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.
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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.
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.
𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 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.)
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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.
Rhea and you met each other in NXT, when you both signed with WWE and competed in the inaugural Mae Young Classic. You were both young wrestlers, had spent your teen years wrestling and bonded over your shared experiences.
You were like yin and yang, you matched each other so well.
When Rhea cut her hair, you dyed yours to make her feel less nervous about it.
You have several matching tattoos.
By the time you both reached the main roster, Rhea was put into the championship spotlight with Asuka and then a team with Liv. You went to Smackdown.
Being separated didn't stop you two. You both made friends on the roster. Rhea got closer with Damian, Liv, Finn and Iyo. You got close with Tiffany, Zelina, Alexa and Sonya.
For the first time for both of you, Rhea and you got to wrestle against each other. You got to feud when she was still in the Judgement Day, but ending resulted in you joining the Judgement Day.
Damian took to you quickly, he took you under his wing like he did Rhea.
He was like an older brother to you both and you spent most of your time together.
There was a time where you had briefly crushed on him, but that was over before your friendship started.
You guys travelled together, made TikToks together and trained together.
You'd seen Motionless in White 5 times, and each time you'd gone backstage and hung out with the band afterwards.
Fans exploded when they saw you, Rhea and Cathy do a TikTok together. Cathy stood between you two, saying 'Mommy' while looking at you both.
Fans then exploded when they saw you and Rhea team together against Liv and Raquel.
Your moves were smooth, synchronized and your skills on par.
You matched each other so well, it was like seeing twins.
You did a TikTok after the match to the sound "You're not seeing double - everyone loves us - you're seeing trouble."
You post regularly on your feeds about each other.
Buddy enlisted you to surprise Rhea for her birthday the first year after they married. He flew her to Australia to see her family and when they went to the restaurant for her (unbeknownest to her) surprise party, you were sat there with her family and she actually SQUEALED when she saw you.
"You came." Rhea whispered as she hugged you.
"Of course I came. It's your birthday." You whispered back, stroking her cheek as you pulled away to look at her. "I'm not gonna miss your birthday."
"I'm so happy you're here." Rhea had said at the end of the night as you, Buddy and Rhea walked back to the AirBnB they'd rented.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, baby." You cooed.
Buddy is fully aware that while Rhea is his wife, you're her person and he's fine with that. He will introduce you two as "my wife and my wife's wife" and no he doesn't care if that confuses people.
When he went to AEW, Rhea had sobbed in your arms. But you regularly visited him and no matter how shit Buddy felt on the day from a match, he smiled when he saw the two of you at the airport.
You and Buddy have a great relationship because of Rhea. You'll face time each other and you'll always open the conversation with "How's our wife?"
Your boyfriends for the most part never understood how you could be so close with Rhea. Which resulted in you not continuing the relationships when they made it a central problem.
Your last big relationship was with an AEW wrestler. And you broke up because he was upset you felt like you wanted to spend time with Rhea more you did him.
It was a very public break up backstage at AEW.
"You love her more than you love me! You call her your wife and your person!" He had shouted at you.
"Because she is!" You had shouted back.
"Why can't you be like that with me?"
"Because you're not my person! She is! She's my best friend!"
"Please, if Buddy wasn't in the picture, you two would be married!" He had scoffed.
"Yes! Because I love her!" You shouted, shutting him up.
"Do you not love me?" He asked quietly.
"Not if you can't accept that she has been in life for almost a decade and she will be around for the rest of it." You said finally.
"Then I hope you three are very happy together." He said sarcastically. "You, her and her husband."
"Thanks, we are." You snapped. "Get the fuck away from me."
You had been the one to sob that night and Rhea and Buddy comforted you, Buddy got you your favourite snacks, ordered food, brought you a blanket and put on a movie you all liked. Rhea cuddled you under the blanket and stroked your hair as your sobs subsided and by the end of the night, you fell asleep with Rhea in the middle, and you and Buddy on either side.
You went on a few dates after that but mostly stayed alone.
"You should meet someone new." Rhea urged you. "I love you and I want you to be happy."
"I'd rather be happy and alone then miserable in a relationship." You replied, shaking your head.
Rhea and Buddy set you up on dates with people and while they were great, you weren't that interested in more than a casual relationship.
Until you met him, he was a musician of a metal band, and he understood completely.
He knew you and Rhea were close, and while him and Buddy didn't run in the same circles, he had no issue with him.
When you told Rhea and Buddy, they'd congratulated you and Rhea had hugged you so tight, you felt the air leaving your lungs.
"This is so good." Rhea had said, cupping your cheek and smiling at you.
"I have another person to keep track of you two now." Buddy had joked.
You just smiled and looked over at your boyfriend, who smiled back at you, his eyes sparkling and his expression tender.
"I have no problem looking after the two of them." He said. "As long as my girl is happy."
"She better be or we'll be having words." Rhea threatened lightly, the seriousness of the threat hanging there.
"I'm really happy." You assured Rhea. "I found my other person."
After everything that happened, you finally found your person. And it was in Chris fucking Motionless, of all people.
(A/N: I just had this idea of being best friends with Rhea and I was obsessed with it because she's genuinely one of my favourite wrestlers, and probably my favourite female wrestler. And I'm such a massive fan of Motionless in White as well, and the crossover of Rhea and Chris. So I feel like it was kinda obvious I was gonna do this.)
Hii!! Could I request a Dustin Henderson with a chubby goth girl? (She always has on her white face paint and black spooky makeup and it’s specifically 80s and 90s trad goth style!) I haven’t seen anything written like this before and if like to see the chubby girls like me get get some love:)
Take ur time and feel free to say no if it’s not in ur interests:)
Thank you so much for requesting!
♰ STRANGER ⋆˚࿔ᝰ.ᐟ
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Paring:: Dustin Henderson x fem!goth!chubby!reader
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Summary:: She didn’t get a lot of customers at the library due to her alternative style. That was until Dustin Henderson walked through the door.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ A/N:: This was so fun to write! There was another goth!reader request so this is also for that person too. This fic was heavily inspired by MEAN AND SCARY? by @dustins-wife !!! Also I may also write headcanons of him dating a goth girl so keep your eyes open for that!
Every soul in Hawkins avoided the local library every Saturday from 9-5.
Why? Because she was working.
Long black hair that she shaped into various big, spiky hairstyles. Her face was always painted a bright white with pitch black eyeliner that reached her hairline, at times. People shivered at the sight of her unconventional outfits; draped in long black fabric embroidered with a plethora of unique designs. Lace patterns, beads and things of the sort. Her sharp, eccentric style contrasted her figure. The soft sloping curves of her heavy-set form made her alternative style even worse— or better— she couldn’t decide.
People avoided her— she creeped them out. Accusations of her being a devil-worshipper, a witch, that she’s killed animals—even people— hung over her head. She didn’t care. As a wise woman once said; “Live people ignore the strange and unusual. I myself am the strange and unusual,”.
Today, Dustin got unlucky. His mom just needed the new edition to the book series she’s been reading.
“Can’t I just go tomorrow, mom? I really don’t want to talk to that girl.”
It was a lie on his part. He absolutely does want to talk to that girl. Her style fascinated him. The way that she ignored everyone’s comments and meticulously kept her style up everyday. Of course, out of everyone, he should know a thing or two about being an outcast.
The problem? Dustin was terrified of making an absolute fool of himself right infront of her. What if he stutters or trips or says something offensive or completely freezes up with her staring right—
“Oh don’t be silly! Run along with the cash I gave you and hurry,” His mother interrupts his thoughts.
“Why can you just—“
“Dustin.”
“Going!”
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁—————
She heard the chiming of the bell that signaled a new customer.
“Welcome in, do you need help finding something?” She instinctively said before even glancing at the door. When she did, she froze.
Shit.
Dustin Henderson stood awkwardly at the front, she assumed he was taking in her appearance; everyone paused when they did.
Dustin made her nervous. The alternative not-letting-others’-opinions-change-me mindset he had drew her to him. He didn’t give her weird stares or whisper when she passed him in the halls like other people did. Also, he was friends with Eddie Munson whose style was kind of like hers’ cousin. She felt her heart beat a little fast in anticipation and Dustin approached the front desk.
“Hi— i’m Dustin Henderson! Or— you don’t need to know that— do you?” He rambled.
“I don’t, but thank you.” She returned with a smile. His face flushed. How has he already messed this up?
“Don’t sweat it,” she seemed to read his mind.
“So, what are you looking for?”
He visibly relaxed at her tone before answering.
“Just this book for my mom. I mean— not that I do everything my mom says or anything. Unless you like that in a person— then of course I’m here for her!”
She smiled affectionately as his awkward nature. After Dustin gave the name of the book he was here for, she typed— a little uncomfortably with her long nails— in the name and pointed towards where he could find it.
Dustin disappeared somewhere in the endless shelves of the library and reappeared, book in hand, with a goofy grin on his face.
“We have a library card— here!” He hands her the card and their fingers brush for a little longer than strangers’ would. It made him visibly flush and she bit back a giggle.
While she continued her typing, she spoke with a sudden burst of confidence.
“Y’know usually people would speak to me like i’m crazy or something. Like they’re talking to mental hospital patient in a straight jacket. But, you don’t. I like that about you. You’re weird too, like me. What i’m trying to say is, would you ever want to like, go get something to eat maybe?” She speaks into her computer, not quite having the bravery to meet his eyes.
If she did, she would be met with a wide-eyed jaw-dropped Dustin. There’s no way she just said what he thinks she just said.
“Yeah! Yes!— I mean sure. Of course!” He blurted nervously. This time, she actually giggling. And managed to meet his eyes.
“Well, you know where to find me. Hers your book. Come by again sometime soon, stranger.”
