Mephistopheles of Los Angeles - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut] (Part II)
Synopsis: After the kiss, it’s impossible to avoid the press. But behind closed doors, there’s no reason to deny that you two have a connection. AKA Marilyn invites you and Johnny over to his place for a night of fun.
Notes: Third and final part coming soon! Also, I love comments :)
PART I
PART III
You sit up by your window, watching the pool glisten. You can't come out and say anything-- he was probably drunk. But, you two did have that magnificent conversation before the drinks came around... there was definitely a connection there.
As if you two shared a mind, just as you're about to pick up the phone to call Johnny, his ID shows up on your screen.
"Hey," you say.
"Morning, sunshine," he says, his voice cracking from an obvious hangover, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
You groan, sliding the curtains shut and blocking out the sun. He laughs.
"Hey, what if--" Just then, someone else starts to call through. It's an unknown number. You really shouldn't answer, you being who you are... but there's a glimmer of misplaced hope inside you, leftover from last night maybe.
"I'll call you back, kay?" you mumble, and swipe on the call. "Yeah?"
"Hey." It's him, deep, gravelly voice and all.
"Hey." You pull your feet up to your chest. "What's going on?"
"I was hoping-- I got your number from Depp by the way, so I'm not a stalker-- that you guys'd come over to my place, like, tomorrow night. Night before your premiere. We could celebrate properly."
"Sounds great," you smile. "How are you not hungover?"
"I am, I'm just a good faker." He pauses. "It felt good to unwind with you last night. I... appreciate company like yours. I also appreciate that that was the sexiest kiss I've had in like, ten years." That's all he says, then he hangs up. Sober, he's a very somber person... but his drunk side shines through every now and then it seems. Smirking, you stand, and start to think about a shower. Johnny will probably be getting a call next.
-
The next night, the three of you are situated in Marilyn's living room, the thermostat set to cool air and a low soundtrack of David Bowie floating in the background.
"Cherry. Blood red. So we can pretend we're vampires." A pyramid of jello boxes sit on his counter top, three bottles of Absinthe that would be used instead of water.
"We basically are," Johnny comments idly, watching a fly crawl along the counter.
"Or, or we can pretend we're eating flesh," Marilyn continues, shaking one packet out into the bowl, "Absinthe and flesh. Or we can pretend (y/n) is menstruating, and--"
Both you and Johnny groan loud enough to drown out the rock star's ravings, and finally he concedes, adding the absinthe (mostly) silently. Ultimately however, Johnny is unable to restrain himself from pitching in. "Who would want to eat a woman out on her period though?"
"You'd be surprised," you answer that one, swinging your legs over Marilyn's velvet couch.
"I wouldn't mind it," Marilyn offered, licking the cherry goop off his tattooed fingers, "If I was like, an actual vampire."
This sets Johnny off again, and as he's laughing, you saunter up to Marilyn, wrapping your arms around him from behind.
"And what if you weren't a vampire?"
"You mean if I didn't need to stick my tongue in a reservoir of ovum littered blood?"
"Yes."
"Well, I know girls get aroused on their period, because their hormones are raging. So if my girl was horny as fuck for me on her period and wanted me to eat her pussy, I mean, I wouldn't say no."
You pat his cheek. "A true gentleman."
"I've always wondered this-- when you fuck a girl on her period and she cums, is it like a dam of blood breaking?"
"What, like the parting of the red sea?" Johnny frowns. Marilyn considers this.
"More like... Titanic, but... the Titanic is your dick."
"Completely false," you say, and both guys look over to you, legitimately interested. "It's the opposite. At least for me. The blood stops for a bit, then... comes back with a vengeance once all your wetness has returned from whence it came."
"Very interesting, love," Johnny says, getting up and pouring himself another drink.
"I love being educated in the vaginal arts," Marilyn says, making obscene slurping noises as he licks the rest of his fingers clean.
As the night wears on the three of you (plus Lily) put down bottle after bottle, smoke a couple of joints, and finish the red coagulated creation. Once two AM hits, the conversation deepens, and the guitar breaks out.
"It's gonna be hell for you answering questions about those pictures this weekend, (y/n)," Johnny says, strumming the acoustic instrument.
"I know. The questions I get are so dumb, I've already had a billion asking about you and me and if we're dating. Just because two people play love interests--"
"And have fabulous onscreen chemistry," Johnny adds.
"Yes, doesn't mean we should get... shipped!" Angrily, you exhale a cloud of smoke, the joint hanging lazily between your fingers.
"It's because the media's bullshit consists of asking why male artists do what they do, and asking female artists why they fuck who they fuck," Marilyn mutters candidly, stealing the joint.
"Load of crap," Johnny nods, playing a riff of The Beautiful People.
"I like you... though," Marilyn mumbles, glancing your way.
"I like you too," you blink.
"I would've fucked you y'know... if the paparazzi weren't such cockblocking motherfuckers..."
"I know. When it comes to the press though, we've gotta make it look like an accident if they did get pictures."
"Which they did," Johnny nodded, "I already saw one this morning titled "Chateau Marmont's Wild Nightlife: Johnny Depp blazes one while rising co-star and shock-rocker best friend get 'cheeky' in the bushes." Now we've got not only rumours about you and me to deal with but you and this fuck." This makes Marilyn laugh.
"I'm just known as the best friend now? Wow." He touches his wow tattoo, holding it up.
"You're faded, man."
"Faded, faithful, and fuckin' fatal."
"They make me look like a fucking stoner now, so I'm not much better."
"You are a fucking stoner."
"I'm Jack Sparrow, mate."
"You're a fucking stoner."
You just roll your eyes as they bicker. You remember what your agent told you-- if it's not purposefully publicized, it's messy, and messy doesn't sell. Guess that's what it's like in the Hollywood dating pool.
"Nah, but of course we've gotta deny all of it," Marilyn sighs. "It would blow up your career in a not-good way cause they'd say this young, impressionable starlet is dating a satanist, or whatever they call me, and I don't really feel like answering a billion stupid questions about you either at this point, not when I'm trying to promote my record. They're going crazy over this cause you're so popular right now, (y/n). It'll be all over People and the internet and shit."
"Covering personal shit is the worst part of this job," Johnny mutters. "Unless it's a story about smuggling cocaine into the Pirates premiere."
"Wasn't that at Disneyland?" you frown.
Marilyn and Johnny both nod noncommittally.
"Worth it," Johnny says, holding his guitar with one hand and flicking a piece of the blood red Jell-O onto the ceiling with a spoon.
"Clean that up," Marilyn grins.
"Lick it off, mate," Johnny laughs. It suddenly falls, and with a jiggle, lands between your breasts. You yelp as it splatters into your cleavage, and the two men fall to the floor laughing.
"Mmmmhmmhmm," Marilyn smiles, crawling over to you on his hands and knees with tipsy half-lidded eyes, "I think I will lick it off." He straddles you on the armchair, one leg on either side, and puts his face into your tits, his tongue sweeping deep licks between, up, down, ugh...
"Fuck, you're making me horny," you whisper. Johnny giggles, standing and snatching a small bag and heading up to Marilyn's pool patio with his guitar.
"See you two in the morning."
"Don't drown," you call up.
"I don't want to have to clean up your chlorine bloated corpse in the morning," Marilyn adds.
"I will leave you the sexiest corpse you could possibly imagine, brother," Johnny calls back down, stumbling up the stairs. You and Marilyn turn your attention back to one another.
"Your tits taste good," he comments, eyes flickering lazily back down to them.
"My pussy tastes even better," you grin, taking his hand and sliding it down between your legs. He rubs it against you, and comes up with slick fingers.
"Bedroom."
His bed is covered in black silk sheets, a satin cover blanketed overtop of them. Messy piles of books and records litter the floor, and creepy artefacts you wouldn't want to see with a light on surround everything on bookshelves.
"You have blacklights?" you ask, looking around the dark, mysterious room.
"To admire the cum shots on the ceiling," he clarifies.
"Oh, is that all?"
"--But I don't like to call it cum, I like to call it... making wet in you," he giggles.
"Mmm, make wet in me?"
"I would love to make wet in you."
Before you can say anything else, he grabs you by the hips, shoving you forward onto the bed. You land on your stomach, and he stands behind you as you turn your head.
"Take your panties off," he says in a low, level voice, as if he had sobered up in seconds. You feel your bratty side coming out.
"What if I don't?"
He lifts his chin up, looking like a king. "Get on your hands and knees... arch your back and present your ass for me. It's a really pretty ass, I just wanna look at it. Promise."
You do so, and wait in the darkness. After a second, you feel his tongue dart out, licking a stripe up your panties from behind. Then he smacks your ass hard. "Ohgod," you whisper, and he smiles.
"You look so good like this." You flip over, and crawl up to the headboard, hanging on. "Why don't you spread your legs for daddy?"
"Why don't you spread them for me, daddy? I'm a little bit tired."
"Lazy little bitch," he mumbles, sliding his hand between your legs. It rests on your knee, then you feel the pressure of him parting your thighs. He rolls over on top of you, and for a moment, you think he's going to instigate a kiss. You part your lips, waiting for him. Instead, he slides down like a snake between those parted thighs and hooks his fingers into your panties.
"Just lick around them," you smirk, biting your lip.
"Uh, uh. I want to enjoy my meal," he drawls, and pulls them off down to your ankle.
"Eat my pussy good, baby."
"Oh, I plan to."
"Gonna fuck me after that?"
"You know I am, kitten."
He delves between your folds again, making low noises. His hands reach up to grope and grab at whatever they can; your hips, your breasts, your inner thighs. After a moment, you gasp as he slips two fingers into you, then three, fucking you rough with them.
"That's--" You gasp, grinding into his face, "That's so good..."
He hums, the vibration of his lips against your clit driving you wild.
"How fuckin' close are you?" he hisses.
"So fucking close," you whine.
"Cum for me. Make wet... in my face."
"God, you're gonna ruin my ladyboner by saying shit like that!"
A few more masterful circles of his tongue however, and you do cum, gripping the boards for dear life.
"Grab my--" he murmurs, "Grab my hair, love it when it's-- oh, tugged--"
Your hands fly to his hair, and you tug the short black locks as he fucks you with his tongue through your orgasm. Giving you a moment to breathe, he flashes his dark glare up between your legs, eyes shining almost demonically in the dark.
"Fuck me, Brian," you breathe. He crawls up on top of you, holding you by your shoulders as he guides his dick between your legs. When he finally pushes in, he gives a grunt as you moan, wrapping your legs around his ass.
"So fucking good," he groans, and you bite into his shoulder.
"Ohhh yeah, oh yeah," you moan, and he suddenly pulls out.
"Back on your hands and knees, kitten." You obey this time, fucked out but wanting more. He smacks your ass again, and you moan, wiggling back. He spanks you again, and again, and you bite your fist. "Nah, nah," he whispers, "I wanna hear you. Get fuckin' loud, scream it out."
You very nearly scream as he spanks you again, and presses soft kisses up your back, turning into hickies by the top between your shoulder blades.
"Wanna ride you," you breathe. Wordlessly, he lays down, and you roll over top of him, getting into reverse cowgirl position. With another gasp, you sink down over his big cock, and roll your hips.
"That's good," he groans, "Fuckkkk yeah, that's good."
"Daddy, daddy--" you gasp.
"Daddy's gonna make you cum," he whispers, reaching up and around to squeeze your breast. He sits up, so that his chest is pressed to your back, and the angle makes you moan even louder. "I gotchu," he whispers in your ear, "I gotchu, I gotchu, gonna take real good care of you... cause you're takin real good care of me..."
You nearly sob as you reach back and grab his hair, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder as you had done with him. You feel a bit of blood drip, and cum hard. Marilyn increases his pace as he feels you gush around his cock, pounding you harder than ever. Skin slaps against skin as he fucks you on his lap, and your orgasm keeps burning through you as he mumbles growled-out words of praise.
When you finally come back down to earth, he's pressing kisses to the bite mark, which felt good in the moment, but stings like hell now.
"Guess you're a real fucking vampire, Manson," you giggle. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, laughing.
Mephistopheles of Los Angeles - Marilyn Manson x Reader (Part III)
Synopsis: There’s no way you can go public about your involvement with Marilyn, but yours and Johnny’s premiere is tonight. You’d better figure out how to handle this ‘torrid affair’, and fast.
PART I
PART II
This isn’t your first premiere, but the flashing lights and screaming fans are a tad surprising at first. Thankfully, you know how to handle yourself. Your strapless, form-fitting burgundy Givenchy dress accentuates everything you (and the general public) love about your body, with a simple diamond choker underneath your tied up hair completing the look. Your eyes are smoky rimmed with charcoal, because you borrowed Marilyn’s eyeliner this morning. Yeah. You did that.
“This should be fun,” you sigh, beaming and waving out the window as you and Johnny arrive in the limo. You both get out, posing, smiling, greeting. “Why’d the story have to break before tonight?”
“Why’d you have to make out with Manson in the bloody bushes?” he volleys back in amusement, giving a wave and a smoulder to a gaggle of fans screaming his name.
“Technically this is your fault,” you smirk, turning back to flash one last smile behind you before walking the carpet, “You introduced him to me.”
“And forgot to warn you about his deadly charm?”
“Exactly. Good god, Depp, he is magnificent in bed, you could’ve fucking warned me!”
“You never asked,” he teases.
“(y/n)! (y/n)!” A lady in the line up of reporters by the carpet barricades calls, waving you over. “Lisa Waters, Entertainment Tonight!”
“Have fun in hell darling,” Johnny whispers, chuckles, and disappears behind you to get more photos taken.
“And he’s gone!” you say dramatically, waving after him with silent embitterment. The reporter jams a microphone in your face, as she stares after Johnny.
“People are speculating all over the place about you two!”
Here we go.
“I can say, definitively, speaking for myself and Johnny, we are not involved, and never plan to be.”
“So you don’t get along as well as it seems like you do?”
“I didn’t say that. Johnny and I got very close during shooting–”
“Very close?”
“Yes, we became very good friends.”
Since she isn’t getting what she wants out of you with this line of questioning, the reporter sets her jaw and switches tactics. “There’s also been fresh rumours of you and goth rock star Marilyn Manson swirling. Any comment on your budding romance?”
You laugh, keeping the butterflies in your stomach at bay. “Even if I did have anything going with Marilyn, it would not be best described as a budding romance.”
“But TMZ released photos of the two of you kissing in the bushes outside Chateau Marmont just this past weekend!”
“Honestly, Linda–”
“Lisa.”
“Yeah, honestly I don’t remember that night, but I’m sure it was just a good-bye kiss. I was probably too drunk to stick around, he was seeing me off. You know how it–”
“But it looks like you’re groping each other!”
“Well, Marilyn likes to get friendly. So do I.”
With a sardonic little smile, you end the rest of her interrogation, and move on to the next news caster before she can continue drilling you. You shoot Johnny a “help me” glance, but he just cringes, making it clear that relationship concealment is 100% not his forte.
The rest of the night consists of questions not unlike those, and you continue to answer them until another stretch pulls up.
Marilyn gets out.
You instantly look over at Johnny. Johnny shrugs. “I invited him,” he mouths, and you sigh, already feeling yourself get warm. Even if he wasn’t on the guest list, nobody was about to throw Marilyn Manson out, so they let him in. Marilyn gives a salute to the cameras in those black leather fingerless gloves, and meets your eye. He smirks your way, and you feel your cheeks heat up, recalling all the stuff you two had gotten up to last night. He corrects his smirk, straightening his face again and posing.
“Can you tell us anything about your fling with shock rocker Marilyn Manson?” a male reporter asks you, another three microphones in your face.
“Only that it didn’t happen,” you reply coolly, picturing how he fingered you until you screamed last night.
“Really? Because–”
“Didn’t happen,” you reiterate, and slip into the crowd of cast, executives, and critics moving inside the theatre. Marilyn stops by one reporter who seems insistent.
“Hello,” he mumbles, keeping his head low and sunglasses on.
“Hey, having a good night so far, Marilyn?”
“It’s been good for the five minutes I’ve been here, yeah.”
Missing his sarcasm, the overzealous reporter beams. “Awesome! Great to see you here celebrating your friend, so soon after being out in Europe on tour!”
“Yeah, I always try to come out for Johnny’s movies, I think to give him moral support,” Marilyn smirks, “Cause without me around, we all know he would just be a wreck. Completely depressed, unable to function.”
“Right,” the reporter nods artificially, oblivious as to how to handle Marilyn’s interviewing style. “Anyway, are you really here for Johnny?”
“Explain.” He doesn’t lose his footing, but he’s caught off guard.
“Are you here for (y/n), your latest lover?” Marilyn smiles at her.
“Where do you get your facts?”
“Those photos are serious evidence that–”
“Evidence, you make it seem like a crime scene, like she’s a murder victim of mine.” Now he’s deliberately screwing with the reporter, and she looks a little frightened.
“Right. Can you confirm you are dating (y/n) (y/l/n)?”
“We’re just friends,” he insists, thinking of the way your back arched last night as he ate you out.
“But the k–”
“It was just a kiss,” he shakes his head, “I kiss lots of people. I kiss my cat. I kiss Johnny. I’ve kissed Obama.”
“Do you consider yourself a romantic?”
“Not with (y/n). I’ve gotta go get my seat inside, before Benicio Del Toro tells them I’m not on the guest list.”
“…You have a good night, then.”
“You as well.”
Indoors, you sit down in your seat beside your cast members, and see Marilyn coming in, undoing the bottom button on his black tux and looking for a seat. You try to put your mind somewhere else to watch your work.
The film starts about a half hour later and plays your brilliantly fake sex scene with Johnny (the codpiece riding one). However, despite the hilarious memories shooting this scene conjures up for you, you can’t take your mind off of Marilyn. He’s unlike anyone you ever dated. He’s open, at least with you; he’s calm, funny, sexy as hell… fuck, he was so good last night, and you want more. You want so much fucking more.
-
After the movie gets out, you prepare to do a few more interviews before the night is over. At this point, you’re high on life, feeling good, and feeling dangerous with Marilyn so close to you. Really… what would be the harm in…?
“Congratulations on the film (y/n), you and Mr. Depp were wonderful,” one man from Starz says, walking briskly alongside you. Marilyn purses his lips on the other side of Johnny as you three walk from the Chinese Theatre toward the limos.
“Thank you, we had such an amazing time filming it,” you reply.
“And, eh…” the man hesitates, “Quick question before we lose you here. You’ve discounted all rumours of you and Mr. Depp dating as false. Are you and Mr. Manson involved?” You sigh.
Fuck it. Like Johnny said– tomorrow’s for damage control. Tonight’s for living.
“Hell yeah we’re involved,” you grin, and Johnny holds in a burst of laughter, expression a mix of astonishment and pride. Marilyn jerks his head over, and a small smile tugs at his painted lips.
“We’re dating?” he smirks, crossing over to stand beside you. “I wish you would’ve told me.” With that, he dips you low into a kiss, and sticks a tattooed middle finger into the lens of the guy’s camera.
