Red Hood x gothic!reader || Masterlist || Request!
Dividers by: @enchanthings
The apartment smelled like old books, melted black wax, and the faint iron tang of blood.
Again.
You didn’t even look up from the taxidermy crow wing you were carefully pinning open on your work table when the window slid up with that particular scraping whine only Jason ever made. Heavy boots hit the floorboards. A low, pained grunt followed.
“Before you start,” his modulated voice rasped through the helmet, “I’m fine.”
“You always say that right before I have to cut your favorite jacket off you.” You finally glanced over. The Red Hood was swaying slightly in your living room like a listing ship, one gloved hand pressed to his side. Fresh blood had already soaked through the reinforced weave between two plates.
He tilted his helmet. “It’s not that bad.”
You set the steel dissection pins down with deliberate calm. “Take it off. All of it. Or I start reciting Victorian mourning etiquette at you until you pass out from boredom.”
A beat of silence. Then the mechanical hiss of seals releasing. The helmet came off first—dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, a fresh split above his left eyebrow, the beginnings of a truly spectacular bruise blooming along his jaw.
He looked tired. Not just physically.
You didn’t comment on it. You never did unless he brought it up first.
Instead you pointed to the stool you kept specifically for these midnight surgeries. “Sit.”
Jason peeled the jacket away with a wince, then the armored undershirt. The gash along his ribs was ugly—jagged, deep enough that you could see the pale edge of fat before red swallowed everything again—but it wasn’t arterial. Small mercy.
He watched you the whole time you worked: iodine, saline, the curved needle you kept sterilized in a coffin-shaped case, black surgical thread. Your hands were steady. They always were when it was him.
“You don’t have to do this,” he muttered after the third stitch.
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because if I don’t, you’ll bleed on my rug again, and the last time that happened the stain looked like a very judgmental nun. I’m trying to avoid thematic sequels.”
A short, rough laugh escaped him despite the pain. “You’re so fucking weird.”
“Says the man who brought me a jar of what I’m pretty sure are human finger bones last month.”
“They were suspected human,” he corrected, almost prim. “And the guy I took them off definitely wasn’t using them anymore.”
You tied off the last stitch, pressed fresh gauze down, and began wrapping. “You act like that makes it romantic.”
“Thought you liked morbid courtship rituals.”
“I like taxonomy and preservation technique and knowing exactly what kind of death I’m looking at.” You smoothed medical tape with more care than necessary. “Not just ‘here’s some war trophy, babe’.”
You stepped back, surveyed your work, then reached over to the cluttered shelf behind you. Among the glass domes of preserved moths, the row of antique mourning jewelry, the vial of what might or might not be river water from the Thames circa 1889, sat the newest addition: a small, stoppered bottle containing something dark and faintly luminous.
He’d brought it three nights ago without explanation. Just set it on your kitchen counter at 4:17 a.m., kissed your temple through the helmet, and left again.
You picked it up now and turned it slowly in the lamplight. “I still don’t know what this is.”
“Glowing algae from that Lazarus-adjacent pit in Bosnia,” he said casually. Like people just stumbled across bioluminescent resurrection pools on vacation. “Thought the color might match that weird lamp you keep in the bathroom.”
You stared at him.
He shrugged, suddenly looking almost shy beneath the blood and bruising. “You said you liked things that shouldn’t be able to glow after they’re dead.”
God damn it.
You set the bottle down very carefully, stepped between his knees, and cupped the uninjured side of his face. Your black-lacquered nails looked almost blue against his skin.
“You’re still doing that thing,” you said quietly.
“What thing?”
“Acting like you’re allowed to be the untouchable rich boy who buys people’s affection with trophies and then leaves before anyone can ask for more.”
His eyes flickered—something raw and young flashing through the green.
“I’m not—”
“You are.” Your thumb brushed the edge of the bruise. “You drop dead things on my table like offerings and then disappear for four days so I can’t ask why your hands were shaking when you gave me the last one.”
Jason swallowed. Didn’t deny it.
You leaned in until your forehead rested against his.
“I already know who you are, Jason,” you whispered. “I knew before the first time you bled on my floor. So stop trying to pay me off with weird little corpses and start letting me keep you alive instead.”
For once he didn’t deflect.
He just closed his eyes and let his forehead rest heavier against yours, breathing like it hurt more than the stitches.
After a long minute he murmured, “Next time I’ll bring you something alive.”
You huffed a tiny laugh against his mouth. “Don’t you dare. I’m not running a pet cemetery.”
“Too late,” he said, and you felt the shape of his smirk. “Already got one very alive disaster who keeps coming back here to bleed.”
You kissed him then—careful of the split lip, careful of the fresh gauze, not careful at all with the way your fingers curled into his hair and held on like you were daring him to leave again.
He didn’t.
Not that night.
Later, when the bleeding had stopped and the painkillers had started working, he sprawled across your velvet couch (black, of course) and watched you return to the crow wing with a kind of quiet fascination he rarely let show.
You felt his gaze like touch.
Eventually he spoke, voice low and rough from exhaustion.
“Found something else today.”
You didn’t look up. “Mhm?”
“Old silver locket. 1870s. Still has hair inside. Looks like it was cut after death.”
Your hands paused.
He continued, softer. “Figured you could… I dunno. Put it under glass. Or wear it. Or tell me why the hell people used to keep dead people’s hair like love letters.”
You finally turned.
Jason was watching you with that unguarded look he only wore when he thought you weren’t paying attention—like you were the strangest, most precious thing he’d ever pulled out of the dark.
You crossed the room, climbed onto the couch, straddled his thighs without putting weight on the stitches.
He let you.
You leaned down until your lips brushed the shell of his ear.
“Bring it tomorrow,” you whispered. “And stay long enough to watch me open it.”
His arms came around you—careful, warm, alive.
“Deal.”
And for once, when morning came, the window stayed closed.
summary: (2.5k) three words: you, sirius, & motorbikes. with a dinner date planned, sirius offers to take you for a ride. but as soon as you get on, the vibrations leave you desperately needy—and sirius? wildly turned on.
! content warnings: semi-public sex, vibration play (motorcycle), grinding, riding, p in v sex, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), squirting, softdom!sirius, voyuerism (if you squint), creampie.
you didn’t even hear the knock on your flat door as you dragged the black lip liner slow and careful over your lips, filling them in. you liked taking your time with it, even if sirius always teased you for being dramatic.
the door creaked open, hinges groaning like the entrance to a haunted estate.
“doll?”
even just his voice had your stomach turning, a lazy drawl that always slipped down your spine, rough from cigarettes and dripping with mischief. you were finishing up for your date—not even flinching at the sound as you’d given him keys weeks ago, but sirius black never needed permission anyway to make himself at home. that was the thing about him: unapologetic, loud, certain he belonged wherever you were.
he came into view in the mirror as you glanced, leaning on the doorframe like another added accessory to your sisters of mercy poster-filled walls and dark velvet bedding.
sirius was dressed in leather, like you—except his was a jacket, and yours was a mini skirt with a pair of black boots. his leather jacket hung open, silver chain glinting against his loose queen band tee. his hair a sexy mess of dark waves that framed those sharp cheekbones and reckless grey eyes, jeans ripped right at the thighs like they were begging to be stared at.
he was drinking you in the way he always did when you got ready, black lipstick tugging across your lips, eyes thickened with bold graphic eyeliner. it should’ve been ordinary, but on you? every move was temptation.
he could feel his jeans tightening, just watching the smudge of dark pigment, mouth watering at the idea of ruining it—dragging it across his skin, swallowing your pretty sighs, tasting you hot through the paint.
he twirled his helmet in one hand, strolling forward with a low whistle. “christ, sweetheart…look at you, lipstick darker than my soul.” his grin widened, cocky, like he just wanted to sink his teeth in you at the sight.
“gonna kill me one day.” he muttered into the back of your neck as he bent to kiss it, lips hot and indecent.
you caught a whiff of his scent—like smoke and leather, and a faint hint of motor oil—all things utterly intoxicating that made your stomach curl and your thighs tense on their own.
“you could’ve at least waited for me outside.” you tried for exasperation, puckering your lips as you fixed the shape.
sirius groaned at the sight, entirely unholy.
“and miss this?” he waved lazily at your reflection—at all of you. “not a chance, love. over my dead handsome body.”
his gloved thumb cupped your chin and the smirk never faltered—except when he felt a shift in your thighs, his breath catching.
“all leather and lipstick, bloody vision.” he drawled roughly, just as his thumb brushed slowly across your bottom lip.
you jerked back with a half-laugh, half-scowl. “oi! i just applied that!”
he laughed low and delightedly, planting a quick kiss to your cheek. “c’mon then, goth grumpy. let’s see how good you look wrapped around my bike.”
he dragged you outside by the waist, still playing at being a gentleman until you stood before his motorcycle. the parking lot was quiet, just the faint humming of the dim streetlights illuminating the evening.
“pretty, isn’t she?” sirius gave a soft tap against the tank that had been spray painted in the shape of white stars.
“she?” of course sirius had to call it that. he probably loved that piece of metal almost as much as he loved you—almost.
“oi! don’t pout. you know you’re the only one for me.” his grin was sharp, flattering, and then—like he planned it all along—pulled out a bouquet of black roses from thee compartment of his bike.
it was utterly theatrical, the way they just conjured out of thin air. “see? wouldn’t waste bloody flowers on a bike. she’s just a fling.”
a laugh slipped out of you, cheeks warming at the thoughtfulness game that he always played. sirius was always like this—mockery wrapped in sincerity, daring you to catch which part was which.
“fine,” you grumbled with a hidden smile, taking them. “as long as i’m still your favourite.”
“course you are. at least you talk back.” his mouth caught yours in the smallest peck before you could chastise him, careful not to ruin your lip artistry—yet.
he shoved the helmet onto your head like he was dressing you for war, lifting you effortlessly onto the motorcycle. “now, hold on tight and look pretty f’ me. i’ll do all the dangerous parts, yeah?”
he drawled with a wink, climbing in front. your arms looped around his waist, bouquet squashed between both your body heats. “just—be careful, alright?”
except you knew sirius never was. the engine suddenly roared alive, rattling through your bones. now you understood why sirius loved riding bikes so much.
it was unlike anything else you ever experienced; it was sound and sensation both, flooding your thighs, your stomach—and oddly enough, your cunt.
a sharp gasp escaped you before you could stop it, barely muffled by the helmet. the seat beneath you buzzed, pressing heat and vibrations into you with every tremor.
sirius caught it instantly, the way your grip tightened around his waist, always attuned to you. as soon as he heard that broken gasp, a slow grin curled wickedly, and he revved the engine harder.
“like that, gorgeous? or am i just imagining things?”
your body betrayed you, voice dying out into a whimper, warmth coiling fast in your belly. your clit pulsed with every shudder of the machine, trying to utter. “it’s very—oh—”
he froze mid-rev, whipping his head around. he could see your dazed eyes through the slit of your helmet, the shift of your hips—he knew.
“merlin—you’re really—” sirius half-laughed, half-groaned, disbelief and hunger tangled together. “you’re about to get off on my bloody bike?”
you nodded helplessly, hips grinding for more friction, like you couldn’t even afford to be ashamed from how good it felt.
sirius swore at the sight, swinging his legs around to face you. the helmet was plucked off your face, discarded somewhere on the handlebars, bouquet of flowers tossed to the pavement—him wanting nothing more than to feel your body heat and see your lips part, eyes flutter, just for him.
“look at you. falling apart already? pathetic little thing.” he mocked, voice silk and gravel, pupils blown wide like his filthiest fantasies had finally been answered.
his hands came up to clamp around your tight-clad thighs, spreading you shamelessly. “use it. use my bike like a toy. c’mon doll—make a mess of her.”
his words spurred you on, the vibration just relentless. you kept rolling your hips in sloppy movements, the leather dragging across your covered clit as your head tipped back with a ragged cry. heat was swirling low, rushing straight to your core as your thighs trembled.
sirius’ cock throbbed painfully in his jeans, strained and aching. watching you unravel without even touching him was pure torture—but the hottest fucking torture he’d ever known.
“fuck me,” he rasped, thumb grazing the wet crotch of your tights under your skirt. “you’re soaked. couldn’t wait five bloody minutes, could you?”
his mocking words were only dizzying you with more need, hole clenching around nothing. it wasn’t enough, your clit was still swollen with ache.
“need—more—” you gasped, clawing at his jacket blindly.
sirius cursed under his breath, and his hands worked immediately, tugging your tights and panties down in one savage motion—your hips barely lifting off the bike just to aid him.
he shoved you back against the vibrating seat, your cunt bare and slick against the leather, the rough surface giving off a new sensation that made your eyes roll.
“that’s it, angel.” sirius muttered with barely-contained restraint, kissing hard down the column of your throat.
“ride it. ride it for me.” his hands encouraged the movement of your hips, before he wedged two fingers between your wetness and the seat, pressing into your hole. a sharp gasp ripped out of you, and sirius groaned into your neck.
“fuck—s’bloody tight,” he curled his fingers deliciously into you, the bike’s buzz amplifying every drag of his knuckles.
he didn’t care if his wrist was beginning to ache from how squashed it was—all he could think about was pleasuring you—to get you right on the edge, the pads of his fingers hitting that sweet squelchy spot over and over again.
your mind was just pure noise, cloudy, every nerve in your body pointed to the thick pressure building in your abdomen. the coil twisted tighter as you let out a moan, walls clenching hard around his fingers. “sirius!”
his mouth was everywhere, sucking red and purple into your skin—on your jaw, your collarbone, before smearing the delicate paint off your lips with his own.
“yeah? you’re close? cum for me, pretty girl.”
his words rasped right into your mouth as you whimpered back, squeezing his fingers with your spongy walls. “make a mess f’ me—ruin the seat so i remember you every time i ride it.”
he coaxed you, the squelching of his fingers and the quiver of the engine beneath, becoming all too much.
“oh!—” the coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure ripping through you, raw and violent. you gushed hot spurts across his hand and the seat, vision blurring as your body convulsed and sirius held you down.
he murmured filth in your ear, guiding you through the aftershocks, drenched fingers still moving in quiet shushes. you couldn’t believe at how your body had just given out, writhing in open air, on a motorcycle of all places.
but the reckless nature of it somehow made the aftershocks sharper, hotter—not to mention this recklessness was something sirius always encouraged.
his fingers finally pulled out, not leaving a moment of rest as he shoved them into his mouth and moaned like a starved man, licking every drop clean. the sound, so obscene and guttural, left your cunt fluttering all over again.
“you just came all over my fucking bike.” he laughed, voice wrecked with awe, fingers popping free of his mouth. his pupils were blown wide like it was a fever dream, and you swore you could see yourself in the reflection of them. “swear you’ve killed me, sweetheart.”
you were flushed and breathless, thighs still trembling—and yet, you still managed to quirk a brow.
“was this some wet dream of yours?”
sirius shrugged, trying not to let the ends of his lips curve up. “maybe.”
you shook your head with a smiling scoff, trying to catch your breath—before your eyes dropped down instinctively to his jeans, the bulge pressing painfully against the zipper.
your body reacted before your brain could catch up, shifting on the seat. sirius followed your gaze, smirk twitching, just so desperate to have you again—his hunger undeniable whenever it came to you.
“think you could bless my bike again? gonna have to ride me til’ i forget my own name.” he raised a brow in a dare and you could only nod eagerly.
the idea of it made your pulse spike—that you’d already fallen apart so publicly for him and would do it again just to see the look on his face. you definitely weren’t getting to that dinner anytime soon.
“good girl. c’mere.” sirius immediately tore at his belt, fingers fumbling like he couldn’t get his trousers off quick enough.
when his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, twitching—you whimpered. the tip was throbbing in red anger, beads of pre-cum sliding down the shaft. he didn’t even give you time to properly move, yanking you onto his lap with a growl before his mouth crashed against yours sloppily.
the rough grind of his cock against your soaked folds had you shuddering all over again, slick already smearing him. you grabbed the base, giving him a few pumps just to see his composure break—and it did, his head dropping back with a low moan, neck straining.
“shit—see what you do to me, baby? got fuckin’ hard watching you come apart. pathetic, isn’t it?”
you grinned, breathless, faint with want. “we both are. i mean—” you gasped a laugh, “i came all over a damn bike for fuck’s sake.”
sirius gave a weak chuckle back, but it broke into a groan as you lined him up and sank down in one swift motion. his head slammed back again, shoulder blades hitting the handlebars as a guttural sound ripped from his throat.
you sobbed from the stretch, walls molding to him inch by inch, feeling so effortlessly full as your hips moved. a soft breeze of wind swept your face that brought you back to the open air. the possibility of being seen had your pulse hammering in your throat, adrenaline and arousal blending into one as your cunt squeezed him tighter in a throb.
“fuck—made for me.” sirius ground out through clenched teeth, nipping at your jaw. “look at you—bouncing on me like a desperate little bunny. filthy girl.”
“uh huh—” was all you could manage, your brain turning to mush as your hips bucked.
each bounce made the bike creak beneath you, metal rocking on its stand. sweat slid down your back as your clit grinded against him with every thrust, the vibration of the machine still humming through your soaked folds. you were already nearing, moaning louder so it echoed into the evening, hips jerking without rhythm like your body was on fire.
sirius thrust up into you as hard as he could from the seat, his fat tip slamming into your cervix with each drive—desperate to get more of those pretty sounds out of you.
“yeah? you like that?” he rasped in a feral cocky grin, jaw trembling. “louder, doll. let everyone hear how good i fuck you. go on—scream for me, bunny.”
his eyes were locked on your face like he was burning it into memory, cock plunging deeply in and out of you. your body obeyed instantaneously, like you wanted nothing more than to please him.
you sobbed out incoherently, the heat in your stomach snapping again as you spasmed around him—and sirius lost it too, cock twitching inside you as he spilled hot. his curses dissolved against your skin, desperate and husked.
you slumped into his chest with tears trickling down your cheeks, both of you trembling in ragged breaths. the engine ticked softly as it cooled, and sirius just stared at you like something holy and obscene all at once.
he pulled back to see your face properly, grin growing slow and wicked. the pads of his thumbs gently wiped your cheeks of the eyeliner residue mixed with your tears.
that’s when he kissed you deep and messy, your black lipstick that was already all over your mouth, smeared again like sirius relished in ruining you in every way possible—cunt and lips alike.
“best fucking ride of my life—and i live for bikes.”
your laugh cracked out, high but spent. “mine too. rode two things today.”
he chuckled breathlessly against your head, kissing it softly. “merlin, you’ll be the death of me.”
you gently pecked his chest in a soft silent thank you, breaths steadying. “so…no date?”
“you minx,” he murmured into your hair, and you could feel the maddening grin against it. “who needs a sodding dinner with a start like this?”
he nipped your ear, smug and soft all at once, arms cinching around you like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go. “got my meal right here.”
Goth!reader swings by the pitt to drop off lunch for Robby. You talk to Dana a bit about what's been going on in her life while she waits for him.
Santos being nosey hears that this alt chick is waiting for her boyfriend and assumes it's Jesse. She lets Jesse know and he swings by to the nurses station and is visibly confused because that's not his girlfriend. He does know you though and gives you a lil side hug and joins in on yours and Dana's conversation.
Santos is confused by this reaction until Dr. Robby sneaks up behind you and picks you up from behind, giving you the biggest hug while you giggle. He sets you down and you instantly whip around, placing your hands on his chest and get on your tiptoes meeting him for a kiss. You hand him his lunch that was sitting on the counter and he thanks you with a sweet peck on the lips.
Jesse and Dana are smiling and giving eachother a knowing look then Robby joins in while the 3 of you finish up your conversation. When it's time to leave you give both Jesse and Dana a quick hug. Robby is obviously the last to get his goodbye and gives you the biggest bear hug lifting you off your feet and sweetly kisses your lips. You then saunter off happily and make your way out of the ED.
Santos can't believe that her grumpy biker attending has a small goth girlfriend. She assumes that you are just another piece of his midlife crisis, not knowing that you have been with him for the past year and a half.
Description: High school sweethearts typically eloped straight after graduation, but as you’re off to experience the big college pond Eddie unfortunately has to stay behind another year at Hawkins High. Little do his friends know that one of his many many rings is actually a wedding band.
Request here! Hope you enjoy this.. 🥀 w/c: 2.3k
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Goth!Reader.
Tags: Lovers to lovers (lol), romance.
⚠️: cuteness that’ll make you gag, fluff (I think that’s it...)
Fluff and a few kisses. My blog is 18+ MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE
Authors note: This one is short and sweet. I am currently using Ellipsus to write and oh my god trying to transfer my work over is a nightmare! Anyways, rant over... Re-blogs and comments are ALWAYS welcome in this house and I thank you for your time xoxox
—
This love affair began beneath the bleachers on the football field. Come rain or shine, Eddie met you there every time. It's difficult to recall which of you fell first, was it Eddie when he would start showing up with little trinkets in his pockets and fresh flowers plucked from the wild? Or was it you, when you’d start following his scent down the hallway and sleeping with his jacket to your chest that you’d borrowed for weeks at a time?
None of you knew and none of you seemed to mind.
He was yours and you were His, and as Spring bled into Summer Eddie knew exactly what he had to do. A hot Summer night, mid July, he took you out on a date that he had planned a week or two in advance. He was uncomfortably aware of your college life fast approaching, hurling at him like a brick being thrown and he refused to lose you to the distance. His Queen. His little Batsy.
The only issue he faced was that Eddie was broke, well, close to broke and of course he understood that you were worth more than anything money could buy, but he couldn't possibly propose to you empty handed. Could he?
You weren't materialistic in any sense of the word, but you did find joy in the things labelled strange and unusual. Perhaps that’s what originally drew you to Eddie, he didn’t conform and he also didn't flinch away from your loudness. He saw the leather and the spikes and the black around your eyes, Hell even the holes in your tights and immediately he was sold on you. You were the coolest fucking chick he had ever met. Especially when he got to know you beneath all of that. When you saw you bare.
So, during a spontaneous late night supermarket visit after hours of lingering touches and stolen kisses, Eddie popped 20¢ into the small vending machine outside the store as you went in searching for a band aid. Eddie had snagged his finger on a can of Mountain Dew so naturally you had to swoop in and save him. Like always.
During that alone time he took advantage of the gumball machines stuffed with kids toys, one was filled with cheap costume jewellery and before he knew it the machine had stole a whole dollar from him before he even managed to get a lousy ring.
His pockets were stuffed with tiny bracelets and questionable necklaces but in his hand he held a small transparent plastic ball that contained a lone ring, thankfully adjustable in size, which was adorned with a tacky dark blue jewel shaped as an upside down teardrop.
It was perfect, and even you thought so too when he presented it to you on not one, but both knees. As if he were begging you at your feet to spend the rest of your life with him.
Giddily, you said yes and Eddie slid the ring onto your finger. The wrong finger at first, but you corrected that later without him taking too much noticed.
After that night Eddie spent weeks hustling to scrape money together for a small ceremony. Dealing all sorts of narcotics to anxious teens until he had nearly enough. You told him not to worry, that you’d chip in and meet the odds, but of course to Eddie that was ludicrous and the last thing he wanted you to do. So he had you spend your savings on altering your Mom’s old wedding dress from the 60’s. It was white, of course, and it was pretty. The only thing you weren't fond of was the sleeveless shoulders. So, you took the garment and made it your own. You added sheer lace sleeves and a high slit to the side.
Eddie was going to be your husband, after all, he deserved to see a bit of thigh during the reception. Paired with your favourite huge bracelets and your voluptuous hair sprayed hair, it was everything you had dreamed it would be.
Truth be told, the cake was where most of the budget went to. It was huge, three tier and enough to feed a small village. But the cherry on top was the custom cake toppers Eddie had designed specifically for you and him.
“Oh… my god, Baby… look, that's literally a mini me!” You pointed at the small figurine draped in black, “They even managed to fit my eyeliner on there. Holy crap…” That was what shocked you most because you liked your eyeliner BIG and bold. It blew your mind to smithereens.
“I uh… I actually made them.” Thanks to countless D&D campaigns, Eddie had developed a sharp eye for detail and skilled woodcarving fingers.
You gaped at him, “These are incredible. You did so good, Ed’s. Thank you…” You could’ve sobbed tears of pure joy.
“Anything for you, Sweetness. I think I actually did a pretty good job on my hair…” Eddie leaned down with you to inspect the characters further, taking pride in his work as he did. A soft lovesick smile slithered its way onto his face as his gaze found his way over to you, his blushing bride, “I love you, Beautiful. So much.”
“I love you too, Handsome. Can’t believe I’m officially Mrs. Munson…” You wiggle your ring finger up at him, the once cheap jewellery now replaced with something nicer. Not expensive but nice and clean. Your giggle warmed his chest to a blaze comparable to the rays of the sun and Eddie chuckled too, part disbelief and part relief.
“I have to say, I like the way it rolls off the tongue. Mrs. Munson… It’s got a ring to it.” He purred, his fingertips stroking the exposed skin of your neck softly before he plants a delicate kiss to your pulse.
“Your puns are terrible.”
“You love them.”
“I must.” Attentively your palms smooth down the shoulders of his suit, it was the one he had bought for prom last year but never really got a chance to use it. He had gave up on all that normie nonsense years ago. Thankfully, he got to put it to good use after all.
“You shape up nicely. If you weren’t my husband I may not recognise you…” Eddie groans, his heart leaping every time you reminded him that he was yours now, forever. Officially.
“Driving me insane, Baby…” The tip of his nose brushed yours.
“Ugh, just kiss me, loser.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The getaway car was rented by Wayne as a wedding gift to you both. It was a cream Rolls Royce Spirit and it sent you and Eddie sailing smoothly onto your Honeymoon which you spent laid up in bed, nude and tangled in one another’s arms for days. Totally, rottenly smitten and higher than Cloud Nine.
An entanglement you were sure would withstand the trials and tribulations of time with a smug as fuck ease.
August 3rd, 1985. The day you were married to the love of your life.
—
The hardest part wasn’t trying to recover financially from the wedding, but trying to say goodbye as you parted ways for school. You swore, crossed you heart and hoped to die that you would visit Eddie every single weekend. And you did. As Eddie went back to high school you tried your best to adapt to your new life away from everything you once knew. Daunting at first college soon became pleasant when you met more people and even made some friends. You weren’t seen as the odd ‘Goth Girl’ anymore because you were now surrounded by a pool of people all totally separate from one another and that was okay. It was accepted.
You made the effort to call Eddie each night where you’d debrief one another on what had happened that day. Eddie was doing well in class, he always reassured, and he was hopeful that soon he would be joining you there.
“Have you told anyone yet?” He asked, his voice slightly muffled through the phone.
“A bunch of people. I can’t stop talking about you, apparently,” When his laugh met your ears you felt your body relax away from a tension you hadn’t noticed you were holding, “What about you? Has anyone clocked in yet?”
“Honestly, I’m waiting for someone to notice the new ring I’m currently rocking.” He studied his hand then, his eyes skimming over his many rings until he settled on thee ring.
“You wear so many, though,” You jabbed playfully, “How do you expect anyone to see that it’s there?” You twirl the phone cord around your index finger.
“It’s funny! Seeing how oblivious they are. No one even questioned where the cake came from when I brought them all a piece. They just scarfed it down like wolves.” You threw your head back, laughing into the speaker as you paint the picture in your head.
“Okay, yes, that is funny,” After regaining composure you chew your bottom lip mischievously , “Let’s make a bet?”
“I’m listening.”
“The next time I come to visit, if still no one has noticed, I’ll buy you those denim patches you’ve been wanting.” He goes quiet, his mind processing.
“…Okay. What’s the catch?”
“If they figure it out, you need to let me Goth-ify you for a day.” To Eddie this was a win-win situation.
“Oh you're on, Munson. I’m getting those patches.” You pouted at his confidence, finding it adorable.
“We’ll see about that, Baby boy.”
—
The long awaited weekend came rolling around and you couldn't contain your excitement as you walk through your old stomping ground, Hawkins High, and towards the drama department where even from far away you could hear the kids squealing and Eddie cackling like a maniac.
You had compiled a plan, something so hard to ignore that you even polished your wedding band the night before. Confidence radiating in each step as you bound your way into the room.
Immediately the party take notice and you are met with endless warm welcomes from each member. Eddie studies you from his throne, his lips pulled into a smirk and his eyebrow raised.
“What’cha got there, Batsy?” His eyes shimmered and you shrugged, smiling down at the box in your hand.
“Oh, nothing… I just thought you warriors could use a tasty snack,” The white box thumps down onto the table and when you open the lid Eddie’s jaw feels as though it’s been unhinged, “Bon appétit.”
“Cupcakes—”
“Not just any cupcakes. These are special, Eddie Bear, remember?” Jeff freezes mid frosting bite and Erica slowly pulls her hand away from one of the decorated treats.
“Are these poisoned?” Erica pops her hip sassily to the side and you laugh with a shake of your head.
“Course not! You guys! You’ve tried this flavour before! Eddie gave you some not long ago…” Right now you’re doing a WHOLE lot of talking with your hands and within mere seconds Eddie knew that this battle had been lost to a fucking cupcake.
“Uh, yeah… but that was slices. What the hell is happening—”
“Oh… my god—” Dustin stares at your hand before he whips his head around to Eddie, his eyes lingering low, “Show ‘em. Eddie, show your hands right now—”
“Why?”
“Now, Eddie!” Dustin, the little bossy fucker he is.
“Okay, Jesus!” He throws his hands up in surrender with a pout as he slumps down into his chair, a defeated man.
“Shut the fuck up—”
“You’re engaged?” Without asking Erica takes your hand into hers, admiring the the metal band closely.
“Married—” You start.
“Married?!” A choir of voices scream and you instinctively reach for your ears.
“When did this happen? How did this happen—”
“Beginning of August.” Eddie quips, all Bambi eyed and innocent.
“Eddie, why didn’t you tell us?” Gareth asks and to his left Jeff has a mouthful of cake sponge unable to comment.
“I thought you guys would’ve known!”
“Literally, how? Explain to me how we could have possibly known?” Dustin’s investment has you giggling to yourself at the end of the table.
“Uhhhh, the ring, duh?” He displays his hands once again and simultaneously everyone’s faces drop.
“Look at your hands, Eddie. How the fuck were we meant to spot a wedding ring? Your fingers are full of rings!”
“Like a needle in a haystack.” Erica murmurs, now more trusting of the baked goods on the table as she slips one in front of her.
“Is this the wedding cake, then?” Mike asks with a head tilt.
“A replica, you guys had the wedding cake last time. The rest is frozen at Wayne’s.” Together the party were in bits and pieces, confused and hungry all at once.
“Number one, fuck you for not inviting me,” Dustin flips Eddie the bird, “And number two… are there pictures?”
“Only a bucket of them—”
“Lemme see, you have them with you?”
Of course you did.
Reaching into your purse Eddie watches with amused eyes and an adoring smile. As shit as it was to lose, he’d always rather it be to you than to anyone else. You spread the Polaroids onto the table and while the kids snacked and rummaged you made your way over to sit on Eddie’s lap.
“Touché.” He mumbles through a kiss to your neck and you dip down to lock lips with him, your pierced tongue skimming along his bottom lip teasingly.
“I hope you're ready for your make-over.” Eddie groans, his fingers squeezing the plush of your fishnet covered thighs.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Sweetness.”
“Good, because I have my make-up with me—” You jump up faster than it takes Eddie to blink and all too quickly he feels everyone’s eyes on him.
“Wait, What? Here—”
“Oh, this’ll be good.” Gareth snickers to himself and you straddle Eddie again, keeping him where he’s sat.
“Buckle up, Buttercup. Oh, and guys?” You swivel your head to meet them briefly, “I’m taking requests…” the smirk on your face is Devilish and Eddie couldn’t decide if he was terrified or aroused.
könig needed money, that's why he accepted without hesitation when he was offered to dress as santa claus for a few hours at the mall.
he was wearing the typical red suit, black boots, a beard and a white wig that from afar showed how fake they were. thanks to his great physique and muscles, there was no need to put any type of padding on him, könig was big enough.
for your part, you decided this year to have a different christmas photo and visit the santa claus at the shopping center, without knowing that this year it was not an old man but könig. you dressed in your black dress, shoes, rings, and heavy makeup.
könig adjusted in his seat when he saw you in front of him, you were surprised at the remarkable young man under the costume. you sat on his muscular legs, acting innocent and smiling at the camera, while from behind König massaged your lower back and tried to hide his throbbing cock.
you waited for him in the parking lot until his shift ended very late that night. there was almost no one there, the place was dark except for some distant lights.
now an undisguised könig was fucking you in the back of his car.
with your dress pulled up to your waist and his pants around his ankles, König's cock was fucking you, desperate to cum.
"were you a good girl this year? didn't you get up to any mischief?"
your hands grabbed his muscular shoulders as he spoke very close to your lips. moans escaped your mouth, making it difficult to speak because of the pleasure.
"look at you, letting me fuck you in the parking lot. i think you were a very naughty, very naughty little girl..."
his fingers dug into the fat of your hips, pulling you closer to him and fucking you without caring about the sounds of his balls against your ass. you could feel his cock moving in and out of you, touching every sensitive part and making you cry with pleasure.
könig, seeing your tears and mascara running down your cheeks, caressed your face with one of his hands.
"don't cry, don't cry, i'm going to give you your gift."
he accelerates his thrusts, leaving you almost breathless until he ends up inside you with a grunt. as he came out, you could feel his cum dripping and running down your thighs.
"now, let me take you home. you might get another gift in the new year."
ℑ𝔫 𝔚𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥.. chris introduces reader to his dealer and he gets flirty with her, resulting in chris getting jealous.
⚠︎: jealousy (chris gets jealous), unwanted flirting (from dealer), cussing, dealer is an asshole, who doesn't know how to take a hint. i think that's it lmk if i missed any!!
you and chris were currently at a party.
you decided you wanted to go get a drink "hey baby I'm gonna go refill, you need anything?" you ask.
chris smiles "nah thank you tho ma, hurry back" he says as he takes another hit off his joint, then blows the smoke out and kisses your temple.
you nod smiling, then stand up and walk over to the kitchen counter to refill your cup.
as your walking back, you notice chris talking to some guy you've never seen before.
chris smiles as you sit in his lap, putting his hands on your waist. "this is my girl y/n, ma this is my dealer barry".
"hey gorgeous" barry says with a smirk. "damn chris, you didn't say your girl was fine as shit" he follows with as he looks you up and down.
you just smile politely, pulling the hem of your dress down, suddenly feeling too exposed in the short black dress.
chris tries to brush it off, but you notice his jaw slightly clenching. "yeah, she is" he then presses a light kiss to your neck, subtly marking his territory.
barry doesn't let up, pretending not to notice chris's subtle action.
he slips the baggie into chris's hand, and as he pulls away his fingers graze my thigh as he pulls away.
chris notices and snaps, losing his composure. "yo man, keep ya hands off my girl" he says jaw clenched, shooting daggers at barry.
he smirks, then backs away, hands raised in mock surrender. "Aight bro chill, damn" he says, with a chuckle, amused.
you shift closer to chris in his lap, getting uncomfortable.
chris notices and pulls you close, arms wrapped around your middle. "you ok ma?" he asks, whispering in your ear.
you just nod, then smile at chris.
barry sits on the couch, next to you. "that's a new strand, just got it in today. I think you'll like it" he says to chris, but keeps subtly glancing at you.
chris raises an eyebrow intrigued "oh yeah, i'm always down to try new shit" he says, then keeps an eye on the guy, making sure he doesn't try to pull some shit.
"wanna spark up, test it out right now?" he asks chris, pulling out a pre roll from behind his ear.
"fuck yeah" chris says, then sits up straighter.
you move off of his lap to sit next to him, since you don't smoke often.
barry lights it up, taking a hit then passes it to chris as he blows it out.
"oh yeah, that's some good shit" barry says as he leans back on the couch, head tipped back.
chris takes a hit, then blows it out. he looks over at you then raises an eyebrow, silently asking if you want a hit.
you shake your head, then kiss his cheek in thanks.
"what, your girl not smoke?" barry asks, raising an eyebrow.
chris shakes his head "sometimes" he says, as he passed the joint back.
barry hums, taking another hit. "c'mon gorgeous, just one hit?" he asks, with a smirk as he blows out the smoke.
you shake your head. "nah i'm good" you say, since you only usually smoke alone with chris.
chris glances at barry, not saying anything right away, watching to see his next move.
barry passes the joint back to chris.
the weed making him bolder he says "you look hot as fuck in this outfit" as he puts his hand on your thigh, fingers grazing the skin.
you tense, shifting closer to chris, so his hand falls off your thigh.
chris notices your discomfort, putting an arm around your shoulders.
"yo, what did I say about putting ya hands on my girl" he says, jaw clenching.
barry clicks his tongue as his hand drops from your thigh. "whatever bro, i gotta go" he says stomping off in the direction, of a guy waving him over.
you sigh relaxing. "oh my god, that asshole is relentless." you say, looking up at chris.
chris shoots daggers at barry as he walks away. "yeah I might have to find a new dealer, not only is he making my girl uncomfortable but he's disrespectful as fuck" he says.
you just nod. "can I have a hit baby?" you ask, now that barry is gone.
chris finally looks down, smirking. "course, ma" he says, then holds the joint up to your lips.
you smile, then take a hit. "fuck, this shit is good" you say as you blow the smoke out, head tilting back on his shoulder.
chris chuckles. "that's my girl" he says, then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips.
for the rest of the night, you both enjoy your selves. and needless to say, chris decides to switch dealers.
𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯 ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔰: @pepsipoet
𝔄/𝔑 1: if anybody gets the dealer's name reference, i'll give you a smooch. Also title came from the brilliant mind of @inkedsturnioloss, she's literally the BEST!!! I thought it was kinda funny, I HAD to use it lmaoo! as always if you have any asks about them, my asks are open!! Tysm for reading! 😚😚
𝔄/𝔑 2: also HUGE thank you to a few amazing moots, @starstuddedlove @inkedsturnioloss @chrattpaper, who kinda gave me the motivation to start writing again. (also I wanted to get this and another fic out quick, so I'll edit the font and some links later.)
My Masterlist is Here!
𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: @sturnskiss @sturn-baby05 @444sturns @inkedsturnioloss @ariestrxsh @pepsipoet @sturniolo-szn2 @owensbabygirl @chrattpaper @starstuddedlove @savmattsfavmattgirl @devotedlyteenagemusic @savmattsfavmattgirl @honestlydreamyzone @bsturnzz @every1lovesnaosstuffstuff (if you wanna be added, comment here or on My Taglist!)
SUM: You ask Lion to be your makeup test subject. He likes it a little too much
NOTE: This is a birthday present to @gothlula who asked me to write a cute smutty fic about Lion! I’ve never written a goth!reader so thank you to my moot who helped me understand it a bit more. I do love Goth makeup so I played heavily into my love for it! Thank you to my pookie @sinfulteeth ❤️for beta reading and adjusting this, we’re making out sloppy style with tongue.
WARNING: 18+mdni. handjob. lots of kissing. Lion wears makeup (cause he’s a pretty girl to me) pre-ejaculation. overstimulation. praise kink. Slight cum play. pet names galore. The ending came to me in a dream 🧎🏽♀️wc: 3.4k
It starts off with a small request.
Nothing major.
Nothing bad.
A small question with a soft smile and teasing touches against his left leg.
You waited until he got back home from practice, sore and tired from a long morning of punching bags and killing his self esteem. He took a shower, came back to the living room and melted into the couch. The history channel came on next, and then you were at his side, soothing him in comfort.
He was hyper focused on tonight’s episode, something about the life cycle of wild cats in the jungle— noting how nature was either cruel to come or kind to others. a life that he knew well.
While he was slowly unhatching himself, you figured it was the perfect time to ease him into the burning question of the night.
“Lion," you cooed, pawing at his knee like a cat wanting attention.
it took him a few seconds to fully register your touch. "Hm?" He said, barely looking over at you.
“Hey…you won’t mind ifi—“ your voice slowly left his mind until another push against his knee grabbed his attention again. “—You won't mind if I used you to practice my makeup?”
He didn’t respond, only sniffed.
“Lion,” you called again.
His eyes darted to you.
“You heard me?”
“Yeah….” He nodded, sending his attention back to the TV. But then he quickly looked back at you. “No— sorry, what?”
“I said, can I use you to practice my makeup?” You said again, running your hand higher and higher until his hand caught yours from riding too close up his thigh.
That caught his attention.
His eyes found yours, buzzing with small curiosity. “Like, what? Lipstick and glitter and all that shit?” He said, raising a brow.
“Mhmm, I’m trying to get better at doing makeup— eyeliner, lips and all that— and I need a test subject.”
He furrowed his brow. “So…I’m going to be— what? Like your Guinea pig?” He joked, rolling his neck around, trying to get rid of a bad ache he gained from his morning training.
“Mhmm, you don’t have do anything. Just sit there and look pretty.”
He could have said no.
He wasn’t worried about his image, couldn’t care less about it— He isn’t a bigot for Christ sakes. After all, it’s not unusual for a guy to wear makeup these days, but Lion wasn't the type to. A black eye and a bloody nose didn’t pair well with a full on baked makeup set paired with eyeshadow and completed with glitter.
“…You're going to do that?" He directed towards your makeup that was painted on your face.
It took you 2 hours to finally perfect your winged liner, another 2 hours to make sure every surface of your face was covered and cleared of imperfections and instead replaced with coats of various colors that ranged from light to dark.
It could be better, but you figured it wouldn’t be as hard if you had someone to practice on.
"Not fully, no. The basics for now, and when I get the hang of it, we can be twins," You grinned.
"Can I say no?"
"Not if you want your girlfriend to poison your food from here on out."
He assumed you were joking. Turning his attention back on the wildlife discovery channel, more invested in the Lion cub trying to find its way back to its pack. He went to bed with a clear mind, with you pressed up against him.
The next day, when he came back, tired and sore all over again, he found bags of items resting on the kitchen counter. He eyed it suspiciously, looking around the living space to see you were nowhere to be found.
As always, his consistent routine, he took a shower and came back to watch the history channel but found the bags put up and various items of different colored bottles and unusual tools were found resting on the counter, all laid out neatly. And you were standing in front, rocking back and forth on your feet, switching the placements around until it looked right.
“What’s all this?” He asked, coming up to stand by your side, the nosy one of the pair. He read over the labels, some in English, others in a foreign language he couldn’t quite name.
“Skin care products, some new makeup brushes— I also bought pimple patches—“
“Pimple patches?”
“Duh, for those hideous bumps on your face.”
His mouth went into a thin line.
“—And I also bought some makeup palettes that were on sale.”
He turned, deciding that whatever you were planning to do was none of his business but you quickly caught him by the edge of his shirt, pulling him backwards.
“Where are you going?” You questioned, “I’m not done.”
“I’m glad you went shopping, that's some amazing—“ he made a face, “—stuff, but the history channel is on—“
“Baby, this is all for you.”
He froze, his mouth turning into an awkward, stalled smile that almost made it seem like he was constipated.
“I have everything I need, all I was waiting for was my cute little guinea pig.”
You grabbed one of the chairs from under the table and pulled it out, pointing to the seat next. “Chop, chop.”
“…but—“
“Sit.”
He sat down immediately.
“First—“ you started, searching through the bottles and packages, “A clean face.” You pulled out a container, opening it with your fingernail and he watched as you pulled out wet wipes. “Then, we use moisturizer!”
You swiped the wipe over his face, scrunching your lips when you found dirt and sweat tracked along the wipes. After being in the gym all day, his face would probably thank you for clearing his pores.
You had him glued to the chair for hours, poking and prodding at his skin like he was a canvas and you were the painter— trying out different substances and ruffling through an assortment of techniques to get his skin just right. He was sniffing and jerking, complaining that he couldn’t breathe, moaning that his face was either going to fall off or it was burning him so bad he might die instantly.
"Stop being a baby." You rolled your eyes, smearing another clear liquid over his face with your hands.
You pulled at any ingrown facial hair, lined his eyebrows— gave him the perfect facial care that any respectable woman would want if they wanted to look pretty for the week. Only, Lion wasn’t a woman and he didn’t give a damn about his looks.
“There we go!” You concluded, surveying everything.
“S-So is that it? Are we done?” He questioned, feeling hope rush to his chest. After all that, he didn’t want to sit through that ever again.
“No silly, that’s just the base.” You tapped his nose playfully. “I can’t start doing makeup until I figure out how to get your face cleared.”
Hope crashed into a ditch.
Every day after practice, you were waiting for him with your set up and the chair of despair. Already ready to strap him down and get to work. Every complaint was met with you teasing him, calling him a toddler who was terrible at holding still. And if you weren’t holding him hostage to the chair, it was you worrying over his skin during the day that agitated him— mentioning the million ways he's supposed to take care of his face that was starting to drag out the week.
“Never touch your face throughout the day.”
“Did you know that you can get scars if you pop a pimple— always use a pimple patch.”
“Wash your face every night and in the morning. Cold water, never with hot water and make sure to use moisturizer!”
The men at the gym laughed at him because he often came in with black heart shaped pimple patches on his forehead and on the bridge of his nose. If he messed with it, you would know, then the process would restart and he didn’t want that to happen.
“So your girlfriend bosses you around and makes you do a skin care routine?” One of them flopped over, laughing like it hurt.
Lion gave him a puzzled look. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that?”
Regardless of his feelings, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy the routine, he didn’t mind that you were the one doing it.
“Your girlfriend acts like your fucking mom! Next, she's going to start changing your diaper!”
It’s one thing to make fun of him, but you?
That was entirely off limits.
Lion scrunched his nose, eyeing the man with his jaw set. “talk about my girlfriend again and I’ll crack your jaw open,” he said without remorse, uncaring how unkind he sounded.
They refused to mention it again after that.
One day, when he came home expecting another torture device ready for him, you had mixed up the items.
“Baby, you have upgraded to level two!”
That night, you had a new set of items waiting for him. Brushes and gadgets he couldn’t name. Big and small rectangular boxes that held odd colored squares and circles. And a few pencils that he mistook for colored pencils.
“Gonna draw on me?” He laughed.
“That’s the goal,” you said. “On your face and lips, maybe even on your neck— the possibilities are endless.”
He hoped this was a nightmare he could wake up from.
Eventually, after many weeks— many tests and trials— he learned to adapt. He found that he liked the makeup process better than the skincare routine. It felt much more relaxing in his opinion.
Slowly, it became a new routine he didn’t mind doing when he came home. He’ll shower, come into the living room, and you’ll be there with your makeup bag and items placed and ready to be used.
You started small at first. “Lip combos” you called it, applying lipgloss and penciled liners along his Cupids bow. Then, you moved on to eyeshadow. Debating on multicolored or solid looks to fit the night. Until finally, you were going over contouring, blush and highlighter to really kick in the look.
Like now, trapped underneath you, listening to you hum a song while you were drawing a clean cut eyeliner wing beside his eye. His hands were resting on your hips, while you were straddling him with your thighs locked against his waist.
He hated to admit that he didn’t mind it all anymore. The more you did his makeup, the more he started to like the attention on him.
You slowly applied a cut crease, tongue curling around your top lip in concentration. Your free hand came up, grabbing his chin to tilt his head for a better position to draw. “Baby, this looks good on you,” You complimented, smiling. “It makes your eyes pop.”
“Yeah?” He grinned.
“Mhmm, I’m almost jealous you pulled it off so well. But….It's missing something though." You leaned back slightly to get a nice long look at him. “I think a dark red gloss would compliment the look? Or…maybe clear?"
He turned his head, looking over at the spread of makeup lying on the table. "Which one do you have?"
You followed his attention. "A lot."
Steadily, You reached over to the spread and pushed aside the products you didn't want. "Purple…green—"
"Could we try black?"
Your eyes lit up.
"Lion?” You gasped dramatically, “Are you picking and choosing your own products now?" You teased, slapping his shoulder.
He swallowed, looking at you sheepishly. "Y-Yeah? Is that bad?"
"Makes me think you're starting to enjoy this more than me.”
When you found the black lipstick, you beamed with joy and leaned back into place to apply it over his lips.
"I don't mind…if thats what your trying to s—"
You squeezed his mouth, puckering his lips. "shhh, stop talking,” you said, giggling softly at the sight of him. He looked like a fish out of water.
Slowly, applied the lipstick to his lips, gliding it across and stopping when you deemed it perfect.
"Fuck me— that worked perfectly." You let go of his lips and whistled. “Lion, you're the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”
"Can I see?"
You grabbed the mini mirror from the counter and handed it to him.
“Well?” You felt nervousness hit your stomach while watching him survey his face, checking himself out in the mirror. "What…What do you think?"
He frowned. "I don't know…I mean, it looks…okay?"
"Okay?” You raised a brow. “ …That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I can do it again? Or try out another color, please tell me it’s not shit—“
“Babe, I’m fucking with you.”
You slapped his shoulder hard, earning a light dramatic sob.
He chucked soon after. "Better than last time, I think you're getting the hang of it,” he complimented.
"Why, Thank you, sir.” You bowed your head. “That'll be 40 dollars."
He huffed. "Fuck out of here."
"Uh-uh. Can't let you leave until you pay up."
"What if I have a coupon?"
The way he said it, eyes peering up at you with his hands still at your hips, made your smile deepen. You soothed your hands over his shoulders, fingers lightly carding at the back of his hair.
“Hmm, sure. What is it?”
“I have a ‘Kiss me for 100% off’ card,” he said, humming lightly at the feeling of your fingers. “Today’s only offer, might I add.”
You couldn’t help the small giggle, finding his humor a bit cheesy. “Today’s only offer?” You questioned, “who said that??”
“says so on the back.”
“I guess you’ll have to use it then,” you grinned, leaning forward, lips inches away from his own.
The moment your lips connected with his, the cool feeling of the lipstick stuck, gloss transferring to your lips. A sudden thought popped into your head that this is what it must feel like the other way around.
He guided his hands up your hips, his large hands melting into your body. He moaned softly when your fingers latched itself into his hair, tugging lightly to command him to deepen the kiss.
You felt his hips jump when you nipped at his lip. A deep chuckle rumbling in your chest when he groaned and pulled away, the blush on his face amplified even more by his own.
“You… Y-You got lipstick on you now,” he pointed out, noting the smudges of black that dressed the corner of your lip.
“What a waste of a perfectly good set,” you sighed, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. “I guess I have to redo it.”
“I guess you will,” he said.
And you were back to kissing him, smudging the gloss even more, running your hands up and down his shoulders and neck. Smoothly, you pulled away, the stain of lipstick more prominent on your face and you kissed his cheek, leaving a lipstick stain. You moved, kissing along his jaw until you got to his neck. Enjoying the way he kept sucking in his breath.
“I have another coupon,” you whispered, running your hands along his front, dropping lower and lower until you found the hem of pants. “I’m holding a special where—“ he groaned softly when you pulled the band, leaving room for your hand to cup him. “— I provide extra services for the first customer who comes.“
That was definitely a hidden innuendo there.
You smirked, already touching him bare, bringing his cock to life with a few tugs and kisses against his neck. The makeup rubbed off against your cheek, smudging the foundation but you didn’t care too much.
“Look at you,” you teased, jerking him slowly, watching as his eyes rolled and dropped. “ Free pampering and now this?”
“ F-Faster—“ he moaned, holding onto your hips like an anchor.
“Say please.” Your thumb came up to rub against the head of his cock, enjoying how he began to get hard the more you played with him.
His mouth dropped open but the secret words wouldn’t come out, nothing but light gasps and a string of curses.
“Come on baby, use your words.”
“P-Please— please—“ he groaned.
You obliged him, moving your hands faster, dragging your lips along his collar bone while leaving a trail of dark lightly colored stains of your lips on his skin.
With you on top of him, it was hard for him to truly move his hips, but it didn’t stop him from trying. Quick jerks and sways that were desperate and needy, his resolve breaking apart like glass.
“Awww, your face is ruined,” you pouted, knowing it was your fault that his makeup was melting away. “All my hard work down the drain.”
“A-Again—“ he gasped, moaning softly when you applied a tight squeeze to the base of his cock. “Y-You can do it again—“
“I thought you didn’t like me doing your makeup?”
“No—“ a deep rumble erupted from his chest, your hands jerking him faster. “N-No— I do.”
“You like me devoting my attention to you all day?”
He nodded quickly, obvious how much he liked it.
“maybe, after this—“ you kissed his cheek again, “You can wear it out— show the world how pretty you look?”
“Y-Yes—“ he didn’t let you finish your sentence, already agreeing with his full heart.
You found a rhythm that made his voice soar, high pitched, his fingers digging into your skin like the feeling of you jerking him would stop if he didn’t hold himself together.
But you wanted him to let go. Wanted him to come so hard that he’d cry and ruin more of his makeup.
“Come on pretty boy, almost there.”
You kissed him again, turning your head, hands still goading him to release.
“F-Fuck— close—“
“I know— I know,” you assured him, “You look so pretty like this, makeup ruined, cock leaking—”
“B-Baby—“
“You can keep going— be good for me. You can do that right?”
He nodded frantically, gasping.
“Let me redo this look tomorrow and I’ll give you another free charge— you’ll want that right?”
Oh, He wanted that desperately— hips moving erratically. “I-I want that— want that so bad.”
“I bet you do.”
The pre cum, mixed with your feverish hands moving, made it so easy for him to reach his peak. Coming much earlier than he intended. He came with a harsh groan, spilling over your hands in long, drawn out waves, whimpering soon after when you kept going— refusing to let up.
Embarrassed, he squeezed his hands around your waist to grab your attention, already overwhelmed. “W-Wait—“
“Little bit more, my services aren't through yet,” you cooed softly, grinning at the way his eyes watered. You wrapped both of your hands around him, pumping him in quick tugs, laughing lightly at the way his face twisted. “Thereee you go— get it all out.”
He whined. “I-I can’t—“
“Yes, you can,” you interrupted him. “Don’t want your discount to go to waste, right?”
A small hiccup left his mouth and it made you feral.
“Come on Lion, you're almost there—“ you pressed.
He whimpered harshly, eyes rolling back but quickly focusing soon after. Clearly losing it— trying so hard to fight the feeling that was making his stomach heat up. “O-Oh God—“ he gasped. “I’m trying— I-I’m trying baby—“
You kept going, moving your hands as fast as you could. His smudged bottom lip tucked tightly between his teeth, barely holding in the loud sobs and moans from slipping past.
“Awww, is this too much for you?” You teased, knowing damn well he was melting underneath you. “Got you all dolled up, I would hate to see it all wash away.”
Like you said the magic words to open the gate, the tears came down his face, his hands tight around your waist like he’ll cease to exist if he didn’t hold on. It dribbled down his cheeks, the trail leaving a long stream down his face while his cock cried between your hands.
The feeling sent him into psychosis, whining and keening, another wave of cum overflowing. And he sucked im a breath when your hands stopped to hold him through it, giggling softly at how cute he looked during all of this.
Face a perfect mess, lipstick smudged, dry tears caked against his cheeks, eyes watered— and the tightness around your hips was definitely sure to leave a mark for a few hours.
“What a good boy,” you praised, “and you left a reward just for me.” You brought your hand up, coated in white and an idea burned into your head.
“Should I fix your makeup?”
“Please,” he sighed softly.
“Let’s get that fixed up for you.”
Before he realized it, you were smearing cum over his lips, moving your fingers around like you were applying a fresh coating of lipstick and smiled. “Perfect, still as pretty as ever.” And you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his again.
fate, up against your will (unwillingly mine) | directory
eddie munson x goth!reader.
based on the plot of 10 things i hate about you. in his desperation to go out with chrissy cunningham, jason carver makes the freak of hawkins an offer he can't refuse. 57k words; ongoing!
tumblr links under the cut; click here to read on ao3!
rating: teen!
tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, weird/antisocial/"freak" reader, "fake dating" only in that eddie's getting paid to date you. bisexual + adhd eddie, reader is also broadly neurodivergent-coded, you are both professional ragebaiters. chrissy is your cousin, but you're close in a sisterly way. mild subculture beefing. lighthearted tone overall, increasing angst-bombs spread throughout.
warnings: bullying and extortion, shitty + neglectful parents, mild discussion of parental loss + grief (both eddie and reader), police harassment, sexual harassment, implied past SA and related trauma, implied eating disorder, depictions of sensory overwhelm + intense emotional stress, recurring mild self-harm/pain stimming, binge drinking, (to be continued...)
