#mark hetfield | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angel-of-the-moons · 7 months ago

Text

Desert Heat

Alpha!Cooper Howard x Fem!Omega!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, Omegaverse AU, Chem usage, Chems, Heat cycles, Rough Sex, Sex-pollen, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dacryphilia, Needy!Reader, Oral sex (m + f), Cumming untouched, Biting, Marking, Breeding kink, Knotting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie (Pack your RadAway, kids!)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @hydraliskisk for this one lmaoooo (And no, I still haven't seen the show... I can't find the time to sit down and relax enough to do it at home) Honestly? No idea what else to say, except I've never written Omegaverse stuff before this, so it was all new to me! This felt like a fever dream 😭 Enjoy this dumpster fire!

Taglist: @anna-n-hetfield

Cooper found himself grinding his teeth yet again, for the millionth time that day as he rooted about the ruins of the little rural neighborhood. He was on edge; his puckered and scarred skin itching beneath the surface, like the bad come-down from a fucked up chem.

He had another argument with you, his "lovely" little traveling companion; the third in the past two days. You had been getting increasingly temperamental. He had to guess you were going through withdrawal; your favorite particular tin case of "Fixer" was empty, so he assumed your newfound testiness was a result of that situation.

But Jesus fucking Christ, you were a bitchy little Beta, weren't you? Certainly had bite when you got pissed off. It'd be cute, if you weren't such a thorn in his side, at the moment.

He kicked over an empty wooden box, frowning at the long-since spoiled jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, his jaw working itself hard with a rough click.

He hoped your search was more fruitful than his own; your supplies were on the iffy side in terms of food and he knew that as a ghoul, he didn't need to eat as often as you did anymore. But you were still smooth and (as far as he knew) un-mutated, so all of your biological needs still needed to be tended to.

It was an irritating hassle, but he couldn't deny how scrappy and useful you were in terms of scavenging and watching his back so he could get sleep when he wanted it--thankful you were also a crack shot thanks to being born out here in the wastes.

Once again, his gloved hand scratched at his neck as he moved on to another house, ready to search for food, water, and Chems, if need be, too. Some Rad-X and RadAway were worth more than water to him, at this point...

You hated this.

Hate, hate, absolutely, unequivocally despised the situation you'd accidentally backed yourself into. You were hoping to keep your secret for as long as possible; but during your travels monitoring your Fixer stash had been almost an afterthought. You took one to one-and-a-half daily, carefully stretching your stash for as long as possible.

You knew your one-month pause in your doses was coming, and you were hoping to get away from Cooper long enough to take care of your problems on your own; but that wasn't feasible given how far out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere you found yourselves in.

You had resisted the urge to hunker down as long as possible... But your instincts were firing on full-blast.

Your heat suppressants had worn off. And Cooper, unfortunately... Well. He was the only Alpha nearby, and you knew he'd figure it out at some point. You just didn't want him to find out so soon; all because of your shitty planning.

Your feet dragged through the rotting aisles of the small general store, barely paying attention and swiping whatever looked good enough to take into your satchel, some dented cans of unopened cram, a few preserved boxes of stale snack cakes...

You were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed how your hands had begun unwrapping the sweet morsels and eating through the meager rations you'd scrounged up. After swallowing the last cake you had unwrapped, you stuffed them into your bag and willed yourself to stop focusing on them and drank greedily from your canteen.

Fuck. You were already stuffing yourself. You knew what would inevitably come next...

You swallowed hard and returned to your task of scavenging; managing to find a box of .38 rounds, some cans of emergency ration water, and even a small stash of caps that you pocketed to divide later, when you were more in your right mind.

Your eyes, however, lit up when you spotted a cluster of prickly pear growing beneath a blown-out window, the fruit running in mixes ranging from green to mauve to a deep, almost bloody-purple shade. Perfect.

You slipped on your rawhide gloves to protect yourself from the thorns and glochids sticking out so menacingly from the skin of the fruit. As you twisted and plucked each treat from the source, you set each one down in a cracked ceramic bowl lying nearby. You'd need to run them over a flame to burn off the microscopic needles before you could skin and eat them; but right now you were only partially thinking about that.

A shimmer caught your eye, a flower growing at the base of the cactus. The petals were vibrant pink. It almost looked like a Venus flytrap, in the way the spindly, velvety tendrils opened and closed, the stalk expanding in a way that made you think the plant was almost breathing.

You tilted your head, your pre-heat daze almost forgotten as your attention was grabbed by this mutated, alien-looking plant. Despite everything else, even in regards to the thriving cactus it sprouted at the feet from... it was a bright and vibrant green as well, happily nourished in the dry earth within the ruined building. The bright splash of color mixed with the undulating petals were transfixing to your addled state.

Forgetting caution above all else, your fingers began to clasp around the stalk of one of the flowers to pluck it, to examine it closer. But as you did that, the flower had lurched in a way that looked like it was about to vomit.

You fell back onto your butt as it spat out a shimmery cloud of pollen into your face. It burned and tickled your nose as you inhaled, waving your hand in front of your face frantically to clear the air, sputtering and coughing around the choking dust as you wiped your eyes and face, looking at the thin chalky substance that was transferred onto your glove.

And, within the span of a few moments... it was like everything else just... didn't matter. Your goals of scavenging were tossed out of your mental window, your body's reaction like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your brain was buzzing, your instincts overriding your common sense as you stand up and walk away from the bowl of fruit. You raipped off your bag your bag and only half paid attention to the sound of the tin cans clattering and ammo tinkling as it spilled out, the weight of the leather strap had rapidly been becoming more and more uncomfortable, your clothes beginning to feel like sandpaper on your skin.

A bead of sweat trickled down between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered. Your eyes looked around almost frantically. You needed somewhere safe, your instincts screamed mercilessly.

And, by the grace of whatever kind of omniscient being that was up in the sky, you found a basement.

It looked like whoever owned the store had refitted it into some kind of shelter. Or, hell, maybe it was used by some scavver before you had traipsed along. Whatever it had been used for, you didn't care, it was yours now.

It had a bed, a couch, some more supplies half-assedly stacked on a rickety table... your eyes adjusted to the dark, the only source of light you had was the light bleeding from the open basement door, and the faintly glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the basement walls in thick clumps.

The logical part of your brain identified the fungi; you could use them to make RadAway with the supplies you had on hand. Another part of your logic had told you something crucial--that plant; whatevert it was, had spat out a cloud of pollen that had all but skipped your pre-heat, only just barely leaving your basic instincts to nest, and the overwhelming craving to be pinned down to the nearest surface and fucked until you were round with somebody's pups.

The rest of your mind was spiraling so quickly you felt like you were drunk; cramps rippling through your lower half impeded your progress as you ripped the threadbare blankets and cushions off of the couch, piling them on top of the mattress you'd tossed to the floor from the rusted metal frame it had been laid on, pushing them up into a corner that felt the most secure and least exposed, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Your clothes had become drenched with your sweat, the crotch of your pants and underwear all but ruined by your excess slick. You growled and grunted as you tugged them off, kicking the offending garments away and sighing in relief at the cool, damp air hitting your hot skin.

Another shudder rippled through you as you felt another wave of cramps hit your abdomen; your pussy fluttering with needy want, making you whine loudly as you pant, crawling back up the stairs to slap the door closed.

You needed to ride this out. Somehow.

The next few days were going to be hell.

Cooper clicked his tongue, spitting out the dry reed he'd begun chewing on as his boots kicked up dust, the rusty spurs tinkling with every step as he made his way to the last place you could possibly be--the ruined general store.

He had to admit, this little place would make a good settlement. He couldn't help but wonder why it hadn't been settled. The river that had--by a chance of dumb luck--kept flowing had allowed the land to grow a steady clump of greens and browns. Cacti and Joshua trees littered the area, more than a few large agave plants had overgrown the smaller walkways; their prickly limbs reaching out like the epicenter of a pale green explosion.

He chuckled at his mental comparisons. Ironic.

But he pushed that thought to the side; he had observed a small flower of some kind. A pair of lizards he'd planned to catch and eat had skittered up to it, drawn by the lure of fat insects buzzing around the flower for a nice meal for themselves.

He watched as one of the little critters had crept closer, preparing to lash its tongue out to snag one of the fat, fluttering bugs. But as it did, the flower lurched, belching a cloud of pollen at it that made the lizard hiss; thrashing briefly in the sand as its companion crawled over to examine its friend.

The male--oh, he was certain it was a male--lifted its head after a moment, the throat sack beneath his throat puffed up, turning a bright shade of red. A mating display, he realized.

Cooper had watched with slight interest; remembering, once-upon-a-time, of a nature documentary he'd watched with his daughter, Janey, of desert lizards. This sort of thing was the closest form of entertainment he had during his traveling, reminding him with a dull throb of nostalgia and grief at the life he had lost, before.

His thoughts were pulled back to the now, as he watched the male lizard chase his female companion around, until he assumed, he tackled her beneath a rocky crag somewhere to mate with her. He'd snorted, reminding himself to steer clear of those flowers.

Getting hot and horny could be a death sentence, out in the wasteland. You could be so caught up in the moment, you could get snuck up on and offed in the middle of the night; your supplies picked from your carcass by who-knows-who...

And he wasn't looking to have his card punched with his cock in hand. That just wasn't a good way to go out.

Cooper's dark eyes lifted up, clicking his tongue at the lilted sign of the shop, stepping over the bleached wood of the door that had long since rotted off its hinges.

The setting sun had put a damper in his plans. He'd wanted to find you and get out of the proverbial ghost town before the darkness had set in. Something about these old buildings had him uncomfortable.

His gloved finger snagged the collar of his faded shirt, tugging on it as he hissed out a heavy sigh. Why was it so fuckin' hot in here? The fuck smelled so... sweet?

His finger pulled the hammer back and his thumb flicked the cylinder release as he crept along the rotting shelves. He'd called out your name once. Upon receiving no answer, his brow furrowed.

"Darlin', now ain't the time to be playing in the dark." Cooper growled, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of you.

In the setting sunlight, his eyes caught the glimmer of one of your buckles of your satchel. He quickly rushed over to where it had been tossed--maybe in some kind of tussle--and frowned. It was full of freshly scavenged supplies. Guns, ammo... your favorite chem tin.

As his eyes gave a passing scan to your empty tin, his gaze lifted to the cactus you'd been harvesting, the bowl of fruit laying untouched since you'd picked it.

What remained of his nose twitched; your scent was everywhere, tainted with the strangling-sweet smell clinging to the dust in the air. He couldn't pick up anybody else's around, so that ruled out you getting into a fight. So the question remained the same--where were you?

He holstered his pistol when he examined the cactus closer, frowning as the strange plant from before twitched and swayed on its own, lurching and grabbing flies that got too close to the petals of the flower. Cooper grunted, looking down to the dented metal tin still clutched in his hand.

His heart had almost skipped out of his chest as he finally bothered to examine the writing scrawled on the tin in proper detail; among your little scratches and scribbles was the name of the chem it contained.

It wasn't just regular Fixer. It was Heat-Fixer. A common variation of the chem that had been used even before the Great War to ward off an Omega's heat cycles as long as they took it regularly and in safe doses. He remembered once, being in Anchorage and it was revealed that one of his comrades in his unit was an Omega; he explained what exactly the Fixer did to his team over a lull in combat one night.

And you currently had an empty tin.

An empty tin of heat-supressants, coupled with the strange pollen of that flower... it wasn't a good combination for an Omega to be caught out in the middle of nowhere while in heat, not when someone could so easily stumble upon you and take advantage of your crazed and sex-hungry state.

No wonder you had been so snappy and irritable. No wonder you had been so anxious and ready to go to the next town, to hunker down there for a few days. He had assumed you were just being spoiled, wanting to pamper yourself somehow from the tough life on the road.

Now, he realized, you had been hoping to shut yourself in somewhere, to hide the mutated elephant you tried to smuggle into the room. Oh, yeah... he'd have a long talk with you once all this was over with.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." He muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight as he tossed it back into your bag, slinging it over his bandolier as he continued his search for you.

Your scent had him almost dizzy, he had even stumbled over his own feet once or twice as he looked for you. He knew Omegas had some strong instincts; he knew from experience you were going to look for somewhere safe to ride this out, to try and take care of yourself.

But on the off-chance something else had happened to you... Cooper had inwardly cursed at himself for being so worried. You were sometimes a little naive, believing in the best of the worst of people that had been a part of your tribal-turned-civilized home where he'd found you.

You had been an outcast even among your own tribe, most likely smothering your Omega nature by sneaking off under the guise of "scavenging" during your heats and the suppressants you were taking to mask it all.

Aside from finding out you were an Omega, not a Beta like you'd claimed, Cooper had felt a bit of kinship with you in how you were ostracized for how you were, maybe even a bit towards your naive hope that the best in humanity could one day resurface despite everything around you staring you in the face and screaming otherwise...

His mouth had become dry and he swallowed hard, his tongue practically choking him. It felt like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth despite the saliva that had begun to accumulate. The identity of your scent had finally dawned on him. The familiar, comforting scent of something akin to an apple pie; something he hadn't had in a very, very long time. And the idea he might be able to taste it again had consumed a part of his brain.

Your pheromones had all but tainted the stale air inside the small structure; if he still had any hair, it would have been standing on end as each drag of air coated his lungs in everything that was you.

Fuck, you smelled delicious. Good enough to eat.

Cooper gritted his teeth once more, briefly reaching down to press his palm into the rather pressing erection that had become prominently bulged in his old worn trousers. His own Alpha instincts had stirred; they had been almost dormant for so long, he'd almost forgotten them.

But right now, every one of his senses had picked up you. A sweet, perfect little Omega, writhing somewhere on your own and waiting to be bred. He shuddered at his train of thought; reminding himself that he was looking for you to make sure you were okay... to... to make sure you were safe, and to--what was he thinking, again?

Fuck. Right. He was going to find you, and stand guard around wherever you'd nested up and just wait for it to pass. Lecture you when it was over.

But as he crept along the ruined store, he had to stop and slump against a wall, his eyes rolling at the smell permeating the air, your pheromones flooding his bloodstream like the sweetest chem he'd had in a long, long time.

Cooper had managed to drag one foot after the other to find the basement door. Your scent rolled from the wood like the smoke to a powerful fire. You were down there, alright.

And against his better judgement, Cooper twisted the rust old knob and took the first step down, pulling out his old--and by-miracle still functioning--wind-up flashlight, he flicked the switch and walked down, his eyes tracking the glowing fungi that lined bits of the basement walls with a bit of giddy euphoria.

"Cooper..." He'd heard you croak out.

He spun on his heels, the beam of his light eventually turning onto you.

His heart had jumped up into his throat as he took you in; your frantically-made nest, the barriers you'd built between you and the rest of the room... the bare, sweaty skin that glistened in the torchlight he held in his hand.

He shook his head as another wave of your pheromones blasted him full-force. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. He let his dick do the walking and find you, like some sex-crazed punk Alpha just coming into his nature.

"Cooper." You said again, your pupils blown so wide he almost couldn't see the color of your irises as you looked at him with your hooded gaze, your lips looking all to plush and swollen as you licked at them.

"Darlin', you..." He swallowed hard, his hard cock already bordering on painful, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt beneath his leather duster as his breathing increased.

"Help me. Please." You whined, sitting up more as you crawled over the nest of blankets towards him as your tongue ran over your teeth, your hips swaggering with each movement; reminding him of the scene in a shitty porno magazine he read as a younger man.

"Need something--"

"Shit. No." Cooper hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he regained a semblance of some control over himself once again; backing up to the stairs, ready to rush back up them and lock you down here until this was all over.

When the stairs creaked under the weight of his first step, you whined, halting any more movement from him.

"Please." You panted, little whimpers bubbling through from between each syllable as you spoke, "Need help... goin' nuts... need you... please."

Cooper had stupidly snuck a glance at you, standing on your knees and leaning forward slightly in the middle of the dusty floor, one hand roughly groping at your own breast and the other snaking between your legs to roll your clit in time with the lazy thrusts of your hips. It was the sexiest goddamn thing he'd seen in his fucking life; a fresh rush of arousal making his cock throb.

"Help me." You whined, your eyes watery and needy as your gazes locked in the darkened space.

His eyes rolled back into his head and Cooper growled, his chest tightening at how you whined once more in submission to him. His feet stomped across the room, and he set his light down on the table enough to illuminate some of the room; namely you.

"Needy little fuckin' Omega," Cooper had spat as he ripped off his excessive bulk. Your bags joined his on the table, the contents scattering across the surface as his bandolier was tossed on top of it all alongside his guns.

"You been thinkin' about getting fucked all day, haven't ya?" He sneered as he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them as he moved back towards you.

You leaned into his touch as one of his hands cupped your cheek, eyes fluttering closed as he used his other hand plucked the buttons on the collar of his shirt free; his dark eyes taking in your soaked and aroused state as your hand between your legs continued to furiously rub and pinch at yourself for any stimulation--to ease that growing ache in your cunt.

The rough and scarred pad of his thumb swept a desperate tear from your cheek as he spoke; "A needy little bitch in heat, ain'tcha? Fuck, what if it wasn't me that came lookin' for ya?" His hand went from gentle to rough, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he forced you to look up to him, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Bet at this point you'd go and bend over for any wasteland fuck coming along to bury their cock in you, probably fuck some pups into ya."

Your mouth opened in a breathy little moan, your eyes almost fluttering closed once again as he continued. "Well, fuck that. I ain't letting no fucking scavver take what's mine, got it?"

Your eyes immediately went to his crotch when his free hand roughly worked free his belt buckle, ripping his button open and fly down to free his throbbing cock to you, your mouth watering and your pussy flooding at the premise of him just burying himself inside of you and staying there.

"Now, given all the trouble you've been causin' me... I'm tempted to not give you my cock, got it?" He huffed, looking down at you from the remnants of the bridge of his nose, a sick sense of pride swelling his ego at how your eyes grew wide and panicked; like you were a junkie denied their next fix, so gone in withdrawal you thought you were going to die.

Cooper laughed at you as tears gathered in your eyes at his threat, your pretty little lip wobbling. He could almost hear your heart pound in the sweet little chest of yours. He squished your cheeks once again to snap you out of it, groaning as his hand gripped the base of his cock. "But you've got me in a bit of a state, babydoll." He drawled. "So..."

He tapped the tip of his scarred and gnarled cock to your lips, and grunted when you immediately curled your tongue underneath the tip, sucking him past your plush lips with a loud and grateful moan.

"...you're gonna suck me reeeal good... and maybe, if you're a good girl, you'll get it all, got it?"

You moaned again as you took him deeper, your tongue curling around his shaft as your head moved further down his length, gagging around him as you try to take too much too quickly.

Cooper fisted your hair and yanked you back, his gravelly voice tumbling out of him as he looked down at you, a warning in his eyes. "Don't push yourself, cupcake. Take what you can. I'd hate for you to choke on my cock before I've had a chance to fuck you with it."

You nodded drunkenly, immediately moving to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth once again with loud slurping sounds as you bobbed your head, your fingers rolling your clit in time with the bob of your head and the cant of your hips. Cooper ran his fingers through your hair, petting you as he watches you return to your task with feverish need.

"That's it, babydoll... fuck. You been thinkin' about this for some time, huh? Havin' somebody let you take their cock in your mouth?" He laughed, his voice going tight as you moaned in reply.

"Shit--that's it! Fuck..."

Cooper's heart was pounding in his chest as he feels your tongue swirl the tip of his cock. It had been too damn long since he'd had a good fuck; and you were proving to be a goddamn amazing one, so far, if your tongue skills were anything to go by. His hands gripped the back of your head and he started to arch his back, fucking his cock into your mouth with a loud, pleasured sigh. He wasn't going to last long, and he had disregarded his earlier warnings of taking it too quickly as the haze of his building orgasm began to swell as he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure. Not that you minded.

The moment he felt his cock twitch, he grunted, his eyes rolling back.

"Shit, darlin'... get ready."

You whined around his cock, your cunt gushing around your fingers as you plunged them inside, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you eagerly try to taste every drop he was willing to give you.

The first splash on your tongue had you a moaning mess, arousal burning low in your belly and a bubble that had been swelling was ready to burst. Cooper yanked you back by the hair again and gripped his cock, jerking furiously as each hot volley of thick cum coated your face, splashing on your tongue as it lolled out of your mouth; dripping down your chin and onto your breasts.

Cooper chuckled grimly, "Well... that's one way to mark that prettly lil' body of yours."

He quickly swiped his cum off of your face, earning a complaining whine from you until he crammed his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean; tasting him mixed with the dirt, grime, and gunpowder that clung to his skin. His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched you spasm slightly, eyes rolling back; his taste, the sensations he was pushing on your and the sheer forcefulness of his actions making you climax as you moaned around his hand that was all but choking you.

"Look't you. So fuckin' cockdrunk you can't even fuckin' talk." He mocked playfully, pulling his fingers from your lips with a loud pop.

Cooper kneeled down in front of you and grinned, his teeth flashing that signature smile of his as he practically lunged for you; hoisting you over his shoulder and slapping a palm over your ass, fingers dipping into your sweet cunt to toy with the juices that dribbled down your thighs, making you moan obscenely.

He dropped to his knees and rolled you down onto the nest you'd made in the corner, watching with his grin; twisting his scarred face in a look of aroused glee as you laid back and spread your legs for him, showcasing just how badly you needed him.

"Damn, darlin'... got yourself lookin' like a nice glazed snack, for me." He chuckled, beginning to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, working his pants down his legs as he blindly kicked his shoes off in the dark. "Makes me wanna fuckin' eat ya right up..."

He tipped his head to the side, one of his hands grabbing his hat and tossing it off somewhere out of sight as he exposed more and more of himself to your hungry eyes. "Actually... that ain't a bad idea, heh."

Your hips rolled and you spread your puffy and swollen lips apart for him with a mewl as he lowered himself down onto his belly and elbows, looking up at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, I ain't gonna just give it to ya, sweetheart... you gotta tell me. Ask me nice."

"Please. Cooper. Please." You pant. "Please, please, please, please please--"

"Now, now..." Cooper warned, reaching up to slap his fingers onto your clit and watching your body jump at the contact. "That's not what I meant."

Your brows furrow down at him, swallowing the saliva that accumulated in your mouth as your brain tries to process what he meant through the red fog your mind was clouded with.

Finally, it clicks.

"Cooper, please..." You mewl loudly. "A-Alpha, please--"

The sound that comes from him makes your mind blank and your body shudder, going almost slack with relief as his lips closed around your weeping cunt, babbling "thank you's" and frantic, almost incoherent words as he gave you a taste of what you'd been craving.

You were veeeery happy it was Cooper that found you. Right now you couldn't imagine anyone else to have between your legs, drinking you down like you were his first taste of water after being stranded in the desert.

Cooper had laid there for... he didn't even know how long. Tasting you, edging you, biting and nipping your inner thighs, making you cum to the point you felt like you had gone blind had his chest swell with pride and... something else. More than just plain sexual attraction, more than the fact that you were and Omega accepting him as your Alpha right now...

He didn't focus on that too long, shoving those feelings to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees, yanking your quivering hips close to him, his cock slapping your belly as he stared down at you.

"Gonna fuck you now, darlin'. Give you every fuckin' inch of what you've been wanting." Cooper hissed, rolling his cock through your slick folds with a lazy thrust. Your hands reach out to grab at his arms, frantic and wanting as you nodded dumbly, mindlessly.

"Please, please--yes, yes, yes--"

"Easy, now." Cooper chuckled, his voice almost dropping into fondness as his hands gripped and squished your thighs. "Just lay back and let me fuck you like y'need, alright, baby?"

You keen lowly, dropping your head onto one of the pillows as you feel the tip of his cock notch at your waiting hole, your pussy clenching as he pushed in; his pace torturously slow as he sunk himself within your welcoming, tight and wet heat.

He tipped his head back with a pleasured sigh, his voice shaky, as he savored the ecstasy of your body; "Jesus fuck, you feel so damn good... fit me like a glove, sweetheart."

"Fuck me." You mewled, frantically grabbing at whatever bits of him you could to try and urge him on, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the back of his thighs as you try to encourage him deeper.

Cooper growled at you, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear; "You don't tell me what to fuckin' do. Right now, I'm gonna fuck you so full you're gonna feel like yer gonna pop. Got it? Don't get bossy on me, y'hear?"

You curled around him, clinging to him desperately. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry..." You cried softly. "J-Just n-need... Need you, please..."

"I was just teasin' ya, sweetheart..." Cooper sighed with a chuckle, pulling out halfway before sharply thrusting back in, your breasts jiggling as your body jerks with the effort of his thrust. "Don't be such a crybaby."

Your jaw snaps shut with a strangled moan, your teeth grinding as your body welcomes him eagerly, all the stress and anxiety of your heat melting away in the pleasure that Cooper was bullying into your cunt, sloppy, loud, lewd noises coming from between you as he plunged his cock in and out of you; his skin slapping against yours.

A small part of you right now was vaguely recalling your past heats. How you would scurry away when you couldn't make your Heat-Fixer on your own, or score any from passing caravans; how you would hide in your secret little cave and masturbate to thoughts of having someone just come and take the edge off for you, you just bend you over and fuck you until your mind didn't come back into logical focus for days after the fact--to fuck you so full you were certain "your" Alpha had bred you as your biological needs shouted that you needed.

Your nails dig into Cooper's back, scratching fresh masks into his pitted and wrinkled skin, the texture of his cock making your head spin even more as you breathed in his own pheromones; Cooper's scent had always comforted you. Somehow, the scent that was not unique in the world today felt unique to him, and only him. Gunpowder, petrichor, and sweet honey bourbon.

You didn't realize just how much you loved and craved to have his scent on you until now; a loud moan slithering out of you as he dragged his tongue up your throat, mouthing your swollen scent gland messily, making your hips stutter against his and your breath hitch into a small sob as his tongue laves over the soft flesh.

"Smell so fuckin' good." Cooper growls, his voice sending vibrations through your sensitive skin as he continues to rut his cock into you. The pitch of his tone makes you whimper in submission, rolling your head to the side to let him have better access as he licked and kissed your throat, moving from one side to the other.

"Fuck--" He panted, driving his hips into your again and again, the sweat on your body making it difficult to get a decent grip on your soft hips. Your scent was driving him insane; he was finding himself wanting to keep his face buried either at your throat or between your legs. If he wasn't so pressed to just fuck you, Cooper would have gladly stayed with his head buried between your legs until he got his fill of you.

However, now that he's had a taste of you, now that he's felt you squeezing and milking his dick for anything he was willing to give you... he wasn't sure he would ever get a fill. Your scent was goddamn maddening to him; it made him hungry in more ways than one. He never realized it before, but now that you were uninhibited by the Fixer, it hit him full-force. And just the mere thought of another Alpha putting their hands on you made him mad with... possession?

He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, clenching his jaw as he panted hotly in your ear, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, babydoll."

You choked for air when you feel his knot almost catch, your orgasm dancing just out of reach; walls clenching around him every time you felt it press against your entrance.

"Please, please..." You begged, running your hand up his back, tracing every deep groove and bit of scarred flesh you could; mapping out every inch you could feel beneath your fingertips.

"N-Need..."

One of his arms was currently bracing himself next to your head, which his other hand pawed at your hip, gripping the sweaty, smooth skin so tight there would likely be bruises in the shape of his handprint that would be visible for days on.

His mouth once again hovered over your scent gland, and you pressed one of your hands to the back of his neck to urge you on; "Please..." You begged once more.

Cooper gave you a look out of the corner of his eye, and as you opened your mouth to plead with him once more, he sunk his teeth directly into your throat. Your moan was so loud, he could almost hear the rush of his blood beneath it as the coppery taste of your blood coated his tongue.

"Fuck!" You sob, grinding your hips against his, your spongy walls throbbing almost painfully as you finally feel him force his knot past that last barrier of resistance; feeling it swell and lock him in place, the sensation finally ripping a mind-numbing orgasm from you.

"Shit, darlin'..." Cooper moaned, breaking his lips from around your scent gland, rutting and grinding into you as much as he could, feeling the simmering heat of his own orgasm finally creeping near that precipice. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' good..."

He leaned back, grabbing your hips in his hands and pulling you against him, staring down at your sweaty and flushed face as your eyes rolled back, your hands clawing desperately at the mattress and ratty blankets beneath you, weakly lifting your hips to try to get him to keep moving.

"Needy little... fuckin'..." Cooper panted, feeling how hard your hot pussy was clenching around his knot. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like his blood was boiling inside his veins as his orgasm roiled and crashed through him; hips jerking against yours as his cock twitched, emptying every drop of cum he could fill you with into your waiting and desperate womb.

He ground his teeth as his eyes rolled back and he let the last bits of his climax ebb away.

Cooper let out a long, slow breath, poking down to where your bodies were locked together. Damn, that felt good. It was the best feeling he'd felt in... shit, a very long time. He sighed and pressed his hand down low on your belly, just barely able to feel the outline of himself through your soft skin, muscles and fat.

His gaze slowly slid up your sweaty and twitching body, to the fresh mark he'd left in your throat, and finally to your blissed-out, satisfied face. He knew this state for you was only temporary; once his knot went down, you would be climbing back on top of him for more, wanting to be fucked and bred again and again, despite the face he was 100% positive in the fact that ghouls didn't work like that anymore... But nonetheless you'd be wanting your Alpha to mark you and fuck you again and again until your heat passed you by.

He narrowed his eyes at his own line of thinking. He... wasn't really "your" Alpha now, was he? You were partners, and well, now...

Ah. Shit...

"You alive, darlin'?" Cooper chuckled, pushing aside his line of thinking, to try and focus on the moment instead of his stupid what-ifs.

"Mhmmm..." You answered with a purr, arching you back and stretching, wrapping your legs around his waist once again, opening your stormy eyes to peer up at him, your tongue swiping out at your bottom lip.

"Shit... Give me some time to pull out, you needy little bitch." He chastised with another soft laugh, reaching out to tweak your nipple in reprimand.

Cooper leaned over you, pressing his thumb over your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, ain't'cha, babydoll?" He sighed, looking as your face twisted in pleasured agony while he pinched and rolled your clit, feeling how your cunt fluttered around his cock. "C'mon... Answer your Alpha, sweetheart..."

Your eyelids dragged lazily open and you nod, almost jerking your head up and down as a small bit of drool pools at the corner of your swollen lips. "Yes, yes, yes... I'll be a good girl."

Cooper grinned wider, almost predatory in appearance, still tasting you on the tip of his tongue.

"Thaaaaat's right... Now... just lay back and let me take care of ya, babydoll. And once we're done, you 'n I are gonna have a long talk..."

#Cooper Howard #Cooper Howard x Reader #Cooper Howard x you #The ghoul #The ghoul x you #The ghoul x Reader #Omegaverse AU #Omegaverse #Fallout #Fallout on prime #Fallout prime #fallout tv show

402 notes · View notes

ghostbustting · 5 months ago

Note

Going on vacation with current james and he is always horny because he is seeing you in a bikini all the time soooo (maybe Marathon sex??) ☺️

kinda short, but mmgmtmdhdjsns 🤭 (also, happy late late birthday to semaj)

╰┈➤“𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑼𝑻𝒀„ ๋࣭⭑

Current!James Hetfield x Reader

Contains Smut.

My body felt terribly weak, limp, tired. As well as my throat feeling sore from all the filthy noises I have let out for the past.. two hours, possibly, or three. I couldn’t even tell how long have we spent our time on this vacation just in our hotel room, bedsheets messy, our minds completely forgotten about the seconds ticking on the clock, not even noticing when rain starts trickling down onto the hotel room balcony, not even stopped by the time the rain stops.

His body was all I felt, his soul connected to mine. My eyes couldn’t help but gaze up and down the beautiful man in front of me, bare. Meanwhile I had to give in to his request, my bikini set staying on my fucked up state of a body, sweat all over my skin as I let the older man take great care of me— or rather, himself.

The whole morning, as we spent our time at the beach, my skin weren’t so oblivious to the eyes that rakes up and down my body, the only thing covering me being my bikini set that James seems to adore on me, his eyes never leaving the way the bikini top desperately try to cover up my breasts as I play around the beach, or the way my bikini bottom almost failed to cover up my ass, never failing to make his tongue dart out to swiftly lick over his bottom lip.

No wonder he was stuck on that damned deckchair the whole time, the towel we got from the hotel draped across his lap, a pathetic attempt to hide his hard boner that’s seeking freedom from behind his swimming trunks, one of his hand tucked under the towel and the trunks, desperately trying to get off before the boner gets worse, thinking I wouldn’t notice the quiet fucking moans leaving his lips every now and then, it was so obvious. And it was obvious as well that jerking off at this point did not work for him.

I supposed that was what led us here, on the hotel bed, fucking for what I remembered is our seventh round by this point.. or was it eighth?

James had me on all fours for him, his hands on my hips as he was on his knees behind me, his fucking jerk of a dick leaving and entering my numb and swollen hole, weak and desperate whimpers leaving my lips as I try to hold onto my position, my legs and hands shaking.

”Fuck.. so nice.. so good..” He groaned, fingers on my ass cheeks, nails digging into the soft skin ever so slightly, red from the countless times he had hit me there previously. Not that I mind.

Several parts of my body felt itchy, especially my neck, chest, and thighs. Those are from what I suspect are his teeth bitten marks, always hurts yet always make me feel so good, wanted, needed. The moment James loses control of himself, he was always like a puppy that’s been let out of his cage. Wild. Mean. Uncontrollable.

Tears were streaming down my red cheeks, pouring down onto the pillow below me, now soaked from my salty tears. I couldn’t quite feel my body completely, feeling several aching, yet the way his cock fill my desperate hole up is just way too irresistible, feeling him move in and out of me, the tip of his cock hitting every spots I didn’t even know exist in me before he showed me.

My breath came out in gasped heavy ones with every thrusts he made, fingers clutching onto the sheets below me tightly, trying to hold onto something desperately, cause it truly feels like I’m about to fall and drown into a sea of unbearable lust if I didn’t hold onto anything.

”J-James.. please..” I gasped out, panting as my hand gave up on keeping my position up, my body falling from being on all fours, limp on the bed, flinching every time he thrusts into me as small sobs leave my lips, “A-ah.. mm..” I whimpered, biting into the sheets to prevent myself from letting out more noises.

I just felt so weak. I can’t even release anymore, my body was aching so much. But at the same time, he felt so good. He make me feel so loved.

James grabbed my hips and pull them up, making my ass perk up on display for him as he held onto my waist, his cock thrusting in and out of me like there was no tomorrow. “Shit.. one more, princess.. okay? Can you do that for me?” He breathed out, shaking his head as he try to focus on his movements.

Despite being terribly weak, I force myself to nod and whimper out a silent, “Y-yes, James..”

He let out a breathless chuckle, stroking my skin as he whispered out in that goddamn seducing voice, “Atta girl..”

My eyes were as wide as they can get, almost popping out of their sockets as his thrusts make my mind swirl, losing control of myself as all I could do was just lay there underneath his big body, voicing out the pleasure he make me feel, eyes rolled to the back of my head.

”God.. fuck.. you’re so fucking enchanting.. that fucking bikini.. it makes me go insane.. what did your parents do to create you?”

His endless compliments only increased the tightness of the knot that was yet again appearing in my stomach for what felt like the thousands time now, my moans coming out in between my choked sobs, my fingers grasping to any part of the bedsheets I could hold onto around me.

”Let go, princess.. let go..”

And that’s what I did, my release this time gushing out fast, squirting all over his cock as I screamed out his name like my life depended on it, my walls clenching around his cock one last time as he pumped in and out of me and let go of his own release as well, groaning loudly.

I feel the sticky cum of his coat the inside of me, making me whimper at the feeling, overstimulated by how many times he had done that for the past two hours, not even able to feel anything now. Just numb. But so fucking pleased by the way he treated me.

Slowly, I begin to relax into the mattress below me, my chest heaving up and down, the breath coming out of me were unstable and shaky, my legs still shaking somehow. “You’re fucking crazy, James..” I shook my head with a huff.

James leaned down to my face, his fingertips coming to touch my cheek, his thumb darting out to wipe away my tear and stroke my cheek lovingly before he whispers, “Too bad we’re not done yet.”

253 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father. The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst.

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him.

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could.

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity.

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now.

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar.

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy.

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain.

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams.

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink.

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him.

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals.

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?”

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.”

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss.

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch.

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit.

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control.

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised.

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

taglist:

@littlepotatobeansworld @kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @definitelynotecho @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @krahk @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @theactualf0ck @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights @eggo-segual @rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff@meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea @fckyeahlames @chaoticgood-munson @rachofficial @poofyloofy @girlintherubyslippers @shotgunhallelujah @thirddeadlysin @sinczir @vintagehellfire @ieatmunson @behind-thebrowneyes @southblizzard @ilovetaquitosmmmm @blueberry--lemon @chrissymjstan @eddiesguitarskills @corrodedcoffincumslut @foreveranexpatsposts @scarletwitchwhore @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @moldy-khunt @simars3

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @luceneraium @lolly-in-a-strange-land @dylanmunson @bakugouswh0r3

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

2K notes · View notes

nausicaamusiclover20 · 1 month ago

Text

I had this fantasy all day and I couldn't help but write it down

Paring: !ProfessorxStudent!reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Explicit Content, Mature Themes,Sexual Content, mature language, Age Gap (15-year difference) Power Imbalance, Adult Themes

Playing with fire

The university had become my second home, and I loved every minute of it. The quiet spaces for studying, the hustle of students on the move, and the occasional moments of clarity when everything just clicked. It was all thrilling—except for one thing: Professor James Hetfield,the Professor, who despite the 15-year difference, I was attracted to.

He was a constant presence. Not just in the classroom, but in my thoughts. Every class, every interaction with him felt charged. He never showed favoritism, not even toward the brilliant students like me, but I couldn’t help the way his cold blue eyes always seemed to find me, to watch me. Every lecture, every question he posed, there was something about the way he looked at me—intense, almost as if he could see through the mask I wore.

The lectures were always intense, filled with complex material that many of the students struggled to understand. But for me, it was all too easy. I was always ahead of the curve, always absorbing the material faster than most. Yet, the more I proved myself, the more I felt his gaze upon me, even if he never admitted it. And somehow, it made everything even more exciting.

When the day of the final exam arrived, the weight of it felt suffocating. It wasn’t just the usual pressure of exams—it was the pressure of having to live up to the quiet challenge I had set for myself. There was something about impressing Professor Hetfield that made every question feel like a test of my worth, something that wasn’t just about getting the answers right but about making him acknowledge me in a way he had never acknowledged anyone else.

The room was filled with students, the air thick with the sounds of papers shuffling and anxious whispers. But I felt calm. Focused. As I looked around the room, I saw them all sweating, struggling over the hardest questions. But my mind was clear—methodical. I answered each question with ease, my pen flying across the page as if the answers were written in my blood. It was exhilarating to feel so confident, so ahead of the game.

It didn’t take long for me to finish. I was the first one done, though I didn’t want to leave yet. The tension between Professor Hetfield and I was like a live wire, and I wasn’t ready to break that connection just yet.

I stood, glancing briefly around the room. The other students were still scribbling away, oblivious to the fact that I was already finished. Without hesitation, I walked up to the front of the room and placed my paper gently on his desk.

Professor Hetfield was seated, marking papers with his usual cool, detached demeanor. His blue eyes flickered up to meet mine for a split second before returning to the paper in front of him. I took a seat in the front row, my hands resting on my lap, trying to keep my composure. As I sat, I felt the anticipation building in my chest. Did I make a mistake? I thought to myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I had doubted myself, but in that moment, uncertainty crept in.

What if I had missed something? What if he saw something wrong in my answers, something I had overlooked? His sharp eyes could spot even the smallest mistake, and that thought gnawed at me. I watched as he methodically went through the other papers, his eyes scanning each answer with cold precision. But when he reached my paper, he paused.

My stomach clenched.

His gaze lingered on my exam, studying it with the same cold attention he always gave everything. I couldn’t read him. Did I mess up? Was there something he had spotted in my work that I hadn’t seen? His pen stopped moving for a moment, then continued with a quick, decisive motion. I felt the silence stretching between us, my pulse quickening.

Professor Hetfield finally placed the pen down, his gaze rising to meet mine. I sat up straighter, trying to read him, but his face was unreadable.

“You finished already?” His voice was the usual low, gravelly tone, but there was something different about it today—something softer, almost impressive. “You didn’t take long.”

I swallowed, trying to maintain a cool facade. “No, I didn’t,” I replied, not trusting my voice to sound steady. He must have seen something wrong, I thought. It’s too quiet.

He looked at me for a moment longer, his eyes piercing through the calm surface of my thoughts. Was he really going to say anything?

I started to second-guess myself, wondering if he was silently critiquing every little thing in my paper. The questions were challenging, after all. But no, I told myself. I nailed it.

“Impressive,” he finally said, his voice clipped. But there was something else in it—a faint admiration buried beneath his usual coolness. “You’ve done well.”

I couldn’t help the small breath that escaped my lips. Was that... a compliment?

His blue eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than usual, a quiet intensity simmering beneath the surface. “Perfect,” he added, almost as an afterthought. His gaze softened, but just barely. “Good work, Miss Y/N.”

I felt a strange warmth spread through me. I had expected more formality, more distance, but there was something about the way he said those words that felt different, more personal. I tried to keep my composure, but my heart was beating harder now.

As the class began to file out, I remained seated for a moment, my fingers lightly brushing over the edges of my papers as I adjusted them, feeling a slight tremor in my hands. I wasn’t sure if I was still processing his words or the intensity of the moment. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave, or if I wanted him to say something more—anything, really.

But he didn’t. His attention moved back to the papers on his desk, the cold, professional mask returning. But I knew what had just passed between us. The tension still hung in the air, thick and undeniable. I could almost taste it. I shifted in my seat, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against me.

The room had emptied, leaving just the two of us in this quiet space. My mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. Was he still aware of me? Even as his gaze never fully met mine again, there was something about the way he’d looked at me that made me feel as if we were still connected, even in that silence.

As I stood, I moved to adjust my backpack over my shoulder, trying to regain some normalcy. My fingers fumbled slightly as I pulled it on, my thoughts still tangled. I could feel his eyes on me once more, even though he wasn’t directly looking. It was as if he was aware of my every movement.

Just as I reached the door, I heard his voice—low, commanding, sending a jolt through me.

“You did a good job, Miss Y/N,” he said, his voice a smooth draw. “Always impeccable.”

The words struck me like a spark in the quiet room, and my breath caught. I froze for a moment, feeling the weight of his praise and the underlying intensity behind it. My cheeks flushed a deep crimson, warmth flooding my face as I quickly turned my head, trying to mask the sudden rush of heat.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer than usual, betraying the sudden rush of emotions swirling inside me.

Without another word, I stepped out into the hall, my pulse pounding in my ears. The game had changed. And as much as I tried to tell myself it was just another day, I knew deep down that something had shifted between us.

I had to admit, the thought had been nagging at me for days. Was I just another student to him? Did he really see me only as that? Or was there something more behind the way he kept glancing at me in class, his eyes lingering a fraction longer than they should have? It was maddening to think about, and I couldn’t stop the curiosity from eating away at me.

The game was fun—no doubt about it—but I needed answers.

So I decided to test it again. This time, I was going to make sure the Professor couldn’t ignore me, and if he did, then that would prove everything I needed to know.

The idea had been swirling in my head for days now, gnawing at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between him and me. He was always so composed, always so in control, but when our eyes met, there was something there. Something I couldn’t explain.

As I settled into my seat, I tried to act casual, pulling out my notebook and pretending to be absorbed in my notes, but my heart was pounding. I could feel his presence at the front of the room, but I kept my eyes trained on the page, waiting for the inevitable.

The room began to fill up as other students entered, taking their seats. He stood at the front, greeting a few students, his voice low and steady as always. But my mind was elsewhere—on him. I couldn’t help but glance up occasionally, but I didn’t want to make it too obvious.

Class began, and he fell into his usual rhythm. His voice was calm, steady, and clear, filling the room with his authoritative presence. I let my mind wander, knowing the moment I had been waiting for would come soon enough.

I noticed his eyes sweeping over the room as he began his lecture, but they didn’t land on me right away. Instead, they passed over my usual seat, scanning the rows of students. For a moment, I wondered if he’d even noticed the change, but I stayed still, pretending to pay attention to the lecture.

Minutes passed, and still, his gaze didn’t linger on me. I almost started to second-guess myself. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as I thought.

But then—

I caught a subtle shift in his movements. His eyes flicked back to the room, scanning again. They moved from one student to the next, and then—It was like a switch had been flipped. His gaze landed on me.

It wasn’t immediate. At first, I thought I imagined it, but then his eyes stayed fixed on me, no longer scanning the room in a casual manner. For a moment, I could see the slight hesitation in his expression, like he was piecing something together. His eyes narrowed slightly as if searching for the right words, trying to figure out why I wasn’t where I usually sat. I felt a thrill of excitement surge through me. He had noticed. It took him a while, but he had noticed.

I didn’t move, pretending to be absorbed in my notes, my heart racing in my chest. My breath caught, and I couldn’t help but glance up again. This time, our eyes met—his deep, piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

I saw something in them that hadn’t been there before—a flicker of recognition, of something more than just the usual professor-pupil dynamic. It was brief, but it was enough. He quickly broke the gaze, his expression stiffening as if he were trying to regain his usual composure.

But I knew. I knew he saw me now.

My mind raced, but I kept my expression neutral. I didn’t want to give away that I knew exactly what had just happened. The rest of the lecture passed in a blur, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment—the way his gaze had lingered on me, the way his eyes had found me in the back of the room.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. The students began filing out, and I stood slowly, packing my things. I kept my movements deliberate, as though I had all the time in the world, but my pulse was racing. I glanced around the room to see if anyone else noticed, but most students were too busy gathering their things and heading toward the door.

I walked out with the others, trying to keep my face neutral, but a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. As I made my way down the hall, the satisfaction of what had just happened settled over me. Professor Hetfield had noticed me—really noticed me. The way his gaze had locked onto mine, the brief hesitation in his usual calm demeanor—it was all the confirmation I needed.

I smirked to myself as I walked down the hallway, knowing that the game had changed. He had watched me, and now he knew. I had made my point.

As the students filed out, I made my way over to Professor Hammett, who was talking to a couple of people by the door. He was always easy to talk to, and today, I had the perfect excuse to strike up a conversation.

“Hey, Professor Hammett!” I said, casually walking up.

“Y/N!” he greeted, his usual easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s up? You’re looking way too cheerful for someone who just survived a lecture with Hetfield.”

I laughed, adjusting my bag. “Oh, you know, I’m just doing great in class. But I was thinking about that old horror flick I watched last night—The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I love how gritty and real it feels.”

His eyes lit up at the mention of the movie. “Ah, classic! That whole atmosphere, the suspense… It’s one of those films that gets under your skin. How about The Shining? Now that one’s pure psychological horror.”

I smiled, getting into the conversation. “For sure. It’s all about that tension, right? You don’t need to see the monster to feel the terror. It’s all in the build-up.”

He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know what? We should have a movie marathon. Old-school stuff. What do you think?”

“I’d be down for that,” I replied, enjoying the easy banter. But as we were talking, I caught the glint of familiar cold blue eyes across the hall—Professor Hetfield. He was standing with a few students, but his gaze was locked on me. I quickly turned back to Professor Hammett, but the tension in the air was undeniable.

As I continued the conversation with him, I noticed the professor step closer, his usual reserved demeanor barely concealing the sharp focus in his eyes. He greeted Kirk briefly, then turned his attention to me.

“Afternoon, Miss Y/N,” he said, his voice low and almost a little too casual. But there was something there—something in the way his eyes lingered on me just a little too long.

“Good afternoon, Professor Hetfield,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light, but inside, my heart was racing. I couldn’t help but feel the shift in the air between us. It was like the silent tension from the horror movies we’d just discussed—unspoken, but thick.

Kirk smiled and stepped back slightly. “I’ll leave you two to chat. Catch you later, Y/N.”

“See you, Professor” I said, my smile still in place, but I could feel the subtle power shift now that it was just Professor Hetfield and me. As Kirk walked off, he moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I see you’ve been talking to Kirk,” he said, his tone still polite, but there was an edge to it now. The subtle jealousy was unmistakable. I could practically feel the heat radiating off him as he gave a small nod in Kirk’s direction.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “Just talking about old horror movies, the classics.” I gave him a small, teasing smile. “What’s your take on them, Professor? Or are you too serious for something like that?”

He stared at me for a moment, then gave a tight smile. “I think I’m more interested in your take on them, Miss Y/N. You seem to have a particular passion for these films. Maybe you can give me some recommendations.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, I’ve got plenty. You’re missing out on some of the best stuff. I’ll make you a list,” I said, my voice light but purposeful. The more I pushed him, the more I saw the barely-contained frustration in his eyes. Before I could say anything more, Professor Hetfield quickly glanced away, as if pulling himself back from the moment. He cleared his throat. “Good job in class today. Your answers were... always impeccable.” His voice dropped slightly, as though he was forcing the words out.

I gave him a sly smile, my cheeks burning slightly from the attention. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll be sure to give you more to think about next time.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but feel the smirk forming on my lips. I’d pushed just the right buttons today, and I could see the jealousy simmering beneath his usually cold exterior.

As I walked out of the hallway, I could feel his eyes still on me, even though he didn’t say a word. It was like a scene from one of those horror movies we’d joked about—where the tension builds and you’re not sure when the next jump scare will come, but you know it’s coming.

I had him now. Professor Hetfield was interested, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

It had been days since I’d started playing my little games with Professor Hetfield. Each class had felt like a silent war, a dance of glances, subtle challenges, and unspoken words. I could feel his eyes on me more and more, could see the tension building every time I answered a question or made a move in his class. It was almost like a game of cat and mouse, and I was enjoying every second of it.

Today was no different. I was the last to leave the lecture hall, as usual. I liked to take my time, let everyone else rush out. There was something intoxicating about the way Professor Hetfield always seemed to watch me leave, his eyes following me as I gathered my things. And today, I was determined to make him feel something more.

I slung my bag over my shoulder slowly, savoring the quiet of the empty classroom. I had done it again—made him want more, made him chase me without him even realizing it. I thought I’d done enough to leave the class without another glance back, but today felt different.

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, I heard his voice. Low, controlled, but unmistakably commanding.

“Miss Y/N.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I turned slowly to face him. He was standing by his desk, his gaze fixed on me. There was a new intensity in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper, something darker that hadn’t been there before.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it now, a hint of something more.

I gave him a playful smile, leaning back slightly against the door. “Just thought I’d take my time, Professor. You know, savor the moment.”

His lips twitched at the corner, a small smirk playing on his face as he walked slowly toward me. “Savor the moment? Interesting choice of words.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why? Does that make you uncomfortable, Professor?” I could see the flicker of challenge in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice lowering, “but it makes me curious.”

The air between us thickened. Every step he took felt like it brought him closer to something dangerous—something that neither of us had fully acknowledged until now. I could feel the electricity crackling in the room, like we were standing on the edge of something we couldn’t control.

I took a step back, my heart racing. “I should go,” I said softly, trying to maintain control, even as the desire building between us felt undeniable.

But as I reached for the door, he moved quickly, his hand slamming against it, stopping me from leaving.

I froze, caught off guard by the force of his movement. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him, his blue eyes locking with mine. He was so close now, the heat of his body radiating against mine.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

My heart pounded in my chest. The space between us was electric, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His hand stayed on the door, his other hand slowly lifting to brush a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I could barely breathe under the weight of his gaze.

“You like playing with me, don’t you?” His voice was almost a growl now, the words wrapped in dark intent. “You like making me chase you, testing me, seeing how far I’ll go.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but I couldn’t deny the heat that rushed through me. This was the moment—the moment. “Maybe,” I whispered, my lips almost brushing against his as I spoke. “Maybe I do.”

His smirk deepened, and in that instant, he closed the distance between us. His lips crashed against mine, fierce and hungry, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore. The kiss was everything I had imagined—passionate, urgent, full of unspoken desire. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer, the heat of his body making me melt against him.

I responded in kind, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepened, and I could feel his desire growing, matching my own. The world outside the room ceased to exist. All that mattered was the tension between us—the need that had been building for days, now finally unleashed.

His hands moved to the small of my back, pushing me against the door as he kissed me deeper. I could feel his breath against my neck, his lips trailing down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. I gasped as his hand slid down, dangerously close to where I wanted him, but just as quickly, he pulled away, his eyes dark with lust.

“You’ve been playing with fire, Miss Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “And now… it’s my turn.” I think,” he said, his voice soft but filled with purpose, “that I should remind you who’s in charge here.”

I looked up at him, my chest rising and falling with every breath. My heart was racing, but I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. “I’ve been waiting for this,” I whispered.

His gaze darkened, and without another word, he pulled me toward him again, this time more forcefully, as his lips descended on mine once more. The kiss was all heat and urgency, the taste of him intoxicating as his hands roamed over my body, taking control in a way that made me feel both exhilarated and completely powerless.

I responded, parting my lips slightly, inviting him in. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against mine with a tenderness that belied the intensity of the connection between us. My body seemed to melt against him, every inch of me craving the touch I had been teasing him with for so long.

His hands found their way to my waist, pulling me closer, and for a brief moment, I thought he might push me further. But he didn’t. Instead, he gently guided me toward his desk, the action so smooth, so deliberate, I couldn’t help but follow.

He stopped just before the edge of the desk, his eyes locking onto mine. “Sit,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.

I obeyed without hesitation, sitting on the edge of the desk, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for what would come next. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

He stepped back, taking in the sight of me sitting there, the tension thick in the air. “You’ve been teasing me,” he said again, his voice softer this time, but no less intense. “But you want more, don’t ya?”

I nodded, unable to find the words. My body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive with need.

“You’re so needy for me, Miss Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire. “And I think you know exactly how far you’re willing to go.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but before I could respond, he was back in front of me, his lips capturing mine once again. The kiss was hungry now, desperate, like we were both starved for this connection. There was no turning back. He first unbuttoned my shirt a bit, playing with them a bit, but surprisingly he ripped my shirt leaving me with only my bra. I smirked at his action, and with confidence, I started removing my bra, slowly looking at him, with a smirk. My fingers hesitated for just a second as I reached for the straps of my bra, but I knew he was watching, and somehow, that made me move slower, more deliberately.

As I pulled the fabric down my shoulders, I felt his eyes trace the curve of my skin. I could see the shift in his posture—how his breath seemed to catch, how his chest rose and fell a little faster. His eyes never left me, and I could feel the weight of his stare like a touch, lingering on my exposed skin. When the bra finally slipped down, I couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed every inch, lingering on my breasts with such intensity that it made me feel completely exposed.

His jaw tightened, and I saw his hand flex at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to move. He didn’t look away. In fact, it was almost like he was drinking me in, like he couldn’t get enough of what he was seeing. There was hunger in his eyes—raw, powerful—and yet, there was something else too, something almost reverent, like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had.

His breath was shallow, quick, and I noticed how his body shifted, how he leaned in just slightly, drawn to me without even realizing it. I could tell he wanted to reach out, to close the distance between us, but he stayed still, rooted in place, just watching. His eyes flicked back to mine for a moment, and the heat between us seemed to grow, thick and heavy, leaving no room for anything but this moment.

I let the bra drop fully, and still, his gaze never wavered. I felt a flush spread across my skin, not from shyness, but from the raw intensity of how he was looking at me. He was hungry for me, but it wasn’t just physical. It felt deeper, like he was searching for something in me, something more than just the surface.

At that moment, I realized I wasn’t just undressing for him. I was giving him all of me, and he was taking it in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid if he blinked, it would all disappear.

“You really love teasing, don’t you, darling?” His voice was low, almost a growl, like he was savoring the words, letting them linger between us. His gaze never left mine, intense and predatory, but there was something playful in the way he spoke, as if he enjoyed watching me revel in the power of the moment.

met his gaze, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. His words hung in the air, heavy with that unmistakable edge of desire. “Yes,” I said softly, my voice breathless but confident. “I love it.” I let the words linger between us, daring him to respond, daring him to make the next move.

His eyes darkened, and the moment stretched taut between us, the space narrowing. Before I could even register the shift in his posture, his hand was on me—his touch firm, almost possessive as he reached for my breast, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin. I gasped, my body instinctively tilting toward him, but he guided me with ease, his touch a mixture of control and dominance.

“You’ve had your little games,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with intent. “Now it’s my turn to have fun.” His thumb stroked the curve of my breast, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’ve teased me enough, darling. But now…” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, his grip tightening slightly. “Now, it’s my turn to see just how much you can handle.”

His hand didn’t stop, didn’t falter. The intensity of his gaze pinned me in place, even as my breath hitched and my knees felt weak. Without a word, he guided me back until I felt the cool edge of the desk against me. His touch was deliberate, firm but not rushed, as though he wanted to savor every reaction he could draw from me.

“Lie back,” he murmured, his voice deep and commanding, the kind of tone that sent a shiver through me and left no room for hesitation. I obeyed, lowering myself onto the desk, the smooth surface pressing against my back as he loomed over me.

His hands moved down, exploring every inch of me, his fingertips brushing over my exposed skin with an unhurried precision that made me feel like I was unraveling under his touch. When he reached the hem of my skirt, his eyes flicked up to meet mine, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his tone teasing but heavy with desire. He slid the fabric higher, baring my thighs inch by inch, watching as goosebumps rose on my skin. His fingers lingered just at the edge of my panties, tracing the line where the fabric met my skin, a maddeningly light touch that made my pulse race.

“You like to tease, but look at you now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His thumb brushed over me through the thin fabric, his movements slow, deliberate. I couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped my lips, and his smirk deepened.

“Already so wet,” he said softly, almost to himself, his fingers pressing just enough to make me squirm. “Tell me, darling, was this all part of your little game? Or is this just how much you want me?”

The way he looked at me, the way his hands moved, made my mind spin. I couldn’t find the words to respond, couldn’t do anything but feel as he kept teasing me, his touch igniting every nerve in my body. He was in complete control now, and I could only hold onto the edge of the desk, letting myself get lost in the way he looked at me like I was his to claim.

His fingers toyed with the edge of my panties, his touch maddeningly light as though he was savoring how much I squirmed under him. I managed a smirk, though my breath was already unsteady.

“You’re good at this,” I murmured, the tease in my voice thin but still there. “But what about you, Professor?” My words dripped with mock innocence, daring him. “You should’ve seen the way you were looking at me earlier.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for just a moment as if I’d struck a nerve. The smirk that spread across his lips after was slow, deliberate, dangerous.

“You have no idea,” he said, the words making me shiver. “How many times I’ve dreamed of this—of having you like this, spread out, completely mine to touch, to taste…” His hand slid lower, his fingers grazing the soft fabric that clung to me. “To fuck you senseless,” he finished, his tone rough with restraint, his breath hot against my skin.

“Don’t you have rules about this?” I asked, my voice low and teasing, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Making out with your student?”

He paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze made my stomach flip, and then he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, his voice rough and full of heat.

“I’d break every rule for you, darling,” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “Every single one.”

His hands moved with purpose then, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, hooking the fabric, and pulling it down slowly. The deliberate way he did it—like he wanted me to feel every second of it—made my pulse race.

“Lift,” he said, his tone low and commanding, and I obeyed without a second thought, letting him slide them down and away. The cool air against my bare skin made me shiver, but his warm hands were already there, settling on my thighs, pushing them apart with a quiet authority that sent heat rushing through me.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, his eyes dark with intent. The way he looked at me, like I was something he’d waited too long to touch, made me tremble.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his breath warm, every touch deliberate and unhurried. I gripped the edge of the desk, barely able to breathe as he moved closer, the tension in the air thick enough to drown in.

“You teased me long enough,” he murmured against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “Now, let me take care of you the way I’ve dreamed of.”

His hands tightened on my thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The weight of his gaze alone made me feel exposed, vulnerable—but in a way that only made me crave more. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every moment, every reaction I gave him.

I tried to steady my breath, but it was impossible when every second of his tongue left me more breathless. His lips brushed over my skin, soft and teasing, but I couldn’t stop the way my body responded—how I arched toward him instinctively, needing more.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, with a hint of command. “Let me make you feel good.”

The tension in my body built with every deliberate stroke of his tongue on my clit, every soft press of his lips. I could feel my pulse racing, the heat spreading through me, getting more intense with every move he made. The way he took his time, exploring, licking, making sure I felt every inch of his attention, was driving me crazy. I couldn’t help the quiet moans that escaped my lips, each one only fueling his need to tease me further.

I could feel the pressure building, growing tighter and tighter inside me, until it was almost unbearable. His movements were steady, perfect, and it was clear he was enjoying the way I was coming undone beneath his touch. My body trembled with anticipation, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Professor… professor… I’m c-coming,” I gasped, my voice shaky as the words tumbled out before I could even stop them.

The moment I spoke, he pulled back slightly, his lips still brushing against me as he glanced up at me, his expression filled with a wicked, knowing smile.

“Call me James, babe,” he murmured, his voice rough and possessive. There was a playful edge in his tone, but underneath it was an unmistakable authority that sent another wave of heat rushing through me.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down—he kept moving with that same steady rhythm, drawing me closer to the edge again. The way he moved, the way he touched me, left me no choice but to surrender to the pleasure.

“James...” I gasped, the sound of his name falling from my lips like a plea, a release. It pushed me over the edge, and I couldn’t help but let go, the pleasure crashing through me in waves as I fell apart beneath his touch.

I could hardly catch my breath as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed away, my chest heaving with each shallow inhale. Slowly, I sat up, trying to regain some sense of control, my body still trembling slightly from the release he’d given me.

But he wasn’t done. I felt his hand gently, yet firmly, guide me back, pushing me to lay across the desk.

“Did you think I was done, Y/n?” His voice was low, confident, full of quiet authority as he loomed above me, his eyes dark with intent. “I told you... now it’s my turn to play.”

His hands moved with purpose, his fingers undoing his shirt. I watched as he pulled it off, revealing his toned chest, each muscle defined and impossibly perfect in the soft light. The sight of him, so composed yet hungry for me, stirred something deep inside.

He unzipped his trousers, the sound of the zipper sharp in the otherwise quiet room. As he stepped closer, his gaze never left mine, steady and filled with something that made my heart race even faster.

“I know you want it, babe,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this... to make you scream my name while I fuck your little pussy. I can feel it... the way you’ve been craving me, just like I’ve been craving you.”

I could feel the tension building again between us, the heat in the room growing almost unbearable. His hands moved firmly to my shoulders, guiding me back until I was lying flat across the desk, my heart racing with both anticipation and uncertainty. The shift in position made everything feel more intimate, more real, and I could feel my body instinctively surrendering to him.

His touch was possessive now, his hands gentle but unyielding, pressing me firmly against the desk. My breath hitched as he loomed over me, his presence a weight I couldn’t escape. Every movement he made was deliberate, as though he was savoring each second, each shift of power.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unmistakable edge of command. His tone was both soothing and thrilling, the way he said my name sending a rush of heat through my body. The way he used it—like he was taking control—made my pulse quicken.

It felt as though every inch of my body was attuned to him, and I couldn’t help but let go of the resistance, letting myself sink into the moment, into the connection we shared.

His hands slid gently under my ass, lifting me as he positioned himself between my legs, his presence commanding. I could feel the weight of his touch as he leaned down, his lips brushing lightly over the inside of my thighs. The kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement sending a pulse of warmth through my body.

“You’re mine now, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin, sending shivers through me. “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

He leaned in, starting moving slowly but sending shivers down my spine. Each thrust was deliberate, slow—almost too slow for the need I felt building within me. My body wanted more, needed more, but he was taking his time, letting every moment stretch out, making me ache with wanting.

I could feel him shift slightly, his hands gently gripping my hips, pulling me closer, but still, he didn’t move any faster. The anticipation was maddening, and I couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped my lips.

“Please,” I breathed, barely able to control myself. “Faster, please.”

His eyes locked onto mine as he paused, the intensity in his gaze making my heart race. There was a moment where I could feel his control slipping, but he only smiled slightly, the hint of a challenge in his eyes.

“You’re such a desperate girl, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost like a growl. There was a teasing edge to his words, but they only added to the heat building inside me. His tone, though commanding, held something more—a knowing that made me shiver in response.

The pace had quickened, and every movement he made sent waves of heat through me. His hands were gripping my hips, holding me in place as he thrust harder, faster. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, my chest rising and falling with each moment. I could feel every inch of him, the way his body moved with control and purpose, making every nerve in my body come alive.

I could feel his gaze on me, intense and dark with desire, as he continued to move with a rhythm that was both steady and relentless. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” he whispered, his hands sliding up to my ribs, his fingers curling slightly as he held me tighter, his thumb brushing over my skin.

“Yes,” I gasped, the word slipping out before I could stop it. I was already lost in the sensation, my mind spinning with the intensity of everything—his touch, his voice, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Without missing a beat, he increased the pace again, and I couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation overwhelming. His movements were smooth, confident, his body pressing me down into the desk as I gripped the edges, my fingers digging into the cool surface. Every thrust sent shockwaves through me, the intensity building until I could feel my body starting to tremble with the pressure.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear, the sound of his voice sending a shiver through me. His words were a promise, something deeper, something real. “You feel so good, Y/N.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a coherent thought. I was lost in the feeling of him, the way his body moved with mine, the way everything seemed to align as if we were both caught in the same moment, the same rhythm. The connection was undeniable, each touch, each thrust, drawing me closer to the edge.

My breaths were shallow now, the pressure building more and more. I could feel myself starting to tremble, my legs tightening around him, desperate for release. “James,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, but he heard it, responding without hesitation.

“What did you say, darling? I didn’t hear you” He said, looking at me with a smirk on his face. “Jame-” I tried to say but only a moan came. “I don't hear you babe” and he thrusted harder now and I felt dizzy for a second. “I told you I want you to scream my name, but I don’t listen nothing” “James, fuck me harder!” I cried, I don’t even know how my voice came. He looked at me with a smirk.

His hands moved down to my thighs, gripping them firmly, and he shifted, adjusting his position just enough to make the sensation even more intense. My body arched, a soft gasp escaping me as the new angle took over, the pressure building in all the right ways.

It was almost too much, but I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t pull away. I wanted this, needed this, and as the rhythm of his movements quickened again, I could feel my own body responding, chasing that overwhelming release.

" James... I'm close," I breathed, my voice shaky, barely a whisper. Every part of me was on fire, the heat inside me almost unbearable, but I couldn't stop it. I was caught between control and the overwhelming need to give in to what he was offering.

"Cum for me, Y/N, come all over my cock such a good girl you are" he whispered, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. The sound of his words sent a shiver down my spine, like a signal that it was okay to give in, to let the pressure that had been building inside me finally break free.

I finally let go. The sensation hit me all at once, a wave of heat and release that took over, making my entire body tremble. I couldn’t stop the soft, breathless moans that slipped from me, each one an echo of the intensity coursing through me.

"I need just a bit more," he whispered, his voice strained. His hands gripped my hips tighter as he pulled me closer, urging me to meet his rhythm.

The pace quickened, the sounds of his breathing growing louder. His movements became more erratic, his grip on me tightening, his face a mix of focus and something deeper.

"Y/N..." he muttered, his breath catching. His body shuddered against mine, the tension finally snapping as he released a soft exhale, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching the frantic rhythm of the moment.

For a few moments, we both stayed still, breathing heavily, connected in the quiet aftermath.

He gently guided me to sit, but I remained on the edge of the desk, my legs draped around his waist, as he stood just in front of me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, his chest pressing against mine as we both caught our breath. I could feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. We both smiled, a moment of quiet intimacy between us.

"Wow," I murmured, my voice still breathless. "That was intense."

He chuckled softly, his grip tightening slightly as if reassuring me. "I’m glad you liked it," he whispered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. A playful glint danced in his eyes, but there was also something deeper, an intensity that lingered.

I looked up at him, my fingers tracing lightly over his shirt, my lips teasing the words I could feel bubbling up inside. "What if I wanted to play again?" I said, my voice soft but daring, the words laced with challenge.

He smirked, holding me a little tighter as if pulling me further into him. "If you play with me again, there will be consequences," he said, his tone playful yet firm.

I met his gaze, leaning in just slightly, my lips brushing near his ear. "Then I’ll gladly play again," I whispered, my voice a breath against his skin.

He chuckled softly, but then his expression shifted. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, a serious edge creeping into his voice. "I forgot to mention something," he said. His hand moved to the back of my neck, his touch gentle but firm. "If I hear you talking the way you did earlier, with Professor Hammett, I’ll make you pay for it."

My heart skipped a beat at his words. I looked up at him, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Are you jealous, Professor?" I asked, my voice light, but there was a part of me that wanted to know just how he’d react.

His grip on me tightened, just enough to send a shiver through me, but his smile didn’t waver. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice rough but with a hint of warmth. "And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make you regret making me feel that way."

A playful laugh escaped me, but there was a softness in my chest, a warmth I couldn’t quite explain. Without another word, he leaned down, pressing his lips gently to mine and I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was slow at first, a tender kiss that deepened as we both surrendered to the quiet pull between us. When we finally broke away, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths coming in unison.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispered, his voice thick with something more than just desire.

I smiled softly, running my fingers along the edge of his shirt, a quiet thrill coursing through me. "I think we both have a lot more to explore, don’t we?"

He chuckled, pulling me closer once more, his arms holding me as if to keep me from ever slipping away. "Definitely."

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica x you #metallica smut #metallica x reader #jameshetfield #jameshetfieldxreader #james hetfield one shot #james hetifeld x you #james hetfield smut

84 notes · View notes

ilovepapahet · 3 months ago

Text

James Hetfield HeadCanons

Black Album or 1991 another one of my favourite eras (ngl maybe my favourite) he’s so intimidating and I love it, I don’t know what it is about him he’s stunning

but anyways I’m doing hc’s for Black Album/1991

————————————————————————

SFW

From the outside people just see him as this intimidating grumpy guy who you’d want to stay away from but when he’s with you alone he’s the sweetest guy ever

he’s quite literally a big house cat (at least what I’d call him) he’s such a softy and loves laying with you or laying his head on your chest because in his words “you have soft tits”

he loves holding your hand when you both are out in public

he loves showing people that your his (I feel like just in general he does) he’s following you around the clothing store and when you show him a shirt or pants you like and you’d ask him if you’d look good in them

he’s giving you the best compliments and saying you should get them but if your think there to much money he’ll get the for you

and in saying that he spoils you with clothes and food and make up

not to the point where people think your using him for his money (obviously) but you do joke that he’s your sugar daddy

he’ll ask for your input on lyrics he’s been working on or riffs and when Nothing Else Matters came out and he told you he wrote the song for you

he got all red and flustered cause he thought you might have thought it was corny but you proved him wrong

he loves so cuddle with it’s his favourite thing he’s nuzzle his head into your hair or neck

NSFW

He’s rough don’t tell me no

he’d hold your hips in a death grip to the point where it leaves bruises as he pistons his cock into your pussy

He’ll say the most filthiest thing to you telling you your such a slut or a needy whore

and you love it

he’d grab your face (not hard) and make you keep eye contact with him when you cum he’ll also choke you (lightly) when he’s about to cum

or he’ll choke you when he wants you to be quiet but that’s only if your at the studio with him or in a hotel room (or literally anywhere backstage) he’ll tell you to shut up as if you could but it’s not your fault he’s fucking you like a mad man

he’ll use cuffs on you (I feel like in this era this is where he uses cuffs and toys and I heard somewhere in a interview James said he liked cuffs but I don’t remember if he said he liked using them on himself or someone else)

he’ll cuff you or himself to the bed and if it’s you he’s thrusting painfully slow into you and you’d whine because your not getting the satisfaction you need

hickeys everywhere your hickey central

he loves them oh so much seeing you marked up by him gets him going

breeding oh my god breeding telling you he’s going to pump his babies into you so your his

he loves to see you coved in his cum

on your face on your tits on your tummy he loves to see it practically painting you in his seed

he’s also definitely improved on after care

he’d clean his cum off of you with a soft warm towel or give you a bath to relax you after such a rough session and than gently kiss you all over and cuddle you tracing weird shapes into your skin

————————————————————————

I ❤️ 1991 James Hetfield

#Forever and always #he’s so cowboy #james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield smut #metalica #james hetfield x you #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield head canons

105 notes · View notes

weirdgenetic-fuckup · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! :D

Could you do a 80s James Hetfield x reader? Where he comes home pissed about things that happened at the studio and the reader wanted to help release some of his angry.

With smut and fluff

Thank you :3

Warnings: Smut, slight angst, belly bulge, degradation, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You ankles were at your ears, a bulge in your stomach and James pinning you to the bed as he spat insult after insult at you. Your mind was running and foggy and you couldn’t quite place what you did to get here.

You and James had been dating for a few months and he'd been the sweetest thing, especially when it came to sex. He was always asking if you were ok, if it felt good and making sure he wasn't hurting you in any way.

He came home from the studio in a particularly bad mood and of course you wanted to help him. You offered to make him food but he said he wasn't hungry so you tried a movie and again he refused.

You knew blow jobs always made him happy so you got on your knees for him and from there you found a whole new side to your once happy, cheery boyfriend.

Which led to now, how he had you folded over on the bed, hands pinned above your head, knees pinned to your chest, your body bouncing up and down on the mattress with every harsh thrust.

"You like that, don't you?" James barked. "Love it when you're treated like the little whiny bitch you are." You'd thought that it would hurt you to hear such things coming from him, especially when directed at you, but that knot in your gut proved otherwise.

Your needy cunt just kept pulling him back in, begging for him to stretch you out, to bruise your insides. "Fuck, Jamie, 'm so close." You whined, receiving a heavy hand on your ass.

"Shut up." James grunted. He pulled out of you completely, a smirk on his face as you whined at the sudden absence of him. "Whore's don't get to cum until I say." You stared up at him, a pout tugging at your bottom lip as the bundle in your stomach faded.

James pushed back into you and went right back to fucking you as if you weren't on the brink of tears.

He repeated this over and over, getting you so close to the edge and then pulling out just to hear you cry. You thought that if you didn't warn him he wouldn't notice but it only backfired and he made you wait twice as long.

Tears now streamed down your cheeks, your sobs mixed with the moans. James' words didn't cheer up, in fact they somehow got meaner, more direct. "Are you seriously crying? Can't even take my cock like a good slut?"

You reached up for him, weakly clawing at his shoulders. James took notice of how distraught you were and leaned down to kiss your forehead. "You wanna cum?" You hesitated, looking up at him with teary eyes, before nodding. He kissed your cheek sweetly, the anger he once directed at you now fading.

He let your legs fall, allowing you to wrap them around his waist as you normally would. He held you close, lifting you so you were sitting in his lap as he fucked you. "You've been so good, tonight, you know that?" He whispered into your ear.

His hands roamed your body, soothing the red hand marks he'd left on your ass. He rubbed your clit in small circles with his thumb until you finally hit your high.

After all the abuse to your now puffy hole, all the edging and degrading this was the best high you could've asked for. Your whole body tingled, your vision going white as your head fell back.

"That's it, that's my sweet girl." James whispered in your ear, planting soft kisses to your jawline and neck.

Your body twitched a few times as James laid you down on the bed. "I'll get a cloth so we can get cleaned up, alright?" You were too out of it to even nod.

You watched as James sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off the condom. You reached for him, looking up at him in confusion since condoms were usually not on his mind when he was in a good mood.

He turned back to you after throwing it out. "I didn't think you'd've wanted to deal with that mess." He said, moving your hair out of your face to kiss your forehead before he hurried off to the bathroom to get something to clean you both up.

He used warm water and was gentle around more delicate areas, making sure to kiss you all over and whisper sweet praises in your ear, how good you were, how proud of you he is, how much he loves you.

He got you into some soft underwear and one of his shirts since they were bigger and would be nicer to your sensitive skin before he got into bed with you, spooning you from behind. "I love you so much, you know that?" You smiled and nodded.

"I know you do." You mumbled, eyes struggling to stay open.

"Good." He kissed your temple. "Don't forget it, alright? You're perfect, you know that?" Again you nodded.

"I know."

"Good." He let out a soft sigh. After a moment of silence he sat up and looked down at you. "You're not gonna say it back?" He saw you'd fallen asleep and just smiled. He laid back down and wrapped his arms around your waist. "You love me." He mumbled and pulled you closer.

#metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica imagines #metallica fanfiction #metallica #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield #james hetfield x you

207 notes · View notes

hetfieldlovebot · 2 months ago

Note

JAMES FUCKING READER WHO IS DAVE’S GIRLFRIEND AFTER KICKING HIM OUT OF THE BAND (sorry dave 😭)

YOU ARE SICK AND TWISTED AND I LOVE IT

i did a drabble on this before but it was never public so using some stuff from that hehehe (80s jamey obviously)

hetfield x afab reader

part 1(?)

cw: smut, pre established story, cheating, fingering, light degrading, praise, sneaking in

_________

you and James had been messing around for months, despite your terrible guilt youcouldn’t resist James, it had all started months ago when you were at a party hosted at Metallica’s shoddy little group house they shared. you were quite tipsy, Dave had filtered off somewhere and passed out while talking to Lars, James had sat down on the couch next to you and offered you a cigarette which you graciously took.

you really did care for Dave but as of recent you couldn’t take his behaviour, that night they had argued and Dave’s hotheaded temper left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you promised Cliff at least you’d be at that party. A few drinks and a couple cigarettes later, you and James were feverishly making out on the couch and getting a little too handsy in the absence of everyone else, the two of you had connected as friends but it all devolved with the drinking and talking.

the next morning you swore to yourself you’d never let it happen again. but a sobering fact was thrown in your face, Dave was kicked out of the band, suddenly he was on you like a fly on shit being so clingy. you felt awful, you were planning to break up with him because of last night’s events left you considering your relationship and the passion you were missing but Dave was such a sweet guy, you couldn’t do it. the guilt was immense but you couldn’t add to that right now, it’d be so cruel.

that never stopped James, for the next few weeks the cocky bastard would sneak into you place, climb through you bedroom window, sometimes even when Dave was there, he’d find a way to get to you.

this particular evening you were laid on your stomach on your shared bed in the home you shared with Dave, kicking your feet idly, studying for a course you were taking, the air was nice and breezy, the window wide open on that particular summer evening. it was around 7pm and the sun showed no signs of setting, casting a warm glow all across the house through the windows. you were twirling and fidgeting with your hair as he was reading, humming lightly to a Metallica song (yikes) as you read your textbook, your mind just absorbing as much information as possible and getting so lost in it you didn’t even hear the sound outside the window fully. you assumed it was Dave who was downstairs playing guitar and shrugged it off, your mind drifting off to James for a second and you felt your whole body fill up with adrenaline, lust, excitement and heavy guilt all at the same time. A confusing mix that left you breathless, always.

and when James was around? you were practically a brainless and needy mess even if you would repeat over and over again how they couldn’t, how violently wrong it was, how they couldn’t do this, James would always get you in the end.

the two of you hadn’t gone the full way yet but something in James’ brain knew that you wouldn’t be able to resist him much longer. he could tell you felt so giddy whenever you thought about James, he’d seen it in passing before he’d crawl through your window most nights, the way your eyes would light up randomly whenever his songs came on or you discovered something he’d left subtly to mark his territory as - that’s what he considered it as.

he was your secret, your horrible, awful….dirty, exciting, secret and you had absolutely no idea James was currently climbing up to and slipping through his window for the umpteenth time these past few weeks, approaching you from behind sneakily to get you spooked.

It wasn’t until you felt cold hands brace the bottom of your back, curling around your hips that you squealed, that was until a large hand came around to cover your mouth.

“miss me, baby?”

he cooed quietly, a shit eating grin on his face as he met your eyes in the mirror by your bed, chuckling softly as your body relaxed, he took those few seconds to flip your body to face him, your legs dangling off the edge of the bed as he leaned over you.

“James! you scared this shit out of me! you can’t be here!”

you’d protest, as usual, and as usual it would fall on deaf ears. his hands were already working away, tugging your shirt up and pulling your shorts down.

“don’t lie, sweetheart, you missed me so much, look at you…already soaking…mm, Dave really has to up his game before i steal you away for myself, huh?”

he purred in your ear, condescending as usual but he knew you liked it, being belittled and praised all at the same time. the power he had over you made him dizzy, made him crave this over any other random hookup he could get, obvious in the way he touched you with outright desperation, eager fingers delving into your panties and right over your clit in torturous circles.

“s-stop! stop, Jamey, we can’t! he’s downstairs! i told you not to come here anymore…I-…”

the moan that escaped your lips was even more desperate than his frantic touch, you knew in that moment that you’d given as much away, and judging by the sly grin on his face and the small tilt of his head, you were in for it.

“oh? did you say something, darling? i can’t quite hear you over those needy moans of yours.”

you tried to protest again, honestly you did, but before you could even make a sound, his fingers slipped in and curled right up to that sweet spot that had you trembling.

“you were saying?”

he teased, pumping his fingers slowly, just enough to have you whimpering which was quickly silenced by his lips, crashing against yours in a frenzy, a deep sigh of satisfaction escaping him as you let him in once more, tongues exploring. he’d been waiting for this all fucking day, between long hours at practice and droning conversations with managers and people who thought they knew better than him, relief teetered right on the edge and he intended to take it.

“what? can’t speak all of a sudden?”

you hated how he got to you like this, but you nodded in agreement anyways, it was agony, pure sweet agony,. he kept hitting the right spot each time, every pump his pace picked up, the whimpers and moans escaping your muffled mouth were filthy and he loved it, his hand over your lips adding to the taboo of the whole ordeal and as much as it was awful, it was intoxicating and it got you off like nothing else. soon enough that familiar feeling was brewing, taut in your belly like a string about to snap, your eyes met him in a silent beg.

he grinned once more, that familiar smile that he knew you hated because it always signalled mischief, he pulled his fingers out right when you needed them the most, leaving you looking dumbfounded and pathetic. tonight was the night, the night he would truly have you, he cupped your face and leaned in for a surprisingly gentle kiss, leaving the both of you dizzy and flushed, he nipped on your lower lip before pulling back and whispering.

“spread your legs, sweetheart, i’ve got plans for you, can you be a good little slut and take it?”

#RAUUUUGH HI IM BACK #half inspired by the lack of stuff im seeing lately #let me know if you want a part 2!!#i had more thoughts but it was getting quite long sooo #eeeee!#axe’s thoughts #james hetfield #metallica #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield smut

75 notes · View notes

electronicnutcycle · 2 months ago

Text

Public Sex - Day 6 - James Hetfield

Description: You got to a Metallica concert to have fun , not expecting to have sex with James hetfield and his bandmates.

Pairing: James Hetfield x reader.

Warning: Smut , public? sex , exhibitionism and I think that’s it (but lmk if I missed something).

One moment you were having fun at a Metallica concert and the next , you were being fucked by James Hetfield in front of his band mates in their changing room.

You were currently face down on a dinghy couch where James was behind you , his hands having a tight grip on your hips that will most certainly leave a mark and his dick pistoling in and out of you at a blinding pace. As he did that you had a quick glimpse at his bandmates and of course they were jerking of at the site of you.

And as James was pistoling in and out of you you felt the knot in your lower stomach tighten and knew that you wouldn’t last long.

“oh god I’m comi-“ I tried to say before my orgasm arrived but as my vision went white and my body shook at the intense feeling.

A few minutes later as my body went limp , James came in me spurting hot strings of gooey cum in me. And as I tried to get up to get my clothes on and leave I heard a low chuckle from James as he pushed me back onto the couch “do you really think that my bandmates wouldn’t get a chance with you?” and as he said that I just hoped that I took my birth control today.

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #kinktober list #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #metallica #metallica smut #james hetfield #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader

81 notes · View notes

aplaceforyourhearttorest · 3 months ago

Text

It Will Come Back 🕮⛧ James Hetfield (18+)

Part Two of Summon Me

Mentions/Warnings: demon!james, oral sex while standing/carrying receiver, fingering, minor blood play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

Glass bottles' bottoms are clacking themselves together in a loud and rhythmic unison as your roommate hurries her way back inside of your guys' shared dormitory and kitchen, and the abrupt way she nearly drops them on the dining room table in front of you, has you jumping in shocked fright. You're unable ask her what's wrong, before she's manically reaching into the paper bag to rip a beer out of a six pack.

"God, I fucking hate Halloween," she expels during a small pause in between her taking large gulps of the lightly colored beverage. "I swear, it feels like every year since we ended up doing that séance, we've been cursed." Your eyebrows raise on their own accord, and you can't help but laugh in disbelief.

"We, as in you and me, we? Because from what I remember, I came home and found you and your friend drunk off your asses, with a ouija board and a burnt planchette on the living room floor." You raise your hand to solidify your statement by showing off the healed scar on your palm, and only relax back into your seat once she sends you an apologetic smile and tosses her empty bottle in the direction of the trash can.

"Yeah, sorry about all of that," her tone is dismissive, yet soft, and you lower your hand back down onto your book as she moves closer to you by sliding her elbows against the wood. Lifting her forearms to hold her hands together to rest her chin on top of them, you see her fight off a shiver and purposefully look around really slowly. "But you can feel it too, right? It comes and goes every few weeks, but I swear, it always gets colder and darker this time of year. And the fucking scratch marks on the cabinets get longer each year too. I swear I'm not crazy."

You purse your lips to hide your smile, and lift up a shoulder in response as you pinch the used and worn pieces of paper together in the back of your novel. "I think whatever happened that night, you definitely invited something in here, and it just likes to mess with you is all," using a rugged and already half torn edge of the page you stopped on to dog ear it for later, you close your book and go to move your chair back, but stop when you notice the look on her face.

Using her left index finger that's free from underneath her chin, she points at you and narrows her eyes. "What do you mean?" She interrogates, and you force your expression to remain neutral, even as your fingertips turn white as you tighten your hold around your item. "You said me, instead of we. Is there something going on that I don't know about? Have you and Steve been fucking with me?"

You're pushing your chair from further behind you with the backs of your knees by the time she has her eyes narrowed in on you, and you perceptibly shake your head. "I haven't said more than five words to Steve within the past three years he's been around, much less have conspired with him to make you any more paranoid than usual, roomie."

A shrill scream comes from a few feet away from the partially open back door and outside, and this time, it's your roommate that jumps, and then screams. Red and multicolored led lights are displayed and emanating all throughout your dormitory from all sides from the other surrounding homes, and for a second, she looks like she's in a horror movie. A handful of children running around laughing can be seen through the crack, before she lets out a frustrating sigh and kicks it to a full close. The chain is colliding with the doorframe and then bouncing in place by the time she's grinding her teeth together, and you hesitantly take a step back.

"I think I'm just going to head to my room and finish this up," you murmur in the now completely silent home, and nod your head towards the recyclable bag she came running in with just a few minutes ago. "Make sure to save some for the friends you invited over last week, and happy early Halloween." You take her eyes widening in recollection as enough of a goodbye to turn around and start walking down the hall, only to pause at the obvious burn mark still etched into the wood of your guys' shared living room floor.

To this day, it looks brand new, even after your roommate and her friend tirelessly attempted to scrub it away, in fear of the owner of the house seeing it and deducting even more money from the down payment you two put down after every lease renewal. The sliver of scarred skin itches on the edge of your palm, and excitement whirls in your midsection. Peering over your shoulder to look at the clock and then into the entryway of the kitchen, you hastily and excitedly pace the rest of the way to your bedroom, before locking the door behind you and tugging out the folded up pages from the back of your book.

Using the now blue and purple lights flashing their way through your bedroom's curtains to carefully open the paper from the spell book you stole two years ago, you smile down at the full incantation, before setting it down to get the rest of your supplies. In less than thirty minutes, you'll be seeing him again.

⛧

Three large candles are placed right in front of your crossed legs and bent knees, and you place the new and sterilized needle on your thigh, with your eyes anxiously glancing back to the digital clock resting precariously on your desk every few seconds. As soon as twelve makes itself apparent in the bright red numbers being displayed, you're leaning forward to read the already memorized short spell out loud, and carefully pricking your right index finger.

"I summon thee, on the night on Halloween, to feast upon me in the hopes of everlasting fulfillment."

The wet and darkened bead travels itself down your fingertip in a slow and taunting pace, before collecting at your nailbed, and dripping down onto the page. A steady stream of cold air wafts its way over to you and causes goosebumps to raise on your bare skin, and you grin instead of jolt when two hands are audibly smacking themselves on your nearest bedroom's window. Two bright irises stare at you through your nearly see through fabric, and a brush of heat collects itself as James' sharp teeth greet you from the other side of the glass.

You're on your feet before your head can catch up with the rest of your body, and your hands shake as you eagerly unlatch the window's lock on it and push the aged wood upwards. "You know you can just appear in my bedroom like usual, you didn't have to wait outside." Your voice somehow sounds stable in spite of the insurmountable adrenaline pumping through you, and you allow yourself to be guided backwards as he makes his way inside and delicately beckons you back with a large hand.

Thick and long, sharp nails mold themselves around the curve of your waist, and he grins down at you, before peeking his narrowed tongue out to dampen his lips. "As if I would be alright with doing the exact same shit every year," he responds in a lazy drawl, his eyelids barely fluttering in a blink as he hungrily takes in every inch of you. "Especially with you, after finding out how much you enjoy the dramatics."

You scoff and lightly push at his shoulder, your breath catching in your chest as he wraps his other hand around your wrist to pull you flush against his front. "And who keeps digging their nails into the same cabinets every year to scare my roommate?" You shakily breathe, your earlier adrenaline turning into needily want as the hand he has on your waist grazes down to the upper hem of your underwear and shorts.

James amusingly hums, before bending down to brush your foreheads together, his grin transforming into a smirk as he notices you stopping yourself from inching forward. "And yet, who keeps summoning me back every year in tradition, hm?" The question is whispered into the small swell of cold air in between you two, and he immediately responds to you after you jerk forward to slot your lips with his.

Tendrils of his blonde hair make contact with your bare shoulders as he lifts you and presses you up against the wall, and they connect with yours as he frees a hand to use it to tilt your head upward. The sharp nails dig deliciously into your sensitive skin, and he grunts in praise when you obediently open your mouth at the first tap of his fingers on your jaw.

The rough texture of his tongue is the complete juxtaposition to yours, and it somehow makes everything even more stimulating. His slim appendage slides out from his own wet cavern to lap at your own, and the hold he has on you tightens as you use your own to lick a slow and tantalizing line on the roof of his mouth. The sound of you two disconnecting is sopping wet and filthy, and warmth pools in your groin as he cleans up the strands of saliva still keeping you two together with the tip of his tongue, before swallowing them down.

"Missed how good you taste," he admits softly while looking in your eyes, and you're fully relaxed in his hold by the time he's nudging your head to the side to suck marks into your clavicle. Your legs raise to shakily wrap themselves around his middle as his teeth teasingly scrape against your reddened skin, and you feel his smile as your pulse quickens underneath him. "Here," he hums, and smiles to himself at the gasp you let out when he lifts you up another few inches. He's pressing his open mouth on your clothed breasts and inhaling in, like he can still taste you through the fabric. "Here." Your legs loosen and unwrap themselves as your knees graze his ribs, as he raises you even further. Hard and hot impressions grow against your chest as he's using his nails to rip your shirt into two, and you moan once you realize his horns are beginning to grow.

Thickened saliva pools at the front of your flimsy bra before it's torn apart, and you bite back a wail as he fills his entire mouth with your tit. His incisors retreat as he creates hickeys around your perked nipple, and his own moan reverberates around the room as you loosely make fists around his horns and hold onto them for desperate leverage.

He only separates from you to lick the taste of your own flesh into your mouth and partially greet you with a devilish and wolfish grin. "I need you to hold on tight for me, doll. Think you can do that for me?" His deliverance is borderline condescending, but you can't find it in yourself to care as he positions you to have your legs resting on his shoulders, and then he's squatting down. "What are you doing?" Is barely being stuttered out, before he's sliding the cotton fabric of your shorts and underwear to the side, and making out with your pussy.

The sound that escapes you sounds like a scream, and you couldn't be more grateful to the music your roommate began playing just minutes after you headed to your bedroom. James takes his time taking you apart, with each of your lips and your clit being licked and lapped at, and sucked into his hot and searing mouth. If you weren't holding onto his horns for grounding, you'd be gripping your hands in the strands of his hair, or reaching up to dig your nails into the ceiling.

James is hungrily slurping in and dripping out your essence and slick repeatedly as he travels and maps his way through your folds and down to your entrance. Heat jolts down your spine, and you go ramrod straight as your first orgasm pummels into you by the time he's got the tip of his tongue drawing circles and rimming itself against your fluttering hole. He's moaning as you bead and gush around him, and his movements become even more lively after he feeds off of your pleasure and energy.

Panic temporarily sifts through you as your back is being removed from against the wall, but you're placated as he holds onto your waist stands back up to his full height. The top of your head makes light contact with the ceiling of your bedroom, and your thighs shake around his head as he blindly walks you both over to your bed, with his lips still pursed and parted against you. A shocked bout of laughter bellows its way out of you as you're playfully dropped on top of your blankets and sheets, and your widened eyes soften at his rocked and disheveled state that greets you once you look up.

A sheen of your own release is covering the entire lower half of his face, and his eyes grow dark when you decide to lift your still slowly bleeding finger and bring it up to his lips. Red flashes to an almost black as he welcomes the press of you in, and your eyes nearly cross as he secretes a salve to your wound after suckling it clean.

"Do you remember what I gave you permission to do to me, three years ago?" You implore once you're sure your voice isn't going to shake and betray you. You can see him trying to figure it out on his own, but he's too high over your newly transferred vigor and blood that he can't wrap his head around your question. Encircling a hand around his wrist like he had done to you earlier, you hungrily lick at the residual shared tasted of you both of your lips, before guiding his hand down to in between your legs. "I said you could use me, and feed from me."

James' cockhead spurts prerelease in the confines of his jeans, and his hips buck forward on their own once his hand is placed to rest on top of your pussy. Making the conscious and safe decision to retract his nails before sliding and curving his index and middle fingers inside of you, his chest heaves at the sinful sound you make when he does. Circling his digits to rub his fingertips against your spongelike spot until your strings of arousal are nearly wrapping themselves around his wet wrist, his teeth begin to pang with the exertion of having to keep his fangs at bay.

"You can't even imagine the things I want to do to you, sweetheart," he purrs, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as venom stings against his gums and his horns elongate to their full height. He drives his fingers up into you to their hilt, and then pulls them out until they're nearly completely out of you. "I want to sink my fangs into your jugular and drink you dry, and then feed you my own to heal you. I want to fuck you until you're full of my seed and then eat it out of you, and have you suck the taste of yourself off of my tongue. I want you to feel me whenever you sit down for the next week."

Your eyes roll back, and your legs seize once he adds in his ring finger, and you can't stop yourself from bending your legs against the side of the bed, and yanking yourself down to try and ride them. James beads in his briefs, and a wet stain is visible through his fabric, even in the near pitch black. Red irises stare down at you, and then almost slam shut as he watches you relentlessly try to fuck yourself up and down his digits. "So fucking needy, aren't you? Has it really been that long? I thought it's only been a little bit over a week."

You sit up in a shock when he begins to scissor his fingers inside of you, and the new position has him pressing directly against your spot with the full weight of his hand. You cry out and place your hands on his forearm to stop his movements, and the tremors in your lower half have you shaking uncontrollably and shifting the blankets and sheets on your bed. "Isn't the same when it isn't Halloween, you don't have your horns," you stumble around and freeze in euphoria when he ignores your silent plea to stop. A full circle of his wrist and a come hither motion has you letting go of his arm to fist his shirt instead, as overwhelmed and overstimulated tears make their way down your cheeks. Regardless of how hungry and insatiable he's feeling, James is careful when he removes his fingers from inside of you, and he pauses in place when you refuse to let go of his cotton. Sucking in a shuttering inhale and blinking around the salty sting, you motion for him to take off his shirt, before only letting go to reach down and shakily unbuckle his belt. "I want to ride you."

Your trembling right hand is pressing itself against his swollen dick before he can even verbalize an answer, and you use the rest of your strength to pull him down on top of you, and then flip you guys' over. Tears slightly blur your vision as you unstably unbutton his jeans and tug them down past his upper thighs, but you can still recognize the awe in is gaze. A human version of a hand is running itself through the mane on the side of your head, and you pause your ministrations to lean into the hold, and then his briefs are falling down with his pants. "You don't have to if you aren't up for it, doll. I saw you almost slip into subspace earlier." He gasps as you curl a fist around his length after licking your palm slick beforehand, and the gentle grip in your hair tightens. You mewl at the sensation, and carefully shake your head as you gather yourself and stabilize while straddling his lap.

His free hand comes down to hold you upright as you reach back to grasp onto him, with him hissing at the sensitivity as his cockhead brushes against your still sopping entrance. "Wanna take care of you, just like you take care of me," you almost whisper, and your train of thought gets temporarily lost as you slowly sit yourself down on his dick. The slight twinge of pain is still there regardless of his earlier fingering, and you sigh in relief as his wide girth stretches you to your brink. "You always fill me so well, like you were made for me." The hand on your side pinches itself into your skin, but you ignore the slight discomfort as you fully position yourself up onto your feet. Placing both of your hands on his naked and sweating middle, you both curse out loud with the first slide.

The first time you bottom with your full body weight, your legs almost give out from underneath you, with him pressed so perfectly against your cervix it almost brings tears to your eyes. The hand in your hair slides down to grip onto your ass, and then moves forward to begin to tease at your swollen and bulbous clit. "I was made to fuck you just like this, and for you to use me," James breathily responds, his skin overheating and burning as you bounce up and down his length with reckless abandon. Every single swing of your hips and stuttered pulsing thrust has him spurting small beads of precum in you, and when he feels the telltale sign he's going to cum, he flips you two around. "I can't have my good girl doing all of the work herself, now can I?"

He's burying himself fully into you and sheathing his girth into and against your stretched out and slick walls before you can answer, and all you can do is hold on. The blankets and sheets beneath you shift and crumple in, and you have to wrap a shaking leg around him in fear of sliding off the bed with the force and desperation behind his thrusts. The sounds coming out of you sound strangled and animalistic, and they turn into teary jerks of his name when he reaches down in between you two to stimulate you even further.

He barely even has to tap his thumb against you, because you're already falling apart. You've had countless amounts of rounds of sex with him sporadically over the past few years, but it never feels the same or becomes tiresome and boring. You reach up to dig your nails into his back's skin, knowing that he likes a little bit of pain of his own, and he's bearing himself into you so harshly and deeply, your top halves are sliding off the bed.

A hand is taking the brunt of the fall near your head, and you're nearly bent in half as he continues to use you for his own gain. The new position has your eyes rolling in the direction of the back of your head, and you can feel his skin breaking underneath your fingers as you hold on for dear life. The next piercing thrust has you silently gasping and going completely pliant and numb in his grasp, and you slowly fade off as your third orgasm within the last half an hour shoots through you. James is still pistoling himself in and out of you, before your abused and sore pussy walls constrict in just the right way, and he's filling you with his seed.

Shakily using his knees still pressed against the bed to carefully glide you two down to fully lie down on your carpeted floor, James places kisses to the crown of your head and rubs small circles in your side until you slowly start to resurface and come back to. "There you are." He greets you, his tone hoarse from his own moans and from how spent he now is, regardless of how much he just took from you. Your eyes are refocusing on him and then your eyebrows are furrowing at the itchy fabric being pressed into your forearms. Looking further down and seeing where you two ended up, you're only able to maintain a few seconds of calm eye contact with him, before you're both shaking in silent and hysterical laughter.

The room becomes completely dark once the candles meet their end less than a handful of feet away, and the neighboring lights fade as their owner's head to bed. Tiredly lifting your head to lean forward and kiss him with as much energy you can muster, you smile against his bruised red lips, and murmur, "happy Halloween." The same sentiment is being gently said back to you, and James holds onto you until you catch your breath and go to clean up, and until the morning sun threatens to rise.

You hold back a shiver as the wind from your open bedroom window cascades itself down your arms and legs, with that being the only skin not protected and covered by James' oversize shirt. You're tugged into a tight embrace, and then he's hefting himself back out of your window. "Maybe don't wait until Halloween to summon me again, alright?" He grins at you, and holds onto the window frame as he leans back to evade your halfhearted swat.

"As long as you stop scaring the shit out of my roommate, and just appear in my bedroom next time." You try to reason, but with the fucked out and content expression on his face, and the loose movement in his posture before he lets himself fall back, you know he isn't fully listening. Perking up at the mention of her, he goes to reassure you that he won't, even though he knows that he's going to end up messing with her again. He's got a tradition to uphold, and he is a creature of habit.

⛧

James makes sure to listen in for any movement coming from the front part of the shared dormitory, before entering through the back door. Turning the kitchen light off to make sure his horns and elongated nails can't be seen in his shadow, he makes his way over to their pantry to unscrew the cabinet doors until they fall off.

Once he's done with his handy work, he purposefully pushes a half empty beer bottle off of the table, and makes his way back outside as multiple pairs of footsteps run their way towards the dining area.

A bright light is turned on, and then a frustrated scream can be heard, even as he rounds his way back towards the front of the house.

"I swear to God, I think I'm losing my mind! Someone sedate me!" He hears her scream, and he laughs to himself, before Steve's adding in. "The scratch marks were right there just less than an hour ago! Where the hell could they have gone?" James readjusts the damaged wooden doors in his arms, and sends you a wolfish grin when he sees you peering down at him with an incredulous and exasperated look on your face.

"Call me." He sends up to you, and you can't help but smile to yourself as he walks away, and then disappears.

Raising your now sore arms to push your window to a close and relatch the lock, you make a pitstop and bend down to grab onto the page ripped out of the spell book, before crawling back into your messy bed. The blood drop is now gone from the piece of paper, but you can still taste the residual of it from when you kissed him on the carpet. Satiated bliss weighs you down, and its got you easily closing your eyes and almost immediately falling asleep. Tightening your hold on the paper and rearranging yourself before you do, your last thought is.

'I am definitely calling him again.'

#metallica #james hetfield #james hetfield imagine #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #metallica imagines #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #title is from a hozier song and the song's title is the same #it's such a fucking good song #highly recommend #i wrote this shit in three hours at 2am #enjoy #happy early halloween

95 notes · View notes

sourbites · 1 month ago

Text

Wildsun

Pairing: James Hetfield/Reader (circa 1997) Contains: Cowboy/Rancher James AU, stupid banter, mentions of a breakup, overall just James and reader self-sabotaging, slowburn-ish (i time skip a lot), sappy James at the climax and resolution of the fic, and smut (i had to stay on brand). Notes: FIRST AU HOW ARE WE FEELING. hopefully i didn't keep you guys hungry for cowboy James for too long. if this was enjoyable (it sparkled and pleased with the masses), please let me know you'd like more AUs for future sourbites posts <3 Word count: 7,716

The only thing that is ever guaranteed in life is change. The backbone of life: progression. You needed that. Desperately. No more did you revel in bustling city life or cheesy billboards at every glance. Or the fact that no one seemed to stick. Your world had quickly morphed into an unknown landscape where your heart no longer had the zeal to beat.

James Hetfield had recently rescued a thoroughbred racing horse whose career was cut short. He had an accident, leaving him unable to race again. His original owners were going to euthanise him. Instead, they sold him to James. The horse, originally named something stupid like Mustang Haze, wasn't strong enough to be transported back and forth to the nearest place that was qualified to care for horses. Which also happened to be where you were employed. You, needing a change, and James, needing a professional to handle Blue (his James-given name), seemed to come to an agreement.

It's all so new and exciting. The sun's premature sunbeams scatter on the horizon, the mountains scraping the light around until it looks washed out. The fields are wide and open— the wind is screeching in your ears, amplified by the trees, prickling with its needled breeze at your spine. It's so flat; there's not much architecture to shield you from the wind or the sun. It's barely even daybreak. James wanted you here early for your first day. (You suspect he thinks you're some city-slicker, as the cowboys say.)

Just before the train ride to the ranch, you had researched him a little. Just to know who you're working with. He's a simple guy who keeps to himself, it seems. Unlike Blue, who's decorated in plaques and rosettes for his shows. It's a shame he won't be able to perform again— though something within you is glad he's out of his jockey's hands because the facts tell you he wasn't being loved in his former life.

"Hi," You offer James a professional, friendly smile. "I'm here for Blue?" He's got massive shoulders. He's kneeling on the floor of the barn, you think either tying up or cutting the string keeping a haystack together. Wind rocks straight through you as you wait for him.

His acknowledgement comes in the form of a grunt. "Stables." James answers, monosyllabic, his well-muscled back facing you. Weren't cowboys supposed to be, like, charmers? Isn't that in all the Western movies? This guy's so rude. Foolishly, you stand there for a few moments, expecting something. Maybe he'd shake your hand, welcome you, introduce himself. Or at least point you in the direction of the stables. Nope. Nothing. As if you're not even there, he ignores you, going about his business.

Eventually, you just kind of... shuffle off.

Okay. Bad first impression. But maybe he had just woken up or something. Maybe he was in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

The ranch seems to stretch on for years. Total neverending, ancient-looking land. Like a set for some 60's folk horror movie. The spindly trees are lonely, naked without their greenery. Spring is hesitant to arrive here. The fields were boundless and near-empty. As you navigated around, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched— but maybe you've got jet lag or something. (If that even happens on trains.)

The stables inside were quiet. Thick with the smell of leather and hay, tickling down your throat. Blue is in his stable, visibly guarded off, his ears turned back. He's mostly brown, with a cute marking on his head that looks like a milk spill going down his forehead. In a way, you and him are alike: in this new place, hoping it'll heal your wounds. For a moment or two, you just observe each other, exchanging an animalistic intimacy.

Hm. There are a couple of scrapes and blotches of lost fur starting from his neck and going down. You know well enough not to go prodding with a strong, skittish horse in a new environment. You purse your lips, thoughtful about what can be done immediately.

The easy, soft thud of footsteps comes from behind you. "He's in a bad way," You turn your neck, sympathy gleaming in your eyes, glancing at James from over his shoulder. He's cutting up an apple with a knife. You cringe each time the blade meets the pad of his thumb, but it doesn't end up slicing him.

"He's tough. He'll make it." James doesn't even spare you a glance. His voice is so low, so certain. Taking the chance while you have it, you turn properly to face him, studying him. He seems more feral than his animals at this moment.

⸻

It turns out that the wounded, anxious horse wasn't the tough nut to crack at the ranch— but its owner.

In the bleakness of April, when everything seems to be keen on swallowing grief, Blue appears to be born again. He's got quite the personality.

The gravel crunches under your boots (you had to swap out loafers pretty quickly on a ranch, you had realised) as you near the stables. James, the early riser that he is, is already there, going about his duties. He hasn't noticed you yet. This means you get to watch him, study him, coloured fascinated. He seems to have an affinity for strays. He'll pick up any pellets of feed that fell from the cup and put them back in, appearing to pluck the exact runaway pellet each time. He'll give Blue two sugar cubes just because he can.

"I can do that," You offer, watching James get a good grip on the horse brush handle. He barely lets you do anything. You're beginning to wonder if he thinks of you as incompetent. He gives you a blue-eyed look of surprise. Wordlessly, he surrenders the brush to you as you step forward to claim it like a trophy.

You smooth a palm over the side of Blue's neck. "Hi, buddy," You speak softly, gliding the brush through his coat. His ears twitch, tilting forward.

Blue isn't the only one observing you. "He doesn't like when you brush like that."

Initially, you want to argue with James. Animals have ways of showing discomfort, don't they? Blue's fine. But then your whole body does that flaring with embarrassment thing, realising he was judging you so intensely. Sighing, you look to him, "How would you do it?" You ask. You extend the brush to him. Show me, then.

And fuck. His skin is so hot in that brief morsel of a second where his big hand swipes against your own. For someone so rugged, he's so tender with how he interacts with the world. Then it's an awkward stare-off where the hair at the back of your neck stands up.

True to his word, James schools you like a pro. One broad hand scratches at Blue's coat in a downward motion, and then the brush follows. You've worked with animals long enough to know when to push and when to leave it be. But after two, three beats of silence, you square your shoulders and clear your throat.

"So..." You begin, stomach immediately twisting in knots at your impulsive decision to be chatty. You're not sure what you expect from him. This distance between the both of you is heavier than the awkward silence that hangs in the air like a noose, swinging around and around no matter how hard you try to catch it and unwind it. "You, uh... going to do anything with Blue once he's better?"

James pauses. Glances at you. You can't read him— he looks at you like you spoke in a foreign language. Sheepish, you smile, seeking and searching to understand him. To make your job go down easier. Sure, the city was awful, but at least you had human interaction then. Even if it was just ordering coffee or getting hollered at by a motorist when you jaywalked. But here? You're going crazy. Not in the cute I love Jeff Buckley crazy, but the drawing on walls and singing nursery rhymes to myself crazy.

One low, rumbling hum comes deep from within James' chest. "Nah." He decides coolly. "Jus' gonna let him be. Let him live. He's done enough in his life." He adds, brushing Blue, looking at him with so much respect— so much regard. You'd kill to be viewed by James like that.

Contrastingly, something within this moment unfurls. Noiselessly so, creeping up upon the both of you. Your hands swipe up the horse's coat, doing it for the love of it, soft fur scraping against your skin. You mull over what James said. He won't put Blue to work. He'll give him a noble life, just being fed and caressed and free. That's not very entrepreneurial of him. However, something within you likes that. He didn't see this broken-down, injured horse as a business opportunity— but a life. To be respected and cherished as life should be.

There's no real need to ruminate, but you do regardless. When your district manager sent out a mass e-mail detailing this job, you didn't accept it solely because an animal was in need. Guilt gnaws at the marrow of your very bones. You saw it as an opportunity. When you had given your yes, you had imagined yourself as some outlaw, freed from the weight of your life's missteps, wind in your hair, the whole nine yards. That maybe... wasn't the noblest of your decisions. But James? He had visited Blue multiple times. Invested time, and money, and love and fuel (yes, that's important. Have you seen fuel prices?) into him. And not because Blue had a use for him, a benefit. James didn't need any more incentive other than he was needed. So he answered.

Stupid, girlish embarrassment writhes within you once you realise you haven't exactly replied to James. You flick your eyes over to him, wide with what could only regally be described as mortification, already rolling around generic responses in your arsenal. But James... doesn't even care. He's contented with the silence, which honestly makes sense now that you think about it. He does have a weird tendency to lean towards solitude.

You genuinely try not to think about him too much. You're just so hyperaware of him. Aware of every soft sigh, of how he shifts his weight on his long legs, of how some metal will clink if he moves too much: his belt buckle, his ring against his necklace if he adjusts his collar. Your heart is racing— why is it racing? You're just... petting a horse. You're not a gazelle being hunted for sport. Why can you feel every pulse of your heart, rattling the bones of your ribcage?

Maybe you're just psychic. James slides the brush into your hands, his burning hot palm on the back of your hand, guiding you, moulding your dexterity to be sufficient for his impossible standard. He smells like leather, obviously, but also some hazy, nostalgic molasses-sweetness. Citrusy, you realise. He smells like a fucking elixir. You can physically feel every single atom of his against yours. He holds your hand (and the brush by proxy, but who cares about that) with so much skill, and yet you get this taste in your mouth that tells you he's withholding himself. His fingers flex around the sides of your hand hesitantly, the fingertip of his pinky finger unintentionally - or maybe intentionally. You pray it's intentional - sweeping down the base of your hand, hooked under the side of your outer wrist. You shudder. In your head, you blame it on the cold wind. But that excuse won't be around for much longer when May comes bumbling in like an idiot.

He mystifies you, just standing there behind you.

"You're good with animals." The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. You're pinned between Blue and James. Each heavy thump, thump-thump, thump of your heart drums within your ears between every syllable you speak. You don't really expect a reply from him. Monosyllabic as he is, you thought you'd get a low-effort, Mhm, and nothing more.

"I find 'em easier than people." James lets his hand uncurl from your own. Palm flat against your forearm, where it drags up until the inside of your elbow, then he cruelly withdraws all that safe body heat from you. "Most days." He adds with a smoky chuckle, the vibration within his chest smothering against your back.

He's reeled you in perfectly. Sucker. "I'm listening, James."

He seems pleased by your words because he leans in to pat Blue's flank, giving you a nice view of his juicy forearm, tanned from working outside all the time, his sleeves rolled up an inch or so before his elbows. "There's no judgin'. No hate, war, violence. Anything they do is to live and persevere. S' noble, don'cha think?"

Your smile slanted into a thoughtful frown. There's more to James than expected. Maybe you're overthinking it; maybe you want to be close to him because you know he's the only human connection you've had in three weeks and, by the looks of it, for a few months more. Humans are social creatures, after all. You just want to know him, understand him. He wants to be understood— doesn't he? Or is that you projecting? Point is, you were too critical of the poor guy. He speaks with so much clarity, yet so absent of vehemence or frustration. Like he's just accepted it all.

"You're wrong." You murmur, unsure if these are the right words. Unsure if they're your words or someone else's, like a book character or a politician. They can be borrowed words, then. "About people, I mean," You add quickly, not wanting to slander any cute puppy or silly little chipmunk. "Hate and war comes from humanity, not humans. And animals are violent, too, with their prey or to assert dominance." The brush against Blue's coat pauses for a moment. "Humans are just as capable of love and art as they are of some nuclear blast. Good and bad in everything, y'know?" You end awkwardly, trying not to come off as too philosophical. You're a hired hand on a ranch, not Socrates.

All the warmth you've ever known is filtered away from you as James withdraws, not without a parting pat to Blue. "Yeah," He wipes his hands on his jeans, "maybe you're onto something, huh?"

⸻

"I'm fine— stop fussin' over it." James gruffs out, steering your hand away from his own. You grumble, exasperated. The stupid idiot basically punctured his finger with a nail. Summer thunderstorms are kicking up, which means the inevitable weather wreaks hell on manmade structures outside. James was repairing a broken fence when it happened. He didn't even tell you he was hurt; he just soldiered on as usual. You only managed to notice he was hurt because you've recently been, uhm, attentive to his hands, one could say.

You try again, reaching for his hand. He flexes it, hesitant, but somehow doesn't recoil from your touch just yet. "S' fine. Wasn't rusted, so I don't have tetanus or anything. Leave it." He urges again. Through your eyelashes, you glare at him warningly.

"You don't get tetanus from rust, James. Try literally anything else. Like dirt." You deadpan. You've learnt that James listens most when you're blunt and honest. Though he's smart enough to decipher any flowery language, he doesn't prefer it most days. You wonder if he'd be any good at writing those sappy birthday cards people throw in a scrapbook.

His brows raise, those mesmerising blue eyes gleaming as he smiles. "Seriously?"

You wonder how he managed to get by alone for so long. He's no sage, that's for sure. Maybe a nomad? You know he moved a lot when he was younger. And besides, his accent is a funny amalgamation of valley girl meets brooding cowboy. By the threshold of his doorway, on the welcome mat, he looks as golden as ever. The sun dips low into the horizon, reaching out by the sunbeams to caress and lave all over James' complexion. You cannot bite back the smile that infects you. James already forgets about the pulsing cuts on the back of his knuckles.

To humour you, James walks through the entryway and into his kitchen, sitting comfortably up on the countertop. He points you in the direction of the first-aid kit (you're surprised he knew where it even was, considering he likes to walk any injury off or some stupid thing like that), watching you with some unfamiliar yet welcome glimmer in his eyes. It is sturdy, unwavering as he observes you like some long-lost friend, with the same heat of a lover and the same affliction of a betrayer. He studies you like poetry. Unsure how he feels while trying to assign a meaning to you. Interpret you. While furiously dissecting you piece by piece. But you can't prosecute him for his curiosity— you do the same to him.

"I can't believe you managed to whack yourself with a nail like that." You laugh, preoccupied with rolling gauze around the base of his finger and the side of his hand. James' legs are between you, brushing against your side ever so slightly. The slight touches of your skin on his births brief bursts of electric contact. There are tiny little flecks of blood staining where the gauze settles onto James. You watch in real-time as his cheeks colour red, his lips pursing nervously. You didn't realise he was squeamish.

"I know," He agrees. It almost sounds like a thank you in that masculine, velvety timbre that you've grown to recognise (and revel in).

Once you give him a once-over, ensuring he'll live, you step away, satisfied with your work. "All done, Cowboy." You call him, decided in a fraction of a second. Impulsivity seems to suit you— because James is more than pleased with your nickname, giving you the best performance of schoolboy shyness on a man's face and build. He throws in a little aw, shucks, scraping his uninjured hand over the stubble along his mandible, palm eventually falling down into his lap.

James watches you for a moment, wetting his lips with his tongue. There's a hesitant gleam in those blue eyes of his, reaching out and staring at you. After living alongside him for a few months, you can tell when his nerves are needling around in his guts. He clears his throat, looking at his hands in his lap for a second— gathering his bearings. You watch him, amused and admittedly a little curious. "Thanks. For, uh, for being here. You're actually a good help."

You raise your brows, smiling. Your open palms press into his hands gingerly— because they're resting on his lap, and he's been messing with them all day, and they're right there. The perfect place for you to rest your hands. His skin is so warm; it climbs up your arms in steady, tingling bursts. A deep, low sigh drains from James, his shoulders un-tensing. He squeezes your hands back, revelling in how it feels to be touched like this. He hasn't had it in a while— touching someone, feeling the tender stumble of girl's hands along his skin. His heart lurches and writhes within his chest.

A warm, steady palm cups the swell of your cheek. Your entire nervous system implodes with all those good, buttery and fluttery feelings. Maybe there is a God above— because things don't just feel like heaven if you haven't had a taste of it yet. The easy, subtle throb of hot skin against your cheek lures you in. You look up at James, peering at him through your eyelashes. You want to peel that armour of his, strip him to the bone until you can see all those wires that make him tick.

He slowly eases off the countertop, and he's still infuriatingly tall. The other hand (the one not cupping your cheek) coasts down the length of your arm. You could sit with this feeling for hours. You're scooped in his arms and herded into his steady chest. In a matter of seconds, you have fallen terribly in favour of how all that spiked loneliness drips from your organs like tar, falling asleep the moment your ear rests over his beating heart in his chest. You flatten your hands against him, just under his ribcage. You reach out to each other wordlessly.

His breath is hot against your skin, you want to close your eyes and bask in it like it is your own sun. James' hands on you ease you into him until you're standing chest-to-chest. He dips down low, the tip of his nose gliding against your own for a second. Then, you barely tilt your head up, your lips catching his. You lay your mouth onto his in a burst of impulsivity, and yet, ironically, it was always going to end up this way. You squeeze his tricep, urging him to react. He hums lowly, like an engine purring, vibrating against your frame. He inches closer, his stubbly facial hair rasping across your skin, sinking into you: a steady anchor within a tempestuous ocean. It's one of those kisses that should be framed for the work of art that it is because you can taste his soul through this sugar-lipped kiss, and it tastes like red. Palms outward on his Herculean-chiseled body, you're in his teeth, and he's kissing you with a mouth that tastes like everything you've searched for— looking for it at the bottom of a bottle, in the pages of a book, in the eyes of everyone you've ever been hungry enough to gaze upon. It's all him, and he's right here, holding the side of your face in his hand as if he had never let it go. It puts everything into perspective for you; every single puzzle piece falls into place, every riddle solved, because the two of you have spent an entirety of four months alone, but together. He's here and he wants this. His atoms tell you so.

"Wow," You're stupefied, head fogged with the smell and the heat of him. "That's one way to thank me."

James chuckles, his mouth brushing against your temple, unwilling to truly part so soon. You've never seen him - or any man, really - wear happiness this way before. "Easy, Darlin', don't swoon too hard."

Your fists curl around the collar of his shirt, your back arching felinely as you tiptoe up to reach him since he's not helping you by swooping down like last time. Last time, your heart trembles. Last time, when you kissed him. "Don't backtrack now, Cowboy."

⸻

Late August bites you by the wrists, the sun saturates the earth and refuses to let up. The familiar crunch of gravel under weight creeps up behind you.

"Hey," James rasps, wiping his hands on his jeans, trying to get that sticky, annoying palm sweat off his skin. "Can we talk?"

You pat the warm slate you're perched on, inviting him to sit. You get a morsel of a cool breeze as his weight shifts through the thick, densely heated atmosphere to accept your invitation. Things between you and James have been difficult lately. Not to be a chicken or coward or anything else that would elicit a bunch of nine-year-olds to hurl their meanest insult towards you, but you've been toying with the idea of leaving the ranch.

Two weeks ago, the both of you were playing poker. Or, James was playing poker, and you were emptying out your wallet with the flushed cheeks of a sore loser. You both got talking, just some innocent conversation about your lives before a few months back. To before you had met. "I want to know everything I can about you," James had said, shuffling the cards for the billionth time. "You've got your head screwed on, I'm surprised you came from the city. What were you there for?" He had grinned, pushing the wads of money over to his growing pile. Knowing James, he'd be a good sport and find a way to give you your money back. Save for five dollars or something— just to teach you a lesson. You were giving him a lot of smack-talk in the beginning before he schooled you so hard you're still embarrassed.

"Work, mostly. And some guy I was seeing, but we split up." You dropped your measly hand (a two-pair) onto the table. "Oh yeah? You break up with him?" James eyed you carefully. You nodded: "Yeah, he was cheating on me with a colleague. That's why I'm genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work away from the city, clear my head. I was really lost, you know."

"M' sorry for what I said," James murmurs, taking a cautious glance at your expression.

"Wait, when did you end it with him?" He paused, leaning back in his seat. There were cards and cash scattered over the table. "March. A week before I arrived here." He had scoffed at that. You didn't like that noise. It stung you. "So that's why you're really here, not because you care about helping others. Because all of this - me - it's an escape to you."

"It's fine," You shift your melting limbs in your spot on the stone. Your tone doesn't quite match your words. The air is blurry and fiery, the day is plagued with a heat that gnaws away at your synapses.

"What? No, that's not it at all. It's just that— I don't know if I would've been brave enough to move if I didn't need a fresh start, that's what I was trying to say, that being here's a good thing for me." You had scrambled to salvage the evening, drenched in your own nerves. "Fresh start," James echoed in disbelief. "And what happens when you're bored of playing house? You're going to pack your bags and leave, aren't you?" You bristled at that, too. His voice was growing in intensity, and you felt he was patronising to you, trying to get you backed into a moral corner. "Did you expect Blue to need my help forever? It's a job, James, I came here to make him better, and yeah, I'll probably leave when he's good and healthy— because it's my job."

James had shook his head. You'll never shake that look on his face. He looked so mad, and so hurt. You couldn't fathom how the evening had soured so quickly. You remembered, strangely, that you wanted to pull at his throat and hope he'd reshuffle those syllables into something kind. "Don't hold your breath, now. He's right as rain, so you can leave any time you'd like." James spoke, the final nails in your coffin. The wooden chair squeaked a cry against the floor as you stood up, erect and furious, and nursing an aching heart full of raw upset.

"No," James sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, the other holding onto his hat. "No, it's not. I shouldn't have questioned you like that. It wasn't my place, an' I'm real sorry, Darlin'." His voice is velvet-smooth, softly insisting, coaxing you to melt. You cross your arms, frowning, wuffing out a breath.

"I'm not that mad because you questioned me. I'm upset that you just flipped out on me." Your chest aches. With every deep inhale, your lungs hit this knotted-up cramp as they expand.

He rests a palm on your knee. "Look, I know I treated you awfully. I'm trying to apologise here, okay? Lemme make it up to you, I know you're not using me for an escape or distraction or whatever it was that I said."

Your guts are a mangled mess of guilt and hurt and shame, and it all conflicts and festers off each other, growing like steel and tar and acid all at once. You're not sure about it anymore— are you using James? You do like him, but he's not like anyone else you've ever known. You want these feelings to be real. As much as it hurts, you push his hand off your leg. You can't risk it. Hurting him. Or yourself, because you'll eventually leave the ranch, and probably sometime soon considering how well Blue is doing, and if your feelings are true, and you end up ripping yourself away from a man you have genuine feelings for, then you're an idiot. You feel like an idiot anyway— for letting it all get this far. At the first spark when he touched your hand with his, at the first sign of butterflies in your stomach at his voice, you should've turned back and ran. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is what you get for jumping the gun, thinking you're ready for such a huge change: people get hurt.

"Darlin', please," James speaks again, his expression crumbling. Fuck, how does he manage to look like a kicked puppy?

"I'll get back to work." You slide off the stone wall, shoes hitting the ground with a crunchy thud. You give him one glance before you walk away, maybe just to punish yourself, seeing that slow, skin-burning upset of James' pretty blue eyes and handsome face sink into your memory.

⸻

The high-pitched squeak of your bags being zipped up holds more weight than a Judge's gavel. September slices everything loose. Just like a guitar string caught between scissors, forcefully exploding, flung at two separate ends.

"Here's the spare keys," You murmur to James, your eyes on the table where you lay them, metal clinking together in protest. James didn't think you were serious about leaving. It had been established since day one: you'd show up, help Blue, and leave. But he just... didn't think it was real. Letting you go would be so much easier if he hated you. He wishes you'd have been rude off the bat, he wishes you weren't so fucking perfect. Then he'd be glad to be rid of you. But he's not, and this hurts so much he cannot breathe. He doesn't want to hate spring and summer because it's too sweet, and it reminds him of you.

"Do you need anything?" James asks, trying to buy some time— delay the inevitable. You shake your head, throat blocked with an aching lump of everything you want to say.

He steps towards you cautiously. His hands are up as if he's approaching an animal, eyeing you for any sudden shift or bristle. "Hey," He coos, laying his palms flat on your shoulders, brushing his knuckles against your jaw. "Come have a drink with me. Even if it's just to make the train ride go down a little easier."

Whiskey-lipped, your blood burns with a buzz that puts all that ugliness to rest. James is the same, shuffling closer to you on his couch, touched with liquid courage. Your head is humming and it won't go.

You lay your head on his shoulder, watching the fireplace cast tall shadows, caricatures of the furniture and your silhouettes. "Whaddya say I give you a kiss goodbye?" James' hot mouth purrs into the shell of your ear, echoing and rattling around until you can't point his words out from your own blood thrumming around your head.

He sweeps your hair from your beginning to flush cheeks, tucking it behind your other ear as you pull away from him to sit upright. His mouth is warm and wetter than you expected. He is lovely even in this maddening heartache. His breath becomes yours, and yours becomes his— in your very own symbiotic relationship. He just wants you to stay. You can taste it on his lips, you can feel it in his touch. Stay, stay, with me, stay here. You want to go back to the golden-winded days where James would chase you with an alien-looking bug, and you squeal overdramatic profanities at him.

But today tastes like an epilogue, no matter how hard you try to gorge on the niceties of last season's harvest. So you break the kiss with a heavy heart, lay a kiss onto James' cheek and whisper the best, proper goodbye you're strong enough to wield. Which is just a measly I'll see you, because you're not brave enough to actually say goodbye. They feel too final.

He follows you all the way to the front door, after a few seconds where he was too surprised to do anything but watch your frame get smaller and smaller away from him. He doesn't like that sight. You hesitate to step out the front door and onto the welcome mat. You get that familiar fear like you've forgotten something. You hope you have. You hope you forgot your necklace in his life, just so you have the excuse to come back and get it. But it's around your neck.

It's a long, gruelling road out of the Garden of Eden.

James locks his arms around you, face shoved into your neck. "Don't go."

Any protest that cooks in your brain is spoiled the second you feel those fucking-hell-big hands on your hips, with his stubble on your neck, with his hot mouth smooshing pleas into your skin as if he thinks you can absorb them like a sponge. You twist in his arms, bags forgotten, and squeeze your arms together, sitting them on his broad shoulders. He pulls you from the welcome mat and back inside.

"M' such an idiot, pushing you away like that," He huffs out, kissing down the curve of your neck, unbuttoning your shirt. His fingers blur together with the speed at which he opens you up, skimming his glowing-hot palms over your exposed midriff.

"It's my fault too. I was such an idiot." You grab onto the collar of his shirt as he swoops down, mouthing at your pulse.

"No." James quickly protests, "You're not an idiot." He stresses this belief with a kiss on your chin. A great deal of heat falls on everything. Give me more, you seem to say, fisting at his shirt.

You're eased onto the floor, which isn't as cold as you anticipated (probably because you're lying on your shirt), near the fireplace. You don't need it to keep you warm from the sinister chill of the September evening because your body is warm enough. James put this heat within you, and now he must ease it.

"Tell me you'll stay," He pleads, kissing down your stomach, his hands eagerly unbuttoning your jeans. You nod, your appetite for him creating an ache of emptiness deep within you, buried beneath all that tissue and skin. You can't even point out where it aches— it's just all over. A need so intense that you've made it corporeal, and it's demands are undeniable.

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay." You roll your hips up per his request, letting his hands strip your jeans from your legs. Humming, pleased with you, James tugs your bra down, flattening his tongue and licking across your nipple. You squirm, prompting him to nudge his knee between your legs, pinning you to the floor and forcing his bulge to smoosh against your wettening-in-real-time underwear.

He moans once he feels it: your wet cunt, drooling for his cock. "I don't deserve you." He mutters, in between sinking his teeth into your shoulder, groping handfuls of your soft, sweet thighs. It's taken you months to strip him down of all those façades, to unwind the temper and the aloofness to get a taste of the James you always knew was in there. And now you've had a taste of it? A slice of that Paradise? Yeah, you're not going anywhere.

He's got that knife-edged jaw and bewitching blue eyes, golden hair. You're not walking away from that. You slip a hand down onto his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, with a little less dexterity than he did yours. He unhooks your bra with one clean motion, so unlike anyone else, who would always fumble to get it undone. It's as if your bra undid itself. James kisses everywhere he can think of: your tits, nose, mouth, hair, collarbones, ribs. You cup his bulge.

"Baby," He manages against your pelvis (how'd he get there?), trying so hard to be good and gentle the way you deserve. "Are you sure? I've got a lotta making up t' do first..."

You bump your hips into his, "Please, James? Need you to show me I'm wanted here." You look up at him. For you, it's just a look. For James, it's two big, gleaming, pleading, baby-doll eyes that he'll never be able to shake from his memory, so pretty and sweet his cock hardens fully at just one glance that you spare for him. There's this underlying cadence to your voice— because it's not just about sex, but about feeling like you're welcome here, like you belong, like he wants you, and not just because you're chill with his horses. But you also do want him to fuck you until your brain melts.

"Oh, you're wanted, alright." He confirms, grinning at you. This moment feels like the solution to all hardships. When you lose people, either through death or outgrowing the other, or when you spill a drink you were really looking forward to enjoying, and you think, what's the point of all this? You have your answer in the here and now.

You make a soft, happy noise in the back of your throat, easing his opened shirt off his shoulders as his fingers twist into the waistband of your panties.

"There we go, you're so gorgeous." James rasps against your pelvis, tossing his shirt and your panties aside before subtly shifting his hips. You weave your hands into his short hair, wondering what it'd look like right now if it was long like he told you it was in his early twenties. Your fingers in his hair like this are all the inviting welcomeness that he needs. The way he's kissing you, hovering over you, you know you'll be riddled with homesickness the moment it's over.

His hand cups your pussy for a moment, his mouth busy on your ribs again. James slips lower and lower, and with your go-ahead, pushes his middle and ring finger within you, his thumb, index, and pinky all splayed over the natural fold of your thighs. "Hear that?" He coos, his voice ringing hushedly and sexily beneath the lewd way your wet cunt squelches with glossy arousal. "Hear how much this pretty pussy wants me?" He dips down to press a kiss to your hardened, puffy clit. You tremble, practically dissolving into his mouth.

He gives your slit a couple of flickering licks to your sensitive cunt with his tongue, laving over you, sucking and kissing and making a mess of you. Your skin, coated in his spit and your slick, glistens in the light of the fire, the whole room all orange and pinkish from the burning flames. The raw nerves of your pussy are detangled and worshipped; until he's grinding his constricted cock into anything he can bump it against— until his cute nose is smooshed into the delicious skin above your clit.

He wants to keep going, but he has the rest of his life to indulge in the taste of your cunt. And you're acting super squirmy and whiny. You want him. You want the intimacy that comes with being impaled by a thick cock (which you know James has got, considering it's rubbing in a side-to-side motion against your thigh).

With two eager sets of hands, James rids himself of his jeans and boxers. You're winded by the sight of him. Head all juicy and pink with precum. You make a mental note to suck his cock later. And then another mental note to remember your mental note: because you're not sure how brainless you'll be by the time he's finished with you. He dips his lazy temple to rest on your knee, which is bent and steered to wrap around his waist. He watches himself, his entire length dragging up and down the length of your sex, just wetting his cock with you. A happy purr drizzles out of you, and you stir your hips a little, chasing the friction that consoles your anticipating nerves.

James pulls away. You lock the leg he had around himself, trapping him against you on instinct, both your hands digging into his arms for extra security. "What're you doing?" You ask.

He bursts into chuckles, kissing at your hairline to soothe you. "Was gonna get a condom, Darlin'."

The tensed air rolls out of your lungs in relief. "Could've asked, I would've said I'm on the pill." You lecture jokingly. James, endeared by you, smacks his wet mouth onto your nose bridge. You scrunch it up, giggling out a melodramatic ewww, although you're definitely charmed by it. Or him— just all of him.

"You're phenomenal, y'know that? You sure you wanna do it like this?" His jaw is clenched, holding back that all-possessing urge that demands he immediately takes you up on that offer, sibilating his words into the swell of your warm cheek.

You nod, teetering your fingertips down his spine coyly, feeling the delicious plane of his well-toned back. For good measure, you press your hips into his, immediately slicking up his shaft with your cunt. A bit of incentive couldn't hurt, right? You conjure up the image of James' cum oozing out of you and add it to your vision board.

You're kissed through it, face glowing with heat so intense that the fireplace seems a little dimmer all of a sudden. James inches into you, his cock is one-hundred-per-fucking-cent as thick as you assumed, forcing your hole to open up for him to roll into you enough to bottom out. His bulbous cockhead slots within the deep channel of your cunt so perfectly you're half sure that maybe soulmates are real; because no two people can match up this perfectly without being cut from the same universal cloth.

You squeal out a giddy, keening yes that trickles out from the top of your throat. You're stuffed to the brim with outlaw cock, and you blame this hazy heat on being so close and so low to the fireplace. Goosebumps prickle on your clammy skin. James pours out a low groan into the underside of one of your tits. The head of his cock slicks into your sex so pathetically easily. You can feel the thirst on James' hungry mouth for you, tongue sucking at the tender skin of your breast.

He's on his knees between your legs as you lie spread out below him, his hands scraping up your calves and sides and arms, in pure disbelief that you're still here and you're going to stay. Everything invades your senses, most notably the cindering of wood into ashes, and the smoky, musky leather that seems to constantly cling to James, with the natural earthy-saltiness of naked bodies. Your hips are dragged up to meet the needy thrusts of his cock.

James is a big guy, and it seems he's elected to forget that fact right now— because he's battering your puffy cunt until it's a wet, swollen ring around the base of his relentless cock. Every thrust punches you into and sometimes a centimetre up the floor. You're squeaking out his name like they're hymns. Why not? James is kneeling against you like you're an altar.

In fact, there's something so endearingly first-human about having sex with someone for the first time. It's just intimate learning and enjoyment. You go there, I go here, oh! You like it when I do that! The next time you and James have sex (yes, there will be a next time), he will know exactly how to swirl his tongue around your clit the way you like because he's already discovered it this time around.

He gives you his all, truly a gifted lover, kissing all around you, whispering warm, sweet, and filthy-mouthed things into your sweat-tacky skin. He feels too big for your body to physically take, but by sheer force of will maybe, your cunt easily welcomes him each time he burrows back within you. There's so much pleasure mounting at the base of your spine, seeping into your hips through your bone marrow.

The room is stuffy— and filled with the glorious sound of thick, wet sounds of his cock pounding into you in a rhythm your heart will beat to for the rest of your days. It's sometimes punctuated with the crackling of fire consuming the firewood.

You think James cannot get any better— and then boom! He does! The pad of his thumb scrapes against your clit, and you tighten around him like a wind-up toy, just all springs and well-intended consequences.

Sobbing - truly sobbing his name - you shudder, your cunt tight as a fist as it pulses and gingerly squeezes around him with every rolling wave of your orgasm. You crash against the shore of the hardwood floor, pawing at his thick, broad shoulders. James whispers poetry books full of comforting niceties into your temple, brushing your hair back and cooing at you: at how proud he is, how pretty you are, how perfect and sweet you are to him. Your muscles ache, and your nervous system has been totally and completely scrambled into something new.

While you had the most intense orgasm ever recorded in history, you didn't realise James was filling you up with every hot spurt of his cum. You only realise it when he inevitably withdraws his hips from between your locked-in-place, shaking-like-a-bunch-of leaves-legs.

Spent, James just lays on top of you. His weight is oddly comforting, even if he makes breathing ten times more difficult. In more ways than one, too. He noses into your clavicle. "I'm real glad you've decided to stay. Gotten too used to you, now." You feel him smile against your clammy skin.

You hum softly, patting his shoulder. "You just love adopting strays, don't you?"

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica smut #metallica oneshot #metallica x reader #80s metal #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield #james hetfield x you #au fanfiction #cowboy james hetfield

78 notes · View notes