Marilyn Manson oneshots/stories

Watching [SMUT] MM x Reader

(sexual content, masturbation / intercourse, slight stalking, harsh language)

"Goddamnit, where the fuck is he?"

Annoyed you walk around through the hallway.

The band hired you as a background dancer for the new tour and the show this evening is over.

Still in your almost-just-underwear dancing-outfit, you are searching for Manson, wanting to talk to him about today's performance. He stomped all over the stage and threw shit around, like he always does. However, this time he prevented you from dancing half of the time by smashing microphones into your direction and you want to confront him to tell him to stop or you're not doing anything anymore.

"Twigs, do you know where Manson is?" You ask the bandmate, but he just shrugs and points to the dressing room.

"Maybe in there, going solo or something".

"Well, okay thanks!" You laugh.

As weird as it sounds, this is like home for you. This band is all you ever searched for. Just some weirdo artsy-kids who formed a band and give each other shit. You're more than happy to be with them, especially because that means you can spend some time with Manson.

During the last few performances, he sometimes took you with him to the front, pretended to fuck you for the audience and sent you back shortly after.
You tried to not mull it over but you can't deny that there's a special tension between you and him. But as you don't know if he feels the same way or just likes to use you as his stage fake-slut, you never tried to talk to him about that. The risk of losing everything you love here is just too high.

You knock on the door. Nothing.

Stepping inside, you see a huge mess of clothes, makeup, some CDs and lots of paper on the floor. Some other things like a mop, some scrubbers, gloves and brooms are in the corner behind a long, black curtain.

You walk into the room, but immediately freeze as you see him, sitting on the makeup chair, his pants thrown aside and his right hand suspiciously close to his groin.

Turning around, you want to walk outside of the room without him noticing, but he already turns his head around to check if someone was in the room.

Quick enough, you jump behind the curtain with the cleaning stuff and he luckily doesn't see you.

Through a small slit in the fabric, you can see him leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and cupping himself, mumbling some words you don't understand.

Shit, that was a horrible idea. There was no way you could get out of the dressing room without making too much noise so you'll have to wait until he's done and gone.

That's fucking embarassing...

You close your eyes and try to stand as still as you can while you listen to Manson's breathing, slowly getting heavier.

You can't help but peek again, watch him dragging his fingers up and down his semi-hard length, his head thrown back and his eyes still closed.

Your eyes wander along his flat stomach to his chest, covered in scars in various stages of healing, over his shoulders to his tattooed arms - back down to his dick again, now fully erect and even bigger than before.

Damn, he must be 8 inches or so

You thought to yourself, not even realizing what you're just doing.

He finally wraps a hand around and starts pumping up and down, every now and then twisting over the sensitive head to use the precum as lubricant.

Without even noticing it, your own hand slides down between your legs as well, finding your pussy soaking wet.