar."

"Who else?" Eddie probes.

"Well, the whole 27 Club, basically. Those are mine. You don't get that kind of talent and fame in such a short period of time without some help along the way."

"Steve Harrington, were you making deals with minors?" Eddie asks.

"Oh no, if you want to join that illusive club, you'll take less than the average ten years in exchange for the notoriety. It's only fair."

"Does Gareth only have ten years, if you don't give his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"No, we didn't make any such deal. Those aren't done so easily. He got his donut, I got his soul, end of story. Most people, you know, those that think these things through, keep their souls until the end of the agreed upon contract. Gareth was just one of those souls so easily offered up that I sometimes choose to go ahead and collect."

Eddie nods. Steve didn't say he'd give it back, but Eddie thought it was implied. Maybe not, maybe he's been played, too. Just in a different way. Maybe he should have got it in writing, but that would have felt too much like prostitution. He didn't sleep with Steve only to get Gareth's soul back. But that was what brought him here in the first place. Obviously.

Maybe Steve never intended to give it back.

He can't think about that right now. 

"Stevie Nicks?" Eddie asks, going back to a more comfortable topic. 

"No. No, no, no. I don't mess with witches. No way."

"Elvis?"

"Of course. (You're The) Devil in Disguise is about me too, you know. Basically anyone who's covered Crossroads is mine."

"We've covered Crossroads!" Eddie yells, swatting at Steve's arm, and laughing as Steve ducks away, and then gathers Eddie up against his chest. Holding on tight. The devil is playful. Who fucking knew?

"Recorded," Steve amends, "not covered in a dive bar. I don't have that kind of time in the day, or the storage space, honestly."

Eddie just laughs. It shouldn't be funny. These are people's souls they willingly gave away for fame and fortune, no matter how fleeting. It makes him sad. 

But also, wildly curious. 

"The Kennedys?" Eddie asks.

"No, I don't deal in curses, and that's a cursed family if I've seen one. Whoever lost that rabbit's foot fucked it all up for the entire bloodline. I ain't touching that with a ten foot pole."

Eddie grins, "Ooh! The Beatles?"

Steve nods.

"Wow. Paul must have struck a much better deal than John," Eddie comments, and Steve smirks, a shit-eating grin if Eddie's ever seen one.

"No way!" Eddie says, rolling onto his side, "Paul is dead?"

Steve just shrugs his shoulders. 

"Holy shit. Tell me more," Eddie demands, curiosity getting the best of him. He wants all the dirty details. He loves to gossip, and this is the best pillow talk ever.

"Jacksonville in the sixties was a hotbed for dealmaking. You wouldn't believe the deals that could be made with people just trying to escape that swamp."

"You took Duane from us! And Berry!" Eddie accuses, pointing his finger at Steve, then thinks for a second, adding, "And Skynyrd?!"

"Who doesn't put fuel in a plane, honestly?" Steve asks, and Eddie knows the question is rhetorical. "Sometimes my job does itself for me."

Eddie goes through all the talented guitar players in his head that he knows came out of Jacksonville around that time.

"Mike Campbell?" 

Steve makes a face, touching his fingers to his lips, looking like he's disappointed, "Unfortunately not. All his talent is god given. Tom Petty was mine, though. I wandered down to Gainesville, just to see what they had to offer. You know, I think that's what made their music together so good. The devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. In perfect harmony. Blood harmony, as only brothers can be. It was probably that prick Gabriel that touched him. And what does he know? I was the angel of music. He's just a baby."

Eddie can sense a family squabble when he hears one, and chooses to just ignore it. He's not sure he's equipped to offer guidance on a fight between archangels, fallen or otherwise.

He changes the subject.

"Stevie Ray Vaughan? Please tell me you didn't take SRV from us?"

When Steve doesn't deny it, Eddie flops his head into the pillow, "You are the devil."

"As I've said, repeatedly," Steve banters back, "pleased to meet you."

Eddie shakes his head, before the next name pops into his head, "Buddy Holly?"

"No! That was just a terrible accident. You're not pinning the day the music died on me! No way. I don't only deal in plane crashes, you know."

Eddie just laughs, "I know, sometimes you use motorcycles, apparently."

Steve just glares at him.

"Touchy, touchy. Easy there, Beelzebub. You just tell me who else if you're gonna get all bent out of shape about my guesses."

"Do you follow sports?" Steve asks. Eddie doesn't and shakes his head accordingly.

"Oh, well. The Chicago Bulls dynasty in the 1990s was thanks to me, and in football I signed quite the trifecta: a quarterback, tight end and the head coach. You want a dynasty? You'll have to pay for it."

Eddie laughs, he has no idea what he's talking about.

"So, yeah, I've done some sports deals. Tiger. Olympians, every four years, like clockwork. But I just have a preference for guitar players."

"Gareth's a drummer. Your aim was off," Eddie teases, and Steve just smiles at him.

"I don't know, I think I got exactly what I wanted out of that interaction," Steve answers, pulling Eddie tighter against him, and Eddie feels his face flush. 

Eddie should run fucking screaming, but instead he slides closer to Steve, pressing his thumb to Steve's neck. He can feel the pulse thrumming there, beating against his skin. He's alive. But he's been around for decades, maybe centuries. Maybe forever. 

Because he's the goddamn devil. 

Eddie just can't find it in himself to care.

He slings his leg up over Steve's hip, and presses their lips together in another kiss.

Then he hooks his chin over Steve's shoulder, holding onto him tight. They just hug in the silence for a while, before Eddie says, "I could teach you to play the guitar, if you want."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's back, letting it splay between his shoulder blades, fingers gently rubbing circles against Eddie's skin. It takes a few moments, but Steve finally speaks, "In all my years, nobody's ever offered to teach me to play before. Thanks, Eddie."

Steve falls asleep burrowed under the covers, back to Eddie, and Eddie wasn't sure if the devil needed to sleep, but apparently he does. The only reason Eddie's pretty fucking sure he's actually asleep is because the room shifted, changed, as if it couldn't be held in the state it was without Steve being conscious. The facade, gone.

It's a normal bedroom, now. Light gray walls, the bedding piled high on the bed, all so incredibly soft, and in shades of deep, stunning blues. It's cozy, and comforting.

It feels like a home. Not a sex lair out of some sort of B-movie.

And for some reason Eddie feels grateful that he was invited to peek behind the curtain.

There are pictures lining the walls. Some look old, very old, and others appear more recent. He wonders if these are of his chosen family, people, loved ones that he found after he fell from grace. If the devil is even capable of getting attached to humans.

He's definitely interested in finding out. He wants to know everything about Steve.

Eddie stills, frozen when he sees a shadow moving through the hallway outside of the door. His imagination runs wild. Hellhounds, demons, something straight from the depths of hell coming to dispose of him.

It's just a woman. In fuzzy slippers, and a long t-shirt. Her hair cut into a cute bob, even as mussed as it is from sleep. When she spots him, she stops in front of the door, and they stare at each other.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, and Eddie wonders if this is a warning. If she's trapped here, if she doesn't want him to meet the same fate. If—

She reaches forward and yanks him by the arm, tugging him into the hallway, hissing, "Steve doesn't bring anyone home, how'd you get here?"

"Uh, he fell asleep, I think," Eddie answers, and she looks around him, back into the room, like she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth or not.

Then she grins, "Did he really?"

Eddie nods, and she slugs him on the arm, "Look at you go, little weirdo."

"Who are you?" he asks, rubbing his arm. "His wife?"

"Ew. No. I'm Robin. His lesbian best friend. Don't hurt him or I'll make you pay," she says, and he swears her eyes flash red, just for a second.

"I'll try not to hurt the devil," he says sarcastically, but she just smiles, looking him up and down.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Eddie," she says, and he swears to god, is he wearing a nametag he's not aware of?

She just gives him a push back into the bedroom, and then she's gone. 

The devil has a lesbian best friend named Robin, and they live in the suburbs?  As if his day could get any weirder.

Eddie turns and looks back at the bed. If the room changed, Steve probably did, too. A nervousness twists in his gut. The urge to look, but also the urge to stay in the dark. To not know what he really looks like. To not know what he just had sex with.

But, bad news first, always. 

And he creeps to Steve's side of the bed, and the comforter is pulled up over his shoulders, but his face is visible. Cheek pressed to the cotton pillowcase, features slack, as he very slightly snores on each exhale.

He's still Steve. 

Eddie shakes his head at his overactive imagination. He doesn't know why he expected him to suddenly have red skin and horns, but he definitely did.

So, the room is a facade. But Steve isn't. That's really what he looks like, and isn't that just unfair. A handsome devil, indeed. 

Eddie stands in front of the window, the moonlight casting shadows, a single street light illuminating the corner where a black cat sits and licks its paw. He could be anywhere. In any neighborhood. But looking out at it, all he cares about is that it looks peaceful.

Eddie carefully crawls back under the pile of bedding, and slides an arm over Steve's side, pressing his face into Steve's back. If he lives until tomorrow this will be a hell of a story, that's for goddamn sure.

When he wakes up, he's back in the dark, silk-covered cave of a bedroom. Not the homey one. Steve's already up, dressed in an all-black suit, the only color is his deep red tie. 

Once Eddie's up and re-dressed into yesterday's clothes, Steve walks him to the rows of mailboxes, and his hands still in front of one. They aren't even marked with numbers. They all look identical to Eddie.

"Is that his?" Eddie asks.

"Yes," Steve answers.

"Do you have, like, a chart? A logbook?"

Steve laughs, "No. I have a good memory."

Eddie finds that to be a little suspect, but he watches as Steve adjusts the dials, using the combination to unlock the box. 

"What if you're wrong? What if that's not his soul? What if that's Ted Bundy's soul?" Eddie asks, his hand covering Steve's.

Steve laughs, "Just trust me."

Eddie pulls back his hand. When he does, Steve opens the mailbox and a swirl of pure white light escapes, it's nearly blinding as it bounces around the room, nearly frantic in movement, before slipping into the crack of the elevator, suddenly gone from sight.

"That was Gareth's soul?" Eddie exclaims, and Steve smiles, closing the door on the box once again.

"That was his soul," he confirms, "Feisty little thing."

"And it'll find him on its own?" Eddie asks, needing to make sure. He can't have it just bouncing all over the world. He needs it back inside Gareth, like, yesterday.

"It will," Steve answers, "but let me assure you, this won't be fun for him. Once you're here on earth, souls are only supposed to go one way: out. Through death, or a trade. A deal. Going back in isn't really advised."

"But it'll work? He'll be okay?" Eddie asks, nervous. Gareth needs his soul. The rest of them won't be able to stand him without it.

"It'll work, but he might wish it hadn't for a few days," Steve says, and Eddie nods, swallowing hard. 

Eddie stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Unsure of what happens now. Does he just leave?

"So, we're good? He has his soul. I have my soul?" he clarifies.

Steve grins, "Yes, you have your soul. I can't take it without it being offered. Without you making a deal, a trade for it, no matter how fair or unfair the terms and conditions."

Eddie nods, but Steve keeps talking.

"And I kind of like it where it is. It's what makes you, you," Steve says, rubbing his palm against Eddie's sternum. Eddie reaches up, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck, kissing him.

When they break apart, Eddie looks into his dark eyes, "Will I see you again? Or, will this place vanish the second I step out of the elevator?"

Steve giggles, a delightful sound, "You watch too many movies. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, quite literally for eternity. And as long as you have my card, you can always find me. The address may change, but the place will not."

"Fuck, I gotta keep track of the card?" Eddie asks. He's not the most organized person on earth. He's lost four wallets in six years.

"If you lose it, I'll know. I won't let you get away that easily," he says, "you still owe me."

Eddie feels momentarily uneasy, but it passes looking at Steve's open face, "What do I owe you?"

Steve cradles Eddie's cheek in his large palm. It feels so warm against Eddie's skin, "Another night together. Dinner. A date."

Eddie laughs, leaning into his touch. He's gonna date the fucking devil, and he's somehow a thousand percent on board with that idea.

"Deal," Eddie says, and Steve laughs, brushing his thumb against Eddie's cheek.

"Don't say that word. Don't make deals. I'm not the only thing out there that can take advantage of it."

Eddie swallows, and nods. No deals. Got it.

"Okay," Steve says, pulling back and Eddie knows that's his cue to go. 

Steve walks him to the elevator, and presses the single up button, the arrow lighting up red over their heads.

He guesses this is it.

It's not until the elevator doors close behind him that he realizes he's got an extra ring on his finger. Steve's gold pinky ring is now on Eddie's own hand, standing out against all the silver. He twists his hand under the lights in the elevator, watching it gleam, and he grins.

That's when he recognizes the drum beat, the familiar guitar lick that leads into the riff coming through the elevator speakers. That sultry, laid-back sound.

Eddie smiles as the lyrics kick in. Steve's giving him permission. To love him, or to not. A direct message that Steve thinks he won't run away, and well, he's right. Eddie won't. 

He's definitely feeling like it's love, even if that seems ass over teakettle crazy.

"It's alright...it's alright," he sings along under his breath, as much to himself as anything else as the elevator makes the long, smooth climb upwards.

Then, the ascension finally stops, the elevator chiming, announcing his arrival topside.

The doors open, and Eddie feels rooted to the floor. They start to close again, but he shoots his hand out, and sees that golden ring, leading the way.

And he finally steps out.

It feels warm on his finger all the way back to the hotel across town. Like Steve's own fevered skin is touching him, constantly. A reminder. He adjusts his half-hard cock in his jeans at the idea of somehow being claimed by Steve.

That should terrify him, but it doesn't. It really, really doesn't.

When he opens the door to the room, Gareth is shivering in bed.

"Are you back to fucking normal?" Eddie asks, crawling into bed beside Gareth. Hands finding his face, checking him over. Looking for some sort of sign. A light in his eyes.

He knows what his soul looks like, now. How bright, how energetic.

Gareth nods. He's shivering, and fucking bawling. Good. Maybe next time he won't make a goddamn deal with the devil for a fucking donut. He's burning up. Steve said this would happen. It's supposed to be a one way exchange. Putting one back isn't as easy as it sounds.

But he did it, for Eddie.

Eddie climbs back out of bed, runs cool water over a washcloth, and presses it to Gareth's forehead when he climbs back in bed with him.

Eddie pulls Gareth into his side, pressing the damp cloth to his skin, "It's fine now. You're fine. I fixed it."

Gareth nods against his chest, and then croaks out, "What'd you have to do?"

"You don't want to know," Eddie answers, but the smile that spreads across his mouth is wide. Steve's card is burning a hole in his pocket, and he can't wait until he gets to see him again. It may be a terrible idea, but for some reason he's choosing to trust the devil he now knows.

"Eddie," Gareth pleads, coughing, a wet hacking sound, "Was he the devil?"

"Yeah. That's Steve. You'll like him."

"He took my soul, Eddie," Gareth whines.

"Yeah, but he gave it back, so you better be nice and grateful the next time you see him. Got it?"

Gareth mumbles under his breath, but Eddie flips the washcloth, offering the cooler side, and he settles against Eddie, "But what did you have to give to get it back?"

"Don't you worry," he says, pressing his lips to the top of Gareth's head, "it was nothing I didn't want to give away freely."

Later

Eddie stands on the stage, and wraps his hands around the mic as it's secured in the stand, center stage. Guitar slung loose at his side. He grips the mic, and can't help looking at the gold pinky ring, the stage lights making it gleam.

The crowd screams for the encore. The stadium is packed to capacity. Another sold out show, on another sold out tour. A career other bands envy and have tried desperately to emulate, with little success. 

Clamoring for the secret, the one Eddie isn't willing to share. It doesn't matter, there isn't another deal like it, and never will be. 

Four souls, fully intact. 

Only his love, given freely. 

The deal that wasn't really a deal at all. But one he'd make it again, and again, all the same.

Eddie smiles as Gareth starts gently banging on his conga drum, setting up the percussion loop as Eddie entertains the crowd. Then he does the maracas, and the guiro. Eddie hears when the loop is set, and is ready for Gareth to start in on his snare groove, using one stick to bounce off the head, and the other to hit the rim. Wood on metal.

The crowd screams, knowing what's coming, what song they always end their shows with. The same song, night after night, tour after tour. The one constant.

Glancing stage right, Eddie sees his familiar arms folded over his chest, the black suit making him nearly invisible in backstage darkness. But Eddie can see his own silver ring, a shining beacon off-stage. Catching his eye, and his heart. A promise, a commitment.

A love.

Eddie pulls the mic closer to his mouth, grinning wickedly before he starts singing the familiar song, written about the devil himself, who just so happens to also be Eddie's whole goddamn world.

"Please allow me to introduce myself…"

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Welp. Sympathy for the Devil will now forever be tied to Steve Harrington to me. I don't make the rules.

This was one of those fics that I didn't know what I was going to write for the prompt until I opened the doc, and it just kept pouring out. Those are always so much fun! The first 5,500 words were written in 24 hours! And once I realized I was in the ballpark of 6,666 I had to go for it. Obviously.

It was fun to run with the age old myths and conspiracies theories that celebs sell their souls for their fame and fortune: That Paul is dead. That Keith will outlive us all. That the Kennedys are cursed.

The football trifecta was left intentionally open. It could have been the Patriots (Brady, Gronk & Belichick) or the Chiefs (Mahomes, Kelce & Reid) - it was readers choice, lol. Or if you weren't into sportsball, like Eddie isn't, it truly didn't matter. There's just no universe in which Steve Harrington, sports enthusiast that he is, wouldn't be putting his thumb on the scale for sports, too.

Duane Allman and Berry Oakley, both members of The Allman Brothers Band, died in separate motorcycle wrecks, almost exactly one year apart, the wrecks happening three blocks from one another. Both were 24. They are buried beside each other in Macon, Georgia.

Something was in the water in Jacksonville, Florida with all the guitar talent that came from there in a very short period of time. I couldn't resist giving Steve credit for it here.

The elevator song was Breakdown by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, that starts like this:

it's alright if you love me, it's alright if you don't i'm not afraid of you runnin' away, honey i get the feeling you won't

And finally, here's a playlist of some of the mentioned artists that may or may not have sold their souls to Steve Harrington. I had fun picking out songs that either directly referenced the devil, or at least could be interpreted that way. 🤘

[derangedsynthpop]

because barbie

written for @bucktommywinterfest Halloween warm up round

prompt: couples costumes

rated: T

tags: halloween costumes, horny buck, smitten tommy, banter

word count: 824

[read below or on AO3]

Summary:

Buck and Tommy try to figure out what to wear to a 118 Halloween party.

***

"I am not wearing that."

"What? Aw, c'mon, Tommy. Please?" Buck tilts his chin down to look at Tommy through his lashes with a pout.

"Absolutely not. And put those sad puppy eyes away, Evan, they won't change my mind."

"Okay, fine," Buck huffs. Taking one more look at the picture on his phone, he frowns, silently mourning what could have been, and shuts the screen off. "Then what would you suggest?"

They're sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing each other, and trying to decide what to wear to the Halloween party Bobby and Athena are throwing at their new house. Buck feels like they've been going back and forth over it for hours, when in actuality, it's only been about ten minutes.

"Okay," Tommy grins wickedly, doing that little excited wiggle he does that Buck adores. "You already know I have the whole get-up to do Han Solo..."

Buck raises an eyebrow at that, instantly intrigued. "And who would I be?"

"Well, I think you would look really hot in a slave Leia costume."

The images that Buck's mind conjures has blood rushing to his face and his heartrate skyrocketing. "I, um-- Uh, wow," he says a bit breathlessly. "I... wow."

Tommy laughs, cupping Buck's face in his hands. He gives Buck a quick peck on the lips. "Did I break your brain?"

"Mhm."

"You know I wouldn't actually ask you to wear that in front of your friends and family, right? Unless you really wanted to."

Buck breaks out of his daze to say, "Hey, they're your friends and family, too, Tommy."

Tommy gives him another quick kiss. "I know. I just also knew phrasing it like that would get your brain back to the present."

Buck rolls his eyes affectionately. "Okay. So, I'm definitely not wearing a slave Leia costume. Outside of sexy time, that is. And, I don't know... Princess Leia, or even General Leia, just isn't sparking anything."

"Bee and bee keeper?"

"Too soon."

"Milk and cookies?"

"Too cliche."

"Shaggy and Scooby?"

"Too many invasive questions about our sex life."

"Ghostbusters?"

"Ehhh..."

Tommy sighs. "Evan, we have to pick something in the next few days or we'll be the only ones without costumes."

"Ughhhh," Buck groans, dropping his head back. "Why is this so haaarrd?" His head shoots back up. "Oh! Hard! Maybe sex will help me think."

Buck reaches for Tommy's pants, but Tommy grabs his wrist. "No. No sex until we figure something out."

"Oh, you are evil."

Tommy grins big, his eyes crinkling and nose scrunching up all adorable, taking Buck's hand and bringing it to his lips. Buck is helpless against that smile, blushing as he returns a small smile of his own. "Angel and devil?" Tommy asks, and kisses Buck's knuckles.

"May...be...? It's a solid contender, at the very least."

"Alright!" Tommy claps his hands together. "Finally, we're getting somewhere."

"Ooh, one of us could be the Rubber Man from American Horror Story." Buck waggles his eyebrows, biting his lip as he looks Tommy up and down.

Tommy gives him a look. "What was that about too many question about our sex life?"

"Relax, Babe, I was kidding." Buck pats Tommy's leg. Then he grins, and adds, "Mostly."

"Brat."

Buck sticks his tongue out, like the mature adult he is. Tommy flicks the tip of his nose, then kisses it to soothe the slight sting.

"Okay, well what about pirates? Cowboys?" Tommy asks.

"Hmm, I was a cowboy for the Haunt Fest. I don't want to just repeat that. But you in assless chaps? Yes, please."

"Evan."

"What?"

"You're picturing me in assless chaps, a cowboy hat, and nothing else, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Buck says like it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.

Tommy shakes his head, a fond look on his face.

"Cop and robber?" Buck suggests. "I'll let you cuff me."

Tommy quirks a brow. "Like you don't already?"

Buck snickers. "Okay, okay. For real this time. Um, what about... Oh! Barbie and Ken. In their cowgirl and cowboy oufits."

"I thought you didn't want to be a cowboy again? What makes this any different?"

"Because Barbie."

"Alright," Tommy raises his hands in surrender. "But why not Ken and Ken?"

"Why would be both be Ken?"

"Because... we're both men?"

"Tommy," Buck looks at him like he's grown a second head. "It's Barbie and Ken, not Ken and-- Wow. Nope. No. That came out all wrong. I sound like a homophobe."

Tommy laughs. "We could be Alan and Ken."

"So you don't want to see me in a sparkly hot pink cowgirl outfit?"

"I--" Tommy starts, stopping abruptly, his cheeks heating. "I don't not want to see you in a sparkly hot pink cowgirl outfit."

"So... Barbie and Ken?" Buck gives a sly smile.

Tommy nods in agreement. "Barbie and Ken it is."

"And... sex now?"

Tommy bursts out laughing, grabbing Buck's face to kiss him. "Yes, baby, sex now."

"Yeehaw!"

[brotherwtf]

more of the same but now with some content associated with it bcs I am.... OOOOOOOO

this but it's age gap and it's so horny it's not even funny because someone needs to wreck this man and it might as well be John Egan so it's gonna be I fear

Gale who just turned 24 y/o, he and John, who just turned 43, are celebrating almost five years together and they've been so stupidly happy it's not even funny, good romance and good sex will make any man happy, and Gale and John have been perfectly content with how their relationship is going

Gale's PTSD episodes have started to become less extreme, and so have John's, all in all they've been kinda cruising heading into their five years together. Gale graduated college and started working, finally forcing John to let him pay his part of the bills, and John begrudgingly let him, not happy that he can't just always take care of Gale

but of course Marge is the little devil on Gale's shoulder and when she dyes her hair bright red and she starts wearing a stiff black line of eyeliner, a phase she really should have gone through in college, but she grins at Gale one night when they spend time together and holds out boxed hair dye, a deep obsidian color, and Gale agrees to let Marge dye his hair, he's been wanting a change for a while now

and when Marge pairs his new, raven hair with a smudge of black eyeliner, Gale can't take his eyes off of himself, and he smiles because he knows John won't be able to either

he makes sure to do it when John has like a day or two away, just so the dye had time to set and he had time to buy a couple of slutty tops and bottoms to perfect the look and oh God, John's gonna go fucking bonkers I fear

but picture this: Gale with black hair and eyeliner, a slutty little top that shows off his chest and neck and waist and Johns just supposed to be okay with that? as if

when he gets home he's instantly floored, Gales just in the kitchen or the living room or smth, just existing and John almost gasps when he sees Gale all dressed up and slutty, new hair color and everything, and you best believe that John has his hands on him in minutes, arm instantly finding his waist and lips finding Gales, kissing him hotly and Gale can barely breath, arms coming up to clutch John's arm to try and get his feet back under him

John can't stop muttering about how damn pretty Gale is, can't believe that he's all his, can't believe he gets this all to himself and Gales so hot under the collar that he's dragging John to bed..... God it's so fucking hot I fear

part two probably coming tomorrow night so look out for more smut lmao (is this like a fic I've written? definitely, damn)

[missbuckyhellfire]

This Will Be My Year: Eddie Munson

MASTER LIST

Part Seven: Halloween Part One (18+)

Warnings: Some Language, Flirting,  Oral (F Receiving), Blindfolds, Handcuffs,  Non Penetrative Smut ahead

PREVIOUS PART

Audra did not want to admit it, but she loved Halloween. She loved the parties with friends, but she especially loved dressing up into different costumes. She never was the one who would dress overly  slutty, but she was one who would try to be extra flirty.

She did not deny that she has gotten closer to Eddie in the past few weeks during their tutoring sessions. Of course, there was nothing that was going on between them, but she couldn’t help but think about him more and more.

But she wouldn’t say she loved him of course.

Maybe a small crush, his puppy brown eyes were getting to her.

Audra didn’t know why she agreed to this, but she somehow ended up in the back ally of the Hideout with Corroded Coffin after their gig in a fairy Halloween costume. There was not much to it, just a pair of elfish ears, medium purple iridescent wings with a light blue frilly low cut dress that rested to her knees. She had let her hair down as the tips of her hair rested in the top of her breasts.

The guys hadn’t gone as far as she went this year. They only had put on devil horns and a dark top. They told her that they did not have much time to get something together but she knew for a fact that they just didn’t want to.

She was confused as to why Eddie didn’t want to dress up. Audra thought this would be right up his ally. However, he claimed that his costume was at home, waiting for him to put it on when they get there.

“How are your grades going Eds since Tinkerbelle here has helped you?” Gareth had asked taking a swing of his beer.

“Eddie is getting there,” Audra had muttered. They have tried and seems like his papers were getting passing grades, a “c” typically. But that did not do for her. She wanted to help him develop his skills more.

Eddie had chuckled. All he was thinking about was how cute she looked in that outfit and also how pissed Jason is going to be when he sees her go to the Halloween party with him. Eddie was never a party person, but he definitely wanted to make Jason take note to fuck off.

Eddie had intentionally had asked Audra to go to the party as soon as he heard about it.  He wanted to piss Jason off and spend time with her. Consider it as two birds with one stone if you will. He did have to admit that she was growing on him.

The Halloween dance proposal was not anything too extreme.  Audra was by her locker and noticed the bright colored rose by a single word written in sharpie with some pumpkin and ghost drawings.

DANCE?

Audra had turned around and noticed that Eddie was next to her locker with a Cheshire cat grin across his face. “Well?”

“Yes!” She squealed then it followed by a list of different costume ideas that she was planning to do that year which had resulted in the two of them giggling and a scowl by Jason and the jocks who just so happened to be walking by. They also missed the “going as friends part” which made Jason fume.

After some small talk, Eddie had cleared his throat “ I think we need to head out to the party. We will plan the DND session to be next week?”

All of the guys agreed and watched Eddie leave with the girl, they knew something was definitely going to happen tonight. Everyone, especially Jeff and Gareth noticed how he was getting nervous around her while she seemed to be helping him for the better with his academics.

************************************************************************

The two didn’t want to get to the party too early so they just decided to  take it easy and watch a scary movie in Eddie’s RV . Audra was alone on the couch and was busy watching the movie while Eddie had  went to the washroom.

Her brown eyes were fixated on the screen, enjoying the tense atmosphere as she watched Laurie Strode being chased by Michael Myers. She didn’t notice that Eddie just got out of the washroom with his Halloween costume on with a quick twist to it.

 It took him forever to plaster the elf ear tips onto his own and the pants and top was from a costume shop that he begged Wayne to stop at a few months back. The black leather pants were comfortable enough but not tight enough to flash his junk in the public. He grabbed a green loose top with wide sleeves and a drawstring on top to adjust how revealing he wanted his chest to be. He didn’t want to go too far with it so he just made it open enough just to tease his dark chest hair. His long hair was dangled free  giving him the appearance of a elvish prince.

In his hand he had a cheap Halloween mask that he got when he was small. He just wanted to fuck with her before they went out. He slipped the devil mask on and oh so quietly had snuck behind her then just tapped her shoulder as fast as he could. He did not expect the hard smack that followed.

SMACK!

Audra was scared out of her shit. She was pissed of being startled this bad. It was only an automatic response that he got slapped across the face.

“OW!”

“DON’T SCARE ME LIKE THAT” Audra had scolded him but stopped when he took off his mask.  She took in the details of the costume from the ears to the top and the scent of woodsy cologne.

‘Now I know to not scare you, you got bite “Eddie had smirked.

“Why did you not want to dress up for your gig you look great!” Audra’s eyed did not leave Eddie.

“Don’t you think Elvish prince does not go well with a metal band?” Eddie had giggled but he didn’t loose contact with her either being gorgeous as always. But he couldn’t get his eyes on the upper part of the low-cut dress she was wearing. The sweet smell of vanilla and candies had brought her in too.

“I think it is pretty metal Eds”

“Your pretty metal yourself Princess”.

Both Eddie and Audra did not know how there was so little space between their lips right now. Perhaps it was the tension between them as they spent more time together or the close call a few weeks back when they just met. But their lips were mere inches away from each other now. Their presence and dark eyes meeting one another just felt so comforting for them.  At this point they were under each other’s spell, yet Audra was considering her options.

Do it or Not. There may not be another chance.

Audra had separated the distance between the two of them and their lips had brushed against each other, just to test out the waters. They were soft inviting even to her. She blinked twice which had tickled Eddie a bit. All that she was waiting for was for him to take the next step.

Eddie froze on the spot, not knowing what to do. Sure, he has kissed a girl and slept with a few, but this was someone who he grew closer to. He saw her everyday and was a decent human being. Did he want to ruin it?

Fuck it, he would suffer the consequences later.

He cupped her cheek as he crashed his lips against hers, listening to the soft moan that Audra had let out from the touch and feelings of butterflies that were in her belly.  She took a step closer so there was hardly any space between them as she playfully tugged on the soft curls of his hair. He grunted in response.

This followed by another kiss.

Then another until their lips were plump and swollen.

Then Audra had traced her lips to his neck and let out a soft moan as Eddie had grunted in pleasure as she began to suck on the skin. He cried out when she had let go of him and gave him a breath of life with another kiss on the lips.

Eddie couldn’t think anymore as Audra had guided his shirt off his body. They parted lips as she admired the tattoo’s all over his body. Her previous love did not have any tattoos like this but to her, they all told a story of pain or joy. It was also a way that Eddie could express himself. So to her, the tattoo’s had complimented him.

“You sure you would like to move forward with this princess? I probably wont stop”

Audra had placed her hands on his chest, feeling his chest hair. Eddie had watched her reactions as he leant down to leave a couple pecks on her neck.

“Let’s just test the waters tonight” Audra suggested. “ I am unsure what we are, but this just feels so right to me.”

That was good enough of a answer for Eddie but he needed to know Audra’s limits. “Oral then we leave for the party?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Eddie kissed her neck again getting a soft moan from her. Audra appreciated that he was at least setting boundaries with her but she paused feeling the small smirk on her neck.

“Get on the bed, I want to make sure you enjoy this.”

************************************************************************

Audra obeyed and lied down on Eddie’s bed  and covered herself with the blankets to keep her bottom half warm. She watched as Eddie had two things in his hand.

First was a pair of silver handcuffs from a “misunderstanding” that Eddie described.

Second was a blindfold.

“Oh shit your kinky” were the first words that came out of Audra’s mouth but it was replaced with a chuckle from Eddie.

“Yea and you’re the one who is so horny for this? A DND player dressed as a fairy” Eddie shook his head as he rubbed his thumb on her cheek. “Princess, this is going to be an experience you won’t forget, I wont hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Please you only break my heart during your DND sessions” Audra chuckled as Eddie blindfolded her. There was nothing in sight, only darkness and heightened senses. Smell was more focused on the smell of cigarettes and the feeling of Eddie’s breath on her skin. She felt his calloused hands grab her own and handcuff them together so she couldn’t touch him.

She was under his control.

He had smiled at the sight of it. He didn’t have a girl that agreed to do this. So he was excited that some one could be a freak like him. For a moment, he had a thought that he shouldn’t be, her body bare without anything on it with only a blindfold and handcuffs to allow him to take advantage.

But, he needed to focus.

He traced her body from her clothed hips, feeling the curves of her hips while taking in her body figure. Her thicker thighs that hid the treasure that he desired the most. He slid his hands under her skirt to remove the thin pair of white lacey underwear that she had on. He tossed it to the side as he gently pried her legs apart.

She gasped in shock from the cool air and hands but welcomed it. She could feel his hair and head ich closer to her core. After a very short pause, she felt something wet lick a strip from her opening to her clit, getting a soft moan in response from her.  He focused his attention on her clit, that was pleading and pulsing for his attention.

Each moan that she gave him, was an indicator that he was doing a good job. She was encouraging him to give him the constant attention to her clit. He was not rough on it, he was acting as though his tongue was a broom and it swept in a circular motion around her  clit. In response, she felt her stomach knot inside as it pleaded to be let go.  

Her moans gotten more and more intense, her toes had curled, and she felt her heart start beating out of her chest. She never felt this before, this euphoria of pleasure and desire was only growing more and more.

Until her body had let go. It was a sense of release but a wave of intense pleasure that immediately calmed her body as her core had continued to pulse her juices out heavily.

Impressed with his work, Eddie had pressed his hand on her pussy and licked a swipe of her cream and put in on his lips “delicious”.  He kept an eye on her the entire time. Fascinated with how her body works and wanted to see how she would react.

“How was that?”Eddie had asked, but she gave him an answer enough as her brown eyes were blanked out. He knew that he did good.

“I enjoyed it too, but we got to figure out what we are.” Eddie pointed out.

All he could get from Audra was a soft nod of her head. She was too much in shock with what just happened.

NEXT PART

[tinytalkingtina]

Coming Soon: You May See a Stranger, Across a Crowded Room

Part of Running with the Devil (A steddie role reversal series with @little-annie)

As a kid, Eddie Munson picked up running instead of the guitar. As he grows and changes, Eddie does his best to navigate his friendships, popularity, and evolving reputation. All the while, he never quite leaves the orbit of Steve Harrington, the rich kid who shunned his life of privilege in favor of heavy metal and drug dealing. The strangest thing is, it seems like Steve can’t manage to stay away from him, either.

A 5 chapter character study on how Eddie grew up into a jock in this universe. Fic is fully written, and new chapters will be published weekly on Tueadays and Thursdays!

Enjoy a SFW sneak preview below the cut:

Turning his back to Tommy and Carol, Eddie jogged over to his teammates. A couple guys hoisted Eddie onto the keg, keeping his legs in the air. He flailed for a moment from the upside down position, but grabbed the tap and gladly started downing beer as fast as he could. Anything to make him not have to think anymore.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when he finally resurfaced, Tommy wasn’t among those watching. Towards the edge of the clearing, Eddie saw Carol’s red hair flair out as Tommy picked her up and swung her around. She shrieked, but smiled as he went in for a kiss. One kiss turned into two, which quickly became a furious makeout session, the two of them oblivious to anything else happening at the party. It was exactly what he had begged Tommy to do, so why did Eddie feel nothing but a stab of jealousy?

Well, fuck those feelings. With a grin plastered to his face, he let out a whoop on top of the keg and stuck out his tongue as the crowd cheered.

A flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Eddie turned his head to see Steve Harrington of all people walking closer to the bonfire.

This year, like a snake shedding its skin, the guy had rid himself of the last vestiges of his old rich-kid prep look. No one would have guessed he lived in Loch Nora, dressed as he was in a cropped black tee with some incomprehensible band logo on the front that he’d probably taken scissors to himself. The flames glinted off gold rings adorning every finger as Harrington ran a hand through his shaggy hair and stared at Eddie with a slightly wide-eyed expression. Those rings suited Harrington, making his hands look bigger and stronger.

Before Eddie could panic about that thought too, the metalhead caught him staring back. His face quickly morphed into a disaffected scowl.

Someone walked up to Harrington, ending their weird definitely-not-a-moment. He watched him hold out a baggie of something as the other guy dug into his wallet. Ah, looked like Hawkins had a new party supplier now that Jeff Heinrich was graduating soon.

Eddie forced himself to stop staring at the guy and continue hamming it up for the crowd.

Thanks to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the divider!

[magiccath]

Doctor Who (Taylor's Version)

The Doctors (9-14) as Taylor Swift albums, songs, and lyrics

9: reputation

Dark and brooding on the surface, but really just a big softie. 9 looks like a meanie, but he’s actually one of the softest Doctors.

Simultaneously LWYMD, This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, and End Game. 

“I’m sorry, the old Doctor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh! Cause he’s dead!” 

“For all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities. I've made mistakes, and made some choices that's hard to deny” 

“Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy. I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me

“And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for. King of my heart, body and soul”

10: Speak Now

Dreamly, love-struck, and fairy-tale like. 10 is a lover and romantic first and foremost. But also, he definitely gets breakup songs written about him…

Timeless, Electric Touch, Enchanted, Our Song, and Dear John

“And, somehow, I know that you and I would've found each other. In another life, you still would've turned my head” 

“All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life. Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life”

“I've been left in the rain lost and pining. I'm tryin' hard not to look like I'm trying ‘cause every time I tried hard for love, it fell apart”

“I was enchanted to meet you” 

11: Lover

Bright, bubbly, and happy. But oh wait! Anxiety! Crippling self doubt!

Cruel Summer, Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince, Paper Rings, False God, Afterglow.

“And I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate”

“He looks up grinning like a devil”

“It's you and me, that's my whole world”

“You play stupid games you win stupid prizes” 

“I lived like an island, punished you with silence”

“It’s all me in my head”

12: Midnights

Older, but not always wiser. We’ve learned a few life lessons and grown, but we’re still the same sad anxious ball we used to be.

Anti-hero, You’re on Your Own, Kid, Vigilante Sh*t, and Dear Reader

“I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser”

“I’m a monster on the hill. Too big to hang out, slowly lurching towards your favoratie city”

“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me”

“I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this”

“Lately I've been dressing for revenge”

“If it feels like a trap, you're already in one”

“Never take advice from someone who’s falling apart” 

13: 1989

It’s time to have some fun with our friends and enjoy life! Except, we’re still sad? I

Know Places, Say Don’t Go, Wonderland, Clean, and Bad Blood

“I know places we can hide”

“I would stay forever if you say, "don't go" But you won't”

“You held on tight to me 'cause nothing's as it seems”

“When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe and by morning gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean”

“You forgive, you forget, but you never let it go”

“Was it over then? And is it over now?”

14: folklore

Just a lonely little bean who has a lot of feelings. After numerous regenerations, the Doctor finally shows some emotional vulnerability!

The 1, cardigain, my tears ricochet, this is me trying, epiphany, and peace. 

“I had this dream you’re doing cool sh*t, having adventures on your own” 

“But we were something, don't you think so?”

“You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleedin'”

“Tried to change the ending…” 

“I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave”

“I just wanted you to know that this is me trying”

“Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?” 

[desertfangs]

Delicate Desires [AO3] Louis/Lestat - Explicit - 3,212 words

I know, I know, I don't really write Louis/Lestat these days but they were my first VC ship (and honestly one of my first fandom ships ever!) and I love them so much. So I hope I did them justice. (I promise I will get back to writing Devil's Minion soon, LOL!)

I really wanted to write something with them for Lestat's birthday and the Rue Royale Era is one of my favorites. I definitely think Louis left some spicy stuff out of the interview (or Daniel cut it out later, I don't know.) This is pretty mild for the explicit rating and it's canon compliant action but I feel like if there's any question, always go for the higher rating, you know?

This was also written for @vampirefest's Lestat Birthday Bingo - for the "Rue Royale Era" square.

Excerpt:

Louis’ door finally opened, startling him. Lestat adjusted himself on the chair, making sure he looked disinterested and bored. He glanced up only briefly when Louis came into the room. 

“Finally, he emerges,” Lestat said, keeping his tone droll. “What is it that you do in there?” 

Louis looked faintly abashed, turning his head. So delicious to watch him writhe under the most mundane questioning. “I was getting dressed.” 

“Certainly took you long enough.” 

Lestat looked him up and down with exaggerated purpose as if evaluating his efforts, but in truth, he had to admire how Louis looked. The black brocade vest hugged his narrow waist and cinched the billowing white shirt he wore beneath it. The silver buttons gleamed. His long black hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon, though a strand had already escaped and dropped delicately over his pale white face. His beauty always took Lestat’s breath away.

“I suppose your effort is passable.” 

Louis clenched his jaw tight in irritation. Lestat loved how easy it was to rile him up and get a reaction. 

Louis looked around the room, no doubt searching for signs of Claudia.

“She went out on her own. She can do it herself now.” He tried to mask his bitterness.

Louis sighed, his shoulders sinking. “I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.” That frustration, at least, was something they shared. 

Lestat stood. “Let us go out together instead.” 

Louis frowned. They did not hunt together. Louis did so alone, wandering around like a directionless vagrant until some unfortunate crossed his path. Every so often when she insisted, he would take Claudia with him, but mostly she went with Lestat—or now, by herself. Louis was a solo hunter, phantom death lurking alone in dark alleys.

“I prefer to go alone,” Louis said stiffly, tugging at the bottom of his vest. “Have a good evening.” 

Lestat moved in front of him, blocking the door and grinning wickedly. “I intend to.”

Read the Rest on AO3

[make-me-your-animal]

Strawberries

Summary: some Euphoria Era phil smut. If it sucks I'm blaming it on the fact i haven't written much in a hot minute.

Special thanks to the two little devils on my shoulders. You know who you are. See you in hell, besties!

Warning: swearing, smut, mild choking, mild bondage, praising, mild spanking. I think that's all I got for you.

Phil was drenched with sweat when he stumbled off the stage high on adrenaline. The crowd was still screaming when he handed his guitar off to his tech. Someone threw him a towel, which he used to half dry his chest before tossing it back in the direction it came from. Then his eyes were on her.

He had seen her dancing in the crowd, the backstage pass swaying left and right. She was right infront of his mic looking up at him with her best ‘please fuck me’ eyes. Now she sat on a road case her long legs on full display in the barely there shorts she was wearing. She wore a bright red bralette that made Phil absolutely positive every man in the room had checked her out. Didn't matter though she was there for him. Between her lips rested a lollipop of the exact same shade of red as the bralette. He caught her eye, making her eyes light up. She beckoned him towards her with a curl of her finger. she grinned around her candy as phil did have to think twice about crossing the crowded space to get to her.

It was the same routine every tour since hysteria when they met under the stage one night. Within the first couple shows in America, she would show up backstage. After that, she would stick with him until the end of the tour, and then she would disappear without a trace. Well, almost. Phils mind went to the black lace panties tucked in his guitar case.

He had finally broken through the crowd, stepping up to her. She parted her legs for him to stand between. His hands instantly went to her thighs. He let his pointer fingers slip under the edge of the black denim. “I was starting to think you wouldn't show,” Phil said slowly. Taking in her pretty face.

She smiled again, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth slowly. Phil was close enough to hear the soft pop as it left her pretty red lips.The sound instantly sent his blood rushing south. “Had some things to get in order before disappearing for a few months” she shrugged her free hand, tracing the muscles in his stomach and chest. He had definitely gained some muscle since the last time she had seen him, she noted.

Phil nodded in understanding, looking down to watch her fingers run along the waistband of his jeans . “Dressing Room?” he suggested.

“Of course”

Phil stepped back so she could hop off the road case. He wrapped his arm around her waist, escorting her towards the dressing rooms. He looked over his shoulder to see Joe checking her out.

He stopped in front of a door with his name on a sign taped to the door. He opened it, quickly ushering her inside.

“Miss me” she asked, twirling the candy between her fingers as Phil shut and locked the door.

“Always do” phil confirmed, turning back around, looking her up and down. Not much had changed. She was still as beautiful as ever, even if it had been a few years. She stepped across the room so they were standing chest to chest.

“What flavor?”

Confusion crossed her features. Phil watched in amusement when realization dawned on her. She glanced down at the almost forgotten candy. “Wanna find out?” she asked, licking her lips.

Phil didn't answer, only pushed her swiftly against the nearest wall, shoving his lips against hers in a searing kiss. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands instantly moving to his shoulders to stabilize herself as her knees turned to jelly.

They kissed like lovers. Like they did it every day. Phil licked into her mouth, and she happily let him. After a minute or so, the need for oxygen became too much, and Phil pulled away panting slightly. “Strawberry,” he murmured.

She nodded slowly, breathing just as hard. Her hands laid flat against his chest.

One of his hands trailed up from her waist to rest against her throat. Not applying pressure, not yet, at least, just resting it there like a collar.

“Safeword?”

Mischief twinked in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Strawberry”

Phil huffed a quick laugh, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before pulling away completely. “Get undressed darling” he commanded, turning away from her, knowing very well she would. Tour was hectic and usually completely out of his control. But not her. He got to control her.

He dug through his wardrobe, finding a silky black scarf. When he turned back around, she stood naked in front of him waiting. He took a minute to look her over. He thought she was absolutely beautiful.

“Come’re” he groaned, watching her hips swing as she walked towards him. “Turn around”

She did as instructed, letting Phil gather her wrists at the small of her back.he quickly winded the scarf around them, tying a knot. “Too tight?”

She shook her head.

“Words darling”

“No not too tight”

“Good girl” he praised, sweeping her hair to the side before kissing her neck softly. He trailed his hand down across her neck to her breasts, flicking one of her nipples before continuing south. “Did you watch the show?” he purred, letting a single finger slide through her folds. He hummed softly at the feeling of her wetness.

“I did” her voice was barely there as Phil took his time kissing and sucking at her pulse point. She tilted her head to give him more space. She gasped as his pointer finger swirled around her clit. Then whined as he pulled away completely. His hand and mouth disappeared from her body.

“Is that what made you so wet? Watching me play?”

She nodded.

She regretted it instantly as his hand came down on her ass in a sharp slap, making her back arch and a hiss to escape her lips. “Use your words. I won't tell you again.”

“Yes Phil watching you play made me wet” she looked to her left, looking in the mirror in phil roadcase just in time to watch him lick his pointer finger that was still slick with her arousal.

He spun her around quickly so they were face to face again.

“On your knees” he said while pushing her shoulders down so she was at level with the bulge in his too tight blue jeans. She looked up at him, waiting for instruction. Phil just smirked down at her. “Gotta work for your prize darling”

That adorable confused look appeared again as she looked at Phil's zipper like a puzzle she had to solve. “I can't phil my hands are tied” she whispered after a second.

“Hmmm that mouth of yours is pretty talented, darling. I'm sure you can manage,”. His hands buried themselves in her hair, urging her closer.

She relented, leaning forward awkwardly tugging at the fabric with her teeth. She tried a couple of times with little success, but when she added her tongue to the picture, she managed to pop the button open. Then, it was just a matter of pulling the zipper down with her teeth.

“Good girl” Phil took a step back, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one go. He stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. “Good girls get rewards”

She was much more eager now that he was completely nude. She surged forward, licking a long strip from base to tip, causing Phil to groan.

“Thats it darling” he hissed as she sucked as much as she could into her mouth, bobbing her head at the same time. She knew how Phil liked it. Sloppy and dirty, so that's what she gave. She alternated between taking him as deep into her mouth as possible and pulling away completely just to trace the veins with her tongue. She pressed her tongue where the head met the shaft, making Phil throw his head back and moan. Tugging on her hair like it was a lifeline, in turn making her moan as well. He was getting close embarrassingly quickly, and he had to slow things down before it ended much faster than he would like, so he pulled her off his dick.

She pouted up at him, but he only helped her up to her feet. He reached around her, untying the knot quickly freeing her wrists that instantly found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him into a heated kiss. He let her back them up slowly until her knees hit the couch and buckled. He shoved her back, making her hit the couch with a huff.

Phil crawled over her, stopping only to kiss her hip bone before continuing his journey upwards. She spread her legs so he could settle between them.

“I need you to fuck me” she whispered her nails raking through his hair. So much shorter than it was when they met.

“Still on the pill?”

“Yes please phil i need you” she begged.

“Mmm you sound so pretty when you beg”

“Phil please”

He nodded, kissing her gently before lining himself up. With one steady push, he was nestled completely inside of her. “Fuck phil” she moaned her nails raking down his back as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Such a dirty mouth” he murmured, pulling back pausing briefly and then pushing back in. teasing her.

“Phil?”

“Hmm?”

“Fuck me” she pouted.

How could he say no to that face? He pulled out almost all the way before snapping his hips forward with more force, causing her to cry out.

He set a steady rhythm holding himself up with one arm as he trailed his other hand all over her body.

“You're so beautiful, you know that?” he cooed as his hand settled around her neck once more. Actually, I am applying pressure this time.

Her eyes rolled back, and she whined, wiggling her hips meeting every downward thrust with her own upward one. “Phil”

“I know, baby. You feel so good. Fuck”

“I'm close,” she whimpered.

“same. "Phil groaned. “Fuck, darling touch yourself”

She didn't hesitate to slip her hand down between their body’s rubbing tight fast circles against her clit. It didn't take long for her thighs to start to shake and her moans and cries to get louder.

“Good girl. Fuck, cum for me darling”

That's all it took, and her entire body locked up. Her back arched off the couch, her hands scratched down Phil's back as she let out her whimpers and moans. Phil fucked her through her orgasm trying his best to hold off a little longer but then she moaned his name in her broken voice and it was all over.

“Fuck fuck fuck” he collapsed on top of her panting.

They came down from their highs together. She rubbed his back gently as he pressed gentle kisses against her neck and chest.

“So” she said after a minute. “ Where did you get the inspiration for All Night?” she giggled.

“That will forever remain a mystery,” Phil jokes, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to her lips. “We better get up. We both need a shower before the bus call”

She nodded, looking to the side. She gasped dramatically, making Phil jump.

“What's wrong?” he asked, following her gaze to the lollipop pop that was now embedded into the rug.

“My candy” she muttered, a pout forming on her lips.

Phil chuckled and shook his head. “I'll get you all the candy you want”

[randomingoftherandomness]

Where do all the young generation of Gong's lie comparative to each other on a kink scale and what kind of freaky things do you think they're all into

Bahahaha Σ (੭ु ຶਊ ຶ)੭ु⁾⁾ Good question Nonnie!

Gong Huanyu - He looks up grinning like a devil

Would smile and be the perfect gentleman right up until he’s folding his partner in half and popping their spine with how hard he’s pumping himself into them

You say no, I hear yes daddy

Would be into hypno sex because of the power it gives him and makes him feel

Would also be into making his partner cry. If anything, seeing them cry would make him more excited.

Gong Zishang - Queen of the Kink

The fuck isn’t she into (ಡ艸ಡ) Jiejie probably writes erotica under a pseudonym and is ridiculously popular in the jianghu; only Jin Fan knows this because a lot of the stories feature a cold and stoic hero

Those stories are definitely written based on first hand experiences. There’s a reason why gegirl has a belly dancing costume she could rustle up on short notice

Girl definitely has a toy collection that is not kid-friendly

Virgin in theory, Whore in practice (with Jin Fan only)

Gong Shangjue - There’s Something…

A gentleman does not kiss and tell

Has seen some things

Has done some things too

No one will ever know 🔪

Excellent swing game 10/10 across the board; his lovers are definitely thinking about that Vitamin D injection

Gong Ziyu - Simp

Service top, a giver

Puts the Tender in Tender Loving Care

Is always happy to be on his knees do the toiling and tonguing

He would totally be into getting collared

Would also be into being called a puppy

Very into getting satisfied by his partner’s satisfaction

Gong Yuanzhi - Snark on the streets, Sub in the sheets

Bro is like a sponge; can’t get enough, wants to know more and won’t stop until his body has known how to be pretzeled into many different configurations

Has ahegao (don’t question this you know I’m right)

Is very loud. Very. Needs to be gagged with anything that is closest

Enjoys the after care more than the sex. Likes it best when his partner pampers and cuddles him when they’re done

[your-divine-ribs]

The Devil Next Door Part 13

Words: 2.3k

This is as far as I have written for this story but hopefully I’ll get it updated soon ❤️‍🔥

The Devil Next Door Masterlist Main Masterlist

❤️‍🔥 Van's POV ❤️‍🔥

"You're not seriously thinking of joining a gym are ya?"

Bondy's voice makes me jump and I resist slamming the laptop shut, not wanting him to think I'm trying to hide what I'm doing.

"Christ sake, wish you'd quit sneaking up on me like that!" I complain, hoping to divert from what he's just seen over my shoulder as I sit at the kitchen table hunched over my MacBook.

No such luck though, he's grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he crosses to the fridge and takes out two bottles of San Miguel, prising off the tops and passing one to me.

"That's the gym Y/N goes too ya know," he smirks at me, taking a pull on his lager. "But I'm guessing you already knew that, huh?"

"I didn't actually," I lie, shrugging for effect. "I've been meaning to join up to one for ages and this one looks good... and it's local. It's just around the corner."

I'd spotted the gym's slogan on Y/N's duffle bag when I saw her arrive home a few days ago. It wasn't like I was spying on her or anything, it's just that I notice things when I'm skulking around out front having a ciggie break... and I've been having lots of those recently. Whenever I'm writing and I'm stuck on a lyric or a riff and I need a bit of inspiration I'm straight outside lighting up. I don't know why it helps but it seems to clear my head. I can't understand song-writers who'll take a long hiatus complaining about writer's block, it's just a fag break for me.

"You... join a gym? You only move off the sofa to put the kettle on most days. Reckon you'd cough up a lung if you got on a treadmill for more than five minutes."

The expression on Bondy's face says it all and it's quite obvious he can see my real intentions but I make an attempt to string him along, feeling a little embarrassed about the lengths I'm prepared to go to to impress a girl who's made her disdain for me abundantly clear.

"Fuck off, I'm not that unfit! Every time I'm on stage it's like a bloody workout. Couldn't do all that if I was a slob... and I used to be dead good at footy. Was the star striker at school back in the day ya know."

I take a swig on my beer and Bondy watches me, amused. "Yeah exactly... at school. How many years ago was that now? Sure that was before you discovered booze and fags."

"It's never too late to take on new hobbies," I say, ignoring his teasing as I scroll down the web page, perusing the classes.

"Let's see how long this one lasts!" He sniggers as he comes to stand behind me, watching on as I quickly scroll past yoga and Pilates.

"No one's catching me bending my body into ridiculous shapes dressed in Lycra!" I laugh.

I have no idea what HIIT is and I disregard weight-training too. I'm just hovering over the spin classes when the words 'Learn to box' catch my eye. That's more like it. I'm not hench or anything but I'm fast on my feet and I'm actually much stronger than I look. I try to imagine Y/N being impressed when she sees me driving my fists into a punch bag but my daydreams are interrupted by Bondy's mocking laughter.

"There's no way ya doing boxing mate, yer built like a rake! That's taking feather-weight way too literally!"

"It's just for fitness," I scowl, automatically shifting in my seat to correct my slouched posture. "It'll be training and a bit of light sparring and stuff. They're not exactly gonna stick me in a ring with Tyson Fury are they?"

Bondy rips the shit out of me for a few more minutes whilst I return fire, then he announces that he's going to get ready for the party, leaving me sitting there alone with my thoughts.

He's probably right to laugh, I'm not a fighter... and I'm definitely not a fitness fanatic. I might have a quick temper and boundless energy but I've not got an aggressive bone in my body and I'm certainly not cut out for boxing. This whole health-kick fad is admittedly a ridiculous idea but when I get a plan in my head I'm determined to see it through. If there's even a minuscule chance that it might get Y/N to see me in a different light rather than the lazy, lay-around no-hoper musician she currently sees me as then I'll take it. And if I just so happen to bump into her at the gym whilst she's working up a sweat then that's a bonus.

Tom was round again yesterday. He'd called in presumably after work to assist Y/N with fixing the trellis back on to the front wall of her house. I had to grit my teeth seeing him out there flexing his muscles like Superman come to help out his Lois Lane. Whilst I was relieved she'd got it sorted to save me from the unpleasant twinge of humiliation every time I left the house to see it lying there on the floor taunting me, I couldn't help but feel wounded that she hadn't asked me to fix it for her. After all it was my mess and I'd have been quite happy to clear it up. It was obviously yet another clear message telling me that she wasn't ready to forgive me and still wanted nothing more to do with me, but despite all of that I still can't seem get her out of my fucking head.

Much as I hate to admit it to myself I've got it bad. I've not felt this desperate kind of yearning for a girl in a long time. I definitely had my moments in my teenage years when I'd just got into music making and my hormones were running rampant. There was Chloe who Bob used to drum for who I was crazy about but at nine years my senior just wasn't interested in me. Then Kathleen came along who was as equally enchanting as she was toxic. She only had to click her fingers and I'd come running like a pathetic little love-sick puppy. I probably had a lucky escape on both accounts but they certainly inspired some quality lyrics.

"Heyup look who it is, it's Muhammad Ali!"

Benji's jeering voice sounds out from the open doorway, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look up to see him bounding into the kitchen with his fists raised in a fighting stance, huge shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

"C'mon then," he teases, bouncing on his feet, ducking his body from side to side. "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee! What's all this I hear about you taking up boxing then? You'll get the shit kicked outta yer for sure!"

"Just thought I'd try something different instead of laying around the house with you losers," I smirk back at him, rising up as he jabs a fist into my side, catching hold of his wrist and yanking him forwards quickly and hard enough that he stumbles forward. I take advantage of the fact that he's temporarily unstable, tugging him into my side and wrestling him into a head-lock.

"What the fuck! Gerr-off Van! I've just done ma hair!" He yelps as I scrub my knuckles roughly over his curls.

I just laugh as he wriggles ineffectually, finally pushing him away whilst he fusses over his curly mop. "Reckon it's an improvement Blakes!"

I think he's going to retaliate but Bondy appears back in the kitchen and we soon get distracted with talk of the party as he hands out more beers which we gratefully accept. Any thoughts of kick-starting the new healthy version of me are pushed aside at once as I swig on my drink and light up a ciggie.

"So... who's coming tonight then Bond?"

Bondy ticks off a list of names on his fingers, mainly crew and their friends, a couple of promoters we've been involved with locally since the move and several bands who've supported us at recent gigs. That's not what I really want to know though. The list is distinctly male-orientated. I probe him further.

"Any more girls?"

He grins. "Why dontcha just ask me mate? Y/N's coming. I didn't have to work my charm on her to persuade her either. I asked Tom and he confirmed that he's bringing her."

My heart sinks and I can't keep the disappointment from my voice. "What the fuck? What did ya have to go and invite him for?"

"We've been messaging since we met at the gig the other night, he's a sound lad. Thought it'd be good to get to know some people from the area aside from the band connections. He's a big fan too."

"Competition eh?" Benji sniggers and Bob who's been quiet so far pipes up, ever the optimist.

"Well, at least she's coming. Heard about your little accident the other night. Sounds like you've got some making up to do so this party's the perfect opportunity. Sure she'll be good with you in no time if don't pull any stunts like that again and actually make an effort."

Benji dissolves into laughter at the mention of the incident which is branded in my mind like a scar on my ego. "What the fuck were you thinking Van? Smooth... real smooth!"

Despite my wounded pride I can see the funny side now and there's plenty of good-natured piss-taking and banter exchanged until I realise there's only half an hour until the first guests are due to arrive. I stub out my cigarette and drain my beer before I'm heading upstairs for the shower.

❤️‍🔥 Y/N’s POV ❤️‍🔥

"Honest opinion. You don't think it looks too slutty do you?" You're FaceTiming your friend Lilly, the back camera aimed at your full length mirror whilst you twist and turn your body so she can take in all your angles.

"It's literally just a little black dress, it looks great on you. It's not too short and it’s not like your tits are hanging out or anything. You should wear it."

You screw up your face as you switch to the front camera, flopping down on to the bed.

"It's just not really me is it? Maybe I'll just wear my jeans and a t-shirt..."

"Y/N!" Your friend scolds you. "Make an effort for once... it's a party! You're just used to wearing those shapeless scrubs all day, that's all. You can't just turn up in jeans for a date."

"It's not a date!" You're quick to reply. "Me and Tom are just friends. I mean, I like him and all... I really like him, but I don't want anything serious... not right now. I don't wanna rush into anything."

"Does he know that?"

You shrug, groaning. "God knows.... he's so nice Lilly... like I'm beginning to wonder whether he's too nice. What if we end up getting it on and then it gets messy and he doesn't wanna be mates anymore? He's like my best mate at work, I'd be lost in that shithole without him. Ughhh why do things have to be so complicated? Why can't I just meet a hot guy who I can have a little fun with, no strings attached?"

She giggles mischievously. "Oh, you mean like Van?"

"Fuck off!" You cry, hoping the blush you've applied will hide the sudden flush in your cheeks. "I told you what a dickhead he was didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I've seen a picture of him now." You see her eyes sparkle through the screen and you don't like the way your gut twists at her obvious appreciation. "There was a review online for that gig you went to the other night. The write up was brilliant by the way, they reckon the band are tipped for great things."

"They are pretty good..." you mumble, waiting to hear more.

"You didn't tell me how fit he was!" She gushes, a huge grin on her face. "Honestly, dickhead or not I'd be well in there! There's just something about scruffy haired indie guys with guitars... I don't know what it is, I can't help myself."

You tell her to shut up, laughing along, promising her that you'll definitely bring her along to the next gig and hating the way that the thought makes you feel deeply uncomfortable. She's your best friend for god's sake and you've made it quite clear that you don't want Van. You can't exactly gatekeep him can you? An image floats into your head of Lilly sitting in Van's lap backstage with her hands in his hair and her lips glued to his and you automatically bristle with fiery jealousy. Maybe you could set her up with Johnny instead...

"Wish I was coming tonight," she sighs, interrupting your thoughts. "Was supposed to be going out with my sister but she's let me down... again. Looks like it's a takeaway for one and Love Island for me."

"At least you'll feel fresh tomorrow!" You stand up and approach the mirror again, tugging on the hem of your skirt which has ridden up around your thighs, wondering if you're too dressed up for a house party.

"I'd better let you go," Lilly says, aware that you've not got long before you need to go. "Remember I'm living vicariously through you tonight so you'd better keep me updated! I wanna hear all about how cute Tom is... and what crazy shit Van and that band of his get up to..."

You're just about to say goodbye when she quickly adds "you can put in a good word for me too if you like..."

"Yeah... yeah... I will," you mutter reluctantly, then "if I even speak to him."

You end the call just as the loud chime of your doorbell rings out. There's just enough time to slick on a touch of glossy cherry red lippy and tousle your hair and then you're rushing down the stairs to answer the door.

[baiyunli]

would u consider posting more snippets of the retirement fic. pretty please. its so good!

for sure!! most of the fully-written scenes don't make sense without context, but i have one near the beginning, when jack still hasn't told nico what he's looking for here and nico's just angry and still hurt from everything jack had done before. no idea why i picked the wings for luke lol but here:

There were moments, after Jack was traded and before Luke signed with Detroit, where Nico would look at Luke and all he saw was Jack. 

He never thought they looked similar: Luke was a head taller and not as talkative in the half-charming, half-flippant way that Jack was, but in certain lights, during warmups or after practice or in the middle of a goal celebration, Nico reached out and saw someone else.

He knew Jack was gone, but it didn’t stop Nico from seeing him everywhere. He’d rubbed off onto Luke, his mannerisms and locker room nicknames and pregame routine, and Nico was just tired of always looking for someone who was never his, tired of coming up empty.

The first year afterwards, Nico couldn’t even look at his old locker: as if he was the only one responsible for Jack’s leaving and the guilt was close to crushing him, one of those quiet, tragic hurts he never truly knew how to share. He’d look at Luke and see the same heartbreak on his face.

Luke’s gone now, swept away in offseason free agency. Nico is happy that he’s playing well, at least. The Wings are good. Better than the Devils right now. And the Canucks, but that part speaks for itself.

“He had an awesome season,” says Nico. Second place in Norris voting. “Tell him I said congratulations.”

Jack grins. “Obviously. Thanks for taking care of him,” he says. “After I got traded. Like, I think it was the first time he actually had to learn how to cook, and shit. God knows I couldn’t have taught him myself.”

“I had to get him out of ordering takeout somehow. He was going to die otherwise.”

Late twenties and early thirties blend in Nico’s brain. Now, thirty years old is far enough in the rearview mirror that everything in the interim feels the same, a foggy lacuna from the first time they qualified for the playoffs to their first Cup win. The years when they thought nothing could hurt them, that the worst had passed long ago, young and stupid and too reckless to care about the idea that the future might not swing in their favour. And even off the ice: nighttime drives on the turnpike, the closest they could get to the end of the world. The hum of tires along the rumble strip, watching the light hug the soft planes of Jack’s face. Nico had tried so hard to stay away from Jack, those years.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jack says in self-defense. He raises his hands. “We cooked sometimes.”

“For loose definitions of ‘cooked.’ And ‘sometimes.’”

Jack makes a face. “You make it sound a lot worse than it was. I got it together eventually. When it stopped being—okay, I guess. That I didn’t know how to be an adult. And I couldn’t get away with it anymore.” He worries at his lower lip with his teeth, folds his hands in his lap. “I wanted to—” his voice stumbles, stops. “Never mind.”

There’s a curl of hair falling into his eyes that Nico wants to brush away. Nico wants too much: he wants to ask Jack to finish the sentence, wants to say why didn’t you talk to me for five fucking years, wants to know why Jack came to his apartment if not to apologize for the last five years of silence. 

He wants to put his fist through the wall, kick something, but he’s almost forty and should know better, so really he wants to go outside for a long walk until his throat no longer itches. He wants to crawl out of his skin until he’s so far away he can’t see Jack. He wants Jack to leave and he wants to stop him from ever leaving again. He just wants to hear him say sorry.

“Sure,” says Nico, curt. “Good for you.”

Jack wavers. “What?”

He rubs his forehead. “Jack, I just. I’m glad you’re doing better, but I still don’t know how long you’re planning to be here.”

Nico hears Jack’s breath hitch. “Not that long,” he answers, and then he flashes his brightest smile, all-American and pearly white, to make up for the pause before his reply. “I’m—sorting some stuff out, that’s all. Told Quinn it was unfinished business. But I can go. If you don’t, uh. If you don’t want me.”

“It’s—no,” Nico responds. He runs a hand through his hair and does not admit that Jack Hughes is all he’s ever wanted. “You can stay.” 

Jack looks down at the table. “I’ll get it together,” he says, quieter, and it strikes Nico, for a second, the reality of it. “I promise. I’ll get my shit together soon.”

During Jack's whole first season with the Canucks, Nico dreamed about having him back in New Jersey, eating dinner with him and falling asleep on the couch before Jack could make it back to his own apartment. And now Jack’s here, eating his food, staying in his apartment, and Nico thinks that his most self-pitying dreams didn’t do shit to prepare him for it. “I didn’t. I’m not asking you to fulfill any promises,” he tells Jack. “Do whatever you have to. But the season starts soon.”

“Soon,” echoes Jack, his face shuttering. “You’re right.” He pokes at the rest of his dinner. He plays with a noodle, twirls it around his fork and drops it back in the takeout box.

“Jack,” Nico says. “Are you—is there something wrong?”

“No,” Jack says, too fast, brittle. “Not something wrong, I just, uh. I have to make some decisions. Tired of trying to be an adult, I guess.” He holds up the leftover takeout. “You want me to pop this in the fridge, or do you have a container I can put it in?”