#head band wig

[herstoryhair]

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[not-the-coffee-machine4]

Every so often I think about the one guy in a Queen documentary (I forget which one, which is tragic) who said “Freddie took to the gay scene like David Attenborough to a nature documentary”

so if anyone needs a giggle sometimes, you can now think about that sentence too

[a-a-a-anon]

recently watched both bad news docs and had to do a (messy) drawing of my fav painter/decorator heavy metal vocalist/guitarist

[thewomanwhoreads]

Thé epidemic of African stylists who don’t know how to do black hair, must be stopped!

[obstinaterixatrix]

air was like ‘if someone I hated looked like a character I’d like I’d just stop liking the character’ & I was like ‘if someone I hated looked like a character I like I would shave their head. I have so little in this world. they’re not taking that from me.’ & air was like ‘well you’re always talking about how you just stop caring about things’ & I’m like. this is different. I Know What I’m About.

[motherdanger]

we're gonna play at a halloween gig and my bandmates and i decided to dress up and im going as billy the puppet so yeah if you see billy the puppet playing at some bar that's me

[lokh]

hagghhh. i give up. i gotta take another L

[lilcetis]

all i want in rwby v10 is for team sssn to get new outfits because all i hear when i look at them is "wow, fantastic baby" and i hate that song

[vanityangel]

Fun story, I screamed so goddamn hard when Solo Sikoa's name was announced that my glasses fell the fuck off my face and I lost them on the ground below (as shown in this video where the camera focus suddenly becomes drunk as I fumble uselessly for them) and could not find them for the rest of the show. Thankfully I had a backup pair, but at the end of the night I was on my damn hands and knees, in fishnets and big clunky ass platform boots and a long ass red wig, crawling on dirty concrete floor trying to avoid spilt beer as I looked under the chairs for my glasses. A guy came up to me after I made it onto a 3rd row of searching and held out a vape or a lighter, I'm not sure I was still blind and literally squinting at his hand, asking me if that was what I was looking for. When I said no he asked what was I looking for and when I replied my glasses, he looked down into the folded chair beside us and went "Oh. Here they are right here." and handed them to me. A true hero. I'm still ever so grateful.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle’s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@marispunk @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @waves-against-a-cliff @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[peniswentz]

It's crazy how a practice room at school can make you spiral into insanity so quickly

[gojonanami]

BLOODSUCKER - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp? ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, dub/con, blood kink, gojo has fangs, biting, marking, bloodsucking, fingering (f!receiving), swearing, semi-public sex, sex against a car, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, baby), ✴︎ wc: 2,704

“Can I have a bite?” He whispers, lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending a warm flush down your body — and why did he smell so intoxicating? 

The night had gone on normally enough — yet another Halloween party you had been dragged to (after you had lost a bet and ended up being the designated driver for the evening) in another coordinated themed costume — this time for the Barbie movie. Yet another throng of costumed drunks and weirdos you had to wade through while your friends had their fun. And you thought the night would be boring. 

Oh, you were so wrong. 

He saw you first. You were only sure of that, after, because you remembered the prickling of your skin when his ice blue irises had found you lounging in the loft area upstairs — where most people had begun to clear out of after the keg had arrived downstairs. You had let your hair out of your wig, your head aching from the weight of the hair on your head and the cheap elastic band trying to work its way into your forehead. 

You unlocked your phone, looking at yourself in your camera, pouting at the state of your hair — unkempt and unruly from the wig, but you only could do what you could. 

“Great, now I can be a scary Barbie,” you murmur, locking your phone, as you pocket it. 

“Oh, you’re not scary,” and your head snaps up, eyes finding those pools of still blue that looked like you could drown in them — and you very well would. His lips were curled in a small smile, his skin looked pale in the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen, “but I wouldn’t mind seeing you be a little scary,” 

“Satoru,” your lips twist, fuck, you thought he’d never show up to this party — you had avoided him flawlessly since your breakup — if you could even call it that. You never official — you were never anything, just a situation that was more than a booty call, but less than a relationship. Every invitation was only accepted with assurance and recon that Satoru would not attend, every exit strategy was planned, and every move was carefully made. 

Except this one. 

“Oh, you recognize me?” he gasps in mock surprise, lips in that shit eating grin you had loved to kiss off of him, but now, all it did was make you want to slap him, “surprised you did after you’ve avoided me for so long, sweetheart,” 

“And apparently you’re the one with brain damage because we broke up — don’t call me that,” you sigh, eyes glancing down at his outfit — a black and white suit with a high collar, as his mouth moved as he spoke, you caught sight of fangs on his teeth, and his eyes glinted with a crimson tint dipped in an ocean of blue, “your costume is fitting — you definitely did suck the life out of our relationship,” 

“Bitter doesn’t suit you, baby,” your eye twitches, as he dares closer, eyes glinting in the low light of the kitchen, “plus y’know, you always did the best sucking,” 

Your traitorous cheeks flush, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes betray you by flickering downwards, “fuck off—“ 

“Oh, I know you want me to fuck something — don’t think it’s off though,” he looms closer, licking his lips, as he smiles — and your heart forgets to beat — did he always smell this good? He smelt of musk, wood, and everything warm and honeyed — the scent melted over you, plying your resistance with sweetness in contrast to his vulgarity, “look at you, haven’t even touched you and you’re so pliant, where’s that mouth now?” And his thumbs drag down your lips, pulling at the bottom one — “looks better wrapped around my cock, doesn’t it?” 

And his words snap you from your trance, slapping his hand away, “didn’t expect an apology from you, but I thought you’d do better than this shit,” 

“Can you blame me for missing you, pretty?” He pouts, “thought you loved me more than that,” 

“And I thought you loved me enough to commit but looks like we both are wrong,” you roll your eyes, “go find someone else to fuck with, Gojo,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Aw, baby, don’t act so unfamiliar, you had my dick in you after all, you can still call me Satoru,” and then there’s a cheer in the living room that cuts off your retort, as he turns to look. 

And that’s your cue to leave, you slip away from him, grabbing your jacket, making an Irish exit, slipping through the throng of people partying. You manage to get down the street, the streets quiet now, the sounds of the party growing more distant by the second. A sense of dread settled over you the more you walked, forming a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach. The streetlights flickered above you, the wind cutting through your jacket as you pulled it closer around you. Your car was close, right past this wooded backyard, trees lining what seemed to be an abandoned home. There was only a few more yards — and then you heard a twig snap — your head snapped around to look behind you. 

And that was your mistake. 

A hand clamped over your mouth, as you gasped against it, another tight around your middle, your scream was muffled against the palm. And then a familiar voice whispered in your ear, “Boo,” before he lets you go, and you whirl around, smacking Satoru against his chest, hard. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your heart was pumping, hard, nearly banging against your ribs, body still shaking with adrenaline, “what the fuck - that’s not fucking funny,” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny — it was supposed to be spooky,” he grins, unaffected by your anger, as your fingers clench into fists, “you didn’t give me a treat so I had to play a trick. It’s the rules of Halloween, pretty,” 

“It wasn’t spooky, it was fucking scary—“ you move to hit him again, and he catches your hand by the wrist, and he’s pulling you close, “let me go, Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, his fingers caressing your cheek, and you feel your knees knocking together, the world shifting beneath your feet, “I’m sorry for frightening you, sweetheart,” and he’s helping you walk over to your car, “just wanted to make sure you get to your car safely,” 

Why were you letting him help you? Why was your body leaning against his? Why were you letting his arm slink around your waist, fingers squeezing your hip? But those same questions sunk away into the inky abyss of your mind, as thoughts blurred over each other, and all you can think about was him.  

“Satoru,” you murmur, as you stumble against him, and he catches you by your waist, steadying you, “I don’t know what’s wrong,” your head rests against his chest, but you felt so comfortable, so…content. 

“It’s okay, baby, I got you,” he purred, his words only intoxicated you further, drizzled like melted molasses down your throat, “that spook I gave you earlier really took it out of you, but,” his fingers tilt your chin up, his eyes finding yours — and they glowed, a shiny blue that unnerved you, “should I show you something really scary?” 

“Satoru, what—“ and he’s kissing you, lips sliding against yours — he tastes familiar, hint of candy corn that he was always a fiend for, but he tastes even sweeter than that, headier too — before he parts, “what are you doing?” 

“Showing you just how much I missed you,” he hums, thumb gliding over the length of your cheek, “y’know how hard it was for me without you? Wouldn’t be able to sleep. I could only think about how I had screwed thing up. Would take these long walks at night when I couldn’t sleep,” and his fingers trace down your jawline, before reaching your neck, his thumb resting against your pulse, “turns out those walks were good for one thing,” 

“And what’s that?” You murmur, still utterly distracted by his touch. 

And he brushes his lips against your neck, teeth grazing against your pulse, “Finding a way to keep you — forever,” and his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, as his arms press your body to his, your hands sliding up his chest, caged in by his form, “can I have a bite?” he whispers, lips against your ear now, sending a flush across your cheeks, “just wanna mark you again, like i used to, make you mine,” 

For a moment, the curtain snaps back, mask slipping, as your eyes flutter open without the rosy glasses he had slipped over your eyes, “I’m not yours,” and you only see him — the true him — for a moment. 

His muscles tighten, fingers digging into your sides harshly, gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise, his gaze is dark, navy instead of the usual cerulean with a ring of red that pierces through your skin, but his teeth — his teeth scare you the most — his fangs aren’t fake, his tongue sliding against them both, as he flashed an unnerving smile at you that sends your blood running cold.  

But not colder than his. 

“Satoru — what—“ and his lips find yours again, sending a headiness throughout your body, from your head to the tips of your toes, “I-“ 

“Just let me have this, just this one night,” he murmurs, words as smooth as glass and as needy as need itself, “please,” 

And you’re the one pulling him to you, back against the cool metal of your car, and your fingers cup his face, pulling him against your lips. He tastes like want, his tongue parts your lips, as his fingers slide up your dress, sending goosebumps up your thighs, “Fuck, all it takes for you, huh?” He murmurs, and his fangs nibble at your bottom lip making you gasp, pressing wet kisses down your jaw, until he reaches your neck. 

“Been thinking about this for far too long, sweetheart,” 

two fingers drag down your neck first, as he tilts your head for easy access, and you shiver at his touch — was he colder than before? “I’m going to be doing a lot more than marking you like I did before,” his lips press a delicate kiss to your neck, “need to taste it,” 

And his fangs drag over your soft flesh, before he finally bites you. Your mouth hangs open in a sharp gasp as his fangs pierce your skin, and your head lolls back, as pleasure floods your body. You feel your warm blood dripping from your neck, slipping down your skin, as he sucks from you. 

He pulls away for a moment to look at you, your scarlet blood dripping from his mouth, painting his pale pink lips burgundy, as his tongue darts out to catch the blood slipping down your chin. 

“You taste like everything to me,” he murmurs, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck, “sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, aren’t you?” 

You whimper, “Satoru, feels so good,” and he’s kissing you again, letting you taste your own blood on his lips, it only makes you want him even more. But this isn’t right, something wasn’t right—

“Just give in, sweetheart,” he’s dragging your hands down your sides, squeezing your hips, as his palms rest under your thighs, “let me make you feel good,” 

And he lifts you, guiding your legs to wrap around your waist, as his large palm slides up your thigh, hiking your dress up. He grins, looking at your soaked panties, thumb pressing against your puffy clit, making you gasp and squirm, “wonder if you taste even sweeter down here, baby?” 

You whine louder, as his fingers slide into the waistband of your underwear and snaps it against your skin, “Your blood is pumping harder than ever, bet it tastes even better like that — full of your fear, full of your pleasure,” his fingers are sliding your drenched panties down, “fuck, you’re a little freak, bet you got wet when I grabbed you, can’t all be from the last few minutes,” 

And his lithe finger sinking into you, as your lips part in a gasp as he bullies your walls, “So tight for me,” he groans, as his finger curls against you, making you moan, and his teeth graze against your neck, before sinking in. You both moan in tandem, as he drinks more of your blood, as a second finger parts into your folds, your release dripping down his palm. He’s stretching you out — fingers pistoning in and out, Pleasure courses up and down your body, toes curling, as all you can hear is the sucking of his fangs and the squelch of his fingers in your cunt. 

And then he hits that spot, and you’re cumming, slick dripping down your thighs as you moan, as your hips move against his fingers, riding out your orgasm. He pulls your fangs from your neck, letting your blood drip down your neck. 

He tilts your head back, letting him look at your fluttering eyelashes and fucked out expression, lips parted, as your blood paints your skin a beautiful maroon. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart,” he’s pulling his fingers from you, as you gasp from the emptiness. He places them in his mouth, cleaning them of your release, “think I may get addicted baby, gotta have more of you — doesn’t matter if it’s your blood or your cum,” 

And you hear the clink of your belt buckle and sound of his zipper, as he frees his cock, rubbing against your dripping pussy, “Gonna let your ex fuck you against your car? Gotta have you baby, but if I take you now, I don’t know if I’ll ever let you go,” he’s teasing the head of his cock against your pussy lips, “do you still want me to do it?”

You whine, back arching against the hard surface of the car, “please, I need you,” your fingers wrap around his neck, his lips against yours, “Satoru—“ 

And he’s sinking his cock into you, as he’s lifting your legs to your ears, ankles by his ears as his hips flush against your ass, “Fuck, can you feel me kissing the deepest part of you?” His hips roll into you now, slowly at first, again and again, as your walls throb around him, the car groans and your ankles ache against his slow thrusts, “best cunt I’ve ever had, and all fucking mine now,” 

“Toru, please, more—“ 

And he barks a laugh, sweat slipping down your forehead, his balls slapping against your ass, “so needy f’me, you’re mine aren’t you? Say you’re mine,” he’s grunting as your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close—

Your orgasm washes over you, toes curling, and he leans forward, fangs sinking into you, as he fucks you through it. The blood he drinks makes your head dizzy with pleasure, until he pulls away, letting your blood drip from his lips. And he’s grunting, hips stuttering as he bottoms out — making you gasp and whine again. Until he’s cumming inside you, painting your walls white, emptying his load into you. He’s fucking his cum inside your cunt.

And he’s easing your legs down as the two of you come down, his face buried in the nape of your neck, licking at the blood dripping from his bites — your neck beginning to ache and sting now. 

“So pretty, so perfect,” he coos, his lips curling still red from your blood, as he’s curling his arms around your waist, “gotta take you home so I can taste you all over again.” 

“No, I can’t. This was a one time thing—“ 

And he’s tilting your chin up, eyes flashing dangerously, as his lips curl, “I told you, I’m not going to let you go, besides,” he turns your head towards your rear view mirror, your eyes beginning to glint red, “I have to let you have a bite of me later,” and you can feel your blood run cold, “it’s only fair, isn’t it, sweetheart?” 

✴︎ a/n: was possessed to write this by the halloween spirits -- also i have a thing for bloodsucking now unfortunately. have a spooky season :)

✴︎ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @happymangospot, @hiimarandin, @bunsunee, @5-xiaoo,

[gravid-transluna]

Commission for @birthedstars, I adored this prompt!

Melanie, a popular cosplayer, has been keeping pregnancy a secret from social media and her fans. It's con season and she is currently at the final one before she is due to give birth along with her non-cosplaying friend Lea. As she's taking photos with her fans, she feels a trickle in her pants and a pain stronger than any she's had before hit her belly. It's a week before she's due; panicked and struggling to keep her composure, Melanie has to rely on Lea to shoo away people begging for photos and conversation. Melanie doesn't want an audience for this, but as each contraction passes it becomes less likely. Lea either needs to get her out of the convention center or find a secluded spot for her friend. If she doesn't, this baby is going to come out in a room filled with hundreds…

Cons, Cosplay and Crowning

words: 3158

content: clothing birth, inconvenient birth, birth denial, fpreg

Melanie had told herself that this would be her last convention before the baby arrived. Giga-con was one of the largest cons in the country. Packed from floor to ceiling with fans, cosplayers, collectors, artists, photographers; lines out the door, every booth crowded, a sea of vibrant anime-hair… It was a sight to behold, and something Melanie had no intention of missing, pregnancy or not. She had quite a few fans as well. Enough to have a pretty constant stream of attention focused on the booth where she sold autographs and photos and voice recordings.

A minor detail: her fans didn’t know that she was nine months pregnant, due in a week. Her baby bump had remained small throughout her pregnancy, allowing her to hide it fairly well, relying on cosplays involving belts or flowy skirts and dresses. Her various social media accounts mentioned nothing about a coming baby, only her next convention dates and wig ratings.

“You’re seriously doing Zero Two for your last con before the baby?” Lea, her friend, had asked Melanie. This character, a mech pilot, wore a skintight suit.

“It’ll be okay,” Melanie said, patting the tight curve of her abdomen. It was smooth, and only nude it was obvious that there was a stretch to her skin that could only be from a swollen womb. “People notice the cosplay, not the person behind it. Besides! This is the biggest con we’ve ever done. I want to do something that’ll steal the show!”

Lea sighed. “Just don’t be walking around too much. And let me know if I need to yell at some fans. I know you’re too nice for that.”

Melanie had smiled. “What would I do without you?”

“Whatever. Here,” walking over to Melanie, who was busy struggling with her suit in the mirror. “Let me zip you up.”

This was a week ago. The night before the con she’d been experiencing Braxton Hicks, small irregular spasms in her back and belly. When she woke up in the hotel, padding to the full-length mirror in the bathroom, she couldn’t help but gasp. Her belly had dropped overnight, the head of her baby nestled deep in her hips now. When she placed her hand under the taut surface, she could feel the weight, low. As she watched the mirror, the muscles around her womb clamped in a fiery band. She winced, doubling over.

Is this… a contraction?

“Mmn,” she moaned quietly under her breath, cupping her small bump. Lea yawned and rolled over in bed. Sleepily she lifted her head. “Mel? You okay?”

“Um.” Melanie straightened as her belly relaxed. “I’m not sure, but I think I just had a contraction.”

“Jesus, Mel!” Lea was awake now, trotting over to the bathroom. “Wow, your belly. It looks lower. Should we head to the hospital?”

“No!” Melanie shook her head. “No way. We dropped so much on these tickets, they’re non-refundable, you know. Besides, that was my first contraction. Labor can take days.”

Lea hesitated. “Are you sure you’re even gonna fit into that suit now? It was a challenge before your belly looked like, well, that.”

“It’s a stretchy material,” Melanie assured her, and sure enough, it fit—barely.

They waited in line at the center and got checked in, and by the time they set up the booth, Melanie had been enduring constant regular contractions. They wrung her womb, squeezed the breath from her lungs. The baby’s head was ramming against her cervix with nearly unbearable force, and soon she couldn’t keep sitting at their booth, gritting her teeth behind a smile for her fans, hand trembling as she signed autograph after autograph. She was getting nervous now. The convention closed at eight, and it was barely two. She and Lea hadn’t even had a snack yet. All she could think about was the baby in her belly, the movements, even more forceful as her belly shrank and squeezed her restless child on all sides. No, she had to stand and pace. The pressure was too bad to be sitting, it felt almost as if she was seated on a bowling ball, lodged between her legs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lea knit her brows. Sweat beaded on Melanie’s forehead and her cheeks were red with exertion, but she could blame those things on an overheated scalp and too much powdered blush.

“Fine!” Melanie chirped, a little out of breath. “Just feeling very, very pregnant.”

Lea looked apprehensive. “Not long now.”

“Long enough,” Melanie said. “Hey, let’s walk around for a bit.” She painstakingly climbed to her feet as Lea assisted. Standing, the pressure was so much worse, and she had to resist a low groan.

“We’ll be back later,” Lea told the people lingering around the booth. “Hey—c’mon people, give her some space.”

Already overwhelmed with the sensations in her body, the pain and pressure and urgency she’d been ignoring for so long, fighting her way through the press of bodies was downright dizzying. She was sorely regretting the body suit now. She was streaming sweat, blinking it out of her eyes, and yet the suit didn’t permit the slightest bit of room or air, practically boiling her alive. The hot pleather irritated the skin of her stomach, taut and sensitive, broiling with her impatient baby. Worse, the pleather rubbing against her tender, pregnancy-swollen nipples sent shivers coursing down her spine. The stimulation wasn’t exactly slowing her labor.

Lea, her knight in shining armor, led her through the crowds to the nearest restroom. Suddenly their path was interrupted by a troupe of Mandalorian cosplayers, and one of them passed between Lea and Melanie, breaking their grip. Suddenly, Melanie was alone and couldn’t spot Lea anywhere, couldn’t even spot the restrooms anymore.

A contraction was coming on, a strong one. The pressure was nearly buckling her legs. “Oh no….” Melanie said under her breath. 

Then her body clenched violently. A low mooing noise was drawn from her throat, nearly unrecognizable from her usual pitch. The constant murmur of the crowd was enough to drown her sounds out, but she could scarcely believe they were coming from her in the first place. Teased pink strands of hair fell into her face, disguising her strained features. All people noticed was a Zero Two standing strangely wide-legged in the aisle, with an odd curve to her midsection.

The pressure surged and Melanie gasped. Instinctively she widened her stance even more. The pain clasped her, then suddenly— a release.

“Oh, god,” Melanie moaned as fluids trickled down the seams of her body suit. The contraction faded, leaving her thoughts racing. Those are my waters. Shit! Shit!

“Mel! There you are!” Lea’s face appeared from the crowd. Melanie looked at her, clasping her round bump, and Lea noticed her stricken expression.

“What is it?” She leaned in and cupped Melanie’s cheek. “Hey, what happened? Who do I need to kill?”

“No,” Melanie said breathlessly, closing her eyes under Lea’s touch. “I think—I think my water just broke.”

Lea’s eyes widened but before she could say anything they were interrupted.

“Excuse me?” A younger teenager brandishing an iPhone. “Could I get a picture? I love Zero Two.”

Melanie plastered a smile on her face and smiled before Lea had the chance to shoo the girl away. She just couldn’t say no to fans. The girl’s friend backed up to get the shot, and as Melanie posed, she felt another contraction brewing in her stomach. She could tell it was a bad one. Without the cushioning of her waters, the skull of her baby drove mercilessly down through her cervix, the pressure mounting by the minute. Hold the pose, she told herself, panting through it. Hold the pose, legs shaking, sweat pouring from under her arms, she couldn’t believe that the girl didn’t notice her violent trembling, didn’t notice the way her thighs spread and her knees bent slightly….

Fuck, she almost wanted to push.

Snap! The girl’s friend trotted back to them, smiling. “Thank you so much!”

Melanie’s smile was slipping. She tried to answer, and instead let out an acknowledging grunt. The contraction was releasing her now but she could barely remain standing with the immense pressure of the head dipping into her birth canal.

The girls receded back into the crowd, and Melanie heard Lea’s voice in her ear. Her hand went to her back, steadying. “You okay?”

“The baby’s trying to come,” Melanie whimpered back. “I can feel it.”

“Shit, Mel!” Lea hissed. “I told you!”

“Just—please, get me out of here.”

“Alright,” Lea breathed. “Okay.” Trying to look casual, Lea scanned the convention hall for exits. Even if they were to make it outside, Melanie thought, what then? Squat down and pop her baby out on the sidewalk? In the summer heat? No, they needed somewhere private, away from all the eyes and cameras. 

Heat flashes. She was shivering, legs swaying. The mass filling her canal was nauseating and the pressure was almost enough to collapse her. Lea yanked her shoulder suddenly and Melanie was jolted back into reality. “Restrooms! This way!”

The main hall had become quickly congested since they took the photo, and they were forced to double back and pick their way around the edges. Along the way Melanie suffered another contraction that had her stopping to brace herself against the wall. The pressure was blinding. It was as though the baby was filling every part of her, slowly, an all-encompassing descending fullness that was impossible to ignore or stave off.

“I gotta push,” she gasped to Lea before grunting and bending her knees.

“No! No way! We’re so close.”

“I’m trying not to…. Oh, god.” She tried to resist the urge. Her body was demanding that she bear down.

Some passerby called over to them. “Hey, is she okay?”

Lea sprang up. “Oh yeah, perfectly fine,” and Melanie recognized the nervous lie. “Just some cramping, you guys had better avoid that sushi truck outside.”

Would Zero Two just give up like this? Lose control so easily? Melanie shook her head. No, she wouldn’t, and neither would Melanie. With an almost superhuman effort, Melanie took her palms from the wall and straightened and tried to pinch her thighs as close together as they would go. The fullness peaked, stretching her wide from within. “Fuck!” She felt tears forming in her eyes.

She leaned heavily against Lea, blinking the tears from her eyes as she glanced up. “Oh no…. mm, the line is that long?!”

People were lined against the wall and crouched by outlets, plugged into phones as they waited. She couldn’t wait that long. Her body was already utterly fatigued from fighting her most primal feminine instincts. She couldn’t imagine undergoing even one more contraction without giving in to the need to birth.

She spun Lea and held her shoulders, trying to convey the impossibility of such a task. “Lea, please, there’s no way in hell I can last that long. Mmgh, it’s coming, I’m gonna have to push, I can’t not push.”

Lea raised a hand to cup Melanie’s cheek, her touch light and tender. “Oh, Mel. Just hold on to me, all right?”

They took their places in the abysmally long line, Melanie fling, bowlegged, and clinging onto Lea for support. When another contraction struck it arrived with violence, and immediately every other thought deserted Melanie’s head except for the need to push. She buried her face into Lea’s shoulder, hanging onto her for dear life, and planted her feet wide. Then she PUSHED, with a long, breathless groan.

“I’m pushinggg-mmmgh,” she sobbed in Lea’s ear as she bore down.

Lea rubbed the small of Melanie’s back in soothing circles. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Every push shoved the baby further down, filling her birth canal more and more with its immense mass, and she couldn’t stop the descent, couldn’t even keep her thighs together any more, her legs permanently spread in preparation for the coming baby. Contractions wracked her belly; her womb clenched and seethed. With each one she was forced to stop and squat and bear down as subtly and silently as she could manage. It was all she could do to stop from releasing guttural roars as she pushed.

Twenty people down. Ten. Five. They were almost to the restrooms now, leaning against a vending machine near the doors. Unfortunately, Melanie just couldn’t hold it back. She and Lea had their back to the others, pretending to examine the vending machine for snacks when in reality, Melanie had both hands braced against the glass, pushing with all she had. Her powerful internal muscles thrust the baby down, and her tight groan sharpened the head shoved through her hips and began to fill her vagina. She fumbled between her legs with one hand, crying out at the sensation, and felt the slightest bulge in the leather at her crotch. The head was so close to emerging, the fullness was nearly unbearable, and it had her panting, open-mouthed, lolling her head even after the contraction had ended.

“Oh god, Mel,” Lea whispered, half in horror, half in awe. “I can see it! It’s starting to come out!”

“Can’t—” Melanie gasped. “Not, guh! I-it can’t come out yet!”

“Excuse me,” Someone behind them in line said. “I think the woman’s bathroom is free now.”

Lea ushered Melanie from her position against the machine; she could barely walk now, stuck at nearly a half-squat, toddling into the bathroom with the head trapped between her legs.

As Lea closed the door and flipped the lock, Melanie had already clamped her hands against her thighs and dropped into a deep squat, grunting the baby deeper into her bottom. The fabric at her crotch strained even more, and she could feel her lips distending outward, tautly enveloping the head but beginning to open. Her most intimate part, now being unrecognizably stretched. The burn had her panting in tiny, whimpering grunts, trying to hold back but failing altogether.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned. “OH. It burns, Lea! I’m giving birth, it’s coming, oh fuck, that HURTS.”

She doubled over with vigor, utterly consumed with pushing, with the desperate, overwhelming need to get this baby out of her. Her body suit stretched more and more, and the damp tent between her thighs grew until her lips were parted in a tight, fiery circle around the head, finally reaching full crown.

“Ah!” She gasped, and then Lea was by her side, cupping her face, murmuring into her ear how well she was doing, telling her, “I need to take this off, okay? Baby needs to come.”

“Yes, please, get it off!” Melanie pleaded. She wasn’t Zero Two anymore, wasn’t anyone right now except a birthing mother, giving into her natural instincts.

Lea circled around to her back, parting the pink hair of her wig to locate the zipper at her neck. She fiddled with it, struggling to fit it into the teeth. “C’mon, stupid thing!”

The next contraction was quickly taking hold. “Hurry!” Even as Melanie said this she was already settling into her squat again, readying herself to birth. 

The crown in her bodysuit was unforgiving, the fullness and pressure driving her nearly to her breaking point. She just needed the head out, then she could focus on getting the suit down. “I gotta push again!”

“Just—wait,” Lea commanded her, fingers scrabbling with the zipper. “Ugh, I knew it’d be too tight for you.”

Melanie was panting, shaking her head back and forth, trying to escape the pressure and urge to push. Then she suddenly growled, mind going blank, stars spiraling behind her eyelids as she squeezed them shut and bore down. The head shunted forward, only to meet the sudden resistance of the unyielding leather. Stretched to its limit, it wouldn’t permit the head to move any further out of her. She was stuck at a full-crown.

“Lea!” She shrieked. “Get it down!”

“Trying,” Lea muttered. “Hold on—got it!” The bodysuit parted down Melanie’s back, exposing her smooth, slick skin. She reached the end of the zipper, just above Melanie’s rear. “Mel, hon, you’re gonna have to step out.”

“No,” Melanie was already shaking her head. Every part of her was trembling. ”No fucking way.”

“The baby can’t come until you let it,” Lea said, stepping close and wrapping her arms around Melanie’s convulsing pregnant stomach.

“Mmgh,” Melanie moaned, and raised one leg from the suit draped around her waist, feeling her vaginal walls twitch and pulse around the head splitting her apart.

“One leg out, that’s it!”

Melanie shook loose her other pant leg, feeling her thighs brush the dripping head, then fell back against Lea, moaning, and then pushed with all her might. Her lips slipped around the head, then she shuddered as fluids spurted from her opening and it popped free.

“Oh my,” Lea said, reaching down between Melanie’s legs to hold it. “Oh, Mel, you did it…. you’re almost there.”

Mel couldn’t speak, could barely remember to breathe. She’d come here this morning to dress up, have fun, and meet fans. Now there was a baby coming out of her. Get it together, she told herself as she moaned uncontrollably, tossing her head as the shoulders rotated. Get it together and PUSH!

One more push, shoulders spreading her wide, opening throbbing around them, then— a rush; the baby slipped out into Lea’s waiting hands. Melanie sagged to the bathroom floor and Lea lowered with her, holding her in her arms. Melanie looked up at her as she took her baby and held it to her leaking chest. Her anime bangs were matted to her forehead, face flushed even behind her false blush, eye makeup stained and running. Lea smiled at her and she smiled back tiredly.

“You were beautiful,” Lea said.

Melanie glanced down to her chest. “I wonder what baby’s first cosplay will be.”

[fkinkindagauche]

How You Turn My World, You Precious Thing

Written for @steddie-spooktober day 30 prompt - "Where in the hell did you find that costume??"

Rating: Explicit | WC: 2,271 | CW: None | Tags: Getting Together, Blow Jobs, Coming in Pants, Steve Harrington's Bisexual Crisis (brought to you by David Bowie)

Title is of course from "Within You" by David Bowie from the Labyrinth soundtrack.

"I don't understand why you're doing a couples costume with Eddie," Steve said, a look of disgust on his face. "Am I not your platonic soulmate? Have I been replaced?"

Robin sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. "For the last time, Steve, I just wasn't interested in any of your costume ideas, and I was interested in Eddie's."

"So, to be clear, you discarded the idea of going as Goose to my Maverick to go as the moody teen to Eddie's David Bowie from a children's movie?" Steve asked, hands on his hips.

"You haven't even seen Labyrinth, dingus, don't sound so unimpressed," Robin replied. "Eddie put together a pretty great costume. And my costume was a lot cheaper to put together than a believable Goose costume would be."

"Yeah, because it just looks like something you would wear, only you have a hideous black wig on," Steve said, giving her a once-over. "Sometimes I doubt your commitment to our soulmateship."

He wasn't going to let this go. They'd all gotten close in the months since the worst spring break on record. He even hung out with Eddie on his own sometimes. But that didn't make the knee-jerk friendvy reaction any less jarring. (Robin had told him "friendvy" just sounded stupid, but he preferred to consider it an adorable and genius portmanteau of "friend" and "envy").

Robin sighed as they pulled up to Vickie's house. She was hosting a Halloween party, mostly for theater and band geeks, but Steve hadn't exactly gotten any other invites so he agreed to come. Any chance he could take to bust out his highly flattering Maverick costume in an attempt to get laid.

"I think you're actually really gonna like Eddie's costume," Robin said, giving Steve a significant look as they walked toward the house.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked sharply.

She shrugged. "I saw the looks you were giving him when we went to the Hideout last weekend."

Steve spluttered, blushing. He'd been avidly avoiding acknowledging his nascent attraction to Eddie to himself in his own mind, and he certainly wasn't ready to talk about it with Robin. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm here for one purpose only - boobies."

Robin groaned and smacked him on the arm. "You're disgusting," she said.

"Would you prefer breasts? Knockers? Bosoms? Jugs? Tits?" He rattled them off so quickly she couldn't get a word in between them.

"Jesus, Steven, stop it," she said, shoving him harder. "I can't take you anywhere."

Steve graciously left off his litany of boob euphemisms once they got inside, Robin scanning the crowd.

"Eddie!" she yelled, walking over to a corner where a man with long, spiky blonde hair was standing, wearing incredibly tight pants with knee-high boots, and a ruffled shirt under a black vest.

Steve looked around for a few moments, searching for Eddie, until Robin approached the corner and pulled the blonde man into a side hug. He turned, and Steve let out a shocked gasp, realizing it was Eddie.

"Where in the hell did you find that costume?" Steve asked, mouth hanging open as he took in Eddie's elaborate make-up to go along with the clothes. "And where's your real hair?"

Eddie threw back his head and laughed, baring the long line of his neck, now draped with multiple necklaces. Steve swallowed hard, eyes drawn to the light dusting of chest hair he could see in the ample amount of chest exposed by the open neck of the shirt.

"Is that vest supposed to look like a corset?" Steve asked, enthralled as he reached out a hand to touch it, feeling the warmth of Eddie's skin through the fabric. His eyes tracked further down, to the obvious bulge he could see in Eddie's tight pants. "I thought this was a children's movie!" He knew he was blushing, could feel the heat in his face.

Eddie locked eyes with him when he finally looked back up, smirking. "Eyes up here, big boy," Eddie said. Steve's face grew even redder, and he wanted to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor and never look at Eddie again.

Steve felt his dick stir in his pants at the thought of Eddie's cock, right there in front of him, practically on display. He couldn't manage to get any words out, just kept staring at Eddie with his mouth open.

"Everything okay there, Harrington?" Eddie asked, smirk changing to a look of confusion. Robin was looking at Steve with something like glee on her face.

"I need to… use the bathroom," Steve managed to get out, turning away from them and pushing through the crush of people to a hallway. He managed to find an open bathroom and slipped inside, shutting and locking the door behind him as he slid to the floor against it.

He put his head in his shaking hands, trying to slow his racing heart. He couldn't really deny it anymore. He was attracted to Eddie. He'd never been attracted to a man before, bar that one fleeting moment in the shower with Billy Hargrove, when he'd been simultaneously aroused and infuriated.

But Eddie - he was something else entirely. Steve was finally admitting to himself , here on this bathroom floor, that he was physically attracted to Eddie. He'd known for a long time that he loved his smile, and his laugh, and his self-deprecating humor, and his willingness to help any of his friends, whatever they needed. Now he was finally acknowledging a physical attraction, and he was fucking terrified.

A knock on the door interrupted his spiral.

"Steve? You in there?" Eddie's voice asked.

"Can you send Robin in?" Steve asked pathetically.

There was an awkward pause. "Um. She said she had something she needed to do and that I should go check on you. I don't know where she is."

Fucking typical. Robin was trying to play cupid in the midst of his bisexual crisis.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asked when he got no response from Steve. "You sick or something? Can I come in and help?"

Of course he wanted to help. Saint fucking Eddie.

"I'm fine," Steve said, sighing. "Go away."

"You don't sound fine, man," Eddie replied. "Fucking wait a minute okay?" Eddie yelled, probably to someone in the hall. "Steve, let me in," Eddie said in a lower voice.

Steve stood and opened the door. Eddie came in and shut the door behind him, locking it again.

"You gonna puke?" Eddie asked. "You and Robin must've been going hard before you got here."

Steve looked at Eddie again, with his delectable wispy chest hair and his stupidly beautiful smile and the sizable bulge in his pants. Steve made an impulsive decision, the only kind he seemed capable of making these days. He put both hands on Eddie's chest and pushed him so his back was against the door, then leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't that different from kissing a girl. He could feel the beginning of Eddie's stubble coming in, scratching lightly against his chin, but his lips were just as soft and warm as a girl's. Eddie gasped into his mouth, tensing up for a moment before relaxing against Steve, kissing him back.

Steve tentatively licked over Eddie's lower lip, and Eddie opened his mouth, allowing Steve's tongue inside. Steve slowly licked into his mouth, tangling his own tongue with Eddie's, moving to explore the roof of his mouth, the sides of his teeth. He pushed a hand into Eddie's ridiculous wig, pulling it askew, as Eddie wrapped his hands around Steve's hips and pulled him more firmly against himself.

Steve could feel Eddie's cock now, hard against his thigh. He slotted a leg between Eddie's thighs and pushed up. Eddie groaned into his mouth and pressed down onto Steve's leg as Steve moved his thigh back and forth, rubbing. Steve was sure Eddie could feel his own cock now, straining against the confines of his jumpsuit.

Steve's hips involuntarily bucked up into Eddie's hip, seeking friction. Eddie's tongue was meeting his in a ferocious clash, both of them vying for control of the kiss. Steve broke off first, trailing his lips down Eddie's neck, to the vee in his shirt. He bit the skin there as one of Eddie's hands came up to grab a fistful of his hair, tugging.

Steve sucked a bruise into Eddie's skin next to his tattoo, one that would be visible when they returned to the party. Eddie was panting above him, still grinding his cock down onto Steve's thigh, when Steve dropped to his knees.

His absolute favorite thing to do with women was give head. He felt a sudden urge to see if that was the same with men. He looked up at Eddie, who was staring down at him with a shocked look on his face, one hand still fisted in Steve's hair. His wig was askew, tendrils of his curly brown hair escaping around the sides, and his makeup was smudged from their frantic kissing. Steve had never seen anyone more beautiful.

Steve tugged lightly at Eddie's pants, giving him ample opportunity to push Steve away. He didn't push Steve away, so Steve pulled harder, bringing the skin-tight leggings down. As Steve had suspected, he wasn't wearing underwear beneath them, and his cock sprang free, hard and huge.

Steve had always thought himself well-endowed, compared himself to the other guys in the locker room and found himself above average. But Eddie was in a whole other league.

Steve's mouth dropped open as he considered that he may have made a huge mistake. How was it even going to fit? He took a deep breath, psyching himself up, then bent to lick a bead of precum off the head.

Eddie thrust his hips up minutely, clearly struggling hard to keep himself under control, and let out a breathy gasp. The hand in Steve's hair tightened as Steve licked around the head, taking just the tip into his mouth. He held the base of Eddie's cock in one hand, like he remembered girls doing with his, as he slowly sank further.

Steve pressed his tongue against the underside of Eddie's cock as he began to move his mouth up and down. He was only getting about a quarter of his cock into his mouth, but Eddie seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, if the increasing amounts of precum he could taste were any indication.

"Fuck, Steve," Eddie said as Steve hollowed his cheeks out to provide more suction. Eddie was making little breathy noises, like aborted moans, and Steve could feel the strain in his hips as he tried not to fuck into Steve's mouth.

The weight of Eddie's cock on his tongue combined with his musky scent and the noises he was making were enough to have Steve's cock aching. He started to cup himself with his free hand, pressing his palm into his cock and rubbing as he sucked Eddie off.

Just as his jaw was beginning to ache, Eddie seemed to lose control of his hips, starting to thrust into Steve's mouth a little. "'M gonna come soon, Stevie," Eddie said between breaths. "Might want to vacate the area."

Steve snorted back a laugh, pulling off to say, "Come in my mouth."

Eddie thumped his head back into the door and groaned. "Fucking shit," he said under his breath as Steve took his cock back in his mouth.

Steve started to press his palm harder into his own cock as he bobbed his head on Eddie's, spit slicking his hand now and making it easier to stroke the length of Eddie's shaft that wasn't in his mouth. Steve could feel his own orgasm building, spurred on by the moans falling from Eddie's mouth.

As he felt the first hot spurts of Eddie's cum in his mouth, he rubbed frantically over his own cock, bringing himself to orgasm as he swallowed every drop of Eddie's cum. Steve continued to suck long after their orgasms were finished, enjoying the feel of Eddie's cock softening in his mouth.

Eventually, Eddie tugged at his hair, and Steve finally let his cock slide out of his mouth. He wiped a bit of cum or spit off the side of his mouth and looked up at Eddie.

"If I'd known dressing up as David Bowie would get Steve Harrington on his knees I would have done it a long time ago," Eddie said, pulling Steve up to stand. He reached for the zipper on Steve's jumpsuit, but Steve stilled his hand before he could start to undo it.

"Not going to let me reciprocate?" Eddie asked, looking a little hurt. "Was it just a little experiment for you?"

Steve shook his head vigorously. He grabbed Eddie's hand and moved it down to the wet spot spreading near his cock. "Not at all. Got a little carried away."

Eddie's eyebrows shot up. "You came in your adorable little jumpsuit while you blew me?"

Steve nodded, blushing.

"Fuck, you're unreal. I'm dressing up as Bowie every day," Eddie said.

Someone banged on the door, startling them, and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing in there? Some of us have to piss!"

"Shit. I didn't even get to see you naked," Eddie said, pouting.

"Next time," Steve said, reaching for the door as Eddie pulled up his pants.

"There's gonna be a next time?" Eddie said, eyes twinkling like a kid on Christmas morning.

"There's gonna be a whole lot of next times," Steve said, opening the door.

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

[hookhausenschips]

Stages of Love

Navigation

Summary: Y/N, a famous R&B singer on tour, gets a surprise visit from her boyfriend, Lando Norris, who joins her backstage for an intimate, unforgettable night. As she pours her heart into her songs on stage, Lando watches from the sidelines, captivated by the love and magic between them.

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: sappy, romance, surprises, cheesy moments

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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A/N: I took some inspo after watching Naomi Jon’s tour video (I got emotional leave me be😂)

As the tour rolled into another city, Y/N was in her element. She was halfway through her tour, filling arenas night after night, but the distance from her boyfriend, Lando, was starting to weigh on her. They’d been texting and calling when they could, but it wasn’t the same as having him there. Her team noticed her quieter moments, the wistful glances at her phone when she thought no one was looking.

But what Y/N didn’t know was that her team had orchestrated a surprise. Lando had flown across the world to be there for her tonight. It had taken weeks of planning, a carefully coordinated travel schedule, and a fair bit of deception, but it was finally happening.

The day began with soundcheck, the empty arena echoing with Y/N’s voice as she tested her mic. She stood center stage, strumming her guitar and singing softly. The band joined her, filling the empty seats with music. As she hit the opening lines of one of her slower songs, the quiet strum of her guitar wrapped around her gentle voice: “Hold me close, don’t let me fall / In a world so big, you’re my all…” She closed her eyes, singing the chorus with a raw vulnerability. The band fell silent as her voice lingered in the air. “Every time you leave, I lose it all…”

Lando, hidden below the stage with her team, felt his heart tighten. It was as if she was singing directly to him, every lyric resonating with the longing he felt whenever they were apart. Y/N’s camera guy, Eric, who had known her for years, watched the effect she had on him and nudged Lando.

“She’s something else, huh?” Eric grinned, filming Lando’s reaction.

“Yeah,” Lando said softly, his gaze fixed on her. “I’ve never met anyone like her.” He smiled, almost bashful. “It’s like… she’s got this magic that makes everything else disappear.”

One of Y/N’s dancers, Zara, leaned in, a teasing glint in her eye. “You’re totally whipped, aren’t you?”

Lando laughed, his cheeks flushing. “Guilty. Every time I see her on stage, it’s like I’m falling all over again.”

As Y/N moved to another song, a high-energy anthem, she began dancing alongside her backup dancers, their movements perfectly in sync. She was laughing, her joy infectious as she moved across the stage, her voice powerful and confident. “I’m stronger now, I’m my own kind of free / No one else completes me, just me, just me!” She threw her hands up on the beat, and her team clapped and cheered as she hit the final high note, flashing them a grin.

A few hours later, Y/N was backstage, getting ready for the VIP session. She had no idea Lando was just a room away. Her makeup artist, Alex, was applying the finishing touches to Y/N’s base, chatting with her as they worked.

“You look incredible, as always,” Alex said with a grin, dusting her cheeks with a soft glow.

Y/N sighed, glancing at her phone. “Thanks, Alex. I just wish Lando could be here. It feels like forever since I’ve seen him.”

Alex shared a knowing look with Bree, Y/N’s hairstylist, who was perfecting her wig. “You never know,” Bree said with a smile, trying to keep her tone casual.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “If only! He’s probably busy getting ready for his next race or doing simulator work. But I know he’d be here if he could.”

When the lights dimmed, Y/N took her place on a stool in the center of the small stage set up for the VIP acoustic session. Her fans, buzzing with excitement, filled the front rows, eagerly waiting for the intimate set. She adjusted her guitar and smiled out at them.

“This is my favorite part of the night,” she began, strumming a gentle chord. “It’s just us, no big production, just the music.”

She started playing the opening chords of a fan favorite, her voice soft and warm: “When the lights go down and I’m all alone / It’s your voice, I hear, like I’m already home…” The crowd sang along, their voices blending with hers, and her heart felt full. As the song ended, she leaned into the mic, looking out at her fans with a grateful smile.

“You guys are amazing. Thank you for making tonight so special!” she said, earning a round of cheers.

Then came the Q&A portion. A fan near the front called out, “Y/N, what do you miss most about home?”

Y/N smiled, her gaze softening. “Well… I miss my family, of course. And my friends. And… my boyfriend, Lando. He’s usually off racing, but he’s always so supportive, even from afar.”

Just as she finished speaking, she noticed a ripple of excitement in the crowd, people turning and pointing. Confused, she glanced to the side of the stage—and froze. Lando was walking out, his grin wide and his eyes shining with pure happiness.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Lando! Are you really here?”

He laughed, his face lighting up as he reached her. “Surprise, babe,” he said, opening his arms.

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. The fans cheered louder, snapping photos and videos, capturing the sweet reunion.

Lando held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said softly. “I had to see you.”

Still in shock, Y/N pulled back slightly, laughing as she looked up at him. “You’ve been planning this? I had no idea!”

He chuckled. “I had to keep it under wraps. Your team’s pretty good at secrets.”

She turned to her fans, her smile brighter than ever. “Everyone, this is my incredible boyfriend, Lando,” she said, as if they didn’t already know. The fans erupted, cheering and chanting his name.

After the VIP session and that unforgettable surprise, Y/N and Lando headed back to her green room, still buzzing from the excitement. The green room was alive with energy—her team bustling around, preparing for the main show, organizing outfits, makeup, and everything in between. But for now, Y/N was focused entirely on Lando, who had his arm around her as they settled into the cozy couch in the corner.

“So,” she said, looking up at him with a mischievous grin, “want a sneak peek of tonight’s outfits?”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely. Show me everything.”

She laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him over to the rack of costumes her stylist, Bree, had meticulously organized for the show. Y/N picked up a glittering silver jumpsuit with fringe that sparkled under the lights. “This one’s for the opening number,” she explained, her fingers tracing the fabric. “It’s dramatic but comfortable enough for dancing.”

Lando raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “That’s insane. I can already picture you in it on stage.” He smiled, his fingers brushing hers as she held it up. “And here I thought race suits were cool.”

She chuckled, moving to the next outfit, a stunning red ensemble with intricate detailing that flowed down the sides (just the gloves and the hair). “This is for the ballad section. Something a little more elegant. You know, a moment to slow down.”

Lando nodded, clearly taken by her enthusiasm and passion. “They’re all so… you. I mean, they’re powerful but still have that touch of elegance.” He looked at her with an affectionate smile. “Like you.”

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him for a quick hug. “Thanks, Lan. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here to see all of this.”

One of her makeup artists, Alex, came over, holding a makeup brush and smiling. “Alright, lovebirds, time to start getting you ready, Y/N!”

Lando stayed close by, sitting on the couch as Y/N went through her pre-show routine. Alex began working on her makeup while Bree helped adjust her hair, styling it just right. Lando watched her with admiration, taking in every detail—her calm focus, her warm interactions with her team, her genuine laughter as they joked around.

Between touch-ups, Y/N kept glancing over at him, catching his eye and sharing a smile. She finally laughed, leaning toward him. “You’re going to make me blush if you keep staring like that.”

Lando shrugged, grinning. “Can’t help it. It’s amazing seeing you in your world like this. You’re in total control, and everyone’s so inspired by you.”

She beamed, her fingers brushing his for a moment before turning to Bree, who handed her the first costume. “Alright, costume change time. No peeking!” she teased, heading behind a curtain set up in the corner of the green room.

When she emerged, dressed in the dazzling silver jumpsuit, Lando’s eyes widened. “Wow,” he whispered, completely taken aback. “You look… unstoppable.”

She laughed, doing a playful twirl. “It’s all thanks to this incredible team.” She glanced around, gesturing to her crew. “They’re the real magic behind this.”

Next came her vocal warm-ups. She took a deep breath, launching into a series of scales and exercises that resonated through the room, her voice filling the space with strength and control. Lando watched, his admiration clear as he took in how serious she was about every part of her craft.

Just as she wrapped up, Maya, her tour manager, called everyone together for the pre-show team pep talk. “Alright, everyone!” Maya said, her voice commanding attention. “Tonight’s a big show, and you’ve all been incredible every step of the way. Let’s give them everything we’ve got.”

Then Maya looked over at Lando with a smile. “And since we have a special guest with us tonight, I think it’s only fitting that Lando join us in our pre-show huddle.”

The team all cheered, pulling Lando in as they formed a tight circle, each person’s hand stacked one on top of the other. Y/N beamed, looking around at her crew and at Lando beside her. She placed her hand on top of the pile, then reached for his, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze before laying it over hers.

Maya counted down. “Alright, on three… One, two, three—”

“VENOMOUS!” they all shouted in unison, the energy palpable as they broke the huddle, each person giving Y/N a quick hug or a pat on the back.

Lando, still holding her hand, leaned down and whispered, “You’re going to crush it out there. I’ll be cheering you on the whole time.”

She gave him one last, lingering hug, resting her head against his chest for a moment as she took a deep breath, grounding herself. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling back to look at him. “Having you here… it’s like a dream.”

He smiled, his voice soft but full of conviction. “Then go make this your best show yet. I’ll be right there watching.”

With one last look, she turned and headed toward the stage, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and calm, knowing that the person she loved was right there, supporting her every step of the way.

As Y/N took the stage, Lando stood just off to the side, peeking out from behind the curtain. She was electric, moving effortlessly through her songs, her voice carrying through the arena. Every now and then, she’d glance over at him, her gaze holding his for a beat before she turned back to the crowd. Halfway through her set, she paused, catching her breath as she gazed out at the sea of fans.

“This next song is dedicated to someone very special,” she said, her eyes finding Lando’s. “He’s my biggest supporter, even from a thousand miles away. Lando, this one’s for you.”

She began to sing, her voice filled with emotion. “When I’m lost, you’re my light / When I’m weak, you’re my fight / In your arms, I find my home…” Her voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability raw and beautiful. The crowd swayed, lights flickering as they held up their phones, the arena transformed into a sea of stars.

Lando felt his throat tighten, overwhelmed with pride and love as he watched her pour herself into every note. She was incredible, and she was his.

After the song, she slipped backstage for a quick outfit change, meeting Lando with a breathless smile. He caught her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re killing it out there.”

She grinned, cheeks flushed. “It’s because you’re here. Now wish me luck for round two!”

As she headed back out, the crowd’s chant filled the air: “Y/N! Y/N!” She beamed, waving to them before diving into the second half of her set. She was glowing, her smile never leaving her face as she moved through each song, her voice ringing with joy and strength.

As the final chords of her last song faded, Y/N took a deep breath, the weight of the entire night settling over her. The crowd was on their feet, cheering and chanting her name. She looked out at the sea of faces, a mix of strangers and friends who had supported her from the beginning, and then to Lando, who stood just offstage with the proudest smile. She mouthed a simple “I love you” to him, feeling the tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

Lando mouthed it back, his expression as full of emotion as hers. They were worlds apart in their careers yet so deeply connected, and tonight, it felt like they were in perfect sync.

After taking her final bow, Y/N slipped offstage, still buzzing with adrenaline and joy. Lando was waiting just outside the wings, his arms open, and she practically leaped into them, burying her face in his shoulder as he hugged her tightly.

“You were incredible,” he whispered, his voice full of pride. “Absolutely unstoppable.”

She pulled back, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes and a smile that refused to fade. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured, her fingers tracing his jawline. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I think I do,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I saw how you lit up out there. It’s like you were made for this, Y/N.”

Just then, her tour manager, Maya, approached with a smile, holding up a camera. “Alright, lovebirds, the night’s not over yet. We’ve got a bit more to film for the tour documentary. How about we capture this moment?”

Lando laughed, shaking his head but agreeing nonetheless. Y/N nodded, glancing up at him. “Are you okay with being on camera?”

“For you?” He smirked, squeezing her hand. “Anything.”

They both turned to face the camera, Y/N still tucked into his side as they answered a few questions. She was glowing, her happiness evident with every word.

Eric, behind the camera, asked, “Y/N, how does it feel to have him here?”

She looked up at Lando, her smile widening. “It feels… like everything is right. Like all the pieces are here, and I can finally just… breathe. Having him here tonight? It made this show unforgettable.”

Eric then turned the camera on Lando. “And you, Lando? What’s it like being with Y/N on tour?”

Lando chuckled, glancing down at her. “It’s amazing. I mean, I know how talented she is, but seeing her do this live… She’s a whole force of nature. It’s inspiring.” He paused, his eyes softening. “And it just makes me that much more proud to be hers.”

The camera captured the way they looked at each other, a quiet understanding passing between them. As they wrapped up filming, Maya gave them a nod, signaling they were done for the night. The two of them slipped back to her dressing room, the crowd’s fading cheers still echoing in the background.

Once inside, the world seemed to slow down. Y/N kicked off her shoes, sinking onto the couch beside Lando. She leaned against him, closing her eyes for a moment, soaking in the peace after the whirlwind of the night.

“Did you like the dedication?” she asked, her voice a quiet murmur.

He pulled her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “I loved it. Every second of it. You make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world, you know that?”

She looked up, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “I feel the same way, Lando. You… you ground me in all this chaos.”

They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing as she rested her head on his shoulder. She was exhausted, but with Lando beside her, she felt like she could take on anything. For a while, they forgot about the cameras, the crowd, and the next show. It was just the two of them, in their little bubble of love and calm.

As the night wound down, Lando and Y/N slipped out of the venue hand in hand, making their way toward her tour bus parked under the glow of streetlights. But as they walked, they spotted a small group of fans who’d waited by the barricades, hoping for a last glimpse of her. She paused, giving Lando’s hand a squeeze.

“Want to go say hi?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with that same warm smile he’d fallen in love with.

He nodded, grinning. “Absolutely. Lead the way, superstar.”

When the fans noticed her coming over, their faces lit up with excitement, some gasping in disbelief as she walked right up to them. “Oh my god, Y/N, you were amazing tonight!” one girl exclaimed, her hands shaking as she held up her phone.

Y/N smiled, reaching out to hug her. “Thank you so much for waiting. I’m so glad you could come tonight. It means everything to me.”

One fan shyly looked at Lando, eyes wide. “Um, is it okay if we get a picture with you two together?”

Lando chuckled, pulling Y/N close and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Of course! Just don’t tell her fans that she’s cooler than me.”

Y/N laughed, nudging him playfully. “We both know they already know that.”

As they posed for photos, Y/N took time to chat with each fan, asking them about their favorite parts of the show, taking selfies, and signing whatever they handed her. Lando admired how patient and genuine she was, watching as she made each fan feel seen and special. Her kindness and warmth radiated, making her more than just a singer to them. She was a friend, a confidante, someone who truly cared.

Before they left, one fan whispered to Y/N, “You two are, like, perfect together. You can just tell he loves you.”

Y/N glanced at Lando, her cheeks flushing as he caught her gaze, his eyes soft. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think so too.”

They finally said their goodbyes, waving to the fans as they continued toward the tour bus. Once they were out of earshot, Y/N sighed, smiling up at him. “Thank you for stopping with me. I love seeing them happy.”

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “I think it just made me fall for you even more.”

When they reached her tour bus, they climbed aboard, finding a quiet corner at the back where they could just be themselves, free from the spotlight. Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as they talked late into the night. Every laugh, every shared look, and every quiet moment together felt like a gift.

As the bus rolled on toward the next city, they fell asleep side by side, knowing this night was one they’d remember forever—a perfect memory captured not just on film, but in their hearts.

———————

Behind The Scenes:

Y/N’s voice echoed through the arena as she ran through the first song, a hauntingly beautiful ballad she’d written in the early days of her career. It was raw, personal, and every note seemed to vibrate with emotion. “I wanna run away with you,” she sang, her voice filling the vast, empty seats around her. “Just take me to places I've never known…”

As she moved through the song, she closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the lyrics, unaware that Lando was watching her every move. He was mesmerized, unable to keep his eyes off her. She had this way of pouring herself into every note, and today he could feel it more than ever. Her camera guy, Eric, caught the look on Lando’s face and couldn’t resist nudging him.

“So, Lando,” Eric began, smirking. “What’s it like watching her do her thing up close like this?”

Lando laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s surreal, honestly. I mean, she’s always this amazing, even when we’re just hanging out. But seeing her like this…” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on Y/N as she began to dance, moving with her backup dancers through the intricate steps she’d spent weeks perfecting. “I’m in awe of her. Every time.”

One of the dancers, Zara, overheard him and grinned. “Yeah, we can tell. You look like you’re about to melt every time she so much as glances over here.”

“Can you blame me?” he replied, eyes never leaving Y/N.

Eric chuckled, the camera capturing Lando’s look of pure adoration. “How do you handle being apart when you both have such crazy schedules?”

“It’s hard,” Lando admitted, his gaze softening. “But we make it work. She’s worth it—more than worth it. I’d fly across the world just to see her smile like this.”

Up on stage, Y/N was running through another song—one of her high-energy anthems that had become a fan favorite. As she hit the chorus, she threw her hands in the air, singing, “I said R.I.P. to the fake and the famous/ Kiss goodbye to the shade and the shameless!” Her energy was contagious, and her team couldn’t help but clap and cheer along as she hit the final high note, her voice filling every inch of the space.

Lando felt his chest swell with pride as he watched her. She was so much more than the girl he fell in love with; she was this powerhouse who commanded the stage, who made thousands of people feel understood. Eric leaned in, catching his reaction on film. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“More than amazing,” Lando said quietly, a soft smile on his face. “She’s… everything.”

As Y/N finished her set, she called down, “How’s it sounding, team?”

Maya, her tour manager, shot her a thumbs-up. “Perfect as always, Y/N!”

Satisfied, Y/N left the stage, unaware of the extra pair of eyes watching her every move. When soundcheck wrapped, her team kept the secret well-guarded, knowing that the surprise was only hours away.

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119 , @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

[revelboo]

Merry Christmas!Can we get something for Blaster?

Why not. I do like his Batman antenna. Just a note- I imagine the holomatter avatars look perfectly human. So perfect that they unconsciously freak real humans out. You look at them and your brain says, yep, that’s a human, while your subconscious is all animal instinct screaming that it’s not

Shoot Me In The Smile

Blaster x Reader

• Servos drumming on his console in the uncomfortable aftermath of Megstron’s broadcast, Blaster leans back and glances at Optimus. Listening to Ironhide’s belligerent disbelief that any Cybertronian would frag a human, his optics keep catching on the look their leader’s face. Knows that there’s more than a a few humans in the Ark. He’s seen them being carried about by their caretakers like exotic pets. But now he’s wondering about it. About Jazz sneaking out constantly and returning scenting like human. Of Optimus and Prowl both scenting much more strongly of the little organics than the other caretakers. And the almost pained look on Optimus’s face as Ironhide rants. They all have their secrets, he guesses. And he’s going to be late if he doesn’t go now.

• Putting your car in park, you press your forehead against the steering wheel. Count to ten to get yourself together, shut off the engine, and get out with a smile firmly in place. Pulling the awkward case out of the passenger side, you sling the strap over your shoulder and head inside. Spotting the rest of the band setting up, you throw up a hand in greeting and hear your drummer whoop at you. Making your way backstage, you start changing your clothes. Shedding yourself in favor of leather and glitter. Lining your eyes and painting your face until a stranger stares back at you. Someone who’s not timid, not terrified of crowds and overwhelmed by the noise and heat of the spotlights. The version of you that people actually like and you despise. “You should wear the wig tonight. They love it.” Turning, you smile weakly at your lead bassist, but oblige him. And it really is a stranger staring back now. All of you erased and gone.

• “Again?” Pausing at the door of his habsuite, he glances at Eject as the cassette frowns up at him in obvious disapproval. Because he has no idea how to explain the obsession. He’d found you on a local station, surfing the airwaves out of boredom. And realizing you were a local, that the bar you played out of was so close? He hadn’t been able to resist. Using his holomatter avatar to slip inside just to hear you play. Something about the dissonance in your music had called to him, wedging in his spark and his processor. Music almost frantic, pure rock and roll, but your vocals, ranging from sweet to haunting, are what had snagged him. “I won’t be out late,” he says as Eject vents and exchanges a look with Rewind, worrying about him.

• Lingering just off stage as your heart races, you study the see of faces milling about. And realize you’re looking for your guy. The one whose expression never changes, who just stares at you the whole time you sing making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You almost swear he doesn’t blink. That intense focus of his is unnerving. Fascinating and a little frightening. You can’t tell if he has a crush on you or if he’s deciding where to hide your body. As the lights dim, you blow out a shaky breath and move onto the stage with your band mates. Hand lifting to wave as you smile even though you’re shaking and can’t hardly breathe. This should get easier, right? Except it never does.

• Hiding in the woods outside the bar, he transforms into his alt mode so if he’s discovered while his attention is divided, all a human will see is a boombox, feeling the pull as he mass shifts down past what would be possible for a normal Cybertronian. Draining his reserves every time. Shivering slightly, he focuses on the avatar and it glitches into existence. There’s an errant thought as he walks to the bar. What do you think of his avatar? Do you like it? Generating an ID to show the human at the door, he makes his way inside, focusing to stay solid as he works his way to the front of the crowd. It wouldn’t do for someone to accidentally pass an arm through him and start screaming. And then there you are, guitar in hand, eyes closed as the lights dim and the spotlights bathe the stage in ruddy light. Hands shifting on the strings, your eyes open and unerringly find him as the music swells and you sing just for him. The crowd gone until it’s only you two.

They’re not patient at all