#demon!Eddie

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter one: god you've got the blackest eyes

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire… and the demon’s.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn’t know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

a/n: Hi folks, for the month of October this year I'm going to be reuploading all the chapters of this fic onto tumblr, this time hopefully for good. I apologize for the time that it's been taken down. Genuinely, this fic has garnered so much kindness and support and I think of it as one of my biggest accomplishments. I hope you all enjoy it just as much the second time around as the first.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Through me you pass into the city of woe, Through me you pass into eternal pain, Through me you pass among forsaken people. Justice moved my exalted creator; I was wrought by divine power, Supreme wisdom, and primal love. Before me all things created were eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. -Dante Alighieri, The Inferno, Canto III

The book you’ve used for ages now, since late in your junior year of high school, has only one page in it that you haven’t utilized. You don’t know how much faith to put in it– you’re a little short on faith, these days– but, the spellbook lays it out simply, so you follow its directions to the letter. 

To summon a demon at a crossroads, go to a place where two paths meet on the dark moon. You find peace and quiet in the woods, deep where you know no one walks at night but two paths cross in a small clearing banked with trees. It’s your favorite place to go when you want to do a spell– ritual– and you don’t want to be bothered. The whole thing can’t be more than twenty feet across. Above the overhang of trees, there’s no moon in the sky, only stars.

Cast a circle of protection. That took more research than just the book in your hands, but years of collecting information have given you learned knowledge– there are a million ways to cast a circle, and different circles for different purposes. You do your best to create one for protection. You draw a literal circle in the dirt with a stick, fill it with salt, and walk around the circle three times clockwise to cast it. You light candles to give yourself some light, and to free up your hands of the flashlight you carried to see your way through the woods. 

Make an offering of copper. Your hand pauses on the copper dog tag in your hand. You’d thought of just offering a penny, but you remembered reading somewhere that pennies barely contain copper anymore, and you didn’t have anything else that was entirely made of the one metal. 

You run your finger over the embossed name on it. Lacey. Your pet’s old collar feels heavy in your hand as you remove the tag from the leather strap and bury it in the earth, you guess, to reach the… Underworld? Hell? You can’t honestly say, considering the text you’re referencing only calls it the Otherworld.

It’s a big sacrifice. It’s personal. But, you guess, that gives it more meaning. Making a deal is personal business, and you have your reasons.

Recite the summoning incantation. A stanza of words you don’t understand. You don’t think it’s in Latin, but you try your best, all the same. You read them from the book before you, and feel your blood rushing in your veins as you do.

State your desire out loud in a clear voice. Well, that’s a little more difficult. What is it that you want?

You take a breath, go to speak, and then stop. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know exactly how to describe your pain. You don’t know how to voice your anger well enough, you just know you need to… you need to get it out, somehow. This is a very crucial step in the ritual, you have to do it.

“I came here to make a deal,” you speak frankly, clearly. “I’m prepared to do anything. I’ve run out of options. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people who didn’t care what they did to me. I’ve lost everything I genuinely loved. I’m… I’m angry, and desperate, and I’m frightened. And I feel so alone. It’s eating me alive, and I just… I just want the ability to make things go my way, for once.” Good enough, you hope.

Wait for an answer.

You do. You listen intently, to the song of the leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze, to the crickets chirping in the grass. You wait long enough that you start to rethink your approach. 

It could be that things will turn around if you just wait another month, or another month after that. Maybe you’ll get the car back. Maybe you’ll get the promotion that was given to the newbie that you trained. Maybe your ex will stop coming around your work to intimidate you. Maybe you’ll get a new dog to take the place of the one that he killed. Maybe the evangelical town you live in will stop shunning you and calling you a witch, like something out of the middle ages.

Unlikely, that last one.

Just when you swear it’s a failure, that you should just pack up and leave, that’s when a strong gust of wind rips through the clearing out of nowhere. The candles blow out– and then, oddly enough, relight themselves. There’s a slight scent of smoke on the breeze, and you look around to make sure none of the candles fell over in the wind.

They’re all perfectly fine. There’s nothing amiss, it seems, until you hear a cough and movement across the clearing. You look forward, and see a pair of black combat boots in the stream of light from your flashlight. You follow the boots up to a pair of legs, clad in dark jeans, and then further up, to a torso, and a head, and a pair of sparkling eyes.

“Hi.”

You stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes. You’d fully expected the traditional scary depiction of a demon– maybe horns, goat hooves, et cetera. But the man that answered your call is… just a man. A pretty one. He has long, curly hair, which falls over his broad shoulders and stirs in the wind. His plush lips curve up in a relaxed, cocky smile, as he takes in the sight of you in return. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” 

“Sorry, hi. Hello.” You shake your head. “Can you believe I honestly thought I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time?” 

“I can believe a lot of things. You know, there’s a reason why the demon summoning ritual is first in that book.” His voice is soft and resonant. You get a mental image of heat waves radiating from tar-black and glowing magma, rolling slowly over lava beds. The image disappears just as soon as it flashes into your mind.

“Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about making a deal with a demon first thing,” you explain, looking away shyly. “But I’ve tried all the spells in this book and not a single one of them worked. Just seems like everything is getting worse all the time.”

He doesn’t look away– rather, he keeps staring at you, unblinkingly. Like you’re the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. He leans up against the tree that he appeared beside, his leather jacket falling open to reveal a shirt with a demon’s head on it. Fitting. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. 

“So, now you wanna make a deal with little ol’ me, huh?” He grins, a gorgeous smile that flashes bright, sharp teeth at you. He lifts a cigarette to his mouth and bites it gently between his teeth. He doesn’t pull out a lighter. Instead, you watch him light up with a small flame that erupts from the tip of his thumb. 

“Depends on who you are,” you retort, eyes following the movement of his hands. They’re weighed down by large, silver rings that reflect the light of the flame before it snuffs out. “What’s your name?”

He makes a short noise in his throat, shaking his head abruptly. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as you feel he should– more like he’s trying to warn you against something you don’t want. He peers at you from beneath his wavy bangs as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and uses it to point at you. “Names are really powerful things where I come from, babydoll. Best not to bite off more than you can chew yet. Once we cut a deal– that’s when you get my name.”

You make a face as you mull that over. “So what do I call you, in the meantime? Demon daddy?” 

“You could,” he chuckles. The demon rocks to the side, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you really wanted to. I wouldn’t mind, it’s flattering.” 

You grunt. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.” He tilts his head with a sicker, watching you with an amused smile while you shift in place. “So, do I– I mean, you need to know what I want, right? Is that how this starts?”

“No, I know what you want.” He exhales a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “You want power. To get a fair shake, find your place, change your life. Defend yourself against the assholes making that life, well. A living hell.” As he spits out the words, his voice rings sharp through the trees, like the strike of a hammer on glowing metal, shooting sparks off into the air. 

“I want to take all this pain and just… return to sender. Give it back to them, y’know? I never wanted any of it,” you justify. Your voice is too small in comparison with his. “Maybe then I’ll be able to fucking breathe.”

For how little space you allow yourself to take up, he seems to consume the rest of it. He nods slowly. “That’s a fair request, sweetheart.”

“It’s selfish, I know.”

“Making a deal for power is inherently a selfish thing,” he shrugs. “Own it. I’m certainly not judging.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’re still so nervous, being so near him– ten feet away and growing closer every second, it seems, even though neither of you have moved. You feel like, no matter how far you pull back, the flow of fiery lava he seems to embody will keep creeping towards you until you’re burned alive.

His dark eyes glow like coals in the night as he looks you up and down, and then he quickly pushes himself away from the tree. You startle at the abrupt movement, and watch as he swings around it like Gene Kelly on a lamp post. 

When he rounds the tree, he uses the momentum to throw himself toward your circle. You flinch, and he frowns, but continues moving toward you at a slower pace, holding his hands out innocently. “Wanna know a secret? About how all this,” he twirls a finger in the air, indicating the ritual you’re in the middle of, “works?”

You nod, gazing up at him shyly. If you felt at all powerful while casting the circle and starting the ritual, he’s managed to take the wind out of your sails. You can feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He smirks at you. “You make your petition– when you say the words in that little book,” he points at the volume at your feet, “and that petition is answered by whichever demon caters most to that desire.” He points at himself emphatically, his eyebrows raised. “Me? Infernal majesty of freaks and misfits. I’m your demon daddy.”

You finally giggle, and it makes him smile fondly, like that’s what he’d been gunning for all along. He backs up a step and puffs his cigarette. 

“I’m here to help you, sweetheart.” He regards you for a second, like he’s thinking things over. “That is, as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Terms?” You echo, but you were sort of expecting that. Nothing for nothing, right? “What are the terms?”

“Ah, they’re simple. Very traditional,” he waves his hand like it’s frivolous. He holds his hand out in midair, and just like how he’d conjured the flames, he produces a weathered book. It looks like a composition book that has scribbles and doodles all over the front of it– the same demon head that adorns his shirt. “You sign your name with your blood in my little black book, you hop on one foot with your hand on your head and pledge your undying fealty to the dark lord Kthulu, and then you meet me on the sabbath to kill a child and make them into soup.” 

He smiles, fluttering his eyelashes at you innocently. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You blurt. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious– what is this, the dark ages?” He snorts as he lowers the composition book. “Nah, we don’t do human sacrifice on the sabbath anymore, it was getting too difficult to evade the witch hunters.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He flashes you a disarming grin. You can feel yourself halfway smirking as well, incredulous but somehow enjoying his humor. Then he shakes his head and says, seriously, “No, you do have to sign my book, though. And then meet me back here on the full moon to fuck.”

You blink at him, reeling from the whiplash of that. “You… I’m sorry?”

“I find it best not to sugarcoat it, y’know.” He shrugs, “Think of this as a marriage, of sorts. I give you the power to smite thine enemies, live deliciously, blah blah blah, and then you meet me at the crossroads every full moon to be my whore and we fuck like bunnies all night. Simple as that.”

“That’s far from simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be monogamous, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continues frankly, “except on the full moon. I won’t compromise about that– you’ll be all mine, and I’m all yours. No takesies backsies.”

“No– that’s not–” You exhale, holding your hands over your eyes. “I’m just… not promiscuous like that…”

“Sweetheart.” He waits until you’ve lowered your hands to look at him, and he hums, with a saccharine smile that reminds you of the power you’d felt sweep through the clearing when he arrived. “You won’t be the first good girl I’ve broken, and you won’t be the last. If you’re worried about promiscuity, well… I answered your petition. I know what goes on in that pretty head, and it barely scratches the surface of what I’ve seen and done.” 

The toe of his boot barely nudges the edge of your circle, and a spark crackles in the dark from the impact. The light dances in his eyes longer than it remains in the air, like they caught the spark and ignited. 

“Trust me,” he says, drawing you in with the low register of his voice. “I can give you more than power. I can give you protection. I can give you real happiness. Karma’s a fucking bitch, so I can be, too. This is just such a little thing in return. And who knows… you may even like it.”

You shiver at that, even though his presence feels hot, like his stream of lava is surrounding you, crowding you in, boiling you where you stand. He’s right– you absolutely might like it. 

Because there’s just something magnetic between you, isn’t there? You can sense it, more than any heat and any sort of primal fear you might have instinctively at his presence. There’s a certain pull you feel toward him, emanating even through the salt barrier on the ground. 

You want to wrap yourself in him. Boil you alive, burn you to a crisp, destroy you– you don’t care.

“Or… is it that you don’t like this body?” He wonders aloud, striding backward two steps. He turns, his hand lifting his seemingly ever-burning cigarette to his lips. “Figures– y’know, I can be anything you want me to be, babydoll.”

Confused, you watch as he transforms in front of you. In the length of two steps while he paces across the clearing, his face and body stretches and contorts, until you’re not staring at the same visage anymore. He stops, and he turns to you with his palms up, like he’s waiting for your approval. 

You’re looking at Tom fucking Cruise. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” you shake your head vehemently, scowling. You wave your hands demandingly, “Put it back. You were so hot before– please, please go back to the way you were.”

The demon grins and turns his head, throwing the cigarette away. His hair grows back to its previous length, his face morphing as if made of clay until you meet the same pretty smile you’ve come to enjoy looking at. 

He chuckles, grabbing a lock of his hair and drawing it across his lips. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course,” you murmur, but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can hear it. His eyes are embers, blazing at you from beneath his bangs. “Is that what you normally look like? Is that your true form?”

He makes an iffy sound. “It’s what I looked like when I was human. My true form has more horns and unhinged jaws and claws and all that. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you could read my mind. Do you know how much monster porn I’ve consumed? That’s hot as shit to me,” you argue, and he snaps his head towards you in surprise. You point at yourself. “Freak and misfit.”

He laughs, and it sounds like the roaring of an out of control fire, burning up everything in its path. He kicks his heel on the ground and steps up to your circle again. “I like you, baby. I really do. What do you say?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, an annoying lump forming in your throat with the question. You’ve been burned before by people far less powerful than this demon, yet who still hold so much power over you. However much they have.

“You can’t,” he answers, more honestly than most would. He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Not to get all preachy on you, but even if I wasn’t a demon… trust is built, not a given. ‘The devil you know,’ right? Better than the one that you don’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice coming out breathy and winded the longer you gaze up into his eyes.

“Trust me to be… intense, I guess,” he shrugs. “And probably impulsive. But I’ll always deliver on our deal. Be my witch, my wife, my whore– whatever you want to call it, but be mine. I think we’ll have so much fun together.”

“Yeah, I think– I think I will.” You’re nodding, and his smile grows with yours. “I want to.”

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

Your toe scuffs the boundary on the ground, breaking the circle. Immediately, your senses are assaulted by smoke, not just the tobacco he’s been smoking but the scent of a wildfire, of cities burned to ashes, of desolation and destruction and pyroclastic flow and roaring, exploding volcanoes. 

Your demon crosses the line you’d drawn on the ground with ease, producing the worn composition book in his hand again. The cover reads Hellfire Club in chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Are there others?” You ask, prompted by the word Club on the front as he flips open the book to a middle page. An agreement is already written out in red ink. “Do you have more than one, um…”

“Consort?” He whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your stomach flutters. “Not for a long time. I’m very picky about my partners. They have to be just as much of a freak as I am.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, although the admission makes you feel… better, in a way. You squint in the dark, but with the exception of the candles around your circle, there’s nothing to allow you to properly read what’s written on the page. 

He sighs, shifting on his feet beside you. “Are you one of those people who’ll read the whole contract?”

“Absolutely I am,” you hum. The book feels heavier in your hands than it should. “Can you give me a light?”

“Jesus Christ.” He produces a flame from his forefinger just as you turn to give him a confused look. 

“Shouldn’t you, like… evaporate after saying that?”

In the yellow glow of the flame, he just blinks at you, looking amused. “Things aren’t as black and white as you think they are, believe me.”

You snatch his wrist and yank his arm closer to the page. His body collides with yours, and he grunts in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, embracing you from behind. You’re engulfed in the scent of smoke and the heat of his flames, impossibly hot and comforting all the same. 

His hair brushes your shoulder as you read his contract. It’s just a few lines, but the weight they hold will seal your fate. 

The agreement made this night of the dark moon shall henceforth be enacted from the signing of this document, that hereby renders the human party’s soul bound to the infernal party. Witness that the first party must appear before the second party each full moon to lay in matrimonial fashion, and that in return the first party shall be protected and given the powers of the second from here until the human’s mortal passing. 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you coo, tracing the red ink with your fingers. 

The demon over your shoulder rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pre-nup.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, though, does it?” You murmur. “I mean, I get the power to change my circumstances and you get– what– sex once a month?”

His hand tightens on your waist, and you pause. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes flicker dangerously, so close to yours. They aren’t just glowing coals- this close, you can see the small details. You can see the swirling, the churning of lava within them.

“It’s not just sex, is it?”

“What do you think making a deal with a demon entails, sweetheart? Read the fine print.”

You look back at the page. There are no other words on it, save for the ones you’ve already read. “I don’t…?”

“It’s your soul, honey,” he mutters, pointing at the word. His mouth is muffled against your shoulder as he peers over it. “I won’t ask anything of you other than the sex, as long as you live. But right now, you’re offering up your soul. And once your life is up, you get to be just like me. Understand?”

“I… yeah. I understand.” You let go of his wrist, but pause over the pages of the book. “I don’t have anything to sign with.”

Wordlessly, the demon takes your hand. You let him caress your wrist, feeling your pulse with his thumb. Then, before you realize what’s happening, a sharp sting makes you yelp as he cuts your skin with his pointed thumbnail. 

He shushes you, letting the blood well up on your skin. “I did say you needed to sign with blood.”

Your voice shakes when you hold your dripping wrist over the page. “I thought you said you were joking.”

“Not about the book. Rules of the trade, I can’t change it.” Your blood splatters the notebook, dripping into the crease of the page. Once he’s satisfied, he lifts your wrist to his mouth and closes his lips around the small wound. It heals in a heartbeat. 

“Is that it, then?” You ask, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t you have to sign?”

Your demon kisses your wrist gently, his lips soft, inviting. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, and you nod. The heat of his breath makes your skin tingle, all your nerves on high alert. 

But then that tingling turns into a burn, that turns into a searing pain. You feel like your skin is on fire, an invisible hot brand held against your wrist. You cry out as he holds you close, letting you bury your face into his neck, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs to you as you whimper. He holds your arm as the pain fades into a throbbing ache, cradles your hand against his cheek as he coos into your hair. “You’re so strong. Not many people can handle my mark, you know. Fate works in funny ways.”

Your demon holds you until you can stand on your own, until your breathing evens out and you can compose yourself. He shushes you quietly, rocking you from side-to-side with a soothing hand stroking your head. Then he holds your face, and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The touch of his lips stokes at flames beneath your skin.

“I’ll look forward to our time together, little witch,” he whispers. And with a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, he disappears entirely. 

You stay in the circle for a while, clutching your throbbing wrist and crying frustrated tears. You wonder if you made the right decision, and yet, you don’t understand why you just want him to come back. You miss the comfort of his presence, even if you don’t know enough about him to justify it. All he did was hurt your arm and take your blood and kiss away your tears and make you a witch. 

It’s too late to go back on your decision now. There’s an all-encompassing fire you can feel burning in your veins, emitting from the pulsating wound on your wrist. His power. His fire. 

You pull your hand away from your wrist to finally inspect the mark that he branded you with, declaring you his in the same chicken scratch that had been on the cover of his book. It’s small enough that a well placed bracelet would cover it, but you don’t know that you’ll want to.

Eddie.

Your demon’s name is Eddie.

[lokis-army-77]

Soul Searching

Demon!Soulmate!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Soulmates are rare, even rarer for demons, and yet here you are.

Warning: 18 +. unprotected sex, p n v, not really anything else I don't think.

Thank you to @my-malachai-stilinski for requesting more demon!eddie and @lofaewrites for beta reading💗

Masterlist

It’s closing in on nine at night. Eddie had started his reaping early, hoping there would be more souls to claim when the streets were busy instead of waiting until two or three. 

He was right. Of course, there were more wicked souls to take with him back into the depths of his home, to dump upon some imp who loved to torture and torment. 

As the night went on, he couldn’t help but feel a shift in the breeze as he crouched atop a high roof, watching and waiting for another bounty. Then, the most wonderful scent filled his nostrils. It was like heaven, if there were such a place for him.

He sniffed the air like a hound dog tracking its prey. Magically poofing into thin air only to appear three rooftops away, he searched for what could smell so delicious. 

It only took a matter of minutes until he found you. Your sweet smell permeated through the air and he felt like he could get drunk on it if only he were closer. 

Souls usually never smelled this good, this intoxicating. The ones he encountered on a daily basis, the souls of the truly evil, smelled of rot and decay. Some even smelt of sulfur, pungent, and singed the nose. But not you. Your soul was a bed of freshly picked flowers, honey drizzled on a warm pastry. He couldn’t get enough of it. 

So, he followed you into the night. Sulking through the shadows keeping a watchful eye. 

In his diligence, he sees you stumble and in a flash he's behind you, catching you before you land on your ass. 

You let out a small yelp, expecting to feel the hard ground under you. You don't. You feel two warm hands holding onto your waist, keeping you steady. 

You turn around to thank your savior only to stop suddenly in your movement. You've never felt this feeling before, this warmth spreading through your stomach and the small tingles in your limbs. Yet you know what it is. You've heard of others meeting their soulmates but never had you imagined this meeting would make the group feel like it were shaking beneath your feet.

As you look at him, you realize he isn't entirely human. The back of your mind is screaming at you to cower, to run away and hide. But you don't. The pull of your soulmate stops you from being terrified by those curving horns protruding from his mess of curly hair and the spade tail that had curled its way around your ankle.

It feels like a giant lump in your throat when you start to speak. 

"H-" you swallow. "Hi." 

He stares at you, his golden eyes slit like a cat, taking you in. "Hello."

His voice is deep and rich, almost a purr. 

Eddie thinks you smell even better up close. His nose is picking up even the faintest scents now, the blood running through your veins, the wetness forming between your thighs. 

"Are you my soulmate?" You ask, eyes wide.

Eddie thinks for a moment. He'd never heard of demons having a soulmate. At least no other demon he knew had one, they all just assumed that would no longer have one thanks to their so-called "fall from grace". 

But that would explain your smell. How it was so unique he had never smelled it before. It would also explain why you weren't running from him, screaming, trying to get away. 

Finally, he speaks. "I believe so."

He reaches out his hand, fingers long and thick, and he catches your upper arm. It's like his mind has been taken over by some primal instinct as he pulls you flush to him.

You don't try to fight it. Instead, you nuzzle into him. He smells wonderful, like the smoke from a burning cedar tree and something you can't quite place. 

Then you feel it. The arousal that's started to pool in your panties. You've just met this creature and now he's making you hornier than you've ever been, and you know he knows too with the way his fingers are gripping your skin. 

Eddie is trying to hold off, trying not to take you where you're standing. He's been so lonely for so long and now here you are smelling so sweet that he just has to have a taste. 

He slides his hands up to cup your cheeks. He surges forward while also bringing you to him. When your lips connect, he feels a strong tingle down his spine to the tip of his tail.

You feel something too. A sense of want and need but also belonging. His lips on yours feel like home, like someplace familiar, where you are meant to be. 

Lips pressing on each other's he opens his mouth and presses his tongue into yours, slipping past your teeth and into the warmth of you. He hums and how well you fit together like this and can't help but wonder how well other parts of you will fit. 

He lets out a groan when you slink your arms around his neck, pulling him into you more. 

You've both become needy. Trying to devour one another in the half-light of the street. 

You whimper, legs pressing together. "Take me." Your voice is quiet against his lips, barely above a whisper. "Take me please." You need him, badly. 

Eddie hums against you. Hands still pressing against your cheeks, still pulling you to him.

You know this is going way too fast and so does he but carnal desires can't be stopped once they've started. Not if you're a touch-starved demon and his soulmate.

A gust of wind whips your hair and your stomach drops like when you move way too fast on an amusement park ride.

You gawk when you pull away from the demon to survey your surroundings. You weren’t on the sidewalk anymore. No, you were in a bedroom. 

He watched as you walked around the enormous room. Fingers danced over the wooden posts to the bed. Your eyes were full of wonder as you took in what could only be described as a room taken straight out of an episode of Game of Thrones. 

There were red and black fabrics thrown about the room, several rugs covered the stone floor. Candelabras were lit sporadically around the room as well as torched lining the walls between tapestries depicting gruesome battles.

You turn back to him and are met with heavily lidded eyes. He disappears only to reappear directly in front of you. You gasp.

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face as he says, "You are mine now. Forever." Then he's crashing his lips onto yours once more. 

You crave him, so deep down in your core that it hurts to not have him touching you. So you claw at his clothes. The 80s metal shirt you hadn't realized he was wearing and the leather jeans. 

He follows your lead, taking each item of clothing off until all that was left was his pale skin glowing in the candlelight. He carefully begins to pull your own clothes off, only continuing when you nod your head at his questioning gaze. 

Then, when you are both naked, he mounds his mouth to your skin. Kissing and nipping up and down your neck and shoulders. He walks you backward catching you with strong hands when your knees hit the bed and give out. 

"You're so soft…" He speaks his hands roaming over your hips and backside. "Never felt something so soft in my whole existence."

You can't help but chuckle and let your own hands drift over his strong chest, nails scratching, creating long red marks down his pecs and stomach. 

Leaning up, you kiss him again. Slow and soft and all at once. You pull him down with you as you fall back on the bed. He follows, catching himself with solid arms on either side of you. 

His body covers you completely. 

You break away from the kiss. His dark, lustful, loving eyes stare into yours with an intensity you've never encountered before. 

As you look back at him, eyes exploring every inch of his face, you ask, "What's your name?" 

He looks a little shocked at the question but answers nonetheless. "Eddie."

You hum in response. "I like that name." You bring his back to you and kiss along his cheek over the bridge of his nose to the other cheek. 

"Yeah? I'll make you scream it after a while." He grins wickedly. "But for now I would like to take my time with you. Feel you. Own you."

He takes his fingers and trails them lightly over the contours of your body erecting goosebumps in their wake. Starting from your shoulder, over your collarbone, between your breasts, and past your navel. They stop just above your pussy. 

Impatiently you buck your hips. 

"Now now." He admonishes, taking his hand away. "Don't try and rush me, pet." 

You whine but concede. 

His fingers begin to touch you between your thighs. Massaging into the plush flesh. You sigh, in contentment. 

"Eddie-" His name is a whisper on the wind. 

His spine tingles when he hears you. He never thought those two syllables of his name could ever sound as good as they do when you say them. 

He wants to hear you say it again. He wants to hear you say it over and over and over until your voice gives out. 

"Say it again," He growls. 

And you gasp it out. "Eddie!" When his fingers gently push through your folds. 

The wetness he finds between your legs has him vibrating. All this just for him, your soulmate. He spreads the slick around, savoring how you shudder in his hold when he swipes over your clit. 

He doesn’t want to wait any longer, he’s hardly holding it together as it is. He wants to feel you wrapped around him. 

So, he moves. Thick fingers wrap around your ankles and pull your legs apart. He slots them on either side of himself before pulling you flush, the backs of your thighs meeting the tops of his. 

With no moment to waste, Eddie takes his cock into his hand and gives it a few pumps. He’s huge. Long and thick around. You have no idea how he’s going to fit but you desperately need him inside of you. 

“Please. Need your cock in me.” You beg and wiggle your hips ever so slightly. 

He just chuckles and guides the tip to your waiting entrance. You think it’s fine when he first pushes in, slowly. But as he keeps going, he keeps stretching you. In seconds you are turned into nothing more than a whimpering mess. 

People had talked about how the first time with their soulmates had gone. How the sex was the best they had ever had, how it was so good they couldn’t get enough. But this… This was earth-shattering. 

Maybe it was because your soulmate obviously wasn’t human but you know this isn’t the feeling that normal soulmate copulation tends to elicit. 

You can practically feel you becoming one. Your walls are molding around him the further in he goes, and his cock hits every single spot inside you that brings pleasure. It’s been less than a minute and you’re already shaking.

Eddie falls forward, caging you in below him. His head rests between your neck and shoulder where he opens his mouth and lets his tongue lave at the sweat beginning to cast over you. Even your skin tastes sickeningly sweet. 

His mind is becoming foggy, your cunt is sucking him in, forming to him. He can't help but mutter, “You were made for me… Fuck you feel so good.”  

His lips brush against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His chest presses against yours and you can feel his heart beating against your skin. It’s all so much for the both of you. 

You’re moaning, loud, and uncaring as he ruts into you. You cry his name, “Eddie!” He just growls when he hears you. 

“Need you so bad.” He grunts. “Need you so so bad.” 

You can feel him all over you. Every place your skin touches, even the slightest bit, is lit up, tingling with a sensation akin to icy hot. 

It hasn’t been that long. He hasn’t been inside you for that long but you can feel that tightness forming. That all too familiar sensation of ecstasy banging at the door to be let out. You moan, trying to hold yourself back. Your hands cling to the demon, nails biting through his skin. 

You can feel him smiling against your neck as his hips move just a tiny bit faster. 

“Let go.” He says. “Let go and show me how good I can make you feel.”  

It’s like his words have some kind of power over you. You can feel yourself letting go. That tightness pulling ever tighter until it snaps. 

His grip tightens and he's pushing deeper, faster. Your orgasm crashes through you, washing over you in a powerful, unstoppable wave. You feel yourself trembling, your body shaking, and spasming. 

“That's it. That’s a good girl. Feel so good cumming around my cock. 

Eddie is still pumping into you, close to his own release. “Say my name.” He mewls, lips coming to slot against your own. 

“Eddie,” You moan. 

“Again,” He begs.” 

“Eddie.” 

“Louder. Scream it if you have to.”

And you do. You scream his name and as soon as you do you feel his cock twitch inside you and right after he lets go. Moaning and whimpering against your mouth. 

He doesn’t move to get off of you, even after he’s spilled everything he could inside of you. He lays there, his body weight a comfort to you.  

You wrap your arms around him and close your eyes as you savor the moment. He finally pulls away and you open your eyes to see him smiling down at you. He leans in and kisses you softly on the lips. 

“I’m so glad I found you,” he whispers. 

You pull him to you, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and whisper in his ear. “Me too.” 

[fuctacles]

Witch Hunt

for @steddie-spooktober "witch" & @stevieweek "i don't know about this one..." prompt which i've altered quite a bit but used it twice so it kind of evens out, right???

E | 2568 | transfem!Steve (goes by Eve), witch!Steve, demon!Eddie, medieval fantasy, some arson and murder boyfriend vibes, magical srs, possible continuation, im sorry for all the lore | Ao3 more spooktober: "would you please stop trying to scare them?"

Eddie hated his job. Not only the human realm was much colder than Hell, but also, the Deal didn't always work. The success rate has been increasing each time, but it still pissed him off when nothing happened after he's been freezing his balls off for hours. He was starting to think all his fur was just decorative. 

When he had arrived at Heimdall's, the guy threw him a skimpy tunic that barely covered his privates. 

"Is this the only one you have? You can see my whole dick and balls in it," Eddie had complained, but beggars can't be choosers and all that. 

He wraps the fabric tighter around himself when the next gust of air moves clouds away from the moon, making the pile of debris in the clearing visible. Time passes and Eddie waits impatiently, tapping his hooves against the ground, and idly picking stray grass blades from his tail. It seems like the pile moves a couple of times, but it's just the wind disturbing it. 

A distant clock tower strikes midnight, and finally, the ash pile moves and keeps on moving, until a hand emerges. Eddie straightens up, his tail twitching in interest. 

The ashes start breathing, the charred remains get knocked down and a coughing fit raises a dark cloud into the air. She'll be spitting soot for hours, but at least she's up now, another success for the statistics. 

He decides to take pity on the poor girl and steps away from the fence he's been perched on, making room for his wings. With two good swats, the dirt is gone, leaving a slightly dirty, very naked woman in the middle of a charred circle. 

He raises his eyebrows. 

"These fucking perverts burnt you naked?"

She finally notices his presence, her red-rimmed eyes blinking rapidly to clear her vision, and stands up on shaky legs, still low on energy after her resurrection, barely maintaining her balance. Suddenly, Eddie doesn't seem to matter anymore, as her hands fly to her chest. 

"What...?" she murmurs to herself.

Eddie tilts his head, watching the human with curiosity. Usually, the arrival of a demon gets a bigger fanfare, he's almost insulted, but he waits patiently. He already did for so long, and now he has something pretty to lay his eyes on for once. Witches usually came with ugly meat sacks, even after their resurrection. 

"Where the fuck is my dick?!"

Ah, yes, that would explain it. The naked thing, too.

"Do you want it back?" Eddie asks because he's a demon with manners. 

"No!" she protests immediately, eyes snapping up to him from observing her crotch. "No," she adds softer. "I like it like that." Her hand reaches down to inspect her new parts, so Eddie takes it upon himself to swat it away with his tail.

"Hey!" 

He tsks, his long tongue slipping out to flick in a warning. 

"Let's not put any more dirt in your holes, okay?" he berates her. Regretfully, he shrugs off the tunic he's been wearing and throws it at the girl. "For your modesty, m'lady." 

She glowers at him but slips it over her head anyway. What was small for the demon, doesn't do much more for a human, especially not one with the curves that she has. She wrinkles her nose. 

"Is there even a point? You can see my whole—"

Eddie slaps her hand preemptively. 

"Hey! I wasn't even touching it!" 

"Your hand was too close."

"No, it wasn't!" 

Eddie rolls his eyes. 

"Let's clean you up and then you can touch it all you want. You have a river in this ditch?" he asks, nose twitching in the air. He turns at the same time the witch points her hand. 

"To the left of the village." 

Eddie's eyes stray to the cluster of houses she seems determined not to look at.

"Do you have anyone left there?" he asks curiously.

"Not anymore," she scoffs, taking off towards the river. 

Eddie has to follow her, he can't risk losing a witch, but an urge flares inside of him that he has to let loose. He claps his hands together and starts rubbing, sparks flying until a fire forms in his palm. He bounces it from one hand to another and nuzzles it with his finger, always happy to work with the little guys. When he feels the witch is watching him, he refocuses and whispers to it:

"Go, little one. Do your worst."

The flame flies off his palm, aided by a push from Eddie's phantom wings. 

She doesn't ask, only eyes him curiously, but he pushes gently on her back to prompt her into walking along his side. 

"It's gonna take a while," he says without any other explanation. 

The walk isn't long, and soon she's handing over the tunic and dipping into the lazily flowing water, dark like ink but glittering with the reflection of stars above. The night sky is probably the only thing Eddie misses in the Underworld. 

He sits on the plush grass, observing as the witch dunks under the surface and rubs her skin until it turns pink. It still contrasts with the water like it's made of the finest porcelain. 

"I guess you're clean enough to explore now," he says as her movements slow down like she's already contemplating it. She must be, he can taste her curiosity from his spot on the river bank.

"You're gonna sit there and watch?" she glowers at him.

"Of course," he answers matter-of-factly. "I'm a demon."

She huffs, but this time it sounds more amused. Her hand travels down her body.

"What's your name, witch?" Eddie asks, resting his chin on his hand. 

"Stev—" she hesitates. 

"Eve?" he picks up curiously. That would be hilarious. 

She kind of nods, kind of shakes her head. 

"I was Steven, then I went by Stevonne, but..."

"That's okay, take your time," Eddie reassures her. "This is your Rebirth, you can pick any name you like."

She hums, and he can see her hand making slow, circling movements under the water. 

"I like Eve," she admits.

"Yeah?" Eddie perks up with a smile. "You can call me Eddie. It's nice to make your acquaintance, Eve."

She smiles and opens her mouth to say something, but her attention is pulled somewhere above Eddie's shoulder. The water starts glowing orange. 

"Looks like the little guy is having fun," he hums, not looking around. The glow of fire looks better on Eve's skin anyway. 

The river carries distant cries for help, a reminder that it's not just a big, pretty bonfire. 

"Don't worry, he'll get them all," he says.

"I'm not worried," she assures quickly. 

Eve's fixated on the fire consuming her village, her eyes full of awe and the reflection of flames. She's glowing in the now orange water and she looks gorgeous reflecting Eddie's carnage like that. She'll look breathtaking among hellfire. 

"Maybe we could spare some," he wonders out loud with a lazy smile. She looks back at him. "So we can hunt them down later. The way they hunt my new favorite witch."

She smiles, mean and thrilled. He'll have to fight fang and claw to keep her.

"Maybe we could." 

They look at each other for a long while, until his eyes dip. 

"You done?" Eddie looks pointedly at her stilled hand. She sighs with frustration. 

"It's way different from this angle," she complains. 

Eddie laughs out loud, the sound echoed by the collapsing church that used to tower over the townsfolk. 

"Need a hand?" he offers, rolling his eyes when she eyes his claws with distrust. He flicks out his tongue instead. "Need a tongue?" 

Eve's totally on board for that, clambering out of the water, her hazelnut hair dripping over her curves. The wet shine on her skin reflects the dancing flames and Eddie would be in love if he knew how to.

"Weren't you appalled that I was watching you just seconds ago?" he laughs at her, a little bit mean, but he already knows she can take it. 

"Turns out I like that," she shrugs without shame, making Eddie's smile grow. The sight of his sharp teeth doesn't deter her either. In an instant, he has a lap full of a human, or at least as much of one there was left in Eve. He has her tits right in his face and he wouldn't be a demon if he didn't give them a taste, licking the river water off her skin. She sighs, fingers tangling in his unruly mane of hair, seeking purchase in his horns. He groans when she grabs them, and wraps his arms around her, pressing into her skin so he can flip them around, and lay her down in the bed of grass. 

Her yelp turns into a delighted laugh and Eddie trembles with the sound. They don't make witches like that anymore. Free and open to the joys of life, ready to frolic and mingle with the things Unknown. Christianity made it so hard for demons and fae to get laid. 

He presses hot kisses down her torso, spends extra time sucking around her navel, then nibbling around her mound, hiking her thighs higher and higher, nosing at the crease there, inhaling her scent, until he gets to his destination. It takes two, three expert licks for Eve to lock her legs around him and scream into the night. 

Eddie gently laps up around her hole, her juices too precious to let fall on the grass below. Her breath hitches and she trembles but doesn't move away. 

"Do you want more?" he asks, black eyes searching for an answer. 

Her eyes are still full of fire.

"Yes."

So he gives her one more, then three, until he loses count and his tongue is numb and Eve's but a puddle of human-shaped limbs underneath him. When he laps at her entrance, drunk himself on her smell and taste, she spreads her legs invitingly, eyes blown and impossibly wide, sparkling with flames. 

They stare into each other's dark eyes as he slithers his tongue inside. He rubs against her walls, searching for her face for a reaction, but she's too out of it for anything more than an involuntary twitch of muscles. However, when he moves away, she seems disappointed. He crawls up her body to properly look at her face, but before he can say anything, she lurches forward.

Kissing is not something he's used to in such circumstances, but he indulges anyway, letting her tongue inspect the sharp points of his teeth, and maneuver his hand on her breast. He squeezes, laps, and sucks, letting himself get lost in this new dance. 

"You know," he says when she breaks away to restore oxygen. "I don't do that outside of sealing a deal," he admits.

Eve blinks at him owlishly. 

"You don't kiss just for fun? Aren't you a demon?"

Eddie barks out a laugh. 

"I guess kissing is too tame for our tastes." 

"What's your taste?" she asks, curiosity radiating off of her in hot waves. 

He hums, caressing her side.

"Insane witches, apparently."

"What do you do with them?" she presses on, her leg moving dangerously high up his body, the coarse hair of his thighs not enough to deter her.

"Well, personally..." Eddie likes to play with his food, a habit he couldn't shake since his childhood, so he rolls away from Eve to lie on his side instead. To placate her, he starts playing with the hair that grow low on her belly. "I collect the resurrected witches and show them around. You'll get a tour of Hell and any other realms you wish to see, and then I'll help you settle wherever you feel like."

With every word, the pout on her face only grows. 

"You're not keeping me?" she asks, playing up the whine in her voice, but he knows there are genuine feelings behind it. 

"Witches aren't meant to be tied down," he explains apologetically. "They're free spirits abusing the laws of reality." He reaches for her hand to press a kiss against her fingers. "It's a power best wielded in solitude."

She pries her hand away and sits up.

"Why would I want the power if I can't share it? Don't witches have like... familiars? Or something?"

Eddie frowns.

"A witch of your power doesn't need one. They're meant to amplify and aid spells, and you're pretty much on the same level as a common demon."

"Are you a common demon?"

"Yes," he nods. 

"So we can't make a deal?" she presses on. 

His frown deepens. 

"Why would you want a deal with someone equal in power? Deals are made between a master and a servant."

"But is it not possible? Can't I have an equal by my side? A partner in crime?"

Maybe he should backtrack on her being his favorite. She's asking too many questions, ones he's not used to from a freshly reborn witch. He sighs. 

"Technically you can, but it's an exclusive deal. You're tied for eternity, you belong to each other. It's not a common practice," he says, playing off what he's been told and overheard. "Master-servant contracts have an expiration date and are easier to break. I'm not sure a deal like that could even be broken."

Eve wraps her hands around her knees, processing the information. 

"So I could tie a demon, or an equally powerful being, to myself for all eternity?" 

Somehow, Eddie doesn't like the idea of Eve making a deal like that with a random demon. He nods, though.

"Yes."

"Let's say I'd want to do that with you, right now. How would that look?" she asks curiously. 

He thinks about it, imagines it, and it pains him deep into his core. 

"A simple deal is sealed with a kiss or a blood pact. A deal between equals requires an intercourse."

"Huh."

The idea doesn't seem appalling to her, which doesn't surprise him at this point. He can feel her eyes sliding down his body.

"You're not going to find my dick like that," he says with amusement. 

She huffs but doesn't budge, searching his gaze instead. 

"Wouldn't you want to make me yours? And you mine?"

Eddie considers it. 

"I never thought about it before," he admits. "Is that something you'd want?"

She lays back on the grass with a sigh. 

"I'm just tired of being alone. Of nobody staying. You're the nicest person I've met in years, and you're not even human." He laughs at that, and she turns towards him with a smile. "You burnt a village for me." She frowns. "Unless you do that for all the witches."

Eddie quickly shakes his head. Too quickly.

"Only the most mistreated ones," he admits. 

"Is it a pity thing, then?"

"No," he protests again. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

Eve smiles. 

"Thank you."

He smiles back, and when he leans down, she meets him for a lazy kiss. 

"Would you make me yours?" she asks when they part and the offer sounds alarmingly tempting. 

"You should meet other demons before making a commitment like that," he says, and she rolls her eyes. Then, his ears twitch as he finds the perfect distraction for them both. 

"You ready to hunt?" he smiles down at her, wide and dangerous. "Someone escaped the fire."

ko-fi

[spotsandsocks]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday😈

My lovelies @tizniz @jesuisici33 @wikiangela thank you for tags

Finished author!Buck so obviously the next thing for me to do is get obsessed by demon!eddie. So as a tease here are the titles of some but not all of our demon lords. I may have gone over the top but who cares…. Also some of these may not be who you might think they are…

Prince of Flame and Shadows, Deliverer of Retribution and Unholy Justice, Scurge of the Soulless, Soldier Of Hell and Keeper of the Seven Keys of Forgiveness

Her Grace, The Lady of Wisdom, Royal Sword of He who leads us, Queen of Righteous Vengeance, Bringer of Retribution and Regret and the Terror of the Fallen

Empress of Lost Souls and Sinners, Seeker of Lies and Deceit and Holder of The Chalice of Veracity.”

Barroness; Twice Born Warrior, Watcher of the night and Hope of the Betrayed

Our Imperial Judge and Lord, Prince of the Silenced, Eyes of the Blinded and Abandoned. Lance of the Forgotten and Hidden Hearts

Duke of anguish and defeat . Torment of the Betrayers, guard to the traitor gate and the King’s last Arrow

The owner of the first title is already known in some of the clips so far… not hard to guess either

No pressure tags @monsterrae1 @dr-shortsighted-owl @thelikesofus @beyourownanchor6 @bekkachaos @buffaluff @thekristen999 @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @buddiediaz118 @eddiebabygirldiaz @sunflowerwemadeit @repressedqueen @caroandcats @theotherbuckley @bi-buckrights @lonelychicago @stagefoureddiediaz @inell @hippolotamus @rogerzsteven @diazsdimples and anyone else who wants to share I just tagged people I think might like a demon!au lmk if you want to be added for this one or not tagged at all 💜

[akumastrife]

Maybe You Were Sent For Me; Maybe I Was Made For You {Steddie/Stranger Things}

Rating: Teen? (References to non-explicit sex in one of the ending scenes?) Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steddie Word Count: 4k Summary: There's a demon in Hawkins, but Steve isn't sure what that means. He's also not sure why he's committed to figuring it out. This was supposed to be about weird demon sex for Monsterfucktober 2023, but then I did what I always do by making it weirdly introspective and yearny and soft. Oops. Maybe one day I'll write a PWP sequel. {Also on AO3}

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

At least, that’s what all the adults whisper about over immaculately set tables and potlucks and sun-dappled mailboxes.

Looking at the young man darkening the open back door of the church (propped open to let in any slip of breeze, and in the process letting in the filth, his Mother hisses to his Father), Steve doesn’t see it.

How does someone look at another and know?

Steve’s looking at him closer now, more shadow and bright light than boy. Metal winks all over him like a glittering midnight sky when he moves, and when his eyes find Steve’s, the darkness of them burns.

Steve jerks his eyes back to the pulpit, swallowing thick as his heart beats against his sternum in something one step to the right of fear.

When he looks out of the corner of his eyes, the exit is empty.

He doesn’t hear a word of the sermon after that. Maybe hadn’t heard any of it the moment he sat down.

Maybe that’s what his Mother meant, about demons and the handsome young men who house them, leading the weak-willed from holy light.

“—right trouble,” Mrs. Mitchell says. “He’s just not right.”

“His poor uncle,” Mrs. Roberts agrees. “Can’t decide if he’s a saint for taking that thing in, or wicked himself for letting it back into town.”

Steve tunes back into the conversation, bored and tired and hot in the stuffy church. Looks longingly out the window where some of the other boys are out throwing around a football, having shed their nice church jackets and unbuttoning their collars. But Mother has her arm twined with his, keeping him close and respectable.

“He was the sweetest little boy,” Mother muses, “if a little wild. Before all that… strange business, with his parents.”

Mrs. Thompson sniffs reproachfully. “If you ask me, he’s always been tainted. There’s something dark hiding in that boy.”

Steve doesn’t see how that’s Munson’s fault.

Steve had seen a statue of Satan once. When visiting his grandparents, they’d spent Sunday morning in their church. All familiar and alien at once. Like seeing your bedroom in a dream and not knowing if the layout is the same or if you’re just remembering it wrong.

He’d missed that sermon, too. Had been too fixated on carved stone outlining a fallen angel as pretty as a saved one; limbs elegantly muscled, demonic wings at odds with the strangely submissive pose of it, and hair a tumbling curtain that looked like it’d be soft if touched. 

He couldn’t, obviously. Couldn’t be caught looking, either. Even if his grandmother had and told Father and—

He doesn’t remember the rest of the visit. But he remembers the statue.

Thinks about it now, weirdly enough, in the lunch room. Thinks about the curve of stone effigy as Munson perches on his chair, performing for his little band of weirdos. His dark curls tumbling around him like some sort of halo, hands up and hooked in parody of something more wicked.

Fingers snap in front of his face. “Earth to Hair,” a teammate says.

Steve can’t get caught looking. Snaps his eyes away, snaps up a rakish grin, snaps his hand into a soft stomach and laughing at the grunt and flinch it produces.

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

Everyone’s whispering about it.

Steve isn’t sure he really, truly believes that. But he leaves practice late—the sun already sinking, covering the campus in shadows—and he sees the shadowy figure sprawled along the field’s bleachers, ringed in lazy smoke. Like a character in a comic book. Regal and indolent at once.

He’s stopped to watch; breathes in the chilly evening air and grips his backpack strap too hard. There’s a sharp wanting in his gut, twisting and churning, that tells him to step closer. Instinct and something more primal flashes in danger. Growing up in the church pews has told him it’s wrong. Whatever it is, whatever Munson is, it’s wrong and he can’t.

Munson knows he’s there, even as his loose-limb perch stays easy, even as lips wrap around the smudged, damp papers. There isn’t any breeze to stir the thick silence between them, but smoke floats over to him anyway. Too skunky to be nicotine, but laden with sulfur undertones that ping as familiar and foreign at once.

Munson pushes a ringed hand through his hair; pushing it back frizzy and untamed.

Steve must be as stupid and vain as everyone teases, because the fear is replaced with distress at long dark hair that’s not being cared for properly. It needs moisture and some sort of heavy product. His hands twitch to get in there. To dampen it, twist it around his fingers—

Munson curls a lock around his finger, slow enough to watch, looking back at him with the sleepy heaviness of a large predator on a nature documentary.

Steve swallows around a dry mouth and turns for the parking lot quickly.

He spends too long in the bathroom that night.

Just because someone’s weird doesn’t mean they’re satanic. (He does not say this at the dinner table, but it gets him thinking anyway.)

Yeah, Munson’s dripping in occult symbols and spends his time locked up in dark basements weaving tales of magic and evil with his freak cronies.

And yeah, symbols have power. The letterman jacket he wears is a symbol that means something. It gives him a power in school and around town. A jacket like his means he’s good and popular and right. It’s all about fitting in the jacket and the box built for him; being the boy his parents expect and the church expects and the town expects.

But what even is goodness? The stuff they talk about at church, only achieved by following their set of rules and codes? He’s not sure that’s enough, because Johnny on the team doesn’t go to church, but he’s down at the soup kitchen on Saturdays and he helps old ladies across the street, so that should still count for something. And Mimi on cheer squad sits with girls in the nurse’s office and picks up litter in the spring, even though her family doesn’t celebrate Christmas.

Steve wears the jacket and goes to church and does as he’s told, but he doesn’t always feel good, either. Sometimes he slips on the jacket and squirms at the thought that he’s a fraud. That the jacket means more than he actually is. Something he can’t measure up to.

“Stop thinking so hard, you’ll burn up your last two braincells,” Chrissy teases, poking her knuckles into his temples to get him to relax his face.

Cheer and Basketball have to share the gym today and it means neither team is doing much of any practicing. He should be helping Coach get everyone back on track, but he’s too preoccupied to care about three pointers.

He grins and rolls his eyes, batting her hand away. “Just thinking about the new defense plays.” Not fully a lie.

Her laugh is high and bright. “But you’re too pretty to be thinking.”

Usually it’s an inside joke between them; both of them seen as too pretty, and pretty as in not good for anything else. No expectation for anything more.  

Lately it just makes him shift somewhere inside himself, pushing his tongue into the inside of his teeth to stem it.

Is that really all he’s good for?

Is that enough?

Could that be enough for himself?

He huffs, ruffling his own hair as he speeds up to rejoin the guys in their cool down laps. Maybe everyone’s right—maybe he’s not made for thinking. He’s not even sure what he’d really been thinking about, what conclusion he was trying to puzzle out, except in circles.

Sometimes when Steve’s thinking too hard, his eyes drift over to land on Munson. Like some sort of tar trap. Or a magnet, stuck in his throat whenever he looks and tries to swallow.

Sometimes, when he does, Munson catches him at it.

Sometimes, Munson’s looking first.

It should mean nothing. It probably does mean nothing and he’s being the weird one. They’ve literally exchanged maybe a dozen words over the years. They were almost lab partners early in the semester before Rodney made a fuss and convinced everyone to swap. They’d done poorly on the assignments, but Steve was used to that, at least.

What would a demon even want to do with Hawkins, anyway? Even if Munson was one, so far all he’d done since he got back was start a band, go to school, and start the dungeons and dragons club back up. As far as he could tell, it was keeping Nancy’s little brother and his friends off the streets and out of trouble, so he wasn’t sure what the harm was in that, either.

Maybe he just didn’t get what the adults were so worried about. Maybe he didn’t get it and so that’s why he was just as at risk to fall into Munson’s demonic ways.

That was probably why Steve was looking at him so much these days.

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

He dresses in all blacks and reds and dangerous flashes of metal, and moves his body in weird ways. He plays satanic games and satanic music. He and his uncle never come to church—there’s hushed chatter about him still hovering around the church, probably up to no good and refusing to come inside. Maybe can’t? He and his friends (minions, Mrs. Thompson spits,) are always around town in a little pack up to no good.

He, also, catches Steve’s eye in the hallway, grinning brightly and mocking, flashing sharp canines.

He, also, chats animatedly with Chrissy, always slipping away whenever Steve gets closer.

He, also, sells pot at Steve’s basketball games, out back behind the building when everyone’s distracted. Steve knows because he can smell it when he leaves the locker room at the end of the night, the air heavy with herbs and sulfur. A calling card or a tease of some game Steve doesn’t know they’re playing.

He, also, lounges high up in the bleachers early in the morning when Steve’s swimming laps. Steve’s not sure how long that’s been going on, or why Munson’s picked there to haunt. He’d expected Munson to be the sort of “out all night, sleep all day” type that was popular with bats and horror villains.

But sometimes Steve pulls himself out of the pool, shedding water, and finds the glow of Munson’s eyes in shadows, hair curled around a finger and between his lips. Steve shivers before grabbing a towel and tries not to see those eyes every time he blinks.

Munson’s definitely weird, but ultimately harmless, Steve’s pretty sure. Mother’s book club-church-social ladies don’t know what they’re talking about. Munson’s just some guy.

Steve intends on finally confronting him about it. See what his deal is, why he’s skulking around, what he could possibly want. Maybe ask about the demon business so they can both laugh it off. If nothing else because Chrissy likes him and Jason’s starting to get weird about it, tight and angry somewhere behind his smarmy smiles. 

But there’s never a good time, or there’s too many people who’d want to watch popular Steve talk to the school freak. (He doesn’t talk to him when he’s leaving the pool or basketball practice despite them being alone and the perfect time for it. There’s something taboo about it, when he’s bare and sweating and catching his breath, and Munson’s eyes are roaming him slow and heavy. Those times are for something else, something that Steve doesn’t understand but wants to keep just for them.)

(There’s no them.)

He must kick around too long, too loudly, because he swings back to his locker long after school to get a forgotten book, and Munson’s leaving detention with one of his ruffled, punky friends. He laughs loud and sharp, flinging his head back, uncaring of where he is. He drums his hands theatrically across his friend’s shoulders and then the row of lockers, pushing him off down a hall with a farewell (a literal farewell, like he’s trying out for the Spring Shakespeare Play.)

He keeps walking.

Steve keeps walking.

Dark, liquid eyes stare into his as Musnon reaches into a vest pocket for a crumbled box of cigarettes.

Steve inhales, should stop—passes him, and keep walking.

There’s a squeak on linoleum and then Munson’s walking at his elbow, bumping a little too close. He’s warm, putting out heat like a radiator.

Steve exhales.

A lighter flicks, flickers, catches in the corner of his eye glowing red and curling into smoke.

He doesn’t look.

He pushes the exit door out the back harder than he means to, stepping out into the bright sunshine. Squints.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder and pushes, spinning him back around a corner and into shadows. Brick scratches the back of the felted letterman jacket. Steve forgets to breathe.

Munson breathes for him, fingers digging sharp into his chest to keep him still and lips ghosting soft over his, open and exhaling smoke that Steve can’t help but draw in, shuddering.

His thoughts spin dizzy and his heart climbs and stutters; then he’s not thinking at all, foggy with smoke and sulfur and the curious prodding of a wet tongue.

Steve gasps, grabbing the edges of Munson’s vest with the intention to push, instead doing the opposite. Heat and want flares across his skin, coming out as a small whine and turning him as stupid as everyone says he is.

Guilt drops into his stomach like a stone, but his hands keep pulling, his tongue keeps reaching, his hips follow a press he knows like a second language. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be liking this.

“Why are you following me around?” Munson asks against his mouth, low and raspy, his teeth catching Steve’s lip to pull.

Steve shudders and makes an embarrassing sound he’ll never admit to. It doesn’t feel like Munson minds, except—

“What?” Steve manages. He pushes, puts enough space between them he can gulp fresh air and try to clear his head. “Me? I was—I’d been—you.” He laughs despite himself, more panicked than amused, letting his head thump back against the wall. It stings, but the clarity is needed. “I thought you were stalking me.” Still thinks it, to be honest, because he has a lot more reason to be at the pool and the gym than the sixth-year senior slacker.

“What reason would I have to follow around the poplar pretty boy?” Munson asks, scathing enough that Steve’s pants go pathetically tight.

He tries to shrug instead, looking anywhere other than Munson’s eyes, deep enough to fall in like coaxing. “You tell me.” Does look, because he can’t help himself. Munson’s all dark temptation and promises of satisfaction.

Maybe he is a demon. Maybe that’s why Steve feels this way.

Maybe he’s something that’s mistaken for a demon: less supernatural and more dangerous.

Munson looks at him, and doesn’t say anything.

Steve’s too busy kissing him to say anything, either.

They don’t talk about it like Steve planned. He doesn’t get around to asking about any of it. They don’t talk at school or outside it. Nothing really changes except the stolen moments shivering in Munson’s burning hands and wicked mouth under the bleachers, or the quick and self-conscious fumble in the Munson trailer.

Steve doesn’t like anyone messing with his hair, but he likes it when Munson pulls on it.

Steve doesn’t like hickeys where anyone can see and ask questions, but he likes Munson’s sharp teeth digging in under his clothes.

Steve doesn’t like the thought of anyone catching them, but he lets Munson in through his window under the dark sky of a new moon. How can he say no to all the shadowed angles and flashing eyes of Munson softened immediately in the warm lamplight of his room?

It’s way too easy to let Munson in and then stay the rest of the night. Maybe he’s actually a vampire.

“Fussy,” Munson teases, biting at Steve’s hip, laughing at Steve’s stomach jumping at the touch.

Steve frowns and tugs at his hair in retribution. For such a wicked boy, his smiles look extra sweet in the early morning sunlight. Maybe that’s one of his tricks, too.

Footsteps echo up the stairs and down the hall, and Steve swears low. He scrambles to push Munson down, pull up the lumpy comforter over him. It won’t be enough. He pushes with his legs for Munson to shift behind him as he rolls over. Battles amusement at the soft thump and swear of Munson hitting the floor. Just in time for Father to knock and open the door without waiting, helping himself to every corner of his house without care to privacy.

“What are you still doing in bed?” There’s a queer suspicion in his eyes as they roam over Steve, looking for an answer neither of them wants to ask the question to.

“I—I don’t feel well,” Steve chokes out. Twitches at the fingers pressing into the back of his knees. Fakes a cough that turns distressingly real at teeth scraping at his backside.

“Your mother will be disappointed,” Father says in his own disappointment. In Steve. Not that he’s sick, but that he’s not obedient.

Steve shrugs, helpless and tangled up in his own bad decisions.

Father sighs, hand clenching around the door handle before relaxing. “Okay. No TV. We’re going to the Glenn’s after church. Mary will be disappointed you’re not coming.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move until the door’s shut, Father’s gone, and the car’s pulled out of the driveway. Guilt and shame dig claws into him, slowly slicing down.

What is he doing?

“Stevie,” Munson sings, all rough and honey sweet at once. He grabs Steve’s ankle from the floor and tickles the bottom of his foot. Drags himself up onto the bed like some sort of alluring boogie man, smiling with teeth and glittering eyes; seeming to have too many hands as he crawls up and over Steve himself. Worms under the blankets and begins kissing down Steve’s chest.

Steve exhales, letting go of more tension than he realized he was carrying. It isn’t fair that Munson is so good with his fingers and his tongue, that he’s addicting and soothing both at once. The best kind of distraction, even though Steve can’t remember what he needs distracted from anymore.

Steve sinks his hands into thick hair, clutching rhythmically with every graze of teeth, every swirl of tongue. Thinks, blessedly, about nothing at all. Just skin and sweat and the warm, heavy weight of—

“Eddie,” he sighs, arching up into the tight heat of his mouth. Then shudders down, groaning into the flinch of a curl around Munson, through the shaking swell up and over.

Munson, who has enough nonsense going on in his brain to keep his mouth running ceaselessly, says nothing. He’s still alive, Steve can feel the damp wash of his breathing, but usually a conscious Munson is a chatty one.

When he looks down, he freezes, ice running through his veins and chasing out the murky afterglow. Munson’s open expression of awe and adoration is marred by the solid black of his eyes.

“You—” Steve starts, thighs tensing.

“You said my name,” Eddie says over him, rushed and delighted. His hands tighten, sharp nails pricking sensitive skin. His smile is bright—almost childlike—if it weren’t for the sharper points of his teeth. The tongue that was just somewhere very sensitive is forked.

He hadn’t felt that.

He’s pretty sure he’d have felt that.

“They were right.” Dread drops into his stomach.

Munson frowns. “About my cock sucking skills? Who was right? I haven’t been exactly going around tongue first.” Sticks it out in a tease.

Steve looks at his tongue again without meaning to. Still split.

“You’re a demon.”

Munson’s mouth slackens into an O as his eyes clear back into the warm brown Steve’s used to, wide and scared. Everything about him shrinks back in such a smooth transition that Steve’s brain can’t keep up with it. Knows he watched it happen, but couldn’t conjure up the image even if he wanted to. Knows only then, and now.

Muns—Eddie’s hands tighten, and then loosens in a panic when Steve flinches tight. Pets his hip bones like he’s a startled horse.

The thought is insulting enough to knock Steve out of his horror enough to glare. “What were you doing at the church that day?”

Eddie’s expression shutters guilty enough that neither of them has to clarify which day he means.

“I… I dunno. I’d just come back to town, was relearning it and then… well…” He licks his lips, glancing away. It’s all Steve can do to watch his mouth. Bruised and soft and so inviting. Demon echoes in his thoughts—all he knows about them (not enough) and what pop culture has taught him (probably fanciful exaggerations.) But they’re supposed to be harbingers of sin and temptation and leading the pure astray into damnation. Evil.

“Drawn by a higher power?” Steve asks dryly. He’s slowly relaxing. Some of the fear ebbs away. Eddie’s not evil, of that he’s certain. “Feeling repentant?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Pinches Steve’s ribs. Steve flinches, swears, and swats at Eddie’s shoulders, but all that earns him is a sharp bite to the swell of his hip. “Drawn by something,” he grumbles.

Steve’s not sure he’s ever been considered pure, so they’re probably safe there. But Eddie’s soft brown eyes, open expressions, plush mouth, wicked fingers, tantalizing everything—

He flushes for no particular reason, distracts them both from it by ruffling his hands through Eddie’s sex-wild hair. Everything about Eddie seems made specifically to catch Steve’s attention, and maybe that’s what they’ve been talking about all this time.

“Do you want my soul?” Steve finally asks, huffy in his exasperation and impatience. The sooner they figure this out, the better.

Eddie’s face screws up in disbelief and disgust. “I don’t even know how to do that. What would I do with a soul, anyway? Eat it? Put it on a shelf? Trade it for Demonic Goods and Services?”

Steve flails the approximation of a shrug. “Well, I don’t know! It’s your whole,” gestures again, “deal. Couldn’t you use it to gain access to Hell or something?”

Eddie thinks about that for a long second. “Why would I wanna go there? It sounds terrible.”

Steve laughs. He doesn’t mean to, and it’s a little too sharp and too desperate. It clearly startles both of them. But once it starts, he can’t stop. Through watery eyes he catches Eddie grinning at him like they’re just two dumb teenagers, and also maybe like Steve’s the proof of a holy relic.

There’s a demon in Hawkins.

The congregation worry that he’s building a cult; leading all their impressionable youth into dark basements for sorcery and music that makes windows shake. He plays with fire and smoke, and peddles spirits and drugs to drag the town down to his level. Corrupting as many souls as he can so when he returns to Hell where he belongs, he has an army of the depraved at his back.

Mostly, though, he cuts class and loiters around the school and the church and too-nice neighborhoods he has no business being in. He smuggles his preppy boyfriend out of his suffocating house and into his trailer where they can neck on the old couch. More frequently now, Hell’s Best Uncle (they made him a mug and everything,) tells lame jokes they laugh and groan at easily. Better when Wayne pats Steve’s shoulder and asks about school and sports, and tells Steve he’s proud of him. Even when he hasn’t done anything.

The worst thing Eddie tempts him into doing is a little underage drinking, smoke a little weed, and indulge in premarital homosexual activity.

Steve’s pretty sure he’d be doing all of that anyway, so he can’t blame Eddie for those sins. But he can blame Eddie for the hickeys, the easy grins, the quiet of a home that doesn’t rattle his brain into anxious static. If those are considered unforgivable sins, Steve’s not sure he really cares what the pastor is peddling anymore.

[inflomora-art]

something something devil’s dance by metallica

available here x

[mrwinterr]

Eddie Munson Masterlist

* indicates 18+ content.

🚫 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🚫 don’t click it, plz.

mrwinterr masterlist

welcome to my eddie munson era.

Enjoy the Ride (preview)

Mayhem (Demon!Eddie Munson AU) - preview

Die Happy* (Ghost!Eddie Munson AU)

The Nerve (featuring some Steve Harrington)

[hellcheerficdatabase]

Sweeter than Heaven, Hotter than Hell

Author: copperleaves

Rating/Warning: Explicit, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

Chapter Count: 7/7

Description: Edmodeus the demon is assigned the task of corrupting the innocent Sister Mary Elizabeth (née Chrissy Cunningham) days before she takes her final vows. He poses as an angel, she falls readily into his arms…and he learns that corruption can go both ways.

Tags: Alternate universe- no vecna, nun!Chrissy, Demon!Eddie, a lot of firsts, when I said wow to other smut, DO I MEAN WOW HERE, smut, filthy filthy smut, the smut is the PLOT, alternating POV, multiple chapters, status: Completed

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter two: look here all you want

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie gets your car back. You're trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

cw: deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, depictions of abuse, dark comedy, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie makes sure that the man feels him before he sees him. It may be cruel, but he’s always had a flair for the dramatic– once a Dungeon Master, always a Dungeon Master– and what’s Hell without a little fun and debauchery?

The man smells Eddie’s sickly sweet, smoky aroma first. It’s the first thing anyone notices about him, of course. The shit follows him everywhere, alerting people of his presence like a fucking cat collar with a bell on it. The wind that he conjures always smells at least like a bonfire– at worst, he’s the grand eruption of Mount Vesuvius. He guesses it’s some sort of infernal practical joke (he formed the hellfire club in life, so now he has to remain in it for the rest of time, or some shit. Don’t ask him. He doesn’t know all the answers, just the dumb ones).

Then the man jolts, his eyes flying all around him as he hears Eddie. Or, at least, what Eddie allows him to hear. It begins in whispers, like leviathans in the mists, murmuring and overlapping each other. It rocks slowly toward a crescendo. And then, Eddie’s voice, soft before the man realizes what’s happening to him. 

“Found you.”

There’s a sickening crack, and then the windshield of the car explodes beneath the man’s spine. He barrel rolls to the ground to find Eddie looming over him, staring him down, his eyes dead black and unforgiving.

“Hi, Spencer.” The heel of Eddie’s boot crushes against the man’s chest, holding him down. Eddie’s voice is comically musical, like the crackling of brush just beginning to go up in flames. “Busy tonight, are we?”

The man, Spencer, trembles as he stares up at Eddie. Blood tinges his bottom lip, either from biting it when he hit the windshield, or from coughing up whatever blood exists in his fermented body. 

He gestures at the duffel bag that he’d been holding when Eddie grabbed him, now laying on the ground. “Look, man– I dunno who you are, b-but you can have all the fuckin’ money, it’s right there–”

“I don’t want your fucking money.” Eddie squints at him, trying to gauge Spencer’s thoughts. They’re malicious, yes, but not murderous. He robbed the liquor store down the street, and then he pulled into the motel around the corner to try to check in with the money. He’s dangerous and stupid, but he’s not a killer. Yet.

Eddie didn’t have to read the guy’s mind to know that, though.

“Whose car is this?”

“What?”

“Whose–” Eddie digs his boot harder into the guy’s chest– “Car?”  

“Some fuckin’ small town whore, how should I know?” Now is not the time to play coy. Spencer learns that when Eddie’s foot shoots forward, and the toe of his book connects ungraciously with his chin. Pain rockets through his jaw. “Fuck!”  

“Save it.” Eddie’s temper has grown exponentially with his immortality, he thinks. He wonders sometimes if he’d always been this way, or if Hell has just made him worse. Probably both. “Do you have any idea who you’ve stolen from?”

He’s seen the memory– Spencer, drunk off his ass and running on blind adrenaline from robbing a corner store, stole your car from the parking lot of a diner; the diner where you work. 

You had to walk home in the rain. Eddie’s heart practically aches, watching you come home to an empty apartment, dirty and wet and shivering. He never wants to see it happen to you again as long as you live. He’s promised you that it won’t. 

He also promised they’ll get as good as they gave. And demon or not, Eddie Munson never ever goes back on a promise.

“Hell, I stole from lotsa people,” Spencer chuckles, his head sliding back and forth across the pavement as he rolls his eyes, gargling on the blood in his mouth. “F’yer here to collect, y’can just take the money and go. I ain’t got nothin’ else.”

“Oh, but you do, Spence.” Eddie grins with sharp teeth when he bends down to pick Spencer up by his throat. The flames in his eyes burst to life, roaring red and demonic. A flash of recognition crosses Spencer’s face when he realizes that Eddie is far more than he seems. “See, you stole from my girl. Now you get to suffer.”

Eddie was always intimidating. He made himself appear like that to push people away, until it started to backfire on him, and then it just got worse when he became a demon. It’s a natural instinct for humans to shrink away. He emanates danger, even when he’s not putting on a show– even when his eyes are dark and he isn’t producing fire from his hands. 

That’s one of the things that sealed your fate. You didn’t shrink away from him, even when he tested you. He’s always been a show off, and he’s very egotistical, he won’t lie. He gave you a little taste of his dark side, showed you his hellfire and brimstone, and you called him hot. To his face.

Well, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Even if he wasn’t already sold on you, there was absolutely no way he was letting you go after that.

Eddie dumps Spencer on the ground. In Spencer’s head, the haunting voices seem to crash back raucously as magma boiling at the lip of a volcano. A chill sweeps through Spencer’s body as it retreats, as he feels the creeping panic rising in him, the ringing in his ears. Then, as soon as it fades, it’s again overthrown by the chorus, the cacophony of behemoth voices. Overlapping each other, humming along with the slow heartbeat of the drums.

It’s the arc toward the end of the death metal album Eddie wanted to write during his lifetime, but never got the chance to. It has to be good for something, even if Spencer is never going to appreciate Eddie’s musical genius. 

Spencer doesn’t need to know that, though.

Spencer lays trembling, his hands clapped tight around his ears. Nothing will stop it, save time– and by then, Spencer will probably be wishing Eddie had just killed him and gotten it over with.

Eddie steps around Spencer’s body, sighing. If Hell has made him cruel, it’s also made him weirdly just. Great power, great responsibility… all that jazz. 

Yeah, the powers are pretty fucking cool, he won’t lie about that. 

The windshield of the car decompresses itself at Eddie’s touch, the glass creaking and groaning as it fits back into proper shape. From there, it glows bright orange and melts back into one solid pane of glass, back in the way that it had been before Spencer’s back played Happy New Year with it.

Eddie sits in the driver’s seat, his fingers nearly denting the steering wheel where he grips it. He just hopes that you don’t freak out when he gets your car back to you.

You freak out.

Granted, you only made the deal with Eddie yesterday, and you had a long day at work. For you, the afternoon had been painfully slow. Maybe it was a good thing that the diner doesn’t have a major rush every single lunch service, but it just means more of the shit work that your newbie manager, Colin, loves to give to you now that he has the authority to. You don’t know if it’s payback for you making him slice bread during his training, but he’s taking it a little bit too seriously. 

You’re technically a waitress, so it’s really not in your fucking job description, but tonight he made you clean the men’s bathroom. 

Did you know how many men will just ejaculate onto the wall of the men’s bathroom in a small town diner? No. But now you do, and the answer is too many.

You had to walk home, as per usual since your car was stolen a little less than a week ago. And then you got to your apartment complex, got to the last place on the last row of buildings, and your fucking car was there, in your parking space. Beautiful and gleaming and with fresh license plates.

You’re freaking out. You absolutely are– you didn’t think it was going to happen this quickly. You figured there must be some kind of wait period. Demons aren’t obligated to make shit happen right away, are they?

(They’re not. But this demon could care less.)

When you get inside, all it takes is a single whiff of smoke to deduce that he’s there. In your apartment. With all the lights turned off. You flick one on and find nothing.

“Eddie?” You say his name out loud for the first time, your voice muddled with awe. The faintest of murmurs, but to him you may as well have screamed it.

The lights flicker, and in a flash he’s standing before you. Across the room, leaning against the door to the bedroom like a vision. His eyes crackle with fire, a coy smirk on his face. “I like the way you say my name. It’s pretty.”

You startle, your body suddenly functioning apart from your mind. Your back hits the front door you’ve just stepped through, mirroring him.

“Whoa whoa whoa– hey! It’s okay.” He holds his hands out toward you, palms up, like you’re a frightened animal. In a way, you are. “We’ve been through this before, princess. You don’t have to worry about me, I’m just your friendly neighborhood demon.” 

Eddie reminds himself to stop rewatching Spider-Man every time he gets a chance.

It has to be fake, you think. You’re exhausted, he couldn’t be here. And yet the room is filled with his fragrance, suffocating and somehow intoxicating. Like you might die from it but you’ll enjoy it all the same. It’s so magnetic that it nearly pulls you to him, taking a hesitant step forward toward the bedroom and then stopping short.

“How– you’re not– how are you here?” You ask him as softly as you can manage. “I thought you could only show up at a crossroads.”

“Not everything is literal, sweetheart.” He thumps his hand against the door behind him, giving you a dazed smile. “Points of entry and departure. Two paths meeting. Crossroads.”

“Huh.”

Eddie takes in the sight of you steadily, calmly, worried that if he moves too suddenly then you might disappear. You’re wearing a black, retro-style waitress’ dress and running shoes– muddy from your walk home. You clutch your house keys to your chest almost instinctively.

That reminds him of the reason that he’s here– not just to check you out, unfortunately. He brandishes your car keys, dangling them from one crooked finger. “Brought you your car.”

“Yeah, I, uh… I noticed.” After a heavy beat, you look away. Your voice is thick with tears– you’re crying. “Sorry. Thank you. I didn’t, um– I didn’t mean to offend–”

“Hey– You didn’t.” Eddie doesn’t know what to do with your tears– he doesn’t want to see you cry, ever, but he’s spent a little too much time causing tears to know how to effectively stop them anymore. He places the keys on the counter nearest him, leading into the kitchen. “I know, it’s not what you’re used to.”

“It’s not,” you agree. “It’s nice.”

Eddie rocks back against the door, pressing into it. The wood creaks under his weight. “Nice,” he echoes. “Haven’t been called that in a while. It’s… nice.”

You snort, and it’s enough to have him grinning all over again. You turn away slightly, and when you turn back you smile at him sheepishly. Trying to suck back the tears that had sprung forth so quickly. “How did you get the car back?”

He squints. He thinks to remind you that he has magic, something that a normal person wouldn’t be able to use– except, he didn’t just poof it into your parking space. He drove it, like a dumbass.

He clicks his tongue. Be cool. “I had a talk with the guy who stole it. He won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

“Oh my god– you killed him?” 

Not that cool. “No! No, I– I would nev–” you’re a demon– “I would seriously consider the consequences–”

“This is unbelievable.” 

“Hey, I got you the car back. Without killing! Even though it took so so so much impulse control, please clap.” He tilts his head and grins at you. He figures he probably looks insane with his glowing eyes and cheshire cat smile.

You nod and take a calculated step forward. You point at the open wine bottle on your kitchen counter. “I’m getting a drink.”

He shrugs. “You own the place.”

“No, I don’t,” you scoff, approaching him. The scent of smoke grows stronger with each step, until you’re engulfed in it. “I pay rent up the ass because I can’t afford any place else.”

Eddie watches you pour a glass of wine with the interest of a collector looking at a piece of fine art. “What would you prefer?” 

The air hangs thick with implication. What do you want me to do? Eddie holds the edge of the counter with his ringed fingers, watching your brow screw up in contemplation. He wants to reach forward and smooth it over with his thumb, get rid of any worries you might have.

He’s a sorry son of a bitch, is what he is.

“What I want–” you stop, your eyes falling to his hand. You stare at it for a long time. Hard knuckles that you’re sure have drawn blood, clunky rings like weapons. You wonder why he keeps them there indefinitely, why he chooses those accessories, keeps this form. He’s intimidating, dangerous-looking, and yet you feel a weird sort of comfort around him. 

He’s the most dangerous thing in any room, and he’s asking what you want.

You look up into the demon’s smoldering eyes, and take a breath. “What I need is to not take home pocket change, because my shithead manager won’t stop skimming my tips. Y’know I trained the fucker?” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah. Piece of shit won’t stop giving me crap work just because he can, and I’m– I’m–”

Eddie wordlessly nudges the wine glass towards you with the tip of his finger. You grab it and take a long gulp. 

You sort of stutter and cough, trying to catch your breath when your tears of exhaustion keep wanting to spill. You’re furious. You’re so fucking angry that it’s vibrating in your bones, threatening to wither and crack them under its force. You start breathing in heavy, short bursts of air that don’t do much to calm you down at all.

“I’m barely making enough to cover my rent even with my tips,” you continue. “But now he’s stealing them and I’m having to skip breakfast to save food and I can’t find another job because the people in this town fucking hate me–”

A warm hand settles onto your back, heavy between your shoulder blades. A little bit of the tension in your shoulders melts and releases, but along with it comes the tears you were holding back. You shiver, leaning further into his touch as though it’ll ground you. Your sinuses are sore and your eyes sting as hot tears slide down your cheeks, but you let Eddie hold you up. 

“Want me to kill that guy for you?” Eddie smirks when you cough out a little laugh that sounds more like a hiccup, but he’ll take it. “What? I’m so fucking serious. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you anymore. What kind of a demon daddy would I be if I did?”

“Shut up.” You bat his chest with the back of your hand. He chuckles, and the sound is as warm and soothing as his hand on your back. Your lip wobbles, your brow screwing up as you try to even out your voice, but you just come out sounding like you’ve got something stuck in your throat. “What are you, a genie with three wishes? I tell you my sorrows and you snap your fingers and fix it?”

“You get a lot more than three with me, sweetheart,” Eddie promises. His eyes are unwavering, his hand stroking lightly back and forth between your shoulders in a way that has you hypnotized, leaning towards him. “And it may take more than just snapping my fingers, but yes. I’ll do it for you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re married, baby.” He holds your gaze gently, hoping not to upset you any further. “‘Til death do we part,’ right? We’re a team now. Your needs, my needs. That’s why you signed the contract. That’s why I gave you this.” Eddie’s warm hand ghosts over your wrist, and the mark that bears his name seared into your skin. The mark tingles, itching with recognition at his touch. “Just say the word and it’s yours.”

You’re still crying. Big, glossy tears falling down your cheeks, making him falter. He’s floundering. He doesn’t know how to make them stop, and the more he tries to get you to tell him, the harder they’re falling. You aren’t hyperventilating anymore, thank fuck, but you’re still quietly sobbing, and you’re not telling him what he needs to know.

Eddie tries searching for it. Squints at you, tries reaching into your mind to find what you need– sort of the same way that he saw the memory of you and the fucker who stole your car. All he gets is one repetitive thought, spinning around in the forefront of your mind. 

Hold me. Hold me. Hold me.

“C’mere,” he tells you softly. Eddie reaches forward, turning you slowly by the shoulder until you’re facing him. He watches your face for any kind of disgust– there’s nothing, save the big tears that keep falling. 

He pulls on your shoulder, just barely, and you crumple. You face plant into his chest and take a deep, shuddering breath that rattles in your lungs and tastes like a campfire. Eddie is warm as a space heater and his arms are strong, wrapped around you tightly to keep you from falling. 

Eddie holds you until he feels you stop crying. He thinks. Maybe you’re still crying, but it isn’t shaking your entire body anymore, and he feels like that’s a move in the right direction.

“Just say the word,” he speaks into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. A timid hand comes up to pet the back of your head. He hasn’t held someone like this in ages. “I can try to read your mind, but then I get the wrong idea, and you won’t like what I’ll do. I’m willing to do anything for you, honest. But y’gotta tell me, baby.”

You hesitate, and then you pull back, puckering your lips in a way that distracts him. He fixates on them, tilting his head as he watches the way they move. Remembering how they felt on his own when he kissed you last night. He hasn’t kissed someone in ages, either.

“No killing Colin,” you conclude, knocking him out of his reverie. He groans. “I’m serious! He’s a dick, but I don’t want that on my conscience. Please, Eddie.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, pouting and stomping his feet. “But you wouldn’t feel that way if you saw the kind of torture we can whip out in ye olde Hell. Make your skin crawl right the fuck off. Ooh! That’s actually a good idea–”

“Maybe, sometime.” You shake your head. “But not now. Just… get him to quit. Or something. Okay?” 

Your hand presses into Eddie’s chest. It feels like a blast straight into his infernal heart. His eyes fall to it, taking in the willing touch that you give him and letting it define his entire being for a second.

Oh, he’s in trouble. He’s really, really done for.

“Okay, sweetheart. Anything you want.” 

His kiss is a ghost of a touch on your cheek, just barely a whisper of skin on skin. Just enough to make you gasp and nearly turn your head, to lock his lips with yours. You practically fight the urge to do it. Your heartbeat kicks up– not for the reason you think it should, either. You aren’t scared. He doesn’t make you nervous– at least, not in an uncomfortable way. 

You want Eddie to press his lips to yours, and you want him to hold you again. You want him to stay indefinitely. Make a home on your couch and hold you in his lap all night. You think that if you asked him, he might do it. Anything you want, right?

But he pushes away from the kitchen counter, and he’s gone as quickly as he appeared, in a rush of air carrying his scent. With a sigh, you sink back on your heels, finding yourself wishing that his arms were still there around you, to catch you before you fall.

You lift your glass of wine to your lips. The imprint of his name still itches on your wrist.

[lokis-army-77]

Dinner for Three

Demon!Eddie Munson x Human!female reader x Angel!Steve Harrington

Word Count: 2208

It's date night with two supernatural beings and before reader can eat dinner, she becomes the meal.

Warning: 18+ unprotected sex, double penetration, anal fingering, and sex (female receiving), p in v, threesome

Masterlist

Everyone knows that old saying that you have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Well, some don't realize that it is a very true statement, at least for me. Either a blessing or a curse, I had somehow been granted the presence of two supernatural beings in the form of two of the hottest guys I'd ever had the pleasure of interacting with. 

At first, their presence were just whispers, helping me to make decisions. Then slowly, for unknown reasons, they began to manifest themselves in physical forms. I had met Steve at the grocery store one afternoon and soon after I met Eddie at a bar in town while I was out to drink with a couple of my friends. I kept running into them more and more until we eventually started to hang out separately. It wasn’t until I saw the both with one another in town that we started to hang out just the three of us.

Now, I had no intention of falling head over heels for these two, especially after they told me what they were, but here we were, on date night number three. We each sat at my small dining room table, Eddie was on my right, while Steve was on my left. I had barely gotten to take a sip of my wine when I felt soft and calloused fingers sipping up my legs and under the skirt of my dress. I tried pushing them away with my own hands, but they were back in an instant. 

“Can you two stop, I’m trying to enjoy this dinner?” I looked between both of them. 

Eddie just smiled his wicked grin as he massaged his fingers into the fat of my thigh. “How can I stop when you look so delicious? I may just skip straight to dessert.”

“That may be the best idea you’ve ever had Demon,” Steve answered, his own soft fingers traveling further up my leg. 

I gulped. Having the attention of both of them at the same time was overwhelming but somehow comforting at the same time. When both of them looked at me the way they were now, with sultry stares and tongues darting out to moisten their lips, it made butterflies flutter in my stomach and I struggled to deny myself the pleasure they could give me. 

I tried to ignore them, to pick up my fork and eat the pasta it had taken me so long to prepare. Yet, in the end, when Eddie leaned over and began nibbling on my earlobe, the metal utensil fell from my grasp and clattered onto the plate. Steve wasn’t that far behind and eventually, his lips kissing down the column of my neck had me whimpering. 

My legs squeezed together involuntarily. The two of them caught on quickly to the way they were starting to make me feel and quickly removed us from the table. Eddie stood up first, pulling me along with him. His hands were all over the skin of my arms which was exposed by my dress. 

“How you torment me so, little human. You could bring a god to his knees.” His lips attached themselves to mine. A moan caught in my throat as he kissed me so sinfully. 

Steve, practically crawled up my body, worshiping every curve and patch of skin. Slowly, he began to unzip the back of the dress, lips kissing my shoulder and down my back as he let the fabric fall, leaving my body bare. 

“Nothing underneath, you dirty little minx.” He smiled, hands filling up the curves of my ass. His hands travel up the length of my body and pull my face away from Eddie, pulling me in for his own kiss. 

I can hear Eddie groan as he takes both my breasts into his hands, squeezing them softly before latching onto the right one with an open mouth. I can't help but gasp out at the overwhelming feeling of both of them. 

“Want to ruin you, Pretty Girl.” Mumbles Eddie around my nipple. His fingers play with the left one for a while, pinching and pulling at it before his mouth and hand switch places. 

“Want to play with you, Darling. Give you something you’ve never experienced.” Steve whispers in my ear. 

I roll my head back onto his shoulder. “What do you want to give me?” I ask in a daze. 

Eddie takes that moment to pop off my nipple, rising to his full height and looking me dangerously in the eye. “The angel and I have talked and we would like for you to take both of us.” 

I look at each of them back and forth, “B-both? But I’ve never…” 

Eddie nods, reaching his hand up to cup my cheek, thumb rubbing over the skin soothingly. “We know. But with a slow pace and a bit of magic, I have no doubt you will be able to do it.” 

“He’s right, love. You can do it.” Steve is brushing the stray hairs away from my shoulder as he peppers kisses there. 

I gulp but ultimately I am not afraid. I have taken both of them separately before and in either entrance, the two of them should be no problem together. 

“O-okay.” I nod. “We can try.”

“Good.” They both speak at the same time. 

The next thing I know, Eddie is lifting my right leg up onto his hip. At a snap of his fingers, his clothes were gone. I could feel his hard cock poking into my thigh. 

Looking behind me, Steve too had no clothes on as his palms transverse my skin. Down, down, down he went before finally stopping and groping at the globes of my ass. 

Feeling them on me together was a new sort of high. My heart pounded in my chest as adrenaline poured through me. Each soft touch and firm grasp had my head spinning around and around. It was hard to focus on just one of them, so I closed my eyes trying to slow the spinning down. 

“You ready baby?” One of them asked. At this point, even their voices had melded together. 

I nodded my head anyway, ready for whatever they would throw at me. My body jostled a bit and then I felt the hard head of a cock being pressed along my slit. ‘Eddie,’ I thought, whimpering. He toyed his cock through my wetness, making sure to place pressure on my clit. 

Both Eddie and Steve laugh as my hips buck into him, searching for more. Eventually, he pushed his head into my entrance. He let out a loud guttural groan, filling the room, as I stretched around him. He felt amazing. 

“Fuck, yes.” I gasped, fingers gripping Eddies toned biceps, nails digging crescents into the skin. 

“Does demon cock feel good in your tight pussy, Darling?” Steve asks as he leans into my ear, licking up the shell. “Imagin how good it will be when I take your ass.” 

“Please, Stevie. Need you too.” My head lulls back onto his shoulder. 

“Patience baby, need to warm you up first. S’gonna be such a big stretch.” 

“I can take it,” I whine frantically, in need of as much pleasure as they could give me. 

Steve only hums. His hands massage my skin before a steady finger begins to circle the puckered hole. All the while, Eddie is slowly pumping into me at a torturing pace, he might as well have been standing still with how slow it was. 

“Take her other leg will you?” Steve asks over my head and Eddie obliges, taking my other leg my the thing and sliding it up. He was holding me now, cock hitting deeper as it seared into me.

My ass was spread wider and steve’s finger entered me. I arched my back, pushing against Eddie, at the intrusion. “Feels so good, Stevie.” I moan. 

And this is where magic entered. Normally it would take more than a few fluid pumps for his finger to stretch me out but as he started to push a second finger in, scissoring the two inside me, I knew something was aiding in the process. I didn’t mind though, as it felt amazing and had both my cunt and ass clenching in need. I worried my lip between my teeth and moaned breathlessly. 

“Look at you, taking my cock and his fingers. You’re such a good girl aren’t you?” Eddie coos. 

I have no words, mouth hanging open taking in sharp, quick breaths. It’s honestly a struggle to nod my head as an answer. 

Steve inserts a third finger and I cry out, clinging tightly to the demon holding me up. “More, more, more,” I mumble. There is a need bubbling up in my stomach and I can't begin to explain how much I need to be filled completely. 

“You heard her angel, she wants more.” Eddie snickers, hips snapping once, twice, into me harshly before going back to a slow pace. 

My back is pressed further into Steve’s chest and I whimper. Our combined body heat had me shaking. “You ready Darling?” He questions, fingers still working. 

I nod, biting my lip hard to keep my noises down but that failed when Steve replaced his fingers with his cock. Slowly but surely he pushed his fat length into me, stretching me around him impossibly far. 

A long drawn-out moan escaped from my lips. “Fuck, Steve.” Tears welled in my eyes as I was spread out and filled with the two biggest cocks I had ever taken. On their own, this would have felt great, but together? Together they touched every spot I needed and then some, making me feel like I had died and gone to heaven. 

Slowly, in tandem, the two men moved. I could feel every vein and ridge on them. It was quickly sending me over the edge. Sweat poured from my body, limbs staring and holes contracting as I was used between them. Eddie had my legs held over his forearms and his hands stretching my ass cheeks out to hold me up but to also clear Steve's way. Steve was holding my upper body up, as I had gone limp in their hold and would have fallen over if it wasn't for his strong arms wrapping around me, one hand cupping my breast and the other moving to lazily swipe at my clit. 

Stars began to appear in my blurry vision once they picked up the pace. They both fucked into me like it would be the last time they would ever do so. Eddie continuously pounded into my g-spot and with the added effort of Steve's fingers, and the fullness of both my ass and cunt, an orgasm was on its way. My whole body went ridged and my toes curled.

“I- I’m gonna. Ah! I’m gonna-” I cried, big blueberry tears of pleasure now falling down my face. 

“That’s it, Pretty girl. Give it all to us.” Eddie dives in pressing his lips to my open mouth, swallowing my moans and gasps. 

Steve hums in my ear, “You’re doing so well. Taking both of us so well. Fuck, you were really made to take both of us.”

I moan in response, fingers digging into the skin of Eddie's arms. Working me through my orgasm. They each began to grunt loudly. The sounds melded together perfectly, creating a musical experience in the room accompanied by the percussion of skin slapping skin. 

Their once fluid motions began to fall off when my holes continued to flutter around them, squeezing tightly. Each thrust became just a little more erratic, the rhythm no longer there. Now, they were each fucking me like they wanted, taking the last of what they needed before letting themselves fill me full. 

I cried out when Eddie’s hips came to a sudden stop deep within me. Soon something hot poured into my cunt and I know he was finished. Steve was close behind, rutting into my ass before letting out a strained gasp, cum shooting out, coating my walls. 

They stood there for a moment, breathing hard, holding me high in their arms. 

"God, you were amazing." They harmonized. I laughed, exhaustion taking over.

My body was pliant as they each pulled out, leaving my holes gapping and then clenching around nothing. An intense shudder rippled through me at the feeling. 

Eddie kept me in his arms and carefully carried me to my bedroom where Steve cleaned me up. I was so tired out that as I closed my eyes my hearing was going in and out. I could barely hear the whispers the two men were sharing. Whining, I reached out to them, and then suddenly I was hit with the warmth of each of them as they climbed in beside me and sandwiched me between them once more. 

"Did such a good job " praised Steve, fingers playing in my hair. 

"The best," Eddie confirmed, lips peppering small kisses up the side of my face. "Get some sleep, sweetheart, you've earned it."

I spoke not a word, only humming in a response to them before snuggling further into Steve's chest and falling asleep.

[fuctacles]

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💛

Only five? But I wrote so many great fics! XD Thank you for making me look at my Ao3, I didn't even realize I wrote so much stuff, wow.

First, I have to name my bang fics from last year:

Murray Bauman's Fantastic Freakstravaganza, a freakshow AU with art by @blasvemous

Sex, Drugs, and a Haunted House, a haunted house AU with art by @penny00dreadful

which are both stories I've wanted to write since I got into Steddie. My other faves are:

Forgotten, one of my Steddie Microfics

Witch Hunt, which has monsterfucking and Transfem Steve

Dude, That's my ghost!, which I might be biased to choose since it's my latest fic but it has weird ghost sex and soulmate fuckery so???

Honorable mentions: Crazy Cat Lady Steve, bc it's not finished yet but I love it so much. Even if I get stuck with it sometimes c': Late Bloomers and Positives Attracts were also very close to making the list.

[begitalarcos]

*One Shot* - Inspired by a post by dreamingoor

Steve goes back for Eddie after Dustin tells him what happend, and finds... not exactly what he’s expecting. After a brief scuffle and a few blows to the head Steve is able to finally subdue Eddie, or whatever it is he’s become, but now what? Chained and locked up tight - Eddie taunts, growls and screams at Steve all whilst attempted to free himself.

Steve comes back each day, playing tape after tape of Eddie’s favorite music from the other side of the door, trying desperately to quell whatever festers inside him.

All the while telling himself, there has to be a way to make this right... there has to be.

[spotsandsocks]

😈😈😈😈

Hello there first of my prompts for make me write and I’ve started demon!eddie au second most popular and maybe I’ll get something finished for Halloween? Maybe… anyway first 12 sentences and we’re off…. (Unedited etc etc so bear with) It’s got working Prince of Flame and Shadows which was a title prompt from someone?! I’ve lost the url! Sorry, if it’s you Tanis lmk please 💜 or it could be @dr-shortsighted-owl or @daffi-990 or @madambeetroot cos I know you sent me title prompts ages ago. Or it could be anyone really!

The hands on his ridiculously ornate over the top clock hits midnight. Eddie sighs and pushes the paperwork on his desk to one side, he hates paperwork. He’s always hated it. He’d like an assistant actually, one with a clipboard and a determined personality. It’s a busy life and getting busier which is depressing if he stops to think about it.

Probably best not to think about it actually. He certainly tries not to anyway. Things are gloomy enough down here as it is.

Eddie leans back in his chair, throne technically, damn uncomfortable either way.

He looks around his office; same four walls, same desk, same terrible souls needing punishment. Round and round, round and round, over and over again. Not much changes around here.

@dangerpronebuddie @eddiebabygirldiaz @jesuisici33 @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

Tagging those who also chose this one, these aren’t your sentences but thought you might like to see.

Anyone wants tagging on this wip lmk 💜

[apomaro-mellow]

In case you were wondering they're STILL bringing up cereal mascots

[maedesculpaeusoubi]

I need someone to write a demon!eddie fic with this trope please im begging

"So I know you sent me to kill the leader of the demons…but there have been some complications" The hero said, trying to hide the ring on their finger.

[hellcheerficdatabase]

So give it to me

Author: @bellarkyy

Rating/Warning: Explicit

Chapter Count: 1/1

Description: Chrissy is a witch and spends her days alone in her cottage in the middle of the woods. Because of her loneliness, she makes an attempt to become pregnant with her magic, but instead, she accidentally summons a demon. She takes the opportunity and offers up the trade of her powers for him to give her a baby. The demon takes her trade very literally and Chrissy's night goes much differently than she expected it too.

Tags: Alternate Universe, alternate universe- fantasy, Witch!Chrissy, Demon!Eddie, plot with smut, smut, s*x? no this is love making, Chrissy is a lonely girl, BAMF Chrissy, Eddie has a CRUSH, Chrissy POV, one-shot, status: completed