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ghostbustting · 4 months ago

Note

OKOK i’m thinking maybe this happens backstage two weeks after his burn incident. Maybe your just a casual friend and while your backstage helping him put gel on his arm he makes a joke about not being able to jerk off properly without both hands and you take it a bit too seriously and get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

this has been haunting my dreams for a week lord save me

𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓎

╰┈➤“𝑫𝑶 𝑰𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼„ ๋࣭⭑

James Hetfield x Reader

Contains Smut

I sigh as I sit down on the chair I had pulled out next to James, my eyes on his arm, the skin red as he was still healing from the pyrotechnic accident he had not long ago at the concert they did in Montreal.

I wince seeing the state of his poor left arm, let alone if it was me who had been in his position, feeling what he felt.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly spoke, “So.. you said.. the skin rose off..?” I ask hesitatingly, almost like a doctor would, yet my face was scrunched up as I try to image what it looked like.

James instead chuckled like it was nothing, moving his arm closer to me, “Guess you can say I’m immortal.” He say with a cocky and arrogant smirk, one that I've found myself rolling my eyes to for years. “Now chop chop, I got a show to play.” He gestured towards the gel I previously placed on the dressing table in front of us.

I rolled my eyes and huff, “Bossy.” I muttered.

My hand reach out towards the tub of gel and open it, placing it back on the table before dipping my fingers in it, gathering some of the gel on the tips of my fingers, not too much and not so little.

"How are you even going to play your guitar?" I genuinely ask, slowly and gently applying the gel on his arm, my other hand holding his wrist to keep his arm up.

James sighed in what seemed like relief from the cool gel, leaning back as he begin to relax from the soothing feeling. "Who said I'm playing the guitar?" He answered.

"Eh? Then who is?"

"Kirk's guitar tech, John."

I raise my eyebrows and avert my gaze to his face, a hint of surprise in my expression and voice. "The tall guy?" I ask. Pretty sure that John Marshall guy was about 6 foot.

He shrugs, his eyes on his arms as I continue to apply gel soothingly on the red skin, "I mean, you being short surely exagerates it." He laughed out loud, shaking his head to the point his blond hair shook like a lion's do.

My face scrunched in annoyance, raising my hand to smack his arm out of habit. It was a good thing he stopped me before I could actually hit him, his other hand holding my wrist. "Hey! That's not nice.." He huffed, his face similar to a child being sulky.

I yank my wrist back and roll my eyes. James' immature of a behavior was something I'm used to yet not able to deal with at the same time. So I look down and continue to gently apply the gel over his arm, feeling his gaze upon my fingers as I did.

"So you just sing then?" I ask, this time only keeping my focus on his arm.

I hear him hum at my question as his way to say yes to it. For a while, he and I stayed silent. The only noises were all the movements I did; grabbing the gel, applying the gel, grabbing more, and so on in a loop.

We can also still hear the loud noises from outside of the dressing room; laughters, voices, music, etcetera.

Not long after, James then spoke up again. Even without looking up, I can hear the smirk in his voice. "There's a lot of things I can't do with this arm in this condition actually." He sighed dramatically, making me roll my eyes for what felt like the millionth times today.

He slowly begin listing them off one by one, I had to force my own ears to listen to each and one of them, really. "Put on my clothes properly.. sleep on my left side.. play my guitar, obviously.."

For some reason, he trailed off for a while. Leaving me hanging and curious on what he could be thinking about.

Finished with applying the gel on his arm, I turn the chair I was sitting on and reach forward for the tub of the remaining gel and the lid. Thats when he say,

"...can't jerk off as well.."

I stop dead in my position, slowly turning my head to finally look at him, and just as I thought, there goes the smirk on his face, wide and proud of his own words. Any smart person could see that he was either trying to get a rise out of me, or tease me.

But today was not a perfect day for him to go around and play with me. Not when I woke up in a bad mood, got a bad hair day, ran out of toilet papers, and genuinely had a bad day.

Slowly, I lean back in my seat, my eyes' gaze still lingering on his face and the smirk he had proudly on his lips, how I wish to have the ability to wipe that off his face.

"Let me help you then."

Those words somehow manage to leave my lips.

My previous wish was granted when his smirk finally drops and his eyes widens. For once, his face wasn't filled with such cockiness and instead, filled with whaf seem like genuine surprise.

And for once, the James Hetfield stays silent. For once, the James Hetfield have no words to respond with, no witty comebacks, no laughters. He just.. froze. Quite unlike him, may I note.

Instead, the smirk once wore on his face was transfered to my own face, wearing that same smirk like the roles had switched.

Tilting my head, I let out a chuckle at his dumbfounded reaction. "Cat got your tongue?"

Slowly, I got down from my seat and to the floor, sitting on my knees right in front of him, his manspread position was quite cooperating with my movement, making me sit right between his legs.

I didn't even know what I was thinking. I never thought that one day I'd have zero self respect and just sunk to my knees right in front of my friend.

"You.." James let out a rather awkward chuckle, his body shifting in his seat a little. His body was no longer relaxed, his back no longer resting against the back of his chair, instead he was sittingup straight.

"You're fucking joking—"

"And you're fucking hard."

I rephrased his own words. As a way to answer his confusion and oblivion, my gaze slowly averts down to the crotch of his pants, where a tent was seen due to what was definitely— and surprisingly his hard cock.

Despite the wide playful smirk on my face, there was no doubt I felt surprised inside me at how fast he could get hard just by a silly joke I was doing.

Plan A was to joke around with him and go on with my day.

But seems like I've moved on to Plan B already.

Slowly, I look back up at him and smile softly instead of what was once a playful smirk. I tilt my head, slowly placing my hands on his knees. "Will you let me do it for you?" I ask in a soft innocent voice.

Angel to his eyes, devil to his cock.

James looked down at me with a look in his eyes that I find myself not able to read, no matter how hard I try to find a familiar expression through those blue eyes. For a moment, the heavy breath he let out was the only thing my ears were able to catch. Until he say,

"You have to take off my pants for me though."

Soft smile thrown away, my lips shows him a wicked grin instead, my teeth just ever so slighty peeking through those lips of mine, gloss painted over my lips.

Meanwhile my hands that were placed on his knees slowly travels further up him, to his thigh, then.. to his belt, where I begin to unbuckle his belt.

Our eyes were locked still to each other's. His unreadable eyes to my playful ones.

Yet the eye contact was soon broken when his eyes looked down at the way my hand was already starting to pull down his pants, tugging on it before finally managing to pull it down his thighs.

Once I did, I was met by little James. Wait.. already?

"God, man.. use some boxers!" I grunt and smack his leg, knowing damn well he did not have an injury down there.

He huffed, almost kicking me with his leg. "Hey! I told you it's hard to put on clothes properly!" He exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes at his excuse before turning my attention back to the.. thing.. in front of me.

My gaze was running up and down it, taking notice of every veins seen on the skin, the stiffness of it, and the precum leaking just at the tip. It was twitching just the slightest, something I heard was painful for boys once it isn't taken care of.

Well thank God I have my non existence dick then.

Without even thinking nor wasting another second, my hand grasped onto his cock. A loud sigh being heard above me, a curse slipping out with that sigh that I couldn't quite make out.

Slowly, I begin moving my hands up and down his shaft, somehow managing to be completely casual with it, trying to ignore the way a sweat ran down my forehead.

My fingerpads run over those veins, my grasp slightly tightening every now and then, which manage to pull out hitched breath from James, a noise I unexpectedly grown to love by these seconds.

"F-fuck..." He hissed. I could also take notice of the way his hips slowly thrusts up my hands every now and then. "Faster, damnit.. My hands are way more skillful than yours at this.." He grunted out.

I scoffed, finding it offensive. "Can't fucking say that with that state of an arm, can you?"

Seeking justice, I start to fasten up my strokes, my grasp tightening as far as I can, wrist twisting from time to time, meanwhile more precum seems to be seeking freedom, leaking out in beads from his tip.

James groaned at the feeling, "That's more like it. Oh fuck.." He grunted out through more groans and moans, "Good girl.." Who would've thought other than screaming those lyrics he can also let out such beautiful yet filthy noise like this?

Right, the groupies.

"Still think you're better?"

I spat onto his length, my spit making my stroke on his cock even much more slick, moving at an incredible pace now.

He laughed out loud, "Abso-fucking-lutely I am—"

Before he could stop talking, my mouth cut him off and silenced him. Though this time, instead of cutting him off with words.. I shoved his cock into my mouth.

Bad idea? Possibly. He was.. big, to say the least. Most likely not a size you can see every day, even if you're a cheap whore.

The contact of his cock in my mouth made him much more talkative and nosy, moans were heard more often rather than groans. Not that I'd complain to either of those noises.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" He yelled, one of his hand— his healthy one, travels down to my head, stroking my hair before gripping onto the strands, guiding me little by little as my head bobs up and down his shaft.

The tip of his cock would reach my throat every now and then, I had to force myself to control my throat as his hand was preventing me from letting go of his cock.

At the same time, not long after, he begin to become more urgent in his movement and voice. It was getting more and more crystal clear that he was close to release.

He groaned as he hold my face still, thrusting up into my mouth. "Fuck fuck.. I— shit!!"

Fingers in my hair again, he pushed my mouth down on his cock, my nose brushing against the pubic hair he had right where his cock starts. Tears wells up in my eyes, squeezing shut as they start rolling down my cheeks.

Soon, he began shooting his cum into my throat, the liquid felt warm in my throat as he continued to fill me up with all of his release.

Once he's done, his fingers finally let my hair have their freedom, allowing me to pull back, panting from the lack of breath I had all this time. He was panting as well, leaned back on his chair with his hand on his forehead.

"So this.." I panted out, "..this is what those groupies felt.."

Looking up, I see James shaking his head with a weak grin. "Maybe.. but this is surely not what they make me feel with those lack of skill in their hands.." He chuckled.

I watch as he lean over and wipe off a droplet of cum that was spilled over my lips using his thumb, which he slowly then place in my mouth, not wanting to waste a single cum without me tasting it. His eyes watching my face as I take in his thumb willingly.

"Definitely not as skillful as you."

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sourbites · 16 days 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

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distorted59 · 1 year ago

Note

please elaborate on the dracula monster rp you mentioned in your kirk headcanons…PLEASE!!

YES OMG!!!! THANK YOU SM FOR ASKING THIS!!!!

this idea has been FEEDING my vampire kirk brain rot so well, esp those fanarts on insta👹👹 really check out @ fuzzsux on insta CAUSE THE ART IS SO GOOD!!!

anyways..... HERE'S MY IDEA FOR IT (any era works tbh)

Bite me please

summary: Kirk wants to play dracula and he wants you to play his bride...

pairing: '93!kirk x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw/smut, biting, roleplay, use of safe words,

word count: 1158

A/N: i was debating wether to make this really kinky or nah.

you'd always known Kirk's favorite monster were vampires. especially Dracula and it's whole story arc. he's a hopeless romantic with a dark kinky side. which you don't mind at all, of course.

he loves the idea of him being a powerful, mind infiltrating, seductive, blood sucking creature. who would stalk you, love you, claim you, and mark you as his bride.

it would start with him biting your neck for fun, not real harshly or anything. just some playful bites. and you seem to like them. he would get all excited and wanted to ask you right away, because this has been on his mind for a while now.

but, he still sorta backs out. you see he wants to ask you something, so you do it first.

"baby? what's wrong?" you slide your hand over his back. "Something on your mind?"

"yeah, actually." he has a wide smile on his face, which slowly turns into a smirk. "would you be interested in... uhh... roleplay?"

your eyes widen a bit and your breath hitches. you have a puzzled look on your face and let out a short giggle.

"what'd you have in mind?" you grin back.

"what do you think?" he leans down and bites your neck again, harder this time.

"do you want to drain me from my blood, Count Dracula?" you say in a bad, sensual transylvanian accent.

"oh..." Kirk groans and lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "i'd like to drain you from something else too."

you moan softly as he places more sloppy kisses on your neck, going up to your jaw and eventually kisses your lips.

"i'll take that as a yes, hm?" his eyes show a dark gaze, you can see the passion and lust in them.

"yes."

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

you're walking around the house, wearing some leathery outfit. which Kirk had picked out for you. along with a tight, blood red corset that is hugging your figure.

"so much for classic." you mumble to yourself. the house is dark and to be honest, you feel a little.... scared.

you don't know if it's the excitement bubbling in your lower belly or the actual thought of being haunted by your boyfriend...

"Kirk?" you call out faintly, looking around for him. "are you gonna jump out and attack me or something?" you say jokingly.

"that all depends, my love." Kirk's dark voice whispers to you, you can feel his breath against your neck.

you turn around and he immediately grabs you and slams you against the wall. he starts kissing your neck and leaving a few bites here and there. he moves down and starts biting on your collarbone, he looks up at you through his eyelashes.

he's wearing a ruffled blouse and a pair of black dress pants you've never seen him wear before. His chest glistens through the low cut shirt, a few faint love bites visible.

"color?" he whispers.

"green..." you breathe out.

"I'm going to drain you and make you mine." he growls. then, he drags you by your arm and pulls you into your shared bedroom. he pushes you on the bed and you scramble back against the headboard.

"w-what are you going to do to me?" you try to sound scared and get into your role as the 'victim'.

"look at you, scared little thing." he tuts and crawls over to you. "you're going to be my bride." his eyes shine with passion and power. you actually feel thrilled.

"are you going to hurt me?" you look into his eyes.

"just for a bit, darling." he tugs on the laces of your corset. "i'll make you think of something else."

Kirk nuzzles his face in your neck and drags his nose slowly down your collar bone and towards your breasts.

"you smell so fucking good." he groans.

you can only respond with a moan and your hands make way through his hair.

"hmm, are you ready, my love?" he kisses your jaw.

"please." you nod.

he pulls down your pants along with your panties and he's taking his sweet time with it too. he grins teasingly at you and slowly slides his hands up your legs and thighs.

"Kirk..." you whine.

"gonna mark you, my love"

he pulls down his pants and boxers and pumps his throbbing cock slowly, he slides it between your pussy lips and the both of you moan and shiver with pleasure.

"you're already wet enough for me, love." he decides to pull back and slide his fingers inside of your dripping cunt first. "and i didn't even really touch you yet..."

"k-kirk!" you moan as he stretches you out by adding a second finger. he curls them up and you gasp, letting your head fall back.

"there, all ready for me." he groans and lines himself up with your cunt.

he slides in and starts biting your neck harshly, you let out a moan that's mixed with pain and pleasure. you're positive you'll have a bruised neck with bite marks in the morning.

normally he's quite the one to talk, but he's too busy fucking and sinking his teeth into you. too pussy drunk to function.

Kirk's hips slam against yours, his moans muffled by your skin as yours are the only ones that fills the room. your whines drive him insane and he bites you harder.

"color?" he growls, his sweet intention gives you butterflies. but his cock pumping into you make them flutter away.

"nghh- gr-green!" the biting hurts but you like it. you swear if he keeps going, he might draw blood.

he bites different spots and sucks on them too, it drives you fucking insane and pushes you over the edge.

he keeps up a steady rhythm and feels you squeeze around him, he stops biting you and kisses you passionately.

"are you going to cum?" he grins, his lips red from marking you up.

you nod as tears stream down your face, the pleasure becoming too much for you.

"cum for me, my love."

you moan his name as your orgasm washes over you, Kirk keeps pumping into you like a wild dog in rut. he moans and grits his teeth, needing to bite on something.

"use me, bite me." you whine.

he bites down on the other side of your neck and cums inside of you, you can feel it shooting up inside you and he twitches like crazy.

he lets go of your neck and falls on top of you. he takes a few breaths and rolls over on his back, pulling you on top of him.

the two of you lay in each others arms and try to calm down.

"that was fucking amazing." he breathes out. "i love you so much, baby." he kisses your temple.

"was.. so good.." you murmur, feeling absolutely exhausted.

"it was." he grins.

he slides his fingers over the bite marks carefully, and smirks proudly.

you feel yourself drifting off, feeling safe in the arms of your monster-loving boyfriend.

"i want to really taste you next time."

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mayonnaise2004 · 1 month ago

Text

Meeting + Dating James Hetfield

(I’ve never actually written for a real person.. huh? Also, guess who’s back! Yeah I feel so much better after that break and plan to start writing again. Just on my own time of course 🩷)

- In 1981, You were fresh out of college and decided ‘Hey, I’m an adult now. I could move away and start a new life!’ And so, you did!

- you got a stable little job as a waitress, lived in an apartment and began to build yourself up from nothing.

- it wasn’t until 1984 that you met James, and oh boy was it the best year of his life

- You had heard about some new metal band performing at one of the local bars and since you didn’t have anything planned that night, you decided to go. I mean it’s one concert! It’s not like it’s gonna change your life.. right?

- The show started around 7:00 and ended at 10:30. For those 3 hours and 30 minutes, James could not help but glance at you in the crowd, and the fact the light made you look like an Angel sent from above didn’t help either. God, he was in love.

- After the show the usual happened; Fans came to ask for pictures, autographs and the whole nine yards. Originally he thought you had left, so imagine the shock that went through him when you bought a band shirt and asked him to sign it.

- He could feel the eyes of his bandmates as he signed your shirt and brought up a conversation with the usual starter. ‘What’s a pretty/handsome little thing like you doing in a place like this?’

- He had to whack Lars and Kirk on the back of the head once they got backstage because he wouldn’t stop making kissing motions with their hands

- You found him sweet. The way his lips practically disappeared when he smiled, the touch of interest in his eyes when you asked how long he had been performing.

- He was truly a breath of fresh air. He was polite unlike the frat boys you were used to and god the look on those eyes made you feel like the only person in that room.

- The offer of a few drinks was something you could not resist. He was sexy, good with his fingers, offering to pay for your drinks and was willing to spend time with you after rocking the hell out? How could you say no?

- The whole night was a blur of dancing, giggles and a hole lotta bitter tasting booze. You hadn’t had this much fun since college!

- The next morning you woke up with an extremely painful hangover, curled in the blankets that were left in the tourbus.. with passed out James Hetfield beside you with a mess of curls.

- He was embarrassed. The poor guy had planned to ask you out the night before and had wanted to take you on a decently romantic date. Change of plans I suppose?

- Needless to say, he took you to get some McDonald’s fries to ease your hangover hunger and the two of you seemed to bond.

- After a day on the town, he brought you back to the stadium since the band had another week of shows in your town and of course, offered to take you on a proper date.

- James is a very social person, the type of boy who could make friends with a corpse. So if you two do date expect to know/ be introduced to a lot of the people he knows.

- He’s very loving. His main display of affection is touch.

- definitely the type of guy to put you in a headlock and smother you with kisses.

- Get ready to be at a lot of concerts and backstage, it’s like a whole new world.

- helping him write lyrics

- hanging out with him and the band! You get along with everyone and it’s mostly a fit of giggles between you and Kirk.

- He’s an ominous jealous type. He’ll just quietly watch from the distance as a guy openly flirts with you, glaring daggers into his head.

- Loves to slow dance with you. It’s a great way to just destress from the famous lifestyle.

- He does plan on marrying you. He just can’t exactly afford it at the start of the Metallica gig.

- sneaking away at parties to kiss or just be wholesome

- having matching necklaces that little girls would usually wear (like the ones you see at Claire’s with the hearts or unicorns.. he doesn’t give a shit.)

- wearing his band shirts

- if you're going out at night with your friends, best believe you're being sprayed with his cologne. The last thing he needs is a man flirting with you when he’s not there.

#james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #metallica oneshot #metallica x reader #metallica #80s #90s James Hetfield

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hammettsandwich · 4 months ago

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james and the reader are best friends and james is in love with her and she accidentally walks in on james jerking off with her panties in his hand and he doesn't notice that she stands there until he finished and then thay and up fucking

first time writing smut😬😪

Caught

Me and James were best friends. We were inseparable, so much so that we would spend nights at eachothers houses. Tonight was one of those nights.

I was getting ready to go grab something from the store, just some snacks for the two of us. I finished putting on my sweatpants and left my bedroom.

I headed towards the spare room in my house where James was so I could tell him I'm heading out to the store. When I made it to the room I heard shuffling and odd noises. I furrowed my eyebrows and slowly turned the knob, making sure I was quiet

My jaw dropped when I saw him laying down on the bed. He was naked with a thin layer of sweat on his chest, and in his hand were a pair of my panties. I turned bright red.

I heard him groaning and breathing heavily, his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, his hand moving with long fast strokes.

James held the pair of panties just above the tip. He kept squirming and whimpering, I couldn't make out what he was saying.

It felt wrong to watch this, but I didn't take my eyes off him. The moaning was getting louder, his stomach would dip slightly when he picked up the pace.

Within a few seconds James bucked his hips and ropes of cum shot onto the piece of clothing.

I coughed slightly trying to get James attention. His head shot towards me and he covered himself with the blankets. His expression was one of embarrassment. "Its not what it looks like! I was just-"

I slowly made my way towards the bed. Still looking at him with shock. "Really? To me it looked like you were jerking off.. to my underwear." I looked down at the blanket covering his lower half and removed it. His dick was still twitching.

"Im sorry. I was just.. I don't know." James stuttered. His cheeks were bright red.

I giggled softly. My hands trailed towards his cock. I wrapped my hand around it and stroked it. "No need to apologize. I enjoyed the show." James let out a moan as I started to move my hands up and down his erection.

I slipped out of my sweatpants, I wasn't wearing any underwear. I climbed onto the bed and straddled him. "You could've told me that you needed me."

He was still red. "It would've been awkward.." I rolled my eyes at his response. My hand continued to jerk him off at a slow pace. "So?"

James continued to let out a string of moans as I moved my hand. I used my free and rubbed my clit in small circles. Eventually I positioned myself above his dick and sunk down slowly.

"God- Oh, that feels so.. good." James let out more moans and whimpers, he whispered about how good it felt.

I rocked my hips and started to ride him at a good pace. I looked down and James was squirming, his eyes were closed shut. "It feels so good.. Faster, please"

I started to ride him faster, my legs were giving out under me. I felt him twitch inside of me. He was close, so was I.

My pace quickened. "James.. Im c-close." James eyes opened he wrapped his arms around me. "I am too.."

Eventually I reached my peak. I let out a pornographic moan.

Seconds after, James finished inside of me. His warm seed filled me up. My legs were shaking as I got off of him.

I plopped down next to him. "That was.. great." I nodded at what James said. "It was." I cuddled up closer to him and sighed.

"You owe me new underwear though.."

was this good guys😬...

#Metallica #smut #james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #request #james hetfield smut #metallica fanfiction #metallica fanfic #metal fanfic #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction

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metallicames · 13 days ago

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New fic with 2000's James! Hope you like it 🥰

@nausicaamusiclover20 you for the perfect translation❣️

I missed you

Description: You and James had a baby two months ago, you're slowly getting back into your routine and you feel the need to start making love with James again and it seems almost like the first time.

WARNINGS: smut, explicit content, sex, oral sex, dirty talking.

Two months have passed since Elijah was born—two difficult, but at the same time, beautiful and intense months. James has proven to be an amazing father. Since he got sober, he feels like a different person—caring, attentive, present, and reliable. I find myself falling even more in love with him. Slowly, I'm getting back into my routine. It feels good to focus on myself again, but part of me still aches every time I leave Elijah. I never thought I'd be the kind of mom who struggles with being apart from her baby, but every time I head to the gym or prepare for my upcoming runway show, there's a knot in my stomach. I’m so proud of what I do, but I can't help but feel torn.

In three months, I have a big runway show, and I've started going to the gym again. Today is one of those days, and I’m heading home after my workout, eager to see Elijah and James again.

I push the door open, the familiar scent of home welcoming me. I can already hear the soft hum of James's guitar drifting down the hallway. My heart skips a beat, and I find myself walking toward Elijah’s room almost instinctively.

When I step inside, I pause, watching them. James is sitting in the armchair by the crib, guitar in hand, his strong fingers gently strumming a slow, peaceful melody. Elijah is peacefully asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with the song. I can’t help but smile, my chest swelling with love.

James’s presence is such a contrast to the serene room around Elijah. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms look so out of place here, surrounded by the soft colors and delicate decor, but somehow, it makes everything feel even more right. He looks so relaxed, so at peace. It’s as if the world outside doesn’t exist in these moments, and all that matters is the tiny soul asleep in the crib and the man playing music to him.

I stay still, watching them, my heart full. It’s been months since we’ve had time alone, and I can feel the distance between us melting away, the desire for him creeping back in. But there's also something else—a sense of longing for the connection we've both been craving. It’s been so long since we've had time to ourselves, just the two of us.

I bite my lip, torn between my love for Elijah and the pull of James. I’m not sure I’m ready for everything to change, but seeing him like this, so attentive, so gentle—it stirs something deep inside me.

Finally, I take a step closer, my footsteps soft on the carpet, and I lean in to kiss the top of Elijah's head before turning my attention to James.

“You’re always full of surprises,” I whisper, my voice soft, teasing.

“I thought I’d try something different today,” he says with a grin, putting the guitar down gently. “Elijah seemed to like it.”

I smile, my heart melting. I lean in, letting my fingers brush against his, a small touch that sends warmth through me. “He did. I think he’s just as in love with you as I am.”

James’s hand tightens around mine, pulling me in closer. For a moment, it’s just us, standing there in the quiet of the nursery, the world outside forgotten.

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s been months since we’ve touched, and I can feel the longing desire inside me. The distance between us has become unbearable, and I know it’s finally time to reconnect, to feel his touch again, to make love.

I watch Elijah sleeping peacefully in his crib, careful not to disturb him. I don’t dare touch him, not wanting to wake him up. My heart is racing as I turn toward James, and I can’t help but move toward him. I reach up and run my fingers through his short, tousled hair, the touch soft and gentle, before pressing my lips to his in a slow kiss. I pull away slowly, my gaze locking with his, and then kiss him again, this time deepening it, my tongue slipping past his lips with a careful, lingering motion.

His hand moves to my face, cupping my jaw and the side of my neck. His grip is firm, but there’s tenderness in the way he holds me, his fingers pressing slightly against my skin. He tightens his hold just a little, sending a shiver through my body.

"I want you..." I whisper, my voice breathless as my lips hover close to his ear.

I feel him stiffen slightly, his gaze lighting up with a fire that matches my own. He had promised to wait for me, to wait until I was ready. I know he’s been patient, but I can see in his eyes the same longing that’s been growing inside me. The months of silence, of distance—it’s been agony for both of us.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and full of concern, but there's a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes search mine, making sure I’m comfortable, that this is what I really want. "Do you feel okay?"

I meet his gaze, nodding softly. "I’m ready," I whisper. "I feel… right with you."

His smirk deepens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with approval. Then, as if to answer my unspoken invitation, he leans in and kisses me again, this time with more urgency. The kiss starts slow, sweet, but quickly becomes more passionate, his lips moving against mine with a deep hunger. His hands roam to my back, pulling me closer, the heat between us building as we kiss.

After a few moments, I pull back just enough to breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My fingers trail down his chest, and I look up at him with a small smile. "Let’s go to the bedroom, "I suggest, my voice thick with desire.

He gives me a slight nod, but I hesitate, glancing back toward Elijah. "Wait" I say, stepping back for a moment. I grab the walkie-talkie from the shelf by the door and hand it to him. "Just in case he wakes up…"

James takes the walkie-talkie with a smirk still playing on his lips, his eyes locked on mine. "We’ll be quick" he says, the teasing tone in his voice making it clear he's eager, but patient.

I feel strangely nervous, almost as if it’s the first time. Maybe it’s the fear that something has changed, that it won’t be the same as before. If that’s the case, it would hit me hard because making love with James has always been one of the things I love most in the world. I try to hide the anxiety by kissing him hungrily, my hands finding their way to his chest, slipping under his shirt. The warmth of his toned chest makes me crave him even more.

As we move toward the bedroom, my heart is pounding in my chest. I try to push away the doubts creeping in—wondering if everything will be as it once was. What if things have changed? What if the passion we shared is gone, lost in the months of silence and distance? The thought makes me uneasy, but I try to shove it aside, focusing instead on the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body against mine. I don’t want to think about anything else right now—just him.

James pushes me gently toward the bed, and I sit down, looking up at him. I can see the hunger in his eyes, the same fire that’s burning in me. Without breaking eye contact, I reach down to undo his belt, biting my lower lip as I pull at the buckle, feeling the tension build with every second.

"How badly do you want it?" he asks, his voice teasing, but laced with desire.

"Too much..." I answer, my hands pulling down the zipper of his jeans, my breath quickening with anticipation.

I pull down his pants and boxers, my gaze lingering on him for a moment. I can feel the weight of his eyes on me, and the air between us feels thick with desire. I can’t resist reaching out, my hands trembling slightly as I take his dick, slowly stroking it while I licked it, waching him intensely. His hand comes to the back of my head, gently guiding me closer. His breath quickens, and I can hear the low sounds of his pleasure. I take my time, moving deliberately, savoring the moment, savoring him.

"Stop…" he whispers, his voice rough. "I’m already close..."

I slow down, feeling the change in the air between us. I pull back just a little, giving him space to breathe, to collect himself. My fingers brush my lips, and I look at him, my chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, deep, full of desire. He pulls off my shirt, and for a moment, I feel exposed and vulnerable. My body has changed—my breasts are fuller from breastfeeding—and although I’ve almost regained my shape, I still don’t feel completely at ease. But when I see the way he looks at me, I feel a shiver run through me. His gaze moves slowly over every inch of my body, as if he’s memorizing me, in awe of the way I’ve changed.

He unhooked my bra while kissing me with slow, passionate intensity. The bra falls to the floor, and with one hand, he gently touches my breast. He knows I’m sensitive, so he’s careful, making sure his touch is soft, almost reverent. His fingers leave a trail of warmth that makes my head spin. I want him so much, more than I can put into words. I could throw myself at him in an instant, but he holds back, wanting to take his time, wanting to be gentle with me. His care only makes me want him more.

I lie back, pulling him down toward me, kissing him with a hunger I can’t suppress. I bite his lips softly, savoring every moment, intoxicated by his scent, his warmth. It’s like everything around us fades away, and I’m lost in him.

James pulls back just slightly, his eyes searching mine before he carefully pulls off my jeans and panties, his touch never rushing, always slow and deliberate.

"You're beautiful... like a goddess," he says, his voice almost breathless. His compliment makes me blush, and I look at him, pleased, as I whisper, "Come here."

He quickly pulls off his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity between us grows, and I feel a spark of anticipation.

His hand moves slowly toward my body, touching my clit, sending a wave of pleasure through me. I arch my back instinctively, the pleasure building with every soft, deliberate touch. He kisses my chest, taking his time, pressing his face into me as if savoring every moment. His movements are slow, thoughtful, as though he’s memorizing each of my reactions.

I can feel myself becoming restless, my body craving more. It’s like a fire burning in me, one I can’t control.

"James, please... I need you," I say, my voice tinged with desperation, my body responding to his touch, moving beneath him.

He looks at me with a smile, positioning himself between us, his gaze full of longing. As he kisses me, he slowly pushes himself into me and I feel a rush of warmth and closeness. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t make a sound, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. I open my mouth slightly, a deep sigh escaping as I hold him closer, feeling his arms enveloping me.

“God... I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with emotion. I feel the weight of his body above me, the pressure grounding me, but there’s something comforting in it—like we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be. But it becomes more passionate as I feel his lower abdomen rubbing in my clit at every thrust. and I can’t help but respond to him, my hands gripping his back, my body aching to feel every part of him.

I know he’s holding back, trying not to rush, making sure I’m okay, and it makes me crave him more. I whisper his name, urging him on, knowing that right now, we both need this—need each other.

“Harder… James… give it to me harder,” I urge, my voice trembling with desire.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he asks, concerned in his voice.

Without saying a word, I place my hand on his butt, guiding him closer to me, urging him deeper. He understands the message and his arms move around me, pulling me in, his hands gently supporting the back of my head. He begins to thrust harder, with a new intensity, each motion slow but deep, bringing a wave of pleasure with every thrust. I let myself fully surrender to the sensation, each movement leaving me breathless.

James is completely immersed in the moment now. His lips leave mine, his forehead resting softly against my shoulder as he continues thrusting, as though nothing else matters but the connection between us. I can feel him shaking, his breath quickening, and the way his body reacts tells me everything I need to know.

“Keep going,” I whisper, lost in the feeling of him, feeling the intensity building between us.

He reaches the peak, pulling away and leaning over me, his breath shallow as he cums all over my body, his expression of pleasure sending a rush of excitement through me. The warmth of him leaves me breathless, and his uneven breaths only heighten the intensity of the moment, sending me into a daze of sensation.

"I love you..." I whisper softly.

"I love you too, Y/N..." he responds, his breath heavy.

I look down at my abdomen and burst into laughter.

"Oops..." he says, laughing as he runs a hand through his hair.

He gets up and heads to the bathroom. When he returns, he has a damp towel, and he gently wipes it over my body, the sensation soothing. As he reaches my lower abdomen, I realize I still crave him. I want to feel more. As he moves the towel down, he pauses at my lower abdomen, almost as if he can read my thoughts. He starts kissing me, moving lower, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits me. I’m afraid my body isn’t the same, that he won’t find me attractive anymore. Instinctively, I close my legs.

He looks at me, confusion in his eyes. "Hey... it’s me."

"I know, but..." I trail off, unsure of how to explain.

"You're perfect... relax," he says, his tone soft and reassuring as he continues to kiss me gently.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, feeling him gently part my legs, kissing my clit. Slowly, I start to relax, and I realize my fears were unfounded. He loves my body just as much, if not more, than before. From this moment, his mouth and tongue move with perfect rhythm, knowing exactly how to stimulate every right spot. I know he loves giving me pleasure, and I can tell he would never stop. As he picks up the pace, a wave of shivers runs through my body, almost like an electric shock with every touch.

"Oh my God, James... you’re going to make me c..." I gasp, my hand tangled in his hair as I start trembling beneath him.

From time to time, he lets out a low, almost primal groan, sending another jolt of pleasure through me, making the sensation even more intense. At one point, he takes my ankle and places my foot on his shoulder, and I raise the other one to mirror the position, giving him more room to move. He kisses deeper, the sensation of his touch making me dizzy. His intensity drives me wild, and I can feel how deeply he desires me, how every action, every movement reminds me that I belong to him.

I can no longer control my moans, my body trembling with each wave of sensation. I arch my back, turning my head back as the pleasure builds. Just before reaching the edge, I glance down, seeing James, his skin glistening with sweat, completely naked between my legs. The sight of him, the way he moves against the mattress, only intensifies the feeling.

"J-Jamie... oh my God... I’m... I’m coming," I gasp, my body contorting as I grip the pillow with one hand. He wraps his arm around my leg, and with the final movements, he brings me to a powerful, overwhelming release. It’s intense, freeing, and everything I’ve been craving.

The sensation is so overwhelming and prolonged that I can barely catch my breath. I loosen my grip on his hair, and I notice that he’s still grinding against the mattress, his face so close to me. His soft groans soon give way to his own exhaustion, and he finally stills, breathing heavily.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaims, almost breathless.

"What happened?" you ask, amused, as you run your fingers through his hair and pull your feet off his shoulders.

"It’s that I... I came while I was eating you out . This is the effect you have on me," he says, his head resting on your lower abdomen, his breathing heavy and irregular. You smile, gently stroking his temple. He slowly sits up and lies next to you. You turn onto your side to watch him, admiring him quietly.

"Never doubt your body again, understood?" His voice is firm, his gaze intense, almost as if he's trying to make me believe in myself just as much as he believes in me.

I nod, my heart racing, and lean in to kiss him. The moment our lips touch, I feel a tear escape, rolling down my cheek.

He pulls away just enough to look at me, his expression filled with concern. "Why are you crying now?"

I try to steady my breath, the emotions swirling within me. "I don’t know... it's just... I’ve missed you so much, and with everything... my hormones are all over the place. There’s just so much I feel... I can’t even explain it all," I confess, my voice trembling with vulnerability.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me, as if trying to protect me from all the worries I’ve been carrying. His warmth grounds me, and I can’t help but close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and I feel his chest rise and fall as he inhales deeply. “I love you,” he whispers, the words coming so naturally, like they’re the most important thing he’s ever said.

I melt into his embrace, feeling his arms around me, holding me in a way that tells me I’m safe. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear calms the storm inside me, and for a moment, everything feels right.

#james hetfield x reader #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield x you #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #metallica smut #james hetfield #metallica #papa het #james hetfield oneshot

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hetfieldsdaddy · 5 months ago

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Step brother James x Reader where they’re having sex late at night and he has a CRAZY praise kink and has to hold her mouth shut so no body hears them :3

BABE WAKE UP HETFIELDSDADDY POSTED!!! also yes i am getting to everyones requests theres alot 😞👍 but they are coming metallica nation. enjoy this one for now 💪

I hated my step-brother. I hated the mischievous looks he’d give me from the other side of the dinner table whilst we sat beside our parents. I hate how he stole all my things. I hated that every time I laid eyes on him, I had to push down the arousal and need I felt towards him. It had all started when he moved back in with us, after his stupid band project backfired and he needed somewhere to stay; he was stupid, jobless, and broke.

Obviously, my Dad and Step-mom sympathised with him. I just found it annoying. He was a few years older, yet acted like a little kid, always treating me with playful meanness like I was his biological sister. If that was the case, I’d probably kill myself immediately.

Our whole family sat at the dinner table, silently eating whatever burnt meal Dad had prepared for us, James only just walking down the stairs after being called umpteen times. I played with my food, eyes fixed on James as he sat down next to me.

He looked beside him, taking in my appearance before resting the side of his face on his palm. I took a small bite of my food, trying to atleast pretend I was enjoying the crime against humanity on my plate. I nearly choked on my food as I felt a hand run up my thigh, my face flushed as my eyes darted around the room, gaze then fixing on James. He gave a small smirk in return, parents too busy talking about.. whatever it is they constantly ran their mouths about.

I cleared my throat, “I.. uh— May I be excused?” I said, legs tensing up. “What? You’ve hardly touched your food.” Dad says, a small frown on his face, “I’ll eat it later, I’m just- not hungry right now.” I quickly rose from my seat, brushing James’ hand off of my thigh as I did so. I sped upstairs, closing my bedroom door behind me tightly and pressing my back against it, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

It was getting increasingly harder to ignore what he did to me. I clambered into bed, laying my head on the pillow and just making an attempt to sleep off the confusion.

I only managed to get about an hours worth of sleep, when I was suddenly awoken by fingers brushing along my shoulder. I jolted up, the room pitch black. “Shh.” A familiar voice shushed me, putting his hand over my mouth.

“James??” I spoke, speech muffled by the palm of his hand. He pulled his hand away, pulling the sheets off of me and leaning over, hands rested at both sides of my head. “James, I don’t—“ I could hardly believe what was happening. Was this even real? Was I even awake? James’ breath hitched, a hint of regret in his expression.

He took his hands away, moving to get off of me, but I quickly stopped him and held him in place. “Stop it. I want.. this.” My tone of voice was flustered. It felt strange to be admitting that, but it felt good to know he felt the same way about me. “I think Dad’s still awake..” He whispered, gaze shifting to my bedroom door. I reached up and turned his head back to look at me, “Then we’ll just have to be quiet..” I mumble, pulling him down slightly to press my lips against his. He deepened the kiss, rubbing my waist and groaning into my lips.

He pulled away, “Fuck.. I need you.” He muttered, his voice shaking slightly. “I’m right here..- Please.” I gripped onto his shoulders tightly, stomach dropping when he rolled down my shorts and underwear, admiring my body beneath him. I quickly reached down, undoing the clothes on his bottom half and desperately pulling them off. He laughed quietly, “Someone’s eager..” James mumbled, voice hardly above a whisper.

He lifted me upwards and onto his lap, holding me in place by my waist and littering my neck with bites and kisses, before lining himself up with my pussy, sliding himself inside suddenly and without warning. I cried out loudly, only to have a quick hand cover my face. He slides it further in, my moans of pleasure muffled against the palm of his hand. Once he had allowed me to adjust, he moved his hand away.

I slumped over him, body leant against his chest and hear rested in the nape of his neck. “That’s— so good.. you feel so good inside me..” He jolted and let out a grunt upon hearing what I had said. Clearly, he enjoyed the praise. He thrusted up into me, arms wrapped around my waist to hold my body close to him. “James, you’re doing so good..” I cooed into his neck, one of his arms pulling off my body so he could press his palm to my mouth again. “Fuck.. be quiet..”

He whispered, speeding up his pace slightly; he was clearly unable to hold back. I whined against his hand, moving my hips back and forth to meet his thrusts. I shivered as he twitched inside of me, pulling my head away from his hand and leaning into his ear, “Please do it inside me.. don’t pull out.” I said firmly, his grip on me tightening when he fucked me faster. It felt strangely good. I had sex before, but it never felt like this, it was strange that my step-brother managed to be the one to please me, of all people. “I’m gonna cum..” He mumbled into my ear, voice trembling and tainted with desperation.

I cried out as he took ahold of my waist, pushing me down onto it and filling me up to the brim. I tried my best to stay quiet, but it was hard, quiet moans escaping my lips. He pulled out, laying me down on the bed and pulling his boxers up before laying down next to me. “That was— good..” I whispered. “They definitely heard us, though.” He replied.

#metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica smut #fanfiction #smut #oneshot

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lvst4lifee · 1 year ago

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KINKTOBER 2023!!

i wont be doing full 30 days and i will be starting on the seventh, i have a list of who and what ⬇️ but may end up posting more. Also feel free to ask for a person + kink and i will post for it IF i have time or switch one.

idea credit: (not doing all obvi but i chose from it, not sure where this person post bc i saw a repost but yeah creds to them)

and now finally....

10.7: (langire, body worship) KIRK HAMMETT (1/3)

includes: fem body worship, love, sex with feelings, creampies, multiple orgasms, praise and degration.

10. 11: (face sitting) IZZY STRADLIN (1/2)

includes: face sitting, no touch orgasm, Multiple orgasms, cum eating, possibly more...

10. 14: (loss of virginity) IZZY STRADLIN

includes: reader!virginity loss, gental sex, tad bit of blood.

10.17: (rough/sadistic sex) KIRK HAMMETT

includes: crying, slight biteing, overstim, male dom, spanking, choking, spiting, edging, teasing, possibly more.....

10.21: (size kink) JAMES HETFEILD

includes: size difference kink, rough, bj, face fucking, creampie after creampie, squirting

10. 31: (horror,size dif) KIRK HAMMETT:

includes: sorta horror themed, vampy kirk, mega biteing kink, size diff kink, possibly more...

so i may not be posting these 100% on time bc i just got really fucking sick and idk if i'll be able to wright while i feel like this. I am getting meds sent to my house tonight hopefully that works and i can write.

!!IGNORE SPELLING MISTAKES TO SICK TO EDIT!!

#kirk hammett #kinktober #smut #oneshots #kirk hammett smut #izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin smut #james hetfield #james hetfeild smut #metallica #gnr

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 2 days ago

Text

Decorating with Metallica: Chaos Ensues🎄

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・ ୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・ ୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・

When James Hetfield calls you at eight in the morning, it’s rarely a good sign.

“Y/N! What’s up?” he boomed, his voice far too energetic for the hour.

“What do you want, James?” I asked groggily, already suspicious.

“Why do you always assume I want something?”

“Because the last time you didn’t want something, Lars ended up stuck in a snowbank while Kirk claimed the sled ‘needed testing.’”

James burst out laughing. “Okay, fair. But this is different! We’re decorating the house for Christmas. We need your expert touch.”

“You’re decorating? You, crazy, are decorating for Christmas? On purpose?”

“Yeah! Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ve got everything: lights, ornaments, tinsel. It’s gonna be killer. We just need you to tie it all together.”

Against my better judgment, I agreed. Spoiler alert: I shouldn’t have.

When I arrived, the scene was pure chaos.

Kirk was practically cocooned in a massive tangle of Christmas lights, Lars was rummaging through a box of decorations like a squirrel looking for nuts, Cliff was sitting cross-legged on the floor eating cookies, and James—James was holding a hammer.

“Why do you have that?” I asked immediately, pointing at the hammer like it was a dangerous animal.

“Creative vision,” James said, waving it around with glee.

“Please don’t destroy the house,” I pleaded.

“No promises!” he shot back, grinning like a mischievous kid.

I took a deep breath and rolled up my sleeves. “Alright, what��s the plan?”

We started with the tree, which had potential until Lars declared that the traditional tree stand was “boring.”

“I’ve got an idea!” he said, dragging an empty beer keg out of the corner.

“You’re not serious…” I started, but it was already happening. They wedged the trunk into the keg, and Lars stepped back, arms outstretched like a proud sculptor.

“It’s metal!” he declared.

“No, it’s unstable,” I corrected, watching the tree sway precariously. “This thing is one sneeze away from disaster.”

Meanwhile, Kirk was valiantly trying to untangle the lights, though his progress was questionable. “It’s like the lights don’t want to cooperate,” he muttered, twisting them into knots even tighter than before.

“Just throw them on the tree,” James said, grabbing a handful of tinsel. “We’ll make it work.”

“Throw them?!” I protested. “You can’t just—”

Too late. Kirk chucked the tangled ball of lights onto the tree in one go. “Ta-da!”

“Wow,” I said, deadpan. “It’s… something.”

As we started unpacking ornaments, James held up a box of clear plastic balls with photos inside.

“Check these out!” he said proudly.

I leaned closer and immediately burst out laughing. Inside were tiny photos of the guys, each more ridiculous than the last. Kirk mid-solo with his hair flying everywhere. Lars pretending to play drums with turkey legs. Cliff in a Santa hat flipping off the camera. And James, captured mid-laugh with his face frozen in a weird squished grimace.

“These are perfect,” I said, holding up the turkey-leg ornament.

“They’re festive!” James said, carefully hanging his grimace-photo ball front and center.

As we unpacked more, I froze. “Wait a second… Is that me?!”

Sure enough, there were ornaments with my face on them. One was a candid of me glaring at the camera, another showed me mid-laugh, and the worst—an unflattering close-up of me eating pizza with sauce all over my chin.

“Who took these?” I yelled, holding up the pizza one like it was evidence in a crime scene.

Everyone immediately pointed at Lars.

“What?!” he said, feigning innocence. “It’s art!”

“It’s blackmail,” I muttered, hanging the pizza ornament at the very back of the tree.

Cliff snorted and moved it right to the front. “You can’t hide the classics, Y/N!”

As we struggled to finish the tree, James got the idea to crank up some Christmas music.

“Alright, let’s set the mood!” he said, looking through his massive collection of vinyls. “We need some classic Christmas tunes!”

“Oh no,” I muttered under my breath, already knowing what was coming.

“I’ve got the perfect song!” he announced with an evil grin. “A little classic Jingle Bells!”

I let out a sigh, relieved for a moment. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad—just a little holiday cheer, right?

James grinned again and plopped the vinyl on the turntable. The speakers crackled to life as the familiar jingle of Jingle Bells started playing… but then, instead of the soft, cheerful melody, a deep, thunderous guitar riff smashed into the room, followed by a pounding drumbeat that felt like it was shaking the house.

“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, JINGLE ALL THE WAY!” James screamed at the top of his lungs, and the rest of the guys joined in, playing air guitar, drums, and bass like it was a live concert.

I winced, covering my ears. “I knew it,” I muttered.

Kirk, completely in his element, was shredding an air guitar solo while Lars pounded on an empty pot with a spoon like it was a cymbal. Cliff was headbanging so hard, I thought his hair might fly off. And James—oh, James—was belting out Jingle Bells like it was the most epic rock anthem ever written.

I tried to hold back a laugh, but it was impossible. “This is ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head.

“You’re welcome!” James grinned, throwing a thumbs up in my direction.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the song ended. The house was silent, save for the echo of my ringing ears.

I dropped onto the couch, exhausted. “Never again,” I muttered, rubbing my sore ears.

James plopped down beside me, still grinning like a maniac. “Admit it. That was awesome.”

“Awesome?” I asked. “That was like being trapped inside a drum solo with a megaphone.”

“It was festive,” he said with a wink. “Come on, it was metal Christmas.”

I sighed. “Well, I guess it’s better than being stuck in a place full of screaming toddlers. Barely.”

“You’re just mad because we shredded the jingle,” Lars said, giving me a playful nudge.

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kirk jumped in with a grin. “Oh, Y/N, we’ve got something even better. Get ready for a special Metallica Christmas classic!”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for any more classics,” I muttered, preparing for the worst.

But before I could protest, James picked up his guitar (air guitar, naturally), and Lars grabbed his makeshift drumsticks (spoons), and they started playing the Jingle Bells riff... Metallica-style. Cliff joined in with a wild bass thrash, and Kirk was air-guitar-shredding like his life depended on it.

Then they all started singing, their voices loud and confident:

“Jingle bells, Metallica’s here, we’re the best band alive, Shredding all the holidays, we’ll make your Christmas thrive!” James screamed.

“We’re the kings of metal, we’re the loudest in the land,” Lars added, dramatically air-drumming.

Cliff jumped in with his bass, “Jingle bells, we rock so well, you know we’ve got the plan, We’ll melt your face with every trace of riffs and thunderous jams!”

Kirk, getting into it, belted out, “Jingle bells, all the way, we’re the ones who’ll slay!”

(He grinned, clearly proud of himself for that line.)

I sat there, blinking in disbelief. “Did you just write a metal version of Jingle Bells about how awesome you are?”

“Of course!” James laughed. “We’re Metallica! We own Christmas!”

Lars leaned in and added, “We’re the ones who make Christmas epic, Y/N. Who else would do this?”

The guys were still shredding the air instruments, and it sounded like a battle between electric guitars and drumsticks.

After what felt like an eternity of shrieking guitars and drum solo madness, the song finally ended. I slumped onto the couch, defeated. My ears were ringing, and my head was spinning from the chaos that had just gone down.

I shot them all an exaggerated glare. “You know, I think I’d rather decorate a tree with toddlers than spend another second in this noise storm.”

James smirked, clearly proud of himself. “Oh no, Y/N, Metallica’s better than a bunch of toddlers any day of the week!”

“You bet,” Lars chimed in, giving Kirk a playful shove. “Who else could rock a Christmas carol that hard? Certainly not any toddlers, that’s for sure!”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but laugh. “You guys are nuts. Absolute maniacs.”

“Well, it’s Metallica for you,” James shrugged with a wink, “we’re just built different.”

Kirk, looking more serious than usual (which was saying something), stepped forward with a grin. “Hey, Y/N, we’ve got something special for you. After all, we’ve been making you suffer through our ‘epic’ Christmas tunes... we owe you.”

Lars clapped his hands together. “Oh yeah, time to give you a real gift—Metallica’s special dedication to you, our one and only Y/N.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously going to try and play something… sweet, are you?”

“Oh, sweet?” Cliff said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Is that what you want? We can do sweet. We can do soft… if you want the most metal soft rock ballad ever!”

I instantly regretted saying anything. "Wait, wait. I didn't say sweet."

James was already adjusting his guitar, giving me a knowing grin. “Get ready for Y/N’s metal ballad, all about the best friend in the world.”

Kirk started to strum his guitar softly, and I could hear them all whispering about the “perfect intro” for the song. I crossed my arms and braced myself, wondering what on earth they were about to do.

Then, without warning, they all burst into a very loud, very chaotic version of their “dedicated song.”

“Y/N, our friend, our Christmas cheer, You’re the one who’s always near! We love you more than we love beer, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!" They all screamed, slamming their instruments.

I gasped, my eyes wide. "Wait, what did you just—"

“Y/N, Y/N, you’re the best, Better than all the rest, Even when you’re losing your mind, You’re the one who’s always kind!”

I started laughing hysterically. “That’s not a song! It’s just… a bunch of nonsense!”

Lars grinned. “Yeah, but it's our nonsense. We couldn’t make it too serious, could we?”

“Of course not,” James chimed in, his grin only getting bigger. “What’s the fun in that?”

They kept going with their ridiculous lyrics, all about how awesome and “metal” Y/N was. The chorus was a wild mess of screaming, air-guitaring, and “rock star” moments. Cliff started doing exaggerated dance moves, and Kirk threw in guitar solos that made the whole thing sound way more dramatic than it should’ve been.

I was laughing so hard by the time they finished that I could barely catch my breath. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not on our watch,” James said with a wink, as the others nodded in agreement.

“Y/N,” Lars said seriously, “this is the gift you get from Metallica. Take it. It’s the most rock Christmas present ever.”

I shook my head, still laughing. “I’m going to need a few hours to recover from that. Seriously.”

“Take all the time you need,” Kirk said. “We’ll be here... making more ‘songs’ just for you.”

“And we’ll keep the Christmas chaos rolling!” Cliff added, pumping his fist in the air.

I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes. “The day is still long,” I say to myself.

At some point during the chaos of decorating, James suddenly had an idea that made him look even more mischievous than usual.

“Guys,” he said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes lighting up. “I think we’re missing something.”

I looked over from where I was holding an ornament in one hand and a string of tinsel in the other. “What now?”

“Something that will really bring the Christmas spirit alive!” he said, already grabbing a piece of mistletoe off the shelf.

“Oh no…” I muttered under my breath, but it was too late. James was already excitedly hopping toward the door frame.

“Perfect spot!” he exclaimed. He held the mistletoe above the door with exaggerated pride, giving it a tap like it was the most magnificent thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Lars walked over, nodding approvingly. “Good idea, man. Adds a touch of romance.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Or chaos,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

James stepped back, admiring his handiwork like he had just built a grand monument. “Yep, that’s perfect,” he said, hands on his hips, looking smug. “Just like I planned.”

I rolled my eyes, but the trouble was far from over. “You do know that’s how mistletoe works, right?” I said, my voice rising playfully. “If someone stands under it, you have to kiss.”

The moment I said it, all four of them froze, their expressions shifting into a mix of confusion and disbelief.

James halted in mid-step. “Wait, what?” he asked, blinking. “That’s a thing?”

“Yes,” I said, struggling to hold in my laughter. “No exceptions.”

Lars narrowed his eyes, his usual sarcasm dripping from every word. “So, you’re telling me I might have to kiss one of these guys?” His eyes flicked between the bandmates, clearly considering his options.

James groaned loudly, stepping back dramatically. “Well, I hope I don’t end up under it with Lars. I’d throw up.”

The room erupted into laughter, with everyone pointing at James and mocking his dramatic reaction. But Lars, clearly not one to let a comment slide, stared James down.

“Oh, yeah? Well, fine. If that’s how it’s gonna be, then I’ll just kiss Kirk!” Lars declared, his voice thick with mock authority.

Kirk raised an eyebrow, hands on his hips, and shot Lars a look. “Oh really? Well, come here, my boy,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a sultry, over-the-top tone.

He took a step forward, dramatically puckering his lips in a way that no one could take seriously. The entire room was already cracking up, and I could barely breathe from laughing so hard.

Lars leaned in, his lips exaggeratedly puckered, making loud smooching noises as he leaned toward Kirk. “Mwah! Mwah!” he exaggerated, clearly playing it up just to get a rise out of everyone.

Kirk tilted his head back like they were starring in a cheesy soap opera, his hand clasped to his chest in mock passion. “Oh, darling, it’s been too long,” he said, in the most ridiculous sultry voice he could muster, causing the room to erupt into laughter.

I was clutching my stomach by now, tears streaming down my face from laughing so hard. “You guys are so stupid!” I gasped between fits of laughter.

Cliff, ever the opportunist, took his cue and immediately turned to me. He waved his hands dramatically in front of his face. “Y/N,” he said, still struggling to control his own laughter, “I think I’d better cover your precious eyes. You shouldn’t have to witness what’s about to go down.”

Before I could protest, Cliff moved toward me, clapping his hands over my eyes like a pair of comedy goggles. “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the horror,” he said, his voice shaking with laughter.

I could barely breathe, let alone get a word out. “This is insane!” I finally managed to choke out.

“You say insane, I say festive!” James interrupted, still grinning like a mischievous child. “And you gotta admit, this mistletoe idea was genius.”

I turned to James with a mock glare. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.

James just shrugged, completely unfazed. “Stupid but festive,” he said, with a grin that could only be described as completely self-satisfied.

Lars, still mock-pouting, crossed his arms. “Next time, we’re putting the mistletoe in my spot, and no one is kissing anyone.”

“Well, Lars,” Kirk said with a wink, “we’re not all lucky enough to be under it with me.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Lars muttered, still giving Kirk a side-eye.

I was still trying to catch my breath, unable to stop laughing. “If I ever thought about leaving this house for peace and quiet, I’ve changed my mind. You guys are nuts.”

James clapped me on the back. “That’s the spirit! Who needs peace when you’ve got Metallica?”

I groaned, knowing full well that this Christmas was going to be one I’d never forget. Not because of the decorations. But because of the utter chaos that was now somehow associated with mistletoe, the four maniacs in front of me, and the insanity that I could never escape.

But, deep down, as much as I wanted to escape the madness, I knew I wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time we were done, the house was… unique.

The tree leaned like it was actively trying to escape, covered in mismatched lights, ridiculous photo-ball ornaments, and a cowboy hat topper. The porch lights blinked like a rock concert, and the snowman outside had a mohawk and one arm.

I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. “I can’t believe I gave up my Saturday for this.”

James flopped down beside me. “Admit it. This is the most metal Christmas ever.” “You’re all ridiculous,” I said, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

As the night wore on, the chaos mellowed into something cozy. We sat together, drinking cocoa and laughing about the day. Kirk hummed Jingle Bells softly while Lars fought the cat for a piece of tinsel, and James told a ridiculous story about setting his oven on fire trying to bake cookies.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even good. But it was ours.

“To friendship,” I said, raising my mug.

“And to never kiss Lars under mistletoe,” James added.

Lars threw a cookie at him, and we all laughed until our sides hurt.

Surrounded by my ridiculous, chaotic best friends, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica fluff #jameshetfield #jameshetfieldxreader #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett #lars ulrich x reader #lars ulrich #cliff burton x reader #cliff burton #metallica x you #funny #christmas #nausicaamusiclover20 #reqs open

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mustainegf · 22 days ago

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i feel like this works w James or Dave but like they cum inside and then like eat their cum out of you....

idk just something that seems super hot

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ²⁰²²

Lying in bed, with the moon a silver behind us, James rolled over and stared into my eyes. "Fuck, I need you," he whispered, sending shivers down my spine.

Not surprisingly, I could already feel the anticipation. James was one of those men who knew exactly how to make me feel wanted and desired. As we started to undress each other, I couldn't help but notice how his eyes glued onto mine, devouring me with his gaze.

Once we were both naked, James positioned himself right over me, his swollen erection pressing against my slick entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked in a deep tone that was filled with pure lust.

I nodded, unable to say anything, and felt him push inside me. The feel of him filling me was just too much, a soft moan escaped my lips the moment he started moving. Our bodies were perfectly in sync.

James never took his eyes from mine as we fucked, he swallowed me whole. I loved it. It was all about being his and his mine and nothing more would be the case.

The more and more we fucked, an orgasm was rising up in me that I had never felt before so strongly. I knew it was because of James; he knew exactly how to touch me, exactly how to make me feel.

Suddenly, James's face contorted in pleasure, and I knew he was going to cum. "I'm going to fill you so deep..." he growled.

With one final thrust, he spurted inside of me, his warm cum spilling into my fluttering walls. I felt him pulse inside of me, and I was overcome with a feeling of euphoria.

When James collapsed onto me, he languidly started to kiss me, his tongue probing my mouth for the taste of his own arousal. I groaned into his mouth as he deepened it, feeling his tongue swirl around mine as though he tried to absorb me even more.

After a few moments, James leaned back and looked at me, his eyes shining with passion and satisfaction in near equal measure. "I want to taste you now," he whispered.

I shivered at the thought of his mouth on me as he began to kiss down my body, licking, sucking, his tongue circling my nipples before traveling farther south.

As he reached my pussy, he looks up at me and his eyes were just ablaze with passion. "I want to taste my own cum inside you..." he said roughly.

I felt the excitement at his words, and I could feel my pussy clench around him. James took a deep breath then his head went down again, his tongue darting out to lick at my pussy.

His tongue on my ultra sensitive skin was like an electric shock. I softly moaned as he started to lick and suck his cum, which was oozing from my entrance. This weird and erotic feeling of his made me get more and more turned on by the second.

James continued to lick and suck at me, his tongue probing deep within my heat. I could feel him savoring the taste of his own arousal, and I knew that he was getting off on the fact that he was tasting himself inside me.

He continued eating me out and I could feel my orgasm build again. Suddenly, I felt James' tongue circle my clit, and I blew to a thousand pieces. Realistically, it felt like being lifted out of my body.

As I floated down from my orgasm, I felt James move up my body, his erection still hard and ready. He pushed inside me once more, and I could feel him stretching me, filling me with his warmth.

We were at it for the next few minutes, our bodies moving and slapping. And finally with one last thrust, James covered my insides in his seed, collapsing on top of me.

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ghostbustting · 2 months ago

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some lazy sex with James in the afternoon,like they are just sitting on the couch and she straddles him and rides him slowly and lazily(ig load/reload James would fit this scenario) thank u <3

♯ ; “𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑵��𝒀„ ༘⋆

James Hetfield x Reader.

Contains smut (p in v, riding), slight fluff.

Song: Heavenly by Cigarettes After Sex.

The damp state of the pavement I step on caused the steps of my boots to sound louder as I walk up the steps to my home, the door that awaits looking as welcoming as ever, my body seeks the warmth that one of my favorite places always provides me with. Also with the knowledge that the man I seek love in was also waiting for me behind those walls.

A perfect combo of what I need right after a long tiring day of work and endless lectures from my boss.

Turning my attention away from the beautiful gradation of afternoon skies, my hand dug into the bag hanging on my shoulder, wriggling through items and items till I find the cool metal of the silver key, pulling it out right away.

Unlocking and opening the door themselves feels like a reward. A fresh air of home to breathe. As a child, you might wish to be out of your house most of the times. But now, I truly wish nothing more but to have even the tiniest time in the universe to just get the chance to lay in my bed with my arms around him while rain pours outside, not a single care of the world and definitely not a single lecture ringing in my ear from that sissy man I had the torture to call my 'boss'.

The first few steps I took into the house, I can already see him, feeling that damn flutter in my heart whenever my eyes land on him- almost as if I haven't been with him for years by now, almost as if each new sight of him makes me a new woman.

James was sitting on the couch with his body leaned back all the way, his head resting on the folded arms he had behind his head while his eyes had a focused stare at the show playing on the television set in our living room. My eyes didn't leave out the sight of his spread legs, the fabric of his dark jeans stretching out. The focus he had on the telly wasn't long the moment my presence became noticeable, his eyes darting away from the screen and towards me, his pupils lighting up with a lazy smile on his face.

What a sight you are, James Hetfield.

"If it isn't my hardworking woman." He teasingly spoke in a breath as one of his arm leave the back of his head to beckon me with his fingers to come closer. "How was your day? That old guy still being a pain in the ass?" He chuckle softly.

My hand discarded my bag away, tossing it onto the floor without another care for the things packed inside of it, my care only for him. The closer I get to him, the more I notice the way his eyes weren't as energized as they usually were, James looking rather... sleepy. Yet still, it didn't really change the fact his face looks so fuckable kissable.

I sigh as my body gently yet immediately drop onto his lap with my legs on each side of his thighs, almost like a reflex or a habit by now. His lap seemed to be the only rightful place for my ass to be placed on and James was definitely not going to deny that. In fact, he'd be the one who claim that in the first place.

My chin rest on his shoulder as I mumble into his ear, "Don't wanna talk about my day." I let out a small tired out grunt before relaxing to the feeling of the touch of one of his hands on my back, rubbing soothingly up and down while the other was running through the strands of my hair instead, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

"That bad?" He chuckles yet again, head leaning down to press a soft kiss to my temple before trailing to my neck, settling on the crook of it, a small shaky breath escaping my lips when I feel the ticklish feeling of his moustache rubbing against my skin. The feeling of his body under mine felt like being burried in layers of warm thick blankets, the warmth of his skin was exactly what I needed after a long day in a season such as this.

”You’re here now, that’s all that matters..”

Pressed against my neck, I can feel the curve of his lips form a soft smile at my words, the smallest gesture that cause much more to me, my body relaxing so muh to the point i feel like turning to jelly, my body soon molding into his.

”Tired, mm?” He whisper as he stroke my hair again, that same hand slowly trailing down to my shoulder where he’d rub soothing circles to my skin before trailing down yet again, this time to my back. However, he was not stopping till he eventually reach my waist and his fingertips land on the waistband of my pants. “Just relax… You deserve it.”

The post-work tiring state my body was in was too consuming that I almost fell asleep right on his body, oblivious to the way his hands move across my body and the absence of my clothes. All I know was that just out of nowhere, the only thing on me was my button up shirt, which was now half undone, as well as the disappearance of James’ jeans that I had been sitting on, my ass now up in the air with the help of James’ large warm palm holding my ass, his other hand focused on aligning his now unleashed cock with the entrance of my cunt.

Scenarios such as this one wasn’t rare to be found during tiring Afternoons like this. We would occasionally find ourselves having gentle and sweet love making in order to relax. In a way, the way our soul and body meets and connects in this one particular activity, it feels so heavenly. His soul was is exactly where I want to be, where I belong. Just giving our love to each other feels like a gush of wind that was able to blow away all our stress that were once acting as a heavy weight on our shoulders.

I let out a small sigh of relief by the time he slowly drop my body, his full length almost immediately filling me up to the brim, yet so gently that it didn’t hurt me one bit, whereas it usually would with his often rough style of making love. I can feel the veiny skin of his length against my gummy walls, gently clenching around him.

My hands rest on his chest with my head laying completely on his shoulder, putting every bit of my weight on him as he welcomed me with his arms wrapped around my waist, fingertips grazing up and down my skin every now and then, his touch so gentle yet with so much love beneath all those gentleness.

”How lucky I am to find such a hardworking woman like you..” He whisper with his lips pressed onto my ear, his hot breath fanning against my skin here and there while goosebumps appear on my skin from the touch of his hand on my back, stroking my skin with feather-like touches. Each touch of his skin on mine felt like a dream.

A small whine left my lips, “The luck is all on my side..” I manage to whisper back before I try to lift my hips up, only managing to lift it shortly before dropping back onto his length, my body choosing a lazy ride to our releases. “My man..” I mumble as I lift one of my hand from his chest to lay upon his cheek, my head leans in just enough for our lips to meet one another, the kiss was rather slow yet sloppy as well, tongues meeting and wrestling every here and there.

Still, I maintain my lame attempt of a ride, using the smallest effort to push my hips up. Yet he didn't complain one bit, James seemed to rather enjoy the slow ride, the proximity allowing me to catch onto his small breathy grunts, holding and stroking my lower back.

Now and then, I feel the tip of his cock gently nudge a spot in me, nudge- not hit, due to the lack of energy I put in riding him. Pulling back from the kiss, my head have made a comfortable stay on his shoulder, one of the hands I had on his chest came up to play with the choker and the wolf pendant that loops around his neck. His eyes were unavoidable. His gaze soft yet cutting right through me even when I'm not looking.

As time goes by, I stop trying to ride on him, giving up. Instead, I slowly grind my hips against his again and again, the friction pulling out a small whine from the back of my throat, "James.." I mumbled out his name, almost unconsciously. Anyone would mistake me to be sleeping with my half lidded eyes. But I'm just simply loving the moment.

"Close?" His voice whisper into my ear, pulling my hair away so he could have a clear view of my dazed face, leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. "C'mon, angel. Release it. You deserve it.."

I let out a sigh as I force myself to open up my eyes and softly smile up at him. I can feel him throb inside me, as well as my walls clenching around his length. My hands were holding onto his broad shoulders as eventually I feel my orgasm control over me, warm fluids of my release gushing out and around his cock, triggering his own release which was soon shooted into me, his cum painting white all over my walls as we sat there, body still connected as one, soul forever united.

James wrapped his arms around me, slowly pulling me down with him on the couch to lay down, my head resting on his chest that acts like a pillow to me, his cock slipping out of my cunt with a pop. The last thing I hear before falling into dreamland being,

"Sleep tight, angel. Dream of me."

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sourbites · 27 days ago

Note

Can I request a Kirk smut!! Friends to lovers kinda thing. For instance yall are smoking weed at your place and feeling a bit insecure about still being single and he makes a move on you???

Can't Tell You Why

thank you for the request! this was a lot of fun to write. i chose to write this imagining early 80s kirk, just to really amp up that clumsy love that friends share. hope you enjoy :)

The tip of the joint crackles, embers glowing as you coax smoke down into your lungs. The atmosphere in your bedroom is thick, smogged with smoke and giggles. There's soft rock playing in the background — some band Kirk chose.

"You're avoiding the question," He laughs, all love-me-tender brown eyes and crooked white teeth. You're both having fun, he's teasing you, you're teasing him. But still, you hesitate, exhaling smoke from your nose thoughtfully.

"I don't know," You wipe one hand on the front of your jeans. "I've only done it, like, once. Wasn't that fun, either— we were in this tiny car, and there was so much bumping around."

You twist on your bed, leaning up against the wall. Kirk moves, too, leaning his weight on a hand. "Once?" He repeats, surprised.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think I've been around?" You laugh, although there's some discomfort at his reaction lurking around in your mind. His mortification catches up with him two beats later. Eyes wide, laughing nervously along with you.

"I didn't mean it like that," Kirk exhales, smoke floating and swirling around the both of you. It hazes everything up: the light from your lamps scatter differently. Shadows look hesitant. He mulls over how to explain himself, self-conscious as he adjusts his position again. "I— I just meant, that you," He swipes a hand over his face, groaning in embarrassment through those hesitant chuckles. "You're smart, and— and real pretty. And charming enough to get anyone you'd want, so— I dunno, I mean, I'd..." He trails off. He speaks unintelligible nonsense for a few moments, before trying again. "You get what I mean." He concludes.

"Do I?" You take the joint from him. Something within you makes you feel sick with a feeling you wouldn't like to meet.

Kirk, ever the conversationalist, gives you an eye-roll. "So who was he, anyway?" He gestures to you, his index and middle finger steadying the shrinking joint.

You shrug. "Just a friend of a friend. I already told you."

He didn't say anything after that. Just hid behind his curly bangs, working his fingers into your bedsheets. Honestly, you're unsure why you even entertained this conversation. It's not like you'd find camaraderie within Kirk, not these days— tons of women want his attention. They want to taste his plump lips, hold his baby face, and kiss the crease between his brows when he frowns. You want to claw this bitter taste from your mouth. Gut the barbed vines in your stomach. As cool as you want to present, it isn't the most brag-worthy thing. Your first and only time being a half-baked hookup in some cramped-ass Ford Pinto? Get out the confetti. Your train of thought became an internal train wreck.

"Well," Kirk begins to roll another. "Where would you rather it happened?" Just briefly, his brown eyes glance up at your face to read your expression.

"Where else could it happen?" You ask no one in particular, voice hushed and ironically smoky in your fogged-up bedroom. You hum thoughtfully, picking at the thin rolling papers sprawled out on your bed. "Is it boring if I say a bed? Nothing else I can think of sounds appealing."

For some reason, you're allowed first drags. Pouring over you, Kirk lights the fresh joint between your lips. "Not boring at all. It's a classic for a reason, real nice when it's done right." He speaks easily, shrugging slightly. He's trying to soothe you. His smile makes your insides twist— and you enjoy it, in some macabre way. Teeth vibrantly white against warm lamplight and fuzzy shadows and black curls. You want to eat his mouth.

"Right." You sigh. Smoke billows from your parted lips. "I suppose you have? Done it right?" You're not sure why you ask that. You just want something to say. Preferably not about your (totally lacking) sex life.

Finally, it's Kirk's turn to bristle hesitantly. Easing his nerves, you pass him the joint.

"I've had some good nights, yeah." His answer is guarded. Your eyes glitter. What's he hiding? You nudge his side with your knuckles.

"But...?" You invite.

Kirk watches you for a moment or two, concluding you won't let this go. "But," He echoes, nudging you back. "I wouldn't say I've done it right."

"Why not?" You lean in. Drinking up the smoke that rolls off of him. You can smell him in the air, too, smoke-smouldering something spicy and musky.

He tilts his head to see you better. "Can't tell you," He whispers, grinning, wholly contradicting the inviting way his body slants to indulge you.

"Kiiiiirk."

Sigh. He's giving you the eyes. The eyes. Round and big, brown eyes so sparkly that they disarm anyone he's gazing at. You lean to him, attentive as a statue. You could soak him up if you wanted to; you're that close. Discarded smoke, already exhaled with all that high-inducing goodness soaked up, swirls around the both of you, murky white tendrils making you want to sway with them, beckoning you to move. Speak. Breathe. Live.

"Ideally," He shifts again, wanting to reshuffle his atoms. "Ideally, it'd be a bed..." A warm palm brushes your wrist and sneaks the joint from your fingers. "With you..." Your heart pauses. You stare at him, bewildered. "And me..."

What. The. Fuck.

Kirk takes your silence as a sign you want him to keep going. One hand cups your cheek, so tenderly you're tricked into thinking you're made from glass. "C'mon. How many more hints do I need to drop?" He coos at you before taking a much-needed drag of the joint to ease his own racing heart.

The funny thing is, you've hoarded his name in your throat for months. You didn't realise he had been holding his own breath for you.

Why? Out of everyone— you?

Kirk runs his tongue over his teeth, getting antsy. Softly urging you, he brushes the pad of his thumb along your lower lip while you just stare at him, amazed. You watch him from beneath your eyelashes as if he hung the stars in the sky. It comes again: the longing. The desire with no name, because no one has yet given you the language to speak it in.

Wordlessly, you draw his hand into yours. "That, um. Sounds nice." You reply, with what limited cohesive brain cells you have left.

Testing the waters, Kirk brushes his lips against yours, his breath mingling with your own. And it's hands down the most intoxicating thing you've ever had— you want to swallow it down in handfuls. Your eyelashes flutter again, and you almost feel drunk. He holds your cheek with clumsy, gentle fingers. He puts a heat in you that you didn't think was possible. And it feels so unfathomably perfect to feel wanted.

It's slow. Gently, you gravitate towards Kirk as if you're floating. Your mouths connect with a little more certainty this time. He laughs softly against your mouth. There is no better taste than that, you decide. Someone's honeyed laugh on your tongue. You're dizzy— should you feel dizzy? You want this feeling to stay.

Restless, he abandons the joint in the ashtray. With both hands in use, they swipe over your back, worship your thighs by the handfuls, winding and sewing roots in your hair.

"Can I take care of you?" Kirk whispers into the edge of your face, right underneath your chin. His mouth- wet and wanting, marks the uncharted territory of the soft underside of your face with a slow, hot kiss that ripples through you, reshaping you into something with an emptiness that's hurting to be filled. His tongue is laving wet and dripping with eagerness, building a taste for your skin as it glosses his spit down your throat. He tilts in to suck below your ear.

"Fuck, Kirk. Yeah— yes." You stumble out, nodding, your hips squirming in their cage of your jeans. You sweep your aching palms along his back, mussing his curls. He tucks your earlobe between his teeth, grazing the bluntness of his front teeth slowly along your skin. His breath sends chills down your spine. He grinds both hands beneath the waistband of your jeans, reading your mind.

He's aching to get a taste of you. The softness of your inner thighs swath around his head, dark curls rasping against your skin. His hot mouth is drinking you up through your panties, nosing into your pelvis. He wants to breathe as many 'I love you's' as he can into your skin, he wants to rake his tongue against your slit, lick your cunt open. Kirk can tell you're soaked— arousal drooling through the fabric that covers you, teasing him with the cock-hardening punch of girl flavour that he loves so much, seeping along the edge of his mouth.

Your underwear is thumbed off, his face shoved right into your cunt, and yet you still want to steer him by the shoulders and pull him closer. He takes slow, indulgent sucks on your quickly throbbing clit, that snowball into big, broad licks, tongue flat and mopping up your slick from bottom to top. He sinks two fingers into you, each pump straight down to the knuckle, creating crude squelching noises with the purest, stickiest arousal simmering within you. It's all burning hot, hot, hot.

Kirk swoops down again, filling his starving mouth with what he thirsts for: your leaking pussy. His cute nose is smooshed against your pelvic bone, and every dirty lap of his searing tongue forces your hips to scatter restlessly and yanks a whine from your throat. He's wild and heartache and sin, and it leaves you reeling from his every touch, every curl of his fingers and every relentless, starved suck of your clit, until his cheeks hollow.

"Can't believe I went so long without this," He groans with lusty delight, releasing your aching clit with a pornographic, wet pop. He kisses your parted entrance, tips his head down and spits on your slit. Whatever honey-soft brown was left lingering in his baby-love eyes has been devoured by total blackness, glimmering in delight as he watches his work of art, your soaked, spit-slick sex. He goes back in, shoving his parched mouth onto you, sucking in a fold, nipping the other, thumbing at your throbbing, swollen clit. He wants to eat you whole. Every salacious lick of his neverending tongue thunders within you— your cunt, tight and hot and so adored by Kirk's divine mouth, squeezes of arousal building within you until they morph into full-body trembles, your abdomen clenching and un-clenching, taut.

He glances up at you, dark eyes glittering behind his curly bangs, eyeing the heave of your tits with each tremoring breath. He touches you where hands simply cannot. His thick tongue eagerly tastes your heat: flesh, sweetness, salt. His cock is bursting against his too-tight boxers. You roll your hips against his mouth, chasing every lap of his tongue, every brush of his calloused hands. Softly, he becomes endless in you, and the searing pleasure he paints for you becomes explosive. Your volatile hands fist into his hair and yank, grinding down against his pretty face as gasps block your airways. He's drinking your soul - stuffing his mouth with every morsel of your worship-worthy pleasure.

You wail through the orgasm, something deep within you awakened and booming; how you survived him, you don't know. Your cum, sticky and warm, ebbs down Kirk's plump lips, smearing on his chin as he laps you up, thumbs spreading your cunt open to ensure he's licked every part of you clean. Even then, the impish flicks of his tongue do not go unappreciated.

To get him to stop his (wonderfully feeling) assault on your cunt, you peel Kirk away from you, a hand in his hair and your other palming at his shoulder. "How'd," You breathe, stupefied, "How'd you learn to do that?"

Kirk hides behind his curly bangs as if he has the right to get coy after gorging on your pussy so filthily. His teeth, white and charmingly crooked, glitter as he grins flusteredly. He wipes his mouth of spit and slick with the back of his hand. You feel a pang of emptiness without both his hands somewhere on your overheating body. "I, uh, I have a thing for it, I guess."

Great. You sigh, lost for words.

"Can we keep going?" You murmur out, gingerly pressing a warm palm to his worn-soft denim jeans, which are all warped and taut from his hard bulge.

Kirk's hands, all slow tenderness to soothe you, cup your cheeks, fingers sweeping into your hair. He lays a kiss on your lips with his own hungry mouth, kissing away at your senses. "Of course, beautiful."

His bulge swells right beneath your pussy, your orgasm simmering away and dirtying his denim jeans. Handsy with it, he palms off his belt and throws his jeans and boxers somewhere in your room. You let one of your legs fall open while he scoops up the other, forcing your thigh high up his waist, his palm sliding down to grab a handful of your ass. He sinks inside the molten ache of your eaten-raw cunt. He kisses you into oblivion at the sight of his thick cock disappearing within you.

The odd thing is, it all feels so easy. You're choked with the sincerity of the moment. Kirk's hands are devoted worshippers, thumbs stroking along your skin where you tremble, holding you where your thigh and hip meet, cradling you. Weightlessly, and yet with heavy limbs, you lay into the bed. You're full of paradoxes tonight. Light, heavy, friend, lover. They're all the same.

Your hands glide up his taut biceps, sliding down the slope of his back, tracing along muscles and bone. You hook him in, keep him close. Kirk's biting down on his lower lip, his eyes lidded, fluttering at the dreamy feeling of your dripping cunt clenching down on him in searing hot pulses. You shift your hips a little— you can feel his cock smushed into your cervix. Kirk groans low near your ear.

This hot, fulfilling fullness seems to seep deeper and deeper within you, endless. With a hitching breath, Kirk's hips withdraw, taking his body-hot heat with him. Until it pours all over you again in waves, easing your abuse-swollen sex, his thumb dipping down to gather the sopping wetness of your slick, cum, and his drool, and stir it around your puffy clit in full circles. All while he takes you in long, eager strokes, delicious friction causing your hands to skirt around his shoulders, putting a cramping, throbbing, ache in your hips.

You shudder, going tight around him. Kirk presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. You can feel his baby face, sweet cheeks and plump mouth, those fawn brown eyes of his squeezed shut. Those charming features on a man who is fucking you with so much impeccable spirit that you're surely driven crazy with every rock of his hips, snapping up to wallop into the tenderly sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Every wet sound of his mean cock scraping the velvet insides of your aching cunt draws sobs out from deep within your stuffed-full belly. Your heart feels like a bass pounding in your ears, surrounding you with so much noise, every throbbing thump causing your breaths to shake.

Tangled bodies feel like they're cooking with all the hot friction between them. It smoulders, threatening to ignite— as if the hazy smoke of your social chainsmoking wasn't enough to put you in an awestruck daze. You clench your teeth, scraping your nails up the hollow of Kirk's shoulder blades, your own back arching off the bed, (which he uses as an excuse to get another gropeful of your ass) while he works your throbbing clit even harder. You want to squirm and writhe, but that'd disrupt the gorgeous rhythm of his cock. He drags himself through your wound-tight pussy, sloppy, indescribably thorough whacks of his pelvic bone right on the beginning of your slit.

You forget who's air you're breathing. Or if you're breathing at all.

In carnal screams that scratch up your sore throat, you murmur something akin to more more more don't stop, Kirk. Please. Kirk. His pace stumbles, landing right on his high while you're already curling around him, nails anchored in his skin, cries spilling from your lips. You squeeze around him with so much zeal that Kirk quite literally cannot move for fear of splitting you in two. All epic highs have lows, however: you scrape your hands down, tracing where your cunt oozes out your climaxes, feeling the boiling heat settle down, watching Kirk's glistening cock withdraw from you.

Everything feels suspended. Mid-air, hanging on the edge of something. Maybe it's longing. By some phenomenal stroke of luck (maybe it's your lucky day), the joint you were sharing is still lit. Kirk takes a long drag, exhaling against your clammy, bare skin. His mouth reaches your shoulder, and he kisses it with that pretty, insatiable mouth until you feel faint.

"Fuck," You take the joint he offered to you. Although you're not sure that this moment can get softer and warmer. "That was definitely better than my first time."

Kirk grins at your words, grunting quietly as he lays beside you, guiding your splayed-out hair away from your neck. "Just you wait. That was just a warm-up."

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