#heavy metal fanfic

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter one: jigsaw pieces (part two)

The memory of having driven out to Santa Barbara to see him flashed through my mind: all the while, I was expecting to see one of those white vans with the serial number on the back fender. I knew back then that I would never forget seeing the silhouette of Chris' frizzy curls in the backseat, through the rear view mirror, and to that day, I wished that we had followed that van over to the Grenada Theater. But we never did see anything like that on the P.C.H., all the way down to Anaheim.

Meanwhile, Marcy seemed blissfully unaware of my going down memory lane as she hummed to herself and drummed her fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. She had suggested putting on some Kiss on the way down but it wasn't that far, and besides, neither of us knew what they were going to play for the evening as well. I had listened to their first record, but that was where it started and ended with me.

We were hours early and luckily, we had found a spot right down the block and not too far from the entrance. It had been a long time since I was at the House of Blues: my last concert there was Velvet Revolver, back in high school. I thought about digging my old shirt out of the back of the closet when I spotted a tall man with long blond hair over by the edge of the blood-red awning and the vertical sign with the flaming heart. He was wrapped up in a thin black leather jacket and he looked to be waiting for someone with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

Marcy pulled on the parking brake while I peered out the rear driver's side window: I swore that I recognized him, even from a distance.

“What's the matter?” she asked me.

“I think I just saw Jerry Cantrell,” I confessed to her. “Over by the vertical sign, kind of... away from everybody else.”

“Well, you have to remember that they're like an all-star supergroup,” she explained. “You know, it's the four of them and then they have all manner of guest singers floating around in the wings, especially during their gigs. So, expect to see some faces around here.” But then she glanced back over her shoulder for a look out there as well. “That does kinda look like him, though, doesn't it?”

“It's hard to tell from here,” I noted, and I climbed out of the car first.

That night of seeing Alice in Chains all over again, but this time, I was actually about to see him for myself, that is if it was in fact him there underneath the sign. The flaming heart had lit up, even though nightfall was a few hours off: as we crossed the street and came on closer, I recognized his prominent brow, illuminated by the warm red and white neon light over his head. He gazed down at his phone and nudged a lock of smooth blond hair back from his face.

“Is it—?”

“Is it really?” Marcy followed suit.

“Yeah, it's definitely Jerry! Come on, come on...” We hurried up the walkway to the outside patio: four o'clock in the afternoon and a few patrons had already settled in before the big Friday night rush into the venue. But we rounded the corner right as he glanced up from his phone.

“God, I wish I had my drawing with me,” I mumbled to myself. He showed us a smile.

“Hello,” he greeted us.

“Hi,” I led the way.

“Hi,” Marcy echoed me.

“How's it going?” he asked us as he tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket to better pay attention to us.

“We just wanted to meet you,” Marcy explained. “Meet you before the show starts.”

“And without all the official crap,” I added, to which he chuckled at that.

“Oh, I feel you ladies,” he said, and his voice was like melted chocolate in its smoothness. “Sometimes it feels nearly impossible to meet fans anymore without them having to pay an arm and a leg for backstage passes. It's usually right before a show starts, too, so we can't chat for hours on end.”

“I'm kicking myself that I didn't bring the drawing that I made for you,” I confessed to him.

“You made something for me?” he asked me, and he showed me a little unsure smile.

“I'm afraid it's in my desk drawer back home,” I told him with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Aw, man, you should always bring that with you whenever you go to a show! I'm really curious now.”

“You oughta give her your number,” Marcy joked to him.

“And why should I give her my number?” he demanded as he pressed his hands to his hips.

“So I can give you that drawing!” I declared. “Duh!” He burst out laughing at that.

“I think that can in fact be arranged,” he told me, and he reached into his opposite jacket pocket for a small notepad of paper and a pen. Marcy put her arm around me and gave me a little shake of excitement.

“You mean it?” I asked him, taken aback.

“Yeah, I kinda like you girls,” he said as he ran his tongue along his lips. “You saw me from afar and didn't make fools of yourselves.” He turned his attention to me, and he knitted his eyebrows at the sight of me.

“By the way, you smell good,” he confessed to me.

“I work in a bakery,” I replied with as I fixed my sweater. “I often come home smelling of bread and cakes.”

“Oh, that's gotta be like one of the best things in the world,” he said, and that sly grin never left his face. “What's your name, by the way?”

“Alison,” I told him. “My friends call me Alison Chains.”

“I was just gonna say, Alison Chains,” he chirped, and he handed me the piece of paper.

“And I'm Marcy Playground,” she added, and he let out a big bold laugh at that.

“Yeah, I really like you girls,” he decreed.

“Will you be joining them up on stage?” I asked him as I held the paper up to my chest, as if I had just been offered a date.

“Who, Metal Allegiance? I just might, you never know.” He flashed me a wink, and for a second, I swore that he puckered his lips at me. Jerry then took his phone back out of his jacket. “Speaking of, I've got a place to be. I'll catch you girls later.” He showed us a pretty little wave before he ducked back to the other side of the building to meet up with someone else, and Marcy and I gaped at each other.

“He was hitting on me, wasn't he,” I muttered aloud.

“He certainly was,” Marcy replied with a chuckle. “He gave you his number, teased you, 'you smell good'...” She brought a hand to her face to stop her laughter in its tracks, but she laughed anyway.

With our masks on, we hung out there on the front patio until the bar opened, and at that point, I had hurried back to the car for those drawings. I kept them close to me lest anyone see them and take the surprise out of it all.

Marcy had ordered me a midori sour while she took a Cosmo for herself. Nothing to see here, just a couple of girls enjoying life as it was there on a Friday night. We congregated out on the patio once again, that time under the veil of the twilight. As far as I knew, they all had gone backstage and met up for their annual warm up before the show started. I tucked the drawings underneath my chest as I sipped on that glass of bright green, so bright in fact I wondered if it would glow a bright neon from under the floodlights that lined the awning above us.

“You think Jerry's going to be up there with them?” I asked her at one point.

“No clue. He did hint at it, though, didn't he?”

“Nah, he gave me that 'you never know' thing that I employ now and again.” She chuckled some more as she sipped on her Cosmo. Still, I wondered if Jerry really meant it or if he was only there for a good time.

I still had a lot of drink left over by the time the doors opened and we filed inside of there: we were in the drink rail section, right behind the pit, and right next to the sound booth so we could not only see everything but see everything that went down behind the scenes as well. I was eager to witness them, my very first heavy metal show: the closest I had gotten before then was Korn, but they were a league of their own in my eyes. I was in need of witnessing some metal in the flesh, and what better way to go about with it with some all-stars and their opener, “Pledge of Allegiance”, sung by a guy who introduced himself as Mark. His long black hair seemed to float around his head while his sun-kissed skin seemed to glow under the lights. He was like a vampire.

Mike towered over his drum kit with a long goatee dyed a bright fiery red and a ball cap turned backwards over his head. Dave had opened his shirt and let his long mousy colored hair dangle over his shoulders, almost nearly identical to the drawing that I had made: indeed, it was the drawing closest to my chest. All four men had such long luscious hair down past their shoulders, especially that lead guitarist with the plume of gray at the side of his head. He was so long and lanky, and his fingers seemed to crawl across the guitar neck with utmost control and ease.

Something about him was so hypnotic and entrancing, and I realized I was watching Alex. Every so often, he gave his hair a little toss back with the flick of his head. He, too, was like a vampire.

Right before us, a mosh pit was forming down in the floor section, and I was glad that Marcy and I had picked out the drink rail instead. On the other hand, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if any drunk people could come out of the woodwork as the show progressed along.

The lights swept over us, and I raised my glass right then: the green of the midori shone bright towards Mark like a searchlight. He pointed right at me and Marcy let out a loud cheer, and he flashed the two of us a thumbs up. She gave me a high five right then, and I put my arm around her: I was holding onto those drawings for dear life against her shoulder.

Another singer, a man named Troy, took to the stage next. We were also met with a few female singers, as well as a big Native American man whom Alex seemed particularly chummy with: I was going to learn all of their names by St. Patrick’s Day, I was certain of it.

“Someone backstage recommended these to the two of you,” was all I could hear over the noise of the crowd.

I turned my head to see Marcy talking to one of the ushers. She leaned in closer to her to hear it, and then she turned to me, even with her mask on over her face.

“Someone who bought presale tickets didn’t show up, and someone backstage suggested we get them!”

It was meeting Chris all over again, from the excitement to the fact it felt like the tickets fell out of the sky.

“Dammit, Jerry,” was all I could mutter to myself as the two of us strode on up the aisle towards the pit section. It was going to be a bit unruly there, but I held onto those drawings for dear life. It was exactly like when I met Chris, except I had no clue as to when or if I could be able to make my way up there to the rail to catch someone's attention.

But we stood there at the rim of the pit. It wasn’t like the Grenada Theater where I could duck to the stage and flag down their attention: if we ran, we could make our way over to the stage and do that. But the theater had the help of a buffer zone of sorts: i ran the risk of being smacked in the head or knocked down by the pit.

I had a hunch that the show was going to wrap up soon enough, and thus, I had to act quick.

“Here, I'll hold your purse,” she said right into my ear, and I slung it off my shoulder for her. I then took one final drink of my midori sour. The mosh pit flared up again, and it was of substantial size at that point. But I clutched onto the drawings, and I glanced up at the stage, at Mike’s red goatee, at Alex’s plume of gray hair, and I knew that my gun was loaded. I had cleaned my gun.

I wore actual shoes that evening rather than little slippers.

I looked over at Marcy and the expression of concern on her face, even from behind her mask.

“Fuck it, I'm going in,” I blurted out.

I bowed my head and kept the drawings close to me. I was running through a war zone. I skirted along the rim of the actual mosh pit itself, and I ran opposite to the ring. I was getting close to the stage. I could see Alex and Dave’s feet.

Someone pushed me, hard.

I fell right before I reached the stage. People behind me gasped.

Someone pushed me because I was going against the current.

“Pick her up! Pick her up!” someone declared in the microphone. “Somebody help her out!”

I fell face down, right by the side of the stage. I knew I should have avoided the pit section but I needed to give the art away. There was no way around it without any sort of elbowing or moving about with utmost power, and I had my hands full with those drawings fresh off the press.

“Oh, god, I think she's hurt,” I heard someone say. I lay there on the hard floor with a sharp pain in my shoulder. I pinched my eyes shut, and all the while, I thought about Chris. I rolled over as I could feel their hands on me. I was so relieved to have my mask on. 

The silhouette of his face right above me. 

Not even his marriage could stop the feeling that I sensed between us.

There was something between me and him, something that I missed for so long at that point.

“Are you okay?”

I swore that I heard his voice again. Almost a decade since he and I had met and came face to face with each other, and the better part of one since he had passed. Somewhere through the pain, I believed that I had found him again, like in the dream the day after the news had hit us all. But I still recognized his voice. 

I still recognized him.

“Hey, doll, are you okay?”

I opened my eyes to see those deep set bright eyes right over me, in all their luminosity and all their soul. For a second, I thought I had met Chris again, with that scraggly dark hair all around his head and shoulders and the soulful look to his eyes. But Chris never had that prominent of a nose, or that bright of a gray streak upon his head, or that olive of skin, either.

“Are you alright?” he asked me in a gentle voice; those prominent teeth, those soft looking lips…

“I think so,” I replied to him in a broken voice; I hoped he could hear me through that thick mask.

“You be careful out there in the pit, okay?” he advised me; when he raised his dark eyebrows, it brightened his whole face. “Someone tries to come at you, don’t be afraid to give 'em hell.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” I sputtered out; he gave me his hands and helped me to my feet. It was right then I realized I had dropped the drawings but someone caught them for me.

“Hey, did you draw these?” Mark asked me as he showed me the one of him, a mirror image drawing where one side of him resembled a football coach and the other side had him dressed to perform along with his bass guitar.

“Yeah, those are for you guys,” I said as I rubbed my head with my fingers.

“Holy shit!” He showed Alex the one of him, to which he gasped and he held his hand to his chest as if he had seen heaven.

“Oh, my god, these are amazing,” he told me, and then he turned to the tech behind him. He said something but I couldn't hear anything over the noise of the crowd behind me. He then handed the drawing to the tech, and turned to me.

“Go backstage,” he advised me. “My tech will take care of you, but we’re almost done, though. We’ll be with you before you know it.”

“Thank you,” I said to him as I gathered myself and followed his tech backstage. “Thank you, Alex.”

I hoped that Marcy would find her way back there as well.

And all I could think right then was “dammit, Jerry.”

#the skeleton key #the skeleton key fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #metal allegiance #heavy metal fanfic #alex skolnick #dave ellefson #mike portnoy #mark menghi #mark osegueda #oc tag #writing #text

[inklore]

crimson and clover.

part one | next part | series masterlist

premise: maybe you shouldn’t get high with eddie again but you can’t get him off of your mind, and his lips are too inviting to fight the growing addiction you’re succumbing to from the things he can do with them.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 7k

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with plot, f receiving oral, fingering, a touch of voyeurism, weed smoking, virgin!eddie, teasing and banter, soft dirty talk, alluded blowjob, jealousy mention, cheesy fluff, shitty parentals.

etc: i’m literally obsessed with these two to the point of insanity!! like i’m not usually that much of a plot heavy girly but buckle up besties we in deep <3.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

It’s quite embarrassing, excruciatingly taxing, vexing and every other big word that you could remember and barely comprehend—but now are having a grave first-hand experience with—from those Jane Austen books you had to read in class.

Every ten sellable verb, feeling, pretext; all of them describing the exact state of your mind right now, and how superficial it made you feel. Aforementioned: excruciating, embarrassing.

A week has gone by since the night you spent with Eddie, and it’s all you find yourself thinking about.

Your mind plays a constant loop reel of everything that happened; the giggles, the kiss, the…other thing. At night when you want to sleep your mind is too busy thinking about whether or not Eddie’s thinking about it too, what happened. Or if he’s out bragging to his friends—something you have your doubts about. The two of you hadn’t discussed if this was an under-wraps kind of thing, it was probably common knowledge you wouldn't want it to be spread all over town. Which it would be, like wildfire.

None of your friends have called you to belittle you yet, so you doubt he’s told anyone.

But was it plaguing his mind as pathetically as it was yours? Or were you just so starved for decent human interaction that your mind was holding onto this one night like it was an aphrodisiac?

Maybe if you had received a call from him you wouldn’t be acting so…mortifyingly in your feelings for god knows why.

"Will we be graced with your presence across the tracks again, princess?" He had asked when he pulled up a block down from your house, not trusting his loud engine to not wake up your parents—or at the very least a neighbor who would see and then go running to your parents about the strange man they saw you with. It wasn’t a mess you wanted to deal with.

"Don't call me that." You had groaned, undoing your seatbelt and hiding your smile by biting the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t thought past this night, were still too busy rolling off that high from smoking and having Eddie against your mouth…inside of your mouth.

And maybe it was his smile, his thumb tapping on the steering wheel, eyes flashing to your mouth and back up like he didn’t know if he was allowed to kiss you again, or if he should.

But you reached across the dash and grabbed the pen randomly rested atop of it, leaned over to pull his hand from the wheel, and wrote your number on top of it.

"Don't call before six or after midnight.” You let your smile spread, threw the pen back on the dash, and opened the passenger door hopping out. “See you around, Munson.”

That was seven days ago and counting.

Never-ending counting.

It’s not like you expected him to call. You figured he probably wouldn’t, the two of you were not about to become best friends just because he cleaned your shoes, or let you smoke his weed, or because he came in your mouth. You didn’t—shouldn’t—have any expectations from Munson and you were sure he had none from you.

History didn’t make you friends. Sharing weed or an incredible kiss didn’t either.

So it wasn’t a big deal he hadn’t called.

And yet as you sit at one of the pristine white table cloth tables of the Country Club, your parents on either side of you, your fingers playing with the straw of your drink; you’re wondering if he’s called.

You’re so hyper-focused on that thought, of the thought of that stupid smile that you can’t shut your eyes without seeing—that you don’t hear your mother speaking to you until the words “I heard you two broke up” are spat through the air.

Reality crashes down on you, and you can’t help the grimace that flashes across your lips. Word really does spread like wildfire in this town. You hadn’t expected your parents to find out until at least a few weeks—or never, a girl could dream. Enough time for you to come up with an excuse at least, anything but the truth. Which would be nothing but unacceptably unrealistic to them.

“He’s not a good-”

“I didn’t ask for your feelings on the matter.” Your mother interrupts. Scowls down at the martini glass in her hand. “Fix it. You’re both going to the same college, a college your father called in many favors just to get you in. Since you couldn’t do it on your own.” Her last words are mumbled, snappy, and hurtful as always. “His parents run in the same social circle as us and could do wonders for your father's business. Don’t ruin this for yourself over girlish feelings.”

Your throat feels tight, constricted, suffocated. Your fingers have dropped from your straw to grip the end of your white pleated skirt under the table. You know even if you told your mother the full story, how you truly felt, how you’ve been with him since sophomore year and neither of you have even muttered the words ‘I love you’. And don’t think you ever will. Would.

Or how last year over spring break the two of you broke up for a month and you had felt more rejuvenated than any hundred-dollar spa treatment ever could. As if you had peeled off a deadweight and could finally feel something other than the caked-on layers of presser that were endlessly put onto you by him, by them.

Then he came back and said the same thing your mother did “don’t ruin this for us” when he had been the one to leave you. And you’d done the stupid thing and said yes. As the two of you kissed and made up your mind searched for the why, the how, the what-the-fuck-were-you doing.

And now with your mother's words as fresh as a reopened wound reminding you of the memory, you know you said yes because of her. Your father. Their need to seem so disgustingly perfect on the outside, to hide how ugly they were on the inside.

Were you as ugly as them?

The question makes your knee bounce, knuckles straining from the grip on your skirt.

Your mothers already moved on from you, talking to the friend at her side. Smiling, keeping that perfect crown in place. Turning towards your father you hope to see a sympathetic look, some wise words—wasn’t that what fathers were supposed to do? Wise words and comfort? But he’s not even looking at you, too busy laughing at something the man beside him has said.

You need to get out of here. Go home and scream into your pillow or something.

Standing from the table, a little too quickly. The legs of your chair screeching against the hardwood, your father finally looks at you.

“Everything alright?” A monologue of how everything is the farthest thing from being alright in the back of your throat and ready to be screamed. But then you can feel your mother's eyes on you, don’t have to turn to see her look of impassiveness to know it’s there.

“Yeah,” you give them both your best performed smile. “Just going to do what mom said, fix it.”

Your lie only gets you a hum from said woman and then she’s done with you and turning her head. Your dad gives you the weakest of smiles and asks if you need any money—for no reason at all. Shaking your head you quickly bid them goodbye and do your best walk-sprint out of the building.

The hot summer night air a welcome humidity from the suffocation you felt in there.

You have your parent's driver take you home. Screw your ex and screw your parents.

If your mother wanted him to be in your family so bad maybe she should drop her Pilates instructor and have him instead. It would take a hefty price—that you were sure your parents would gladly pay to get you to shut up and listen to them—to ever bring yourself to his front door and beg for him back.

You didn’t beg. For anyone. Over anything.

You asked. You got. Demanded. Sometimes you didn’t even need to ask. You were just given to. Your bank account and school career showed as much.

Fuck, maybe you were the Princess of Hawkins after all.

You start in a small sprint up the stairs to your room, your throat still feeling as if it’s being squeezed by your mother's words, indifference towards you, demands. Even with her not around you feel like you’re being suffocated by her.

You really shouldn’t have come back home.

Not for the summer. Not anytime. Should have just stuck to the one call a month and check in the mail. Life was more peaceful that way. At least you could breathe.

It was going to be one hell of a long, torturous summer.

“Someone called for you!”

You hear just as your foot lands on the last step. Your heart leaping in your chest as you turn and yell down, “who?”

“They didn’t say.” Your family housekeeper appears at the bottom of the stairs, a small smile on her face. “But they did leave their number and said to call them if you needed help on biology or something like that.” She shakes her head, “could barely understand them. There was loud music in the background.”

Eddie.

The grin that spreads across your lips is demeaning to your social status. Same with the way your heart feels like it’s pumping from your stomach now as you run back down the stairs and take the number from her, only to run back up them and to your room; dialing the number into the pink phone beside your bed, pacing the floor as you wait, hope, shamefully pray that he answers.

On the fifth ring he answers and when his voice floods through the phone when you hear the “shit-hold on” as he turns down the music blaring in the background, you feel like you can finally breathe again. No more tight throat. Suffocating. The only thing you feel now is that familiar giddy ache in your cheeks.

“Biology huh?”

You can hear the puff of air Eddie lets out from realizing it’s you, from the smile that you can tell is on his face when he speaks through the receiver, “I thought telling her I was ‘the weed guy’ would be worse, town freak was my second option.”

"Munson, it's summer no one's doing biology!"

“Incorrect. Summer school is a prison sentence I have had the displeasure of being sentenced to.” Of course, he has. You can’t help the laugh that comes out, one he joins in on.

There’s a silence that spreads where you can hear him fiddling with something on the other line.

And then he’s saying, “is the Princess busy or can she step away from the castle, and grace us, peasants, with her presence?"

You’re smiling again, fuck.

“She could, but I don't know, she might need payment." You say in your best uppity voice, flopping back on your bed. Your fingers coiling and uncoiling the cord hanging from the phone.

"Drats! Right when I’m out of gold doubloons too."

“Oooh, and I only take gold, looks like the peasants must go un-graced today.”

"Would thy majesty take my humble payment of the best weed in the county instead?" He puts on his best historically accurate voice that has you snorting.

“That’s very presumptuous of you to say it's the best."

"Did I say the best? Sorry, I meant the greatest.”

God, you despised how nice this felt. How the muscles in your cheeks were already sore and you hadn’t even been talking to him for more than five minutes. How you can’t remember someone calling you and it being like this, no gossip, no hounding questions or accusations.

Oh, how the normal half lives.

"I'll meet you where you dropped me off the other night, okay?"

"Your chariot will be waiting, princess."

When Eddie picks you up and the two of you fly across town, sharing silent smiles, the town passing in the rear view, heavy metal blaring throughout the speakers—that he doesn’t turn down until his van comes to a stop through a wooded clearing, in front of a familiar lake.

Lovers Lake.

"Really, Munson? Trying to get lucky again?" You tease, a cheeky grin covered up by him laughing behind the hair that moves in his face as he undoes his seatbelt and moves to the back of the van.

You follow him into the back, sitting on the van floor. Eddie on the sofa, much like the last night the two of you were together. Except now you’re sitting with your legs crossed out in front of you, back against one of the walls of the van.

You let him do his thing of pulling out the metal box and rifling through it while he finds what he needs. Occupying your time with looking at the newly added amps and wires that weren’t there the other night.

"What's your band called again?"

"Corroded Coffin.”

You smile remembering him telling you that when you were partnered together. Remember how he drummed his fingers on the desk and air guitared you a silent piece to emphasize how good he swore he could play, how good the band was.

"You should come see us play sometime. If you're into that.” He looks up at you through his bangs, his fingers moving in his lap as he rolls the joint.

You give the tiniest smirk as you say, “like a date?”

His shoulders are shrugging, ringed fingers scratching his cheek. “If a grimy bar and drunk geezers falling off their barstools is your ideal date then yes. Absolutely.” You share a smile and then he’s going back to his task at hand.

When he’s finished rolling, and after you’re done eyeballing him: watching how his fingers work along the rolling papers, those damn rings distracting you, and finding yourself at a loss for words when you watch him bring it to his lips and run his tongue along the seam to close it.

You were here to get away. To kill time. To smoke. Nothing else.

What happened the other night should stay a one time thing. With how your insides keep acting up from the mere thought of it. This was dangerous territory already.

"Your payment, princess." Eddie holds out the freshly rolled joint, doing a little bowing motion as he does. Making you laugh and playfully snatch it from his fingers.

Bringing it to your lips, he pulls out a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans. Leaning forward he flicks it and holds it to the other end, lighting it for you. His eyes on yours as you forget to inhale for half a second, too busy staring back at him. The thick smoke almost making you choke after you’ve come to and inhale; an intensity holding between your gazes.

He’s so close, if you were to remove the joint you could lean in and….

Nope. Not happening. Not tonight.

You quickly move back over to your spot and take a few puffs, praying that it chills whatever tempestuous feelings were burning in your lower belly right now.

The two of you fall into an easy rotation, puffing, passing, Eddie making a joke and you losing it. A peaceful cycle that soon has you forgetting about the earlier events of the day and how you had felt; your nerves now lax, body feeling good. And not just because of the weed, but because of the boy sitting in front of you.

A fact you let yourself feel.

The only thing you allow yourself to feel.

You’re tapping your foot mindless against the bottom of the couch to the metal playing through the van, ignoring the friction it causes against the pant leg of Eddie’s jeans; his leg pressed against yours as the two of you have your limbs spread out.

Your fingers are flipping through a random magazine you’ve found in one of the many piles of junk on the floor. “Who sings this?”

"Corroded Coffin.”

Your head snaps up a little too fast giving you whiplash, as you look up at him—he’s already staring back, how long has he been watching? And have your cheeks always been this warm, or is the thought that he had possibly been watching you for god knows how long that’s making you feel overheated right now?

“This is your band?!”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I don't see any blood coming from your ears so I take it your majesty approves?"

You make a face, shrugging. "I was swallowing down my vomit actually, was trying to hide it with being nice."

“Mmm.” He replies, his hair covering his smile as he fiddles with the chain connected to his jeans.

It’s an effort to pull your eyes away from him and go back to flipping through the magazine—as if you were doing anything other than looking at the pictures. Your high mind having very little comprehension of the words printed across the flimsy papers.

That comfortable silence spreads between the two of you again, your foot going back to its tapping. Your head doing a little bob along with the beat.

“Was that a jive I just saw?”

Your movements stop, “a jive?” The snort of laughter that comes deep from within your throat should be embarrassing. If it were anyone else in front of you you know you’d do everything in your power to cover it up.

“Who says that?”

“I know many people who say it.”

“Are they 80 and over?”

Eddie shakes his head, his laugh dying down. “You like it, the music?”

“I’ve heard worse.” You shrug nonchalantly. Close the magazine and toss it back in its pile of junk.

“I’ll take it!” His fist pumping in the air in triumph.

Shaking your head you send an eye roll his way. Your heart doing a little leap in your just at how cute you think he looks right now. Your mind working overtime to hone in on the little things that light up his features when he smiles or laughs—and then the little things that don’t matter at all: like how this is your second time here and the first he had scurried around and tried to move his random messes out of the way, to clean it up. But this time around he didn’t even bother, as if a comfortability has already grown between the two of you. You hadn’t run for the hills, already knew what he was about, that this van was a second home to him by the looks—and he knew you wouldn’t care what it looked like. Hadn’t made a fuss the first time so why not let you see him more in his realm?

It makes a weird affection burn in your gut and has you toying with the bottom of your skirt to distract yourself from it.

Just listen to the music. The band. It’s pretty good.

Which isn’t shocking to you in the slightest. It only took you all your school career, and give or take a few years, to realize that Eddie Munson was a lot of things but mediocre was not one of them.

But your mind is racing a mile a minute, unlike the first time, you smoked Eddie’s stash. Which meant that you were the problem, the issue causing your mind to run from the blissful high into difficult feelings and misunderstandings of said feelings.

Go figure.

Your legs are still touching each other. You can feel the bare minimum of his heat against your legs, but it’s enough to add flashbacks of the other night into the mix of your mind. How you could feel the heat from other parts of his body; under you, beside you, against you, inside your mouth.

The tender skin of your bottom lip quickly becomes raw from your teeth, as the memories bombard you. As you grow warmer and warmer. And make the mistake of looking up at him, watching him, staring at him—and then he’s catching you doing just that and you have the urge to ask him if he’s thought about you sense that night, or why he hadn’t called sooner.

Questions with obvious answers.

But your mind is working against you here.

And the last thing you want him to think is that you’re just sitting at home waiting for him to call. Like you’re desperate for it, begging for it. Something you do not do. And was not about to start for Eddie Munson.

“Did you have plans later?” He asks.

Making your brows come together, a confused look on your face as you wonder if you’ve missed something. If he spoke before this and you just didn’t hear because of your internal war.

“The outfit,” he points with a finger, “it’s chic.” A lopsided grin pulls up the corners of his mouth just as you laugh.

“Chic?” You shake your head, “I was at the Country Club with my parents.”

“And you let me steal you away from such fun with the other royals? Honored." His hand splays over his chest.

You make a face, “my mother thinks I’m crawling on my hands and knees back to lover boy." You drop the same nickname Eddie had the other night for your ex, seeing his expression change from it. His smile faltering, fingers brushing at a few loose strands of hair in his face.

“Are you?”

“If I was, would I be here with you?"

"Maybe you needed some devil induced bravery to help you crawl."

"I wouldn't waste a good high on him,” you scoff.

Eddie’s silent for a second too long for your sanity and then he’s saying, “instead you're here wasting it on me."

"It's not a waste.” The words slip out. Come out so naturally that you don’t realize how sentimental of a meaning they have until you see Eddie’s expression. See the softness of it, and how you cannot bear the way your insides feel right now.

What’s the worst thing that can happen from you hooking up with Munson again?

“At least it doesn't have to be.." you’re pulling at your skirt again, can’t bring your eyes up to his as the words hang in the air—an invitation.

"Hitting on me now, princess?” His leg pushes into yours playfully, “who knew you could be so flattering. So charitable.” He teases.

You only look up to scowl at him, because you were not hitting on him—maybe, not really, you didn’t hit on people, you were hit on. But like many things around Munson it had changed, morphing itself into something you don't recognize; something better. You are going to tell him as much, flaunt your Princess status tenfold. But can’t stop looking into his big brown eyes, can’t stop the burning in your stomach going lower lower until it turns into that same lust you felt for him the other night.

And fuck it.

You’ve already dipped your toe over that line once, mine as well put your whole foot in.

"Shut up, Munson.” Your retort is less ice than it is fire, a breathy huff that you mean to sound playful but miss the mark. “Come here,” you hesitate. "Please.”

The beam that spreads across his face is anything but subtle or shy, promptly dropping down to his knees and crawling the short distance to you. A position he stays in even as he brings his lips to yours.

The kiss, his lips, his fingertips at the side of your neck just as heart stopping and pulsating-ly devastating to your insides as last time. A pang of jealousy shoots through your belly at the thought of how many girls he has kissed before you, he’s had to have kissed a couple, a handful maybe, you weren’t this good at kissing if you hadn’t. Kisses didn’t just feel like this, normally. Right?

Or maybe you just weren’t kissing the right people. Person.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to move into the realm of breathless pants and tongues against each other, teeth biting into lips. And unlike last time Eddie doesn’t need an invitation to touch you; his hands go from your neck to your cheeks, your jaw, chin, the back of your skull, and into your hair. The tips of his fingers making a road map of every sensitive spot above your collarbone.

Eventually, thanks to some maneuvering and awkward giggles the two of you are laid on the floor of the van—you on your back, Eddie on his side with his front pressed flush against you. His lips have veered from yours, leaving a path of kisses and nips along your jaw, under it, to your neck where he runs his tongue along a sensitive spot of skin, his lips wrapping around it to suck softly and then sink his teeth into.

A breathy gasp strangled out of you, your hips moving against the air. An imprint of Eddie smirking against your skin from the noise, left behind when he kisses just below the area. Fuck.

“How many–” you swallow, lick your lips, breathless, “how many girls have you kissed like this?”

It’s probably not the right thing to ask right now, but your mind keeps going back to it. That jealousy making your stomach sink as you anticipate his answer, as you dread and wish your body and brain were working together instead of on separate plains of pain and pleasure.

“Uh, a dozen obviously.” He laughs softly against you when you dig your nails into his arm playfully, in replace of the scowl you’d shoot him down with if you could turn your head—or if you wanted him to stop the knee shaking presses of his lips right now, which you’re delirious but not that delirious to stop him. “Only you, princess.”

The information shouldn’t have you soaring any more than you already are, shouldn’t make those jealousy twists get snuffed out by a belly full of butterflies, and flutters that go all the way down to your throbbing clit. But it does and you’re reeling at the sentiment that you’re probably Eddie’s first everything in this sense. In this realm.

It’s not triumph you feel, it’s something softer and dangerously close to affection and attachment that has no business filling your chest with warmth right now.

And instead of feeling the aforementioned feelings, distracting yourself with giving him pleasure—and to hear those beautiful noises from the other night—your hand is moving from his arm to the bulge pressing to your hip.

Your fingers and palm run up his clothed length and pull those delicious breathy grunts from him. No man should sound this good, no sound should have you feeling like you’re melting into the floor.

Your mouth finding Eddie’s in a hungry kiss, a need to swallow down his noises like a drug, needing sedation. You could get addicted to this if you’re not careful.

Your fingers drag themselves up to his belt, try to blindly pull the leather through its buckle, the loops. And just like a repeat of the night before, his hand is there to stop you.

“Gotten shy on me?” You ask with a coyness that makes him give you a ‘not in this lifetime’ look.

“I just want to make it crystal clear that I didn’t bring you here for this.” His tone only holds gentleness, his hand bringing yours up to his mouth to brush a few kisses across your knuckles.

“Even if you did,” your fingers twist a strand of his hair, “I wouldn’t be upset.”

And you mean that. If Eddie had only brought you here for a replay of the other night or something further than that, you know—even if it was against your better judgment—you wouldn’t be too upset about it, or at all. It was hard to be upset with lips like his pulling out smiles and whimpers from you.

But it also means that Eddie had called you because he wanted to see you, to hang out…which is harder for you to grasp than the prospect of only casual hookups between the two to you.

Those Jane Austen feelings back with a vengeance in your chest cavity.

Your answer makes a chuckle echo in his chest. “But,” he’s looking at you with all seriousness within those doe eyes. “Now that we’re–” he motions to your current positions with his hand, “here. I want to return the favor. For the other night.”

Oh?

Oh.

Pressing your lips together, you do your best to hide the excitement that shoots up your spine, nodding in a super-casual-not-too-fast way. “Yeah, okay, yes, totally.”

“Totally?” He mocks you, smirking.

“Totally.”

Then his lips are on yours again without needing further confirmation. The kiss slower this time compared to the last lip lock that made your bottom lip feel like it was inflamed from his teeth. Your mouths move in perfect sync, and if you could figure out a way you know you could get off by just his kiss alone. He moves your hand back to his crotch, giving you back access to his hardness as his hand begins its travel down your chest. Palming your boobs over your white polo, his thumb moving across your nipple, making you whimper. Your chest pushing up into him.

The closer he gets—the further his fingers move along the fabric of your clothes—the anticipation of where you want him, where he wants to be, makes your legs pull together. Thighs in a tight lock, your attempted relief of the pressure on your clit only makes the throbbing worse. You can feel how soaked you are through the cotton of your panties, know that once you feel his fingers slip inside of you it’s going to be game over.

There's a whoosh of air against your thighs from Eddie pushing up the top of your skirt, putting your clothed pussy on display for him. His mouth pulling from yours as he looks down at you and takes you in. The hunger in his eyes turning the brown hues in them black. You’re about to ask him if he wants you to take your underwear off, his fingers slipping past the elastic of them stopping you. His palm warm against your mound.

Eddie runs his middle finger through your folds, voice low and gravelly when he says. “You’re so wet.” All you can do is mewl, bite your already raw lip as you try to keep your hips still, try to hold yourself back from fucking his hand the way you want to. His fingers explore you for a bit, misstepping your throbbing clit each time the tips of his fingers come close to it. Even as you finally let yourself move your hips a fraction of an inch up, he’s still not touching the spot you really need, instead, he’s moving every place you don’t need him. Until he slips a finger inside of you too aggressively, making an “ahh” hiss out of you.

Your face scrunched when he turns to look down at you, halting his actions. Body tense, “did I hurt you?”

He’s never done this before, it’s not new knowledge and yet thanks to your hormone filled haze—and the need to come—you were expecting him to know all the places to touch. To not be as aggressively pushy right from the get-go.

“No,” you sigh, laughing softly. “Sort of, just…can I show you?” You’re nervous he’s going to take it the wrong way. That this is where it’s going to end because it'll be awkward and he’ll be embarrassed or mad or something.

But there you go thinking Eddie is one thing when he’s the exact opposite. The endless surprise of this boy never ceasing to show you why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—or by its fellow shitty townspeople.

Eddie nods, eyes soft and tentatively looking at you in the same way an excited student looks thrilled to learn from a teacher.

Wasting no time you loop your fingers into the elastic of the cotton covering your pussy, pulling the garment down your legs and tossing it to the side. Moving comfortably back into your lying position, skirt still pushed up, completely showcasing yourself to him. A flutter sinking low into your belly when you watch Eddie’s throat bob from a tight swallow as he looks down at your wet cunt.

And while he watches, stares at you, you’re staring up at him. Watching the hunger and desire to learn—to be taught—displaying itself across his face; your hand moves between your legs, the pad of your index finger putting the lightest of pressers on your clit. The moan you let out has Eddie’s hair falling in your face for half a second as his eyes snap to your face. As he watches your mouth part, brows come together, breaths shaky and weak as you touch yourself. Rubbing slow circles against your throbbing clit, where you wanted, needed to feel him. Where you’ve been throbbing and aching for what felt like hours—days—for him.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he spreads your legs wider, holding it up and against him below your knee so you’re completely open for him. So he can see you run your fingers down between your folds to catch the gathering arousal at your entrance and pull it back up to coat your clit.

You should be talking right now, should be directing him with your words, but you can’t. Have never touched yourself in front of anyone before, never had to, or wanted to. The act of touching yourself strictly permitted for when you were alone in your room at night. Never like this. But you’ve been convinced. Turned over a new leaf in the things you like, enjoy; the way Eddie is watching your fingers, the way he brings his gaze back up so fucking slow to look at your face. To hold eye contact with you as you moan and tremble. That mounting pressure already starting, so fast, so good.

Eddie leans into the small distance of space between your mouths to swallow down one of your moans that comes out at the same time his lips press to yours. “You’re so pretty.” He whispers between kisses. “How many guys have you let watch you like this?”

You whimper, breath hot on his mouth, “none. Only you.”

He’s grinning against your mouth, “you do this at night when you’re alone in your bed?”

“Yes.” Humming, you feel breathless, can feel your hips gyrating against your hand, legs trembling. Know you’re so close. But don’t want to make yourself come. Want Eddie to be the one to make you come, want his fingers to be inside of you when your walls constrict and carry you through that euphoric high.

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, princess.” His head lifts back up to look back down at your pussy, the wet sounds of your arousal against your finger and clit filthy.

Have you ever been this wet before? This turned on? Fuck, Eddie Munson.

Without thinking—reeling off of your own need—you grab his hand that's still holding your leg to him. “Put your hand over mine.” Following directions eagerly Eddie does so, places his searing palm atop yours, his index finger resting perfectly against yours; moving along as you go back to stroking your clit. “Like this, slow–ahh–circles.” The last syllables of your words choked out over a moan. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, know you’re probably making a mess on the makeshift carpeting below you.

He copies your movements for one, three, six circles and then you’re snaking your hand away and it’s his finger on your clit. The change in feeling is instantaneous and has your hips stuttering, whines coming out weaker. Your hand gripping the material of his shirt, needing to ground yourself. To remind you that yes, this is reality and not some crazy out of body wet dream.

“Like that?” Eddie asks against your cheek.

“Yes.” You don’t think your moans have ever sounded this wailing, this intense to the point where you’re almost embarrassed at how good you feel right now. How your body is shaking and mewling and reaching out for him for pleasure. In need of it.

This time when he slips a finger into you it’s slow, so good and gentle as he pumps it inside of you, that amplifies the squelching of your wetness. “This okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He fucks you like that, his middle finger fucking up into you, his thumb brushing against your clit at just the right angle that has you on the verge of seeing stars. You’re so so close, know that if he keeps doing that you’re going to be a goner–

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your brows pull up in confusion as you watch him detach himself from your side, removing his hand from between your thighs. Settling himself between your legs on his knees.

You expect him to start undoing his belt, figure he’s ready to take it further, aren't mad at the thought—but he’s surprising you again. “You got to taste, it’s only fair, princess.” Eddie smirks, situates himself in a comfortable hunching position, and then you’re gasping as he runs the tip of his tongue along your clit. Any rebuttal you could have thought to reply with dead in the water.

“Fuck, Eddie,” there are no missteps like the first time he was down there with his hand. Mimicking the movements you showed him with your fingers with his tongue, with a few added experimental licks and sucks that have your breath caught in your throat. “Ohmygod, and you’ve never done this before?” You curse, feel a breathy laugh fall across your clit. One, then another, finger slipping into you moving in tandem with his tongue.

Only one other guy has gone down on you and it was not as nearly intense or agonizing pleasurable as this—to the point where your thighs are closing in around his head, hands in his hair. Back arching. You feel like a woman crazed, like you had no idea you could feel this searing, pleasure this good.

You mean to say something, to warn him, to say any words that you can dredge up from the crevice of your dysfunctional brain; but all you can do is scream as you come against his mouth, as your pussy convulses around his fingers. Your hips rolling up into him, thighs shaking, body spasming as his name falls from your lips like a sinful prayer.

“Munson,” you whine, pulling at his chin once you’ve come down enough to function. Once you can finally see something other than the white bursts of light across your vision. Eddie’s tongue still running along your sensitive clit to the point of oversensitivity, that you have to pull him up.

His chin and cheeks are damp, bangs pressed to his forehead. Find yourself laughing at his tousled hair—no thanks to your fingers. There’s a cheshire grin stretched across his face as he runs the back of his hand over his mouth. Crawling up your body to hover over you and kiss you, a whimper coming from your throat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Wow.” You breathe, smile over at him as he rolls back to his side beside you. A palm resting over where your heart is still beating a mile a minute.

“I’ll take it.” Your laughs are in unison as a look of triumph flashes in those big eyes.

“If only you were that much of an eager learner in school, might have graduated, joined me on the road to success.” You pick.

“Not even seconds after I make her come and she’s already wounding me.” His chuckle muffled by the press of another kiss to your lips. “Better than lover boy?” Eddie teases.

“Can’t compare something that never happened.”

He makes a disgusted noise from the back of his throat, “no wonder you left him for the steerage.”

You hum nodding, turning your head to the side to press a kiss to his throat. Would it be too sentimental of you to tell him that he’s better than anyone you’ve been with? That no one has ever made you come that hard, not even yourself. That you can feel your wetness rolling down your ass cheeks and inner thighs from how wet he made you.

It could be a mood killer, sentiment isn't even your thing.

Plus it’s his turn now. Fair’s fair right?

There’s no complaint from Eddie as you move on top of him, roll your hips against his hardness, the seam of his jeans making you shudder from still feeling over-sensitive, as you move down the length of his body to rid him of his jeans and take him into your mouth.

“Here.” There’s a cassette tape gripped in his hand, the back of his head resting on the headrest of the driver's seat. You’re parked in the same spot he picked you up earlier, a block from your house. “Since you liked it so much,” he smiles.

Sentiment. Fuck.

Your smile is too cheesy and girlish for you to wrap any logistics into your head about it just being a tape, as you take it from and see his band name in black marker at the top. Your stomach fluttering. A simple gift that's not a big deal. You have to remind yourself as you try not to lean over and kiss him on that beautiful mouth of his.

“Here,” you say as you pull off your underwear and drop them into his lap. “A gift for a gift.”

You don’t let yourself stick around to see the heart-palpating look in his eyes as he grips the fabric in his hand and laughs, shouting “gold doubloons could never compare!” out of the open window. Making you press a finger to your lips, shooting daggers at him through the windshield as you pick up the pace towards your house. Trying to quiet your giggles and wipe the big girlish grin on your face.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #heavy metal love !

[mustainegf]

Can you write something about james and the reader being both in Metallica and go on tour and they get put in the same room and it only has one bed and you know the rest 😉😉😉😉

I ADDED SOME FLUFFY BUILDUP I HOPE THATS OKAY!!!

Stepping into the dimly lit hotel room, the hum of the city outside faded into the background, replaced by the soft glow of bedside lamps.

My heart pounded in my chest, not from the day's workload or the technical challenges I'd faced as the band's sound director, but from the unexpected situation I found myself in.

Due to a mix-up with the room assignments, I was sharing this intimate space with James, the band's charismatic lead singer and rhythm guitarist.

I had always admired James from afar, not just for his undeniable talent that captivated audiences night after night, but also for the genuine kindness and humility he displayed offstage.

There was something about his voice, his presence, that had always drawn me in, stirring feelings I had often dismissed as mere infatuation. But now, faced with the reality of being forced to share a bed with him, those feelings resurfaced with a newfound intensity.

As I unpacked my belongings, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amidst the unexpected situation, I couldn't help but wonder how this would change our dynamic.

Would the close quarters bring us closer together, or would it highlight the professional boundaries that had always defined our relationship? I found myself torn between the excitement of being in such close proximity to someone I had admired for so long and the apprehension of navigating the complexities of our newfound living arrangement.

I heard the door open, following with a gentle shut. "Hey," James greeted me, a tinge of awkwardness settling in the air.

"Um. hey." I tried to remain composed, but I could feel the heat creeping up my neck as I avoided eye contact, struggling to find the right words.

I nodded, trying not to let my cheeks go red. I was already wearing the clothes I planned to sleep in; baggy sweats and a tight lacy tank top which seemed to draw in his attention.

I slipped into bed, the thin cool blanket tickling my skin. I could almost feel James' eyes on my figure.

James cleared his throat and I could hear him shuffling around, probably getting himself ready to sleep.

He then laid down next to me. I felt the mattress dip, and so did my heart, feeling his warmth radiate to my skin. We were both silent for what felt like an eternity, neither one of us making the slightest movement.

I was so cold in my tank, shivering slightly. I was too nervous to get up.

"You okay?" He asked. My stomach dipped at the sound of his low voice. I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine.

Just cold."

James cleared his throat again as I shifted to face him, closing my eyes so he didn't think I was watching him.

I don't know why I was so paranoid. It wasn't like we hadn't been friends for years. Sure, there was a little bit of attraction between us, but I was a grown woman who knew how to keep her cool. Me and James had maybe had under 10 conversations with each other— that weren't work related.

And that was because I was always too busy watching him sing on stage or avoiding eye contact in the hallway. The only thing we really talked about was the occasional show or gig we went to.

"Come here then, you know. if you're cold," James oftered, sounding hesitant. My eyes shot open in confusion, taking in the sight of James lying shirtless next to me. His body was highlighted by the dim blue moonlight, his eyes dark pools of understanding waters.

My heart skipped a beat. I never thought I'd ever be in bed with James, much less in this position. I never thought I'd ever be in bed with anyone, period. "I don't bite," James laughed softly, pulling his arm around me and urging me to nudge closer.

I scoffed, feeling defeated. And so, with a racing heart, I allowed for his arm to fully wrap my body and pull me to his warm side. I nervously let my head rest on his shoulder, my hand resting dormant on his chest.

With each passing moment, the silence grew heavier until the familiar sound of his heartbeat became the background music to my thoughts.

How strange, to lie here in bed with him after all these years.

"Your heart is going kinda fast," James whispered, his words hanging in the air above me.

I wasn't too sure what to say, I knew he was right.

"It's nothing," I mumbled, kicking myself for even saying anything, it sounded stupid. He chuckled softly.

"Is it me?" James asked slowly, running his hand down my back.

"No, no, I just." I trailed off, still unsure of how to articulate myself without sounding like an idiot.

I sat up, propping myself up on my elbow so I could peer down at him. The precious look on his face was a mix of care and vulnerability, complete trust. Somehow.

I felt his eyes on me, studying my every feature. I let out a deep breath.

James curled his fingers to fold my hair behind my ear, those perfect eyes of his still analyzing me.

I couldn't control what I was doing, I was being fueled purely by passion. I Leaned down softly, letting my lips rest over his for a second or two before pulling away. The kiss was gentle, soft, something so full of love.

I was so intoxicated, my heart was racing, and my body was on fire. I wanted more, but I was afraid to ask. I was afraid to want more.

We stared at each other as we took in what had just happened.

"Are you sure?" He eventually whispered out, his voice was all I needed to hear for my heart to calm.

"Yes." I answered. "I am."

I found myself smiling for the first time in a long time. "Then kiss me again," James said, his voice soft and commanding. I did. This time, it was longer, wetter, and I was lost in his kiss.

All I could taste was him, and feel was his touch.

When we finally broke apart, his hands cupped my face as he peered at me with need. "I've waited so long for this." He admitted quietly.

"So have I," I smiled, my hand sticking resting on his chest.

"C'mere.." he barked quietly, pulling my waist up to sit over his hips.

My lips devoured his in another kiss, his hands roaming over my frame.

He must've been needy, desperate even, because he was already clawing at my tank, pulling it off of me.

"Lift your arms," he ordered, and I did, not thinking twice about it. His eyes widened when he saw my breasts, and he made a low growl.

I giggled slightly, surprised that he would react like that. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd be seeing them for the very first time. Or ever.

"Jesus Christ.." he groaned, his mouth darting to the sensitive flesh.

The feeling took me by surprise, moaning at the feeling of his tongue grazing my nipple.

He was attentive and passionate. He knew what he was doing. I couldn't stop moaning, and he ate it all up. I was so intoxicated with his touch, his attention.

It was the most amazing feeling I've ever felt. After a few minutes of his worshiping, I decided it was my turn.

I moved down his body, taking my time. I knew he was enjoying every second of it. I took my time, every kiss, every stroke, every lick... I knew exactly what I was doing.

I pulled the rest of the blanket off of him, he was only in boxers.

I continued to kiss my way down, all while stroking him through his boxer shorts. He sucked in a sharp breath, almost like he was hurting himself. The tent in his boxers was sure evident, I liked knowing I had that effect on him.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you are killing me here," he muttered, his fingers intertwining with mine.

"Shh..." I hushed, wanting to make this last forever.

I wrapped my fingers around the wait band of his boxers, pulling them down slowly to reveal his erection, which stood up in attention.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, as his head rolled back, eyes closing in ecstasy. "Mhhmm..." I hummed, taking his throbbing cock in my hand.

"Fuck! You don't even know how good you look.." James rambled on "I should probably warn you now, I'll cum if you keep that up." He winced as I brushed my thumb past his tip.

"Really?" I teased, squeezing him lightly. "Ah-Y.Yeah," he huffed in pleasure.

"Hmm," I hummed again, taking him in my mouth and swirling my tongue around the head. "Fuck!" he shouted, his grip tightening on my hair. "That feels good." He stated, as he started thrusting against my lips.

God, Iloved his cock. I didn't even know why. He tasted good, and he looked even better. I was addicted. I'd never be able to get enough. He moaned as I took him deeper. I took him all the way in, making sure to hit his sensitive spot on the underside of his shaft. He grunted, making the room shaky. His grip on my hair loosened, I Looked up to see if he was okay.

His face was so red, I could see the veins on his neck. He was close. I loved the power I held in my hands.

I bobbed my head on his length, feeling the tension build in him.

I pulled my mouth off of him, finishing him off with a few final pumps.

"FUCK!" he yelled out, coming hard, shooting his seed onto my hand. His orgasm had rocked his whole body. "Oh, fuck!" He mumbled, dropping into the mattress.

"So messy.." I purred, licking the salty cum off of my hand and his cock.

Ilicked him clean, the list in his eyes the heaviest I'd ever seen.

"You are so dirty, sweetheart." He chuckled, running his fingers through my hair.

I gave his tip a soft kiss before crawling back up to straddle his waist. "I need you to fuck me, James.." I whispered into his ear.

"Baby, anytime." He replied. With those words, my heart exploded, like a thousand fireworks going off.

I sat up, rocking my hips on his cock, which was still hard as a rock. His member slid through my wet folds, teasing me with the curve of every vein.

"J-James..." my voice shook wildly, before he slid the head inside of me.

He was big. He stretched me further than any other man. I gasped, biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out. "I know honey.." he whispered, slipping completely into me.

We both sighed simultaneously. It was like we were meant for each other. No one else would fit in our places. "Do you want me to go slow?" he asked, when I tensed at first.

I shook my head, starting to ride him harder, setting the pace for us. "Good girl," he praised, loving how I rode him like a pro.

Our skin slapped together softly, wet and obscene sounds filling the room.

"That's it, ride this dick, so good..." James uttered, his large hands gripping my waist so tightly.

The bruises were already forming. I couldn't help but love it. I'd be sporting those marks for weeks.

"Fuck me harder," I groaned, loving the way he made me feel. I was about to fall over the edge.

"Gladly, sweetheart." He responded, bucking me hard, causing my breasts to bounce.

I threw my head back, grinding my hips harder along with his thrusts. He had found my g spot and was hitting it relentlessly.

"Yesssss," I moaned. I needed more. This wasn't nearly enough. I wanted more of him. More of everything. If only time stood still. I wished it did right then. Without a moment's notice, James flipped me over onto the mattress and pulled my leg up over his shoulder, his thrusts not pausing for even a second.

I squealed, but that just turned him on more. He pounded into me like there was no tomorrow. I'd never had sex like this before. It was intense, hot and passionate. He drove into me, knowing exactly where I needed to be hit. It was heaven. Nothing else in the world compared to this. "Come for me, sweetheart."

He demanded, reaching between us and stroking my clit. My walls contracted, and I came all over him, my juices coating him. My inner muscles tightened around his dick, sucking him in deeper.

"Mmph," I gasped. James' hips stuttered as I felt him fill me up with cum. I basked in the warmth, knowing he'd be inside of me for a good while.

James stopped moving and collapsed beside me. I felt drained, exhausted, but in the best kind of way.

While trying to catch our breaths, we glanced over, meeting the others' gaze.

I giggled, blushing at our shameless display of lust.

"Is it a good time to say I like you?" James heaved, a dorky smile at his lips.

I smiled back, my heart bursting with happiness.

"Yes, I like you too."

I chuckled under my breath, cuddling up to him as we swam in the afterglow of our love making.

#mustainegf #metal #reqs open #smut #request #smutshot #metallica #james hetfield x you #james hetfield fluff #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield fic #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield #metallica headcanons #metallica fluff #metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #thrash metal #heavy metal #fanfic #fanfiction

[theinternetphantom]

hey guess what guys…

#fanfiction #metal family fanfic #lif metal family #diana metal family #dee metal family #heavy metal family #metal family #metal family dee #my fanfic writing #my fanfiction #fanfic #metal family headcanons #metal family au

[ilongfor-the-arts]

hi,,, :) i love you and your writing. i usually don’t fangirl over writers like this but i genuinely love the way you describe everything, you’re such an amazing writer and you honestly deserve the world!

now on to my devious (not so devious request, that by the way, you totally don’t have to do if you’re uncomfortable or anything, i’ll understand!)

i’ve been on this kirk rampage and was wondering if you could write something involving the reader being a virgin and kirk being their best friend and one night the topic comes up and they decide to yk… do it? but kirk makes a big show out of it and it ends up with him being very soft and loving and somewhere in there he confesses his love and how he’s head over heels for them?

Taboo Shit

Pairing: Kirk Hammett x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, language, talks of sex, unprotected sex

Summary: *in request*

Word Count: 4.5k

I always assumed that once he became a famous guitarist, late nights spent on the couch watching horror movies with my best friend would be a thing of the past. To my surprise, however, Kirk almost always made time for me despite his hectic schedule, even if it was only for a few hours.

As the B-list horror film dragged on in the background, I gripped a half-full beer bottle by the neck and rested my body against the back of the couch. Neither Kirk nor I were paying attention, as the real purpose of these evenings wasn't to watch movies. These were the nights for catching up on each other's lives and gossiping about taboo topics that only best friends could discuss amongst each other.

A frequent topic of movie nights was sex.

Despite harboring a giant sexual secret I usually was able to avoid talking about my sex life and instead expertly twisted the conversation back to groupies.

“How are the girls on the road, Kirk? Are they nice?”

I already knew the answer to this question as I had discussed this topic with him many times before. But if the awkward silence was left unattended, I feared his mind would conjure up questions I did not want to answer.

Okay Y/N, what’s your craziest sexual experience?

What’s the weirdest place you’ve fucked?

Be honest with me, how many people have you had sex with?

I rolled my head to the side so that my cheek would now rest against the rough couch cushions. Kirk was focusing on the television, his tanned skin and most pronounced features being highlighted by a bright white light. Despite having his eyes glued to the screen, he wasn't watching the movie. His gaze seemed to be traveling through the television and into another realm. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I would not use the word nice to describe the girls at our shows.”

Kirk said with a chuckle, his quick laugh momentarily revealing his white teeth.

“But the novelty of groupies wore off a long, long time ago. So…”

Kirk shook his head, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“Don’t ask me.”

I furrowed my brow.

Kirk, not a man who enjoys wild, unprotected sex?

No way in hell.

“You’re not a groupie guy?”

Kirk licked his lips in response to the slightly suggestive nature of the conversation.

“Well… I didn’t say that.”

He cocked his head so that his brown eyes were staring straight into mine, and he grinned broadly.

“I’m not saying I don’t fuck the occasional groupie. Cause I definitely do. And I most likely fuck more than the average man.”

There it was. Despite his mostly soft personality at his core he still is, and always will be, a rockstar.

“But I don’t fuck just anyone… when I fuck a girl I make sure there’s a little something about her that’ll make the experience memorable.”

I scoffed.

“Wow Kirk. I never thought you were a man of taste.”

I said sarcastically. Kirk rolled his eyes.

“I never said that.”

The soft sounds of people talking filled the brief moments of silence between us. But the distant voices had transformed into white noise. However, these conversations were occasionally interrupted by screams, reminding us that a horror film was still playing on the screen.

“I’m just saying if you won’t remember the sex a week after you’ve had it then what’s the point of having it at all?”

Kirk spoke while waving the beer bottle through the air, emphasizing certain points.

“For example, I bet you a million bucks James couldn’t name half the groupies he’s fucked in the last two months.”

Kirk pointed at me, beer bottle in hand.

“But I can name 90 percent of the ones I’ve fucked.”

Kirk was fully engrossed in the conversation, his arms flailing about as he thoroughly explained the art of groupies to me.

“You want quality over quantity, y'know? You don’t want experiences that last half an hour and then are forgotten memories by the next day. You want experiences that stick inside your mind. You want experiences that you’ll fucking touch yourself too a month later.”

Kirk’s voice was proper, as if he was giving a public speech on how to end world hunger. But the topic was so sleazy that my mind hung on every single word while anxiously anticipating the next sentence.

I wish I could get a few experiences like that under my belt.

Hell, just one.

“You're a crazy man, Kirk Hammett.”

I twisted my head until my gaze was drawn to the pale ceiling above me. The cold bottle had become warm, and the condensation made my hands slick. As I raised the bottle to my mouth, it almost slipped from my grasp due to its dampness. Because my head was cocked back at an odd angle, I had to strain to swallow the flat liquid. After finishing the last few drops, the empty bottle fell to my lap.

“How are the boys in your life? Are they nice?”

I sighed, the relaxed atmosphere of the room making it difficult to react with any emotion.

“What boys?”

I asked. Kirk scoffed.

“Well, I suppose I should say men.”

Hell, it didn’t make a difference to me. There were no boys in my life and there definitely weren't any men in my life.

“Are we referring to the men in my family? Because if that’s-“

“Come on Y/N don’t play dumb. I’m talking about boyfriends. I’m talking about fuck buddies. I’m talking about random hookups in the dirty bar bathrooms.”

Kirk was becoming agitated, and I couldn't blame him. I've been avoiding his questions about sex for years, yet I still feel as if I have a right to question him about the same topics.

“Obviously I’m not talking about your goddamn family members.”

I licked my lips, not in the mood to reach for chapstick.

“Don’t ask me about that, Kirk.”

“But all you do is ask me about sex!”

Shit. I squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

There was a pause in conversation.

“No, you're completely fine. God, I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m sorry for snapping at you I’m just curious why you’re so reluctant to talk about sex when all you ask me about is sex.”

Would Kirk still think of me the same why if I confessed the true reason why I always asked him about his sex life?

I was a virgin.

And hearing his crazy, very hot sex stories allowed me to live vicariously through Kirk. I'd force myself to stay awake into the late hours of the night just so I could touch myself while my neighbors were hopefully asleep. Typically these fantasies would consist of whatever wild stories Kirk had told me a few nights prior. I would insert myself into these situations and imagine that I was making sweet love with any hot guy that had been heavy on my mind.

“I guess I don’t have any interesting stories to tell.”

I mumbled almost incoherently.

I didn’t want to cast a glance at Kirk because the idea of sex was now floating haphazardly around my brain. And what I hated to admit, was that after these long nights of wonderful masturbation I would drift off to sleep. Sometimes, in my sleep, I’d experience the same fantasy that I had touched myself to just moments prior. Except Kirk would replace whatever man I had imagined making love to me before.

“Come on Y/N, every adult has at least one slightly interesting sex story to tell.”

I didn’t.

I didn’t have any.

I didn’t want to open my eyes in fear that I’d confess to everything at the mere sight of Kirk’s deep brown eyes and sly smirk.

“How else would you fit in at parties?”

I always assumed these wet dreams were just a mere figment of my wild subconscious, nothing more. However, these vivid images began to creep into my conscious mind, making my life ten times more difficult whenever I somehow caught Kirk's soft scent of worn leather and stale liquor.

“Okay how about this.”

Kirk noticed that I wasn't groveling at his feet and spilling my deepest secrets from a moment of failed convincing.

“How did you lose your virginity?”

Shit.

I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.

But I hate that we have come to this point.

I simply tried to keep my cool and conceal the fact that my heart was pounding inside my chest. I could only hope that the television's white light wasn't exposing my hot (and definitely flushed red) cheeks. My eyes remained closed as I fidgeted with the loose corners of the beer bottle label, attempting to release the nervous energy that had built up within my limbs.

“Why do you wanna know that?”

I couldn't hide the slight voice crack that occurred at the end of my sentence as I raised my voice to conclude the question.

Fuck.

I was screwed.

Kirk had backed me up into a corner and wasn’t moving out of my way anytime soon.

“Because everyone has at least a slightly interesting loss of virginity story. I mean, unless you live in a movie, losing your virginity is almost never an amazing experience.”

I gulped.

I could always make something up.

“Alright. I’ll tell you since you seem so fucking interested.”

The bright white light stung my retinas as my eyelids slowly fluttered open. Oh, it was brighter than I had anticipated. Kirk is likely to notice the deep red blush on top of my cheekbones. I sat up, my spine straight against the back of the couch. I set my beer down on the coffee table in front of us, ensuring that I slow my movements to give me time to conjure a lie.

“I am eager.”

I turn my head, my breath hitching in my throat as Kirk leaned into me, eager to hear my juicy story. Little did he know the close proximity did little to quell my rapid heart beat or the dull ache forming between my thighs.

“There was this guy… in highschool.”

I didn’t sound convincing.

I didn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

Kirk cocked an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

Shit. I couldn’t lie.

I mean, I could. But did I really want to?

The last thing I wanted was to become caught in a web of lies that would definitely result in me becoming trapped in my own words.

“Shit Kirk.”

I sighed.

“I can’t lie to you.”

Creases formed in between Kirk’s eyebrows.

“Lie? Lie about what?”

I swallowed. A large lump was forming inside my dry throat.

“I can’t tell you a loss of virginity story because I don’t have one.”

Kirk leaned back, placing distance between us.

“Shit Y/N… are you tryna tell me you’re-“

“A virgin?”

I interrupted.

“Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Kirk moved his tongue slowly along his bottom lip, carefully calculating his next move. He stared blankly into my eyes, his expression devoid of any emotion that would indicate what was going through his mind.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Kirk inched closer.

“I’m not kidding you.”

Kirk set his beer bottle on the wooden coffee table. He extended his hand, his rough palm resting atop my knee. I tried not to think about Kirk's unbelievably large hand completely encircling my kneecap while I kept my gaze fixed on his lustful eyes.

“Tell me Y/N, what’s a pretty girl like you still doing as a virgin?”

Kirk inched closer until our sides were pressed together. Heat radiated off his thin body in strong waves, instantly raising my internal temperature.

Shit. Was it hot in here, or was it just me?

I craned my neck back, trying to create as much space as possible between our faces. If our lips were any closer, the strong magnetic force pulling my body towards him would force me to end the wonderful foreplay.

“I don’t know.”

I muttered under my breath. My voice would be inaudible if Kirk wasn't positioned inches away from me.

“Does the thought of sex make you nervous?”

His open palm began to move upwards, eventually halting once he reached the hem of my skirt. I was so touch deprived that a simple caress of my thigh was already making me wet.

My hands balled into fists. I wanted to touch Kirk. I wanted to run my hands through his hair and drag my nails down his bare chest. But the timing wasn't quite right. So I clenched my fists on my lap, my knuckles white as my nails dug into my palms.

“No… I-I couldn’t really tell you why.”

It wasn't a complete fabrication. I could have gotten my hands on someone desperate and simply bitten the bullet.

However, I did not.

So there must be a reason for my refusal to lose my virginity, right?

Even if my mind refused to accept whatever the true reason for my innocence was, there was undoubtedly one hidden under the web of confusion.

Kirk’s hand inched further upwards, under the hem of my skirt.

“Is this okay?”

Kirk inquired, his tone softening with sympathy for my helpless self. His pinky brushed against my clothed clit, eliciting a subtle groan from the back of my throat. I pursed my lips together to conceal my desire, but the smirk playing on Kirk’s lips let me know that my efforts were futile.

Fuck.

I caught Kirk’s wonderful scent that never fails to send a wave of heat directly to my core.

“Yes. It’s okay.”

I nodded, the blood rushing from my cheeks to my cunt as Kirk cupped my soaking wet heat through my thin panties.

“Can I kiss you?”

Kirk brought his face impossibly towards mine until our noses brushed together lightly. Kissing seemed so… Intimate. I’ve kissed before, but typically I kiss just for the purpose of kissing. Kissing while knowing what it’ll inevitably lead to made my stomach drop.

“Okay.”

But kissing Kirk Hammett was a risk I was most definitely willing to take. My eyes drifted towards his lips, taking a mental image of his plush mouth before he closed the space between us. I quickly lost myself in the sensation of his lips as they were delightfully soft. My hands quickly entwined themselves in the curly strands of his hair as I exhaled deeply into the kiss.

“Please tell me you’ve kissed someone before.”

Kirk said sarcastically against my lips. I playfully smacked his cheek, being careful as to not disturb the chemistry happening between our connected mouths.

“Of course I’ve kissed someone before.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He asked. I pulled back until I could stare comfortably into Kirk’s eyes.

“Um. Yes, I’m sure.”

I said, confused. Kirk flashed me a smirk before pushing my panties to the side and running two fingers up my wet slit. My eyes fluttered shut as his calloused fingertips brushed against my swollen clit.

“You’re so fucking wet already baby and I’ve barely even touched you. Only people who haven’t kissed someone get this wet from a little peck.”

My head gently fell to Kirk’s shoulder, my hand instinctively grasping his wrist to guide his movements. I didn’t have time to be ashamed about my unveiled desire. My body could only yearn for the next step of the process.

“Please don’t stop.”

I begged, my tone breathy, nails digging into his wrist.

“Is my poor little baby touch starved? Do you need me to play with your pretty little pussy?”

Kirk said, tutting sarcastically. I grit my teeth, his tone so sexy that it nearly made me cum atop his fingers.

“Yes…”

My voice trailed off as Kirk pressed his fingertips to my swollen bud, rubbing agonizingly slow figure eights onto my clit. I groaned in pleasure, my free hand engulfing Kirk’s neck to hold him impossibly closer to me.

“Please just-“

I gulped.

“Make me cum Kirk… I fucking need it.”

Kirk’s hair tickled my forehead while gradually increasing the movements of his fingers. I bucked my hips towards Kirk’s hand, groaning when he slowed down as a result of my desperation.

“Relax baby… I’ll make you cum.”

Kirk tilted his head to the side and tenderly placed a kiss on my temple. Without warning, he plunged two long fingers knuckle deep inside of me, thrusting them upwards against my spongy walls. My entire body convulsed, back arching as a spark of pleasure jolted through my insides, my stomach flipping.

“Fuck Kirk! Keep doing that… please, do that again.”

I blurted, my tone quivering in unison with my trembling knees. Kirk chuckled, harshly snapping his fingers upwards once more. I moaned, my jaw falling open as a dozen new sensations coursed through me.

“Like that?”

Kirk inquired devilishly. I nodded against the crook of his neck.

“Yes… yes just like that.”

Kirk placed a second kiss on my temple, removing his long digits from my soaking wet cunt. I groaned at the sudden loss of contact, my pussy clenching desperately around nothing.

“Can I taste you?”

Kirk inquired, breaking free from my firm grip on his shoulders. I loosened my grasp on his wrist, noticing the crescent moon shaped indents I'd left in the wake of my nails.

“Yes. Please do.”

He clambered to the floor, watching me intently through his lashes as he kneeled in front of my parted legs. Kirk slowly ran his open palms up the tops of my thighs, stopping once he reached the waistband of my panties. I shifted my hips forward until I was just barely sitting on the edge of the couch in order to push Kirk’s gorgeous face closer to my core.

Kirk hooked a finger in the waistband of my panties, slowly pulling them down my legs and dropping them nonchalantly to the floor. He threw my knees over his shoulders and began to place soft kisses along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, his face pushing my skirt upwards until the fabric pooled around my hips. I leaned back on my hands, watching Kirk intently as he moved with purpose. He would bring his mouth inches away from my desperate cunt before trailing his lips away, leaving me high and dry.

“Please Kirk.”

I begged, tangling a hand in his curly hair, lightly tugging him towards my center.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

Kirk smirked against my inner thigh.

“Alright baby, if that’s what you want.”

He buried his face between my legs, lapping at my swollen clit and sending me into an instant state of nirvana. I threw my head backwards, exposing my neck for Kirk’s gaze while involuntarily crushing his head between my thighs.

My breath hitched in my throat as Kirk gave a particularly intense flick to my clit.

“Oh God…”

I moaned, my lower abdomen pinching as my pussy grew wetter from Kirk’s deliciously warm mouth.

“You taste so fucking good baby. Are you gonna cum on my face?”

Kirk murmured against my core. I ran my tongue along my bottom lip, ripping a few stray strands of hair from Kirk’s scalp while grinding my face against his mouth.

“Yeah…”

The pressure in my stomach gradually built until I could feel my body on the brink of a mind boggling orgasm. The fear of Kirk halting his movements still played in the back of my mind. I would most likely cry if I was left starving after being so close to a release.

“Please don’t stop Kirk. I’m gonna cum.”

I knit my brow as Kirk’s movements became eager, his tongue firmly flicking my swollen clit.

“I’m not stopping, baby.”

And with Kirk’s raspy tone playing inside my brain, I came all over his pretty mouth. My facial muscles clenched in unison with my cunt, chest heaving sharply with every labored breath. I moaned loudly while Kirk hurriedly worked to bring me down from my extremely intense orgasm.

Kirk rose from his kneeling position, flopping onto the couch next to me once he was satisfied with his work. I leaned back against the couch, cocking my head to the side to gaze longingly into Kirk's lust-filled pupils.

He cupped my face with his hand, throwing his other arm behind me along the back of the couch. I brought my lips against his plush mouth, tasting my juices as Kirk quickly slipped his tongue between my teeth. He utilized his body weight to push me until my back collided with the soft couch cushions.

We made out slowly on the couch, Kirk’s warm body hovering over my tender breasts. My hands grasped the collar of his black tank top, yanking the thin fabric above his head and tossing it to the floor haphazardly.

Kirk’s bare chest was now on display for my hands to caress freely. I trailed my open palms against the delicate skin of his chest, his muscles rippling under my hot touch. I raked my nails through his thick happy trail, my fingertips finding his thin black belt.

“Please give it to me Kirk.”

I said while attempting to undo his silver buckle with trembling hands. Kirk allowed me to undo his belt, smiling against my lips as I pulled the leather through his jean loops with a satisfying whoosh.

“Will you take off your shirt for me?”

Kirk whispered sensually against my wet mouth. I pulled away, grasping the hem of my shirt and tugging it over my head without embarrassment. Kirk scoffed as he took in the sight of my bare chest on display for his wandering eyes.

“That baggy shirt did not do your body justice.”

He murmured under his breath before catching my mouth in a heated kiss. My cheeks flushed hot as Kirk ground his clothed bulge against my bare cunt. I groaned, his mouth swallowing my noises as the hardness of his cock was brought to my attention.

“You still want me to fuck you baby?”

Kirk asked, his lips finding my ear to gently nibble on my earlobe. My eyes fluttered shut as I relished in the heat of the moment.

“Yes, just… be gentle please.”

Kirk reached between our bodies to undo his jeans, pushing them down just enough to allow his rock hard cock to spring free from its confines. My eyes couldn’t help but look down, only to be taken aback by the sheer size of his thick length.

“Kirk…”

My voice trailed off as I took in his swollen pink tip that was glistening with precum.

“Yes baby?”

“I don’t think it’ll fit.”

Kirk chuckled as he grasped his veiny cock with one hand, gently running it through my wet folds. I threw my head back, brow knitting as his swollen tip brushed against my clit.

“It’ll fit baby, just relax for me.”

Kirk buried his face in the crook of my neck, gently rocking his hips forward to bury his thick cock halfway inside my eager cunt. My muscles tensed due to a jolt of pain erupting from my pussy.

“Kirk. I don’t know if-“

I cried.

“You’re okay baby.”

His hot breath tickled the thin skin on my neck.

“Let me start fucking you and then decide if you really want me to stop.”

He buried the rest of his rock hard cock inside of me. I dug my teeth into my lower lip to mask my noises of discomfort. Kirk began rocking his pelvis back and forth, spreading my juices along his length.

Slowly, the tension inside of me began to fade away as the pain inside of me slowly morphed into heated pleasure within my lower abdomen.

“Does that feel good baby?”

Kirk inquired, his tone completly fucked out as he groaned next to my ear.

“Yeah. Yeah it feels really fucking good Kirk.”

I gulped.

“You’re so fucking big.”

The intense stretch of my walls made me feel as if at any moment my body could rip in two.

“Shit Y/N, If you keep talking like that I may forget to be gentle.”

The next words became trapped in my throat and erupted from my mouth as a strangled cry.

“Please go faster Kirk.”

Kirk began to pull his cock from my cunt before gently snapping his hips forward to bury himself inside me once more. The intensity of his thrusts gradually became quicker, more intense. My body rocked with every jerk of his pelvis, the tip of his cock eventually finding my g spot.

I moaned loudly, my pussy clenching around his length.

“Does that feel good baby?”

The intensity of his thrusts had increased tenfold.

And it felt absolutely amazing.

“Yeah, it feels really good. Keep going… please.”

His tip was now finding my g spot with every merciless thrust, causing me to hurtle towards my release at an insanely fast pace.

“I’m gonna cum Kirk. I can’t hold on much longer.”

“That’s okay baby.”

Kirk mumbled as his cock twitched within me.

“You feel so fucking good… I’m not gonna hold on much longer either.”

My stomach was tight with anticipation as my orgasm began seeping into the corners of my brain.

“Cum for my baby girl.”

Kirk’s curls brushed against my cheek, the new sensation igniting a fire that traveled directly to my core. I came loudly around his cock, my back aching against his chest, both of us a moaning mess as we reached our releases in perfect unison.

He gave a few gentle thrusts to my cunt to help both of us come down from an intense state of post orgasmic euphoria. Kirk pulled back, his cheeks flushed bright red, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

“Was that okay? Did it feel good?”

Damn. He sure loved to hear how good he could make me feel.

No problem, I'd keep telling him how great he was no matter how often he asked.

I cupped his face with a gentle hand, tenderly pressing my lips to his for a brief moment.

“It felt great.”

Kirk swallowed audibly, gawking at my fucked out expression.

“God I fucking love you.”

I cocked my brow, slightly taken aback.

Did I hear him correctly?

He loved me?

Seriously?

“You love me?”

I asked, a satisfied smile playing on the corners of my mouth.

“Head over fucking heels baby.”

Kirk leaned in, brushing his damp lips against my jugular.

“I just wanna make you feel good for the rest of my life… if you’ll have me.”

I relaxed my body against the couch cushions, never having felt more satisfied in my entire life. Kirk’s cock made me feel deliciously full despite a lack of movement.

“I’ll have you.”

#fanfic #imagine #imagines #kirk hammett x you #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett smut #kirk hammett #metallica smut #metallica icons #80s metal #90s metal #metalica #ride the lightning #master of puppets #james hetfield #cliff burton #lars ulrich #for whom the bell tolls #enter sandman #heavy metal #smut imagine #x reader smut #requests open #reqs open #request #the black album #kill em all #x you smut #metal music #james hetfield smut

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

#slipknot #metal #horror #alternative #heavy metal #grunge #craig jones #paul gray #mick thomson #shawn crahan #joey jordison #slipknot fanart #slipknot band #slipknot fanfic #emo blog #2000s emo #emocore #emo #emo girl #emo style #emo scene #emo boy #emo aesthetic #emo kid #scemo #2000s scemo #scemocore #scemo aesthetic #scemo kid #scenecore

[jimsbeetroot]

I don't think your still active but if you do decide to start writing on this blog again I have a request :)

Joey Jordison x plus-sized reader smut :3

Reader is feeling insecure of their body and Joey shows them just how beautiful he thinks they are<3

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 ♱ 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧

i love this request! hope you will enjoy what I've tried to come up with!

words; 1.826

smut!

--------

You sat huddled together on your bedroom floor, mirror in front of you, sobbing silently at the sight before you.

Your insecurities stood out to you like a neon sign in the dark. For two hours, you'd sat in front of that mirror. You'd torn every little flaw apart as if you were on a mission to stomp yourself into a depression. You didn't do it on purpose. It was an unintentional ritual that had become a bad habit over the last months.

You'd avoided mirrors because there was always something for you to comment on. You were, quite literally, your own biggest hater. There hadn't been much reaction from the press, but whenever you saw magazine covers of you and Joey, you felt a bit nauseous. You hated the way you towered over him. Not only were you taller than Joey, but you were quite a bit wider than him.

Joey had never cared. He found you beautiful, and he always reminded you of that. He loved your body, but no matter how many times he told you, it was never enough.

It had gotten so bad that you'd quit enjoying having sex with Joey. Not because of him, because he was great, but it was bad enough being naked in your own company, but in front of him- you felt embarrassed.

That added another layer of shame to your already existing ones. 

What if he thought you hated him? He must've realised something was up.

Just as you had grabbed a flap of fat from your belly, pulling it out and shuddering at the sight of the stretch marks on your thighs, you heard the door open.

Joey had been at rehearsals all day and had returned. You found yourself rushing around the bedroom, throwing on some clothes to wear before Joey reached the bedroom.

You wiped your eyes from any tears and looked in the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot. Joey would spot that in a heartbeat.

"Hey, babe! I'm back!" Joey yelled out from downstairs.

You didn't respond, too busy throwing some powder in your face to conceal your red-flushed nose- and cheeks.

"Babe?" Joey yelled out as he walked up the stairs. "I-I'm in the bedroom!" You responded, taking a deep breath and posed in the most natural position, destined to hide your whole shebang-show from him. He wouldn't understand.

Joey opened the door and smiled when his eyes met yours. "Hey babe," he grinned, approaching you as you sat on the bed but stopped when he sensed something was off.

He looked around, quickly pointing out the only thing you hadn't thought of: the mirror.

You'd taken the bathroom mirror and placed it on the bedroom floor. "Redecorating in here?" Joey grinned and kissed your lips, hand on your cheek, his fingers grazing your earlobe slightly.

"Yeah," you laughed, but it came out terribly. Joey jerked his head back, staring into your soul as if he was scanning you. He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Have you been crying?" He asked.

The question provoked a slight lip quiver, but you held it all in, shaking your head and smiling. "No," you said and grabbed his hand. "How was rehearsal? Did you play any of the new so-"

"You're lying to me."

Joey cut you off, and you huffed in response.

He could see right through you. And you were a terrible liar.

"I'm not lying," you scoffed, releasing Joey's hand.

"I'm not dumb, Y/N. Don't think I haven't noticed your behaviour lately," Joey stated. You stared, not in the mood to have the lengthy conversation with Joey in which you explained all of your insecurities, and he denied them.

"I've just been on my period," you shrugged. Joey tilted his head and shook it slightly. "I didn't know you could have your period for three weeks straight. Maybe you should see a doctor about that," Joey suggested sarcastically.

Perhaps you'd used that excuse one too many times lately.

"Listen, don't treat me like I'm dumb. We haven't had sex for over a month," Joey mentioned. 

That was the least of your concerns at that moment.

"That's all you care about?"

Don't know why you said that, though.

"Of course, it's not, Y/N. I care that you haven't told me what's going on when something is," Joey pointed out and removed his leather jacket. He sat down next to you and grabbed your hand, rubbing it softly.

"What's going on?" He asked.

You lifted your head and looked at Joey with a defeated face.

"I can't stand the way I look, Joey. I mean, I'm so much bigger than you, and I've tried to lose the weight, but I keep failing."

You fumbled with your thumbs as a tear rolled down your cheek. 

"Look at me," Joey said and lifted your face, your eyes meeting his.

"You're more than I could ever wish for. You've given me so much, Y/N. I wish you could see what I see. What everyone sees."

Joey wiped a tear away from your cheek and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly into his side.

"Why can't you see how beautiful you are?" Joey hummed into your neck, kissing it softly.

You closed your eyes, forgetting your troubles for now as Joey drew circles on your back, your body falling into a relaxed state.

"Why can't you see how amazing you are?" Joey asked, placing another kiss on your neck. You turned your body towards him, slightly humming as Joey massaged your hair, kissing your lips.

"Why can't you see how much I fucking love you?" Joey asked against your lips, leaning in for another kiss. He didn't hold back this time, and you didn't mind.

Your hands fumbled his black locks as you both leaned back in the bed in unison, lips still attached.

Joey's hand went underneath your shirt and groped your breast, a small moan escaping your lips.

Detaching his lips from yours, Joey made his way to your neck, leaving marks as he trailed down to your buttoned jeans.

You looked down at him, propped on your elbows and watched as he unbuttoned your jeans, eyes staring hungrily into yours.

He pulled off the jeans and kissed your inner thigh, leaving small spots of saliva on his way to your soaked cunt.

Your breathing got heavier, and your heart pace quickened as Joey rubbed your panty-covered cunt. The wetness had soaked through the cotton fabric, leaving a big wet spot in your grey underwear.

You moaned hoarsely and shivered with excitement when Joey slid your panties off, throwing them somewhere in the room.

He blew softly on your sensitive cunt and smirked when you shivered at the sensation.

A yelp left your mouth when he slid his index finger into you, the unexpected penetration startling you, but your eyes rolled to the back of your head when Joey's tongue made contact with your clit.

Your fists curled, and Joey had a tight hold on your thighs, keeping your legs open as you wiggled around in the bed, trying to endure the pleasure.

You weren't sure how to act. After all, it had been a while since you'd felt this good. Joey was enjoying the sight of you as you squirmed around the bed, mouth open and eyes closed, moaning loudly and freely.

"You're so beautiful, babe," Joey whispered against your cunt as he continued to run his tongue in a circular motion, focusing on overwhelming your clit as much as possible while at the same time adding another finger.

You shrieked as Joey drilled his fingers into you, quietly begging for him, his name flying from your mouth repeatedly.

"Fuck, Joey," you managed to choke out. "I'm coming," you whimpered, grabbing a hold of his hair, and preparing yourself for your climax.

"Cum for me, baby," Joey whispered and sped up his movements.

Shrieking and quivering, you released a cry of pleasure as it washed over you, leaving you shaking. Your back was arched, your whole body fully tensed.

You took a few deep breaths trying to collect yourself after your high.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

Joey travelled from your cunt, up to your lips, where he placed a passionate kiss, your juices still on his lips.

Your hand travelled down to his pants, straddling his hard cock over his jeans.

Joey moaned but removed your hand. "Let me, please. You deserve to know," he hummed and grabbed the hem of your T-shirt, swiftly pulling the fabric over your head, leaving you fully exposed.

Your hands went to cover your bare upper body, but only a short moment went by before Joey removed them, holding them above your head. "Don't you dare," he whispered and kissed your lips. The kiss was short as Joey raced up and removed his black jeans and a black T-shirt.

He leaned over you again, attaching his lips to yours once again, his naked body propped on top of yours as he positioned his cock at your entrance.

He propped his elbows on either side of your face, kissing your forehead softly and smiling down at you before pushing himself fully into your cunt, releasing a loud moan as fully penetrated you.

"F-Fuck!" Joey hissed and threw his head back, his thrusts growing faster and more energetic.

Your eyes were closed, legs tightly wrapped around Joey's torso as your nails left marks on his back.

Joey had the stamina of a racehorse, not once slowing down his thrusts. Your thoughts weren't quite clear, but you found yourself wondering; how one earth could he keep going?

 A single tear escaped from the corner of your eye, your hands clasping at Joey's shoulders.

"Look at me," Joey whispered into your ear, hands resting on the top of your head, allowing him to thrust as deeply as possible.

You could barely hear him, too busy enjoying the sensation of his cock plunging into you.

"Y/N, look at me," he whispered again, his voice making you tremble even stronger. You were close to reaching a second high, and so was Joey.

You opened your eyes and looked into his blue eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened, lips brushing his as you moaned into his eyes.

"I-I'm gonna come ag-" you tried to blur out, your sentence interrupted once again by a wave of pleasure. You cried out and hid your face in the crook of his neck as he did the same, holding you as close as possible, letting you enjoy your climax. He followed closely after you, as the sensation of your cunt closing around his member pushed him over the edge.

He groaned into your ear, delievering a few final powerful, deep thrusts before releasing a final groan, falling into your embrace.

Your arms curled around him, and you held him in your arms.

You felt loved, and you felt beautiful. 

Joey made you feel those things.

#corey taylor #craig jones #jim root #james root #joey jordison imagines #jim root x reader #chris fehn #joey jordison #joey jordison x reader #slipknotimagines #slipknot fanfic #slipknot x reader #slipknot #slipknot photos #heavy metal imagines #murderdolls #mick thomson #paul gray #shawn crahan #vman #sid wilson

[mischiefisme-amess]

Okay I can’t write for shit, but I reeeeeeally wish there was more family fluff in metal family fanfic.

Can you imagine a worried Glam? Scared for his kids well-being Glam? Squeezing his kid frantically to calm them and himself Glam???

I wish I could write and I wish there were more people in this godforsaken fandom. I want to be fixated on a fandom with a bigger fan base again. Pretty please?

#metal family #dee metal family #metal family glam #metal family heavy #fanfic #i wish i could write #autism is autisming

[deadaccount1-2-3]

hiiii, could you write some fluff with dave mustaine???

thank you so much

Sure thing! Sorry if this is t that good I wrote it at work because I was bored. 😭 But I still hope you like it.

Dave Mustaine x Reader FLUFF

Warnings: Idk, maybe mentions anxiety and loneliness or cursing

Exhausted

Dave was on tour again, and he was supposed to come back earlier that day. Sadly he didn’t, leaving you alone for another night. You sighed loudly, feeling the loneliness overwhelm your bedroom.

You hated when this would happen. It was already bad enough being left alone for long periods of time while he was on tour, but then he would be late and wouldn’t even call to tell you. Your anxiety began eating at you, whispering terrifying things into your ears about why Dave was late.

Of course this was a common occurrence, so it still confused you why you let the bad thoughts get to you. He was more than likely all right. His plane could’ve been late, or he decided to go out drinking with his mates before going home. However your mind told you different stories, and the more you dwelled on them the more possible they seemed.

You tried sleeping. Changing positions several times within a few minutes, attempting to get comfortable enough for your body to shut down and rid you of your thoughts. You couldn’t sleep though, not when you were lonely. This was another dilemma you faced while he toured. You hated sleeping alone, especially when you were alone and anxious. It was always such a struggle with you because your mind and body wouldn’t die down until he was by your side, caressing your soft skin, telling you how much he adored you.

You finally laid on your side, facing towards your window, which dimly lit the room with moonlight. You were somewhat comfortable now, and your exhaustion was finally settling in. You closed your eyes and began to drift off, hoping Dave would be home by the morning. Lucky for you you wouldn’t have to wait that long.

Your bedroom door creaked, but you didn’t feel like looking over. The slight breeze in the house would always move it, causing it to creek, so you never payed it any mind.

Dave was now in your bedroom, silently undressing himself, stripping down to his boxers as he cursed himself for not being quieter. You heard his clothing hit the floor, and his belt buckle made a loud clank.

“Shit,” he whispered, his voice slightly slurred.

Before you could roll over and greet him he began climbing in bed. He immediately snugged up to you and kissed your shoulder. You turned over and looked up at him. He smelled like alcohol, explaining the late night, no call, and the inability to be quiet.

“I missed you,” you quietly said, moving as close as possible to him and pecking his lips. He returned the favor by turning your gentle peck into a short, but passionate, kiss.

“I missed you more,” he flashed his drunken smile at you. Every feeling of anxiety and loneliness left after that, replaced by pure happiness and love. You kissed him again before the two of you cuddled with each other and fell asleep quickly.

#dave mustaine #dave mustaine x reader #fluff #megadeth #singer #guitarist #Dave mustaine imagine #request #band #rock #metal #heavy metal #thrash metal #x reader #fanfic #Dave mustaine fanfic #Dave mustaine one shot #one shot

[scp230kinnie]

Hey bro I see that your back now!!:)Was wondering if you could write a Hunter fic there are none on this app and I’m dying😭💕

YESS OKAY OKAY ermmmm let’s see

Hunter Sylvester x reader

Character: Hunter Sylvester

Genre: Fluff I guess😭 sum angst i think

Lots of it is paraphrased cuz I didn’t wanna sound stupid.. I also change the plot a bit

Warnings: I KEEP SWITCHING BETWEEN SECOND AND THIRD PERSON IM SORRY mentions of his mommy issues. Arguing. I suck at writing things. Reader = y/n💀 That’s it I think,,,, nOT PROOFREAD

Hunter Sylvester and you were once kindred spirits, enduring the rough path of middle school together. Your friendship was going perfect for a while, and he’d even started to gain feelings for you.

The long shadow of change began to appear as the first day of high school approached. Hunter, a sentimental guitarist with a heart full of unsaid things, started to notice changes in the shapes of your friendship. The smooth relationship you used to have was torn apart by new people, different schedules, different levels of popularity, and new environments. When high school came around, you started to get (somehow) more popular, and he felt as if he was left behind.

underneath it all, Hunter had more than just a quiet crush that had grown stronger with time. When life threw a curveball at him in sixth grade, your friendship came through for him. His mother had left abruptly, leaving a kind of void in him. You were one of the few constants in the midst of the chaos, providing comfort during the storm.

The strains of life’s melody transformed into a battlefield where your two bands were destined to be put against each other—a Battle of the Bands. As the band's frontman, Hunter struggled with the memory of a friendship that had endured heartache and the passage of time in addition to the need for victory. He would do anything to win the battle of the bands, and you both knew that.

On that crucial night, Hunter's nerves were crazy. His fists tightened, and like a melancholic tune, the recollections of sixth-grade hardships and your support reappeared. You tuned your instrument (or practiced your vocals), symbolically adjusting the common past that appeared through the bonds of your friendship.

The night goes on and the crowd seats and sings along with all the different songs that the different bands were playing. The judges had made their decision and everyone was waiting to hear who the number one champion. Or “metal lord” would be. (I’m so sorry💀)

Hunters band, Skullflower secured the place of runner up. A bittersweet taste after hearing that your band had been the winner. Amidst the cheers and applause, Hunter knew he had to come find you. He may have been a little upset, but ultimately he was extremely proud of you for winning. He’s always known you’d loved music, and you would constantly practice.

He found you in the band room in another hallway of the school. “Hey.” Is all he can manage to say. He says it quietly, but just loud enough for you to have heard it. You turn to him and look up to meet his eyes. “I’m glad you guys won, you really deserved it.” He says. He tries his best not to sound bitter or sarcastic, because he really means what he’s saying. You smile in return.

“Thanks Hunter. Honestly I feel like your band should’ve won. You guys were amazing” you say in response. He smiles the slightest bit back at you.

“I feel like you should know.. while it’s just us..” he starts to say, but doesn’t know how to finish it. His eyes reflect years of shared history, as well as love for you. He thinks you look absolutely beautiful tonight. As well as every day of course. “I really missed you. Being with you- I’m- hanging out with you I mean. We used to be so close I guess we just.. drifted when we got to this school you know? Your popularity just intimidated me a bit and I thought you would turn out like the other fake bitches at this school.”

“I missed hanging out with you too. We used to be so close and I just.. thought you didn’t want to be friends with me anymore when you stopped talking to me. Stopped calling me to talk about random things and texting me about your day. I thought you hated me” you respond.

“I thought I did too. But if I have to be honest, I was just scared. I just really liked you. Ever since middle school.. I mean- I still do, but I- I just- I don’t know. I thought that if I told you that you’d make fun of me and tell all your friends and stuff. I dont Care if you don’t feel the same, I just wanted to tell you.” He says. It sounds like he’s just saying whatever comes into his mind, without even thinking. “You just looked so beautiful on that stage and I just felt so proud when I found out your band won”

You’re not sure how to respond. “Hunter i… what..? Why..? I’ve never really seen you as the type of guy to have a crush on people. I thought you were too ‘metal’ for that” admittedly you’d caught him staring at you a fair bit of times. You’d had a hunch he felt something for you, but you couldn’t be sure because of his usual demeanour. “I really like you too, if I’m being honest. I always regret us drifting apart. I felt like you’d never like me back, but knowing what I know now.. it’s really.. I don’t know”

“So if that’s the case, want to go out with me? I have some tickets to a concert in town later this week”

And whatever you can imagine what happens from there

Thanks for reading, sorry if it’s bad or hard to read. Leave me more metal lords requests AND ALICE IN BORDERLAND REQUESTS PLEASE

Read more of my stuff yay

#fluff #headcanons #scp230kinnie #tumblr #fanfic #metal lords #heavy metal #Hunter #hunter sylvester #Hunter Sylvester fluff #Hunter Sylvester x reader #x reader #battle of the bands #childhood friends to lovers

[dollmoth-productions]

Hi i really love your plotonic yandere mental family and i want to request where the reader goes to mabye extra classes after school or something like that and once reader left extra classes and went home reader got hurt by like a bunch of really bad people im talking death threatening head injury and then reader had to walk home like that and the fam only finds out once reader gets home

⚠️ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR AND DRUGGING AND FORCED KISSING STOCKHOLM OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR STALKING POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR STOCKHOLM SYNDROME MANIPULATION ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR AND DRUGGING AND FORCED ITS NOT HEALTHY ⚠️

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

🙂 glam was the one that was worried the most for you when you finally came home all injured, he was the one that was patching you up

🙃 he didn’t say anything he was just grimacing the entire time he wanted to make sure that you were OK, but yet he couldn’t control his content for those people

🙂” you just relax until Vicky comes home OK?” he says to you gently placing you on the couch and leaving you with one of your favorite snacks.

🖤 when they came home and saw you injured, she was pissed glam was the only person I could calm her down somewhat, but she was pissed

🖤 oh, boy, she was cursing up a storm trying to find her baseball bat or some thing else to beat those guys heads in

🖤 she couldn’t even think of anything nice to say so she just grumpily hugged you

🩵Dee was the only logical person there. He probably knew that person, mostly because he attaches an AirTag to almost everything that you own, and a device that can hone in on audio so he tries to find out where they live and deal with him.

🩵 although he’s not much of a touchy person, he does give you a nice brotherly shoulder pat to make sure that you’re OK

🩵” we will deal with it” he said

💚 heavy was pissed off but because he still a kid can’t really do much so he just played video games with you to call me down

💚 he genuinely does care about you, but because of how young he has, he can’t do much he did buy you an energy drink to make you feel better though

💚” come on let’s go play some dead by daylight you always like that”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am back!!

#fanfic #yandere imagines #yanderexreader #yandere scenarios #platonic yandere #platonic yandere imagine #yandere family #yandere metal family #yandere glam #yandere Vicky #yandere Dee #yandere heavy #tw yandere

[feverinfeveroutfic]

the skeleton key | chapter one: jigsaw pieces

now this is a fic that’s been sitting in my repertoire for years, almost decade now. it was one of those things i just kept visualizing every now and again, and yet i never had the chops (or the courage for that matter) to come out with it. i thought about bringing it to life in late 2017, when i was offline, but i had other things happening. i tried resurrecting it in summer 2019, and then again during quarantine, to the point i had actually written down the first chapter, but then now it’s dark came along and i couldn’t resist that one and thus, i shelved it for two years (and summer of quarantine, as we all know, was… that). i tried it again in november 2021, but then almost immediately, i thought of dead man walking so i had to put it aside a third time. i just didn’t know what to do with it, like i had the story inside me, but i never knew who was featured in it.

hopefully, fourth time is a charm.

i like to say that my testament fics are the stories i’ve always wanted to write (and they are), but this unquestionably is that.

“I've got about five minutes left on my shift—could you wait a bit for me as I clean up?”

It had been a long day at the bakery and my feet were in utter agony and I had a headache from looking at price tags all day long. I knew I was going to have to go to the show smelling of fresh bread out of the oven as well as vanilla, but it was more than worth it in my eyes. If nothing else, we could possibly go to the show and meet up with those guys backstage by some random as hell chance. Marcy had come to the bakery to pick me up, all bright eyed and bushy tailed no less, and I was more than eager to clock out and head on over to the House of Blues to go and see Metal Allegiance.

She had suggested I make a drawing for those guys, and yet I needed the money to buy it all first. If nothing else, I could find myself in the odd chance that I struck up something with them in the meantime and I could do something down the line.

I was the artist, after all. The artist with the bakery at her helm.

I could do both if I so wished.

“You should whip up some brownies or something really quick,” she suggested to me as I tucked the cookie sheets under the display case. At least I didn't have to put up any day olds right then.

“Well, we're going to have to meet them first,” I told her as I switched off the light in the case; she blinked a few times and showed me a smile. She continued to smile with the little chai symbol around her neck. “You know how these things usually go at shows now.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a nod and a tucking of a curled lock of hair behind her ear.

It was my second concert after quarantine had ended: I had seen Eddie Vedder the year before not too far from there over at the Greek Theatre, and all the while, I was keeping my distance from people with that thick, heavy mask over my face. But I still managed to enjoy myself.

This was also going to be my very first metal show, as I usually frequented the alternative side of things: Marcy was the metalhead and she was the one taking me as a treat of sorts for being a good friend.

I took off my apron and hung it up on the rung in the next room, where I washed my hands. I glanced up at the clock which read two fifteen.

“What time does the show start?” I called out to her over the rush of the water.

“Eight o'clock,” she replied.

“Oh, we've got hours upon hours of time,” I assured her, and then I stopped in my tracks. “Is there a reason why you picked me up so early, besides the traffic obviously?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know.”

“I don't know,” I said as I dried off my hands. I doubled back to the front room of the bakery, and I treated her to a chuckle. “Don't tell me—”

“Don't tell you what, Al?”

“You know. All your little suggestions and the fact that I had been tiptoeing my way around it all. I know what this is.”

“Do you now?” She raised her eyebrows at me and treated me to that little cherubic smile. “Oh, Marcy Playground, what do I do with you.”

“Marcy Playground and Alison Chains, that's how we do,” she quipped. I signed myself out and switched off the light: some day, when I have my own bakery, I'll open the door at eight in the morning and close at dinner time, and I'll have an art gallery next door that'll be open until ten o'clock at night. A dream of mine, and yet it felt so out of reach.

“When do you get paid?” she asked me as we strode outside to her car: it was a cold day there near the beach, colder than either of us had been acquainted with, but the sun greeted us with a good day that day. Marcy adjusted her jacket to hide her pendant, even though we were the sole ones on the street at that moment.

“Tomorrow,” I replied. “Fridays, remember? Why?”

“Do you have money?” she asked as she unlocked the doors for us.

“Yes, of course. Again, why?”

“I'll explain in a bit.” We climbed into the car and she drove me out of Pleasant Valley Village, all the way up towards Ventura Boulevard. She drove me over to Ventura, right to the center of town: I was amazed that she had remembered the way there, given she hailed all the way from New York City and I was the California girl. But we reached the parking lot there, and she took the spot dead center of it all so we could look on at the art store there as it overlooked the beach itself. I leaned back in the seat with my head tilted back and my mouth agape.

“Marcy...” I groaned.

“You should!” she insisted. “You should totally draw them something. If you can't bake them something, you should at the very least draw them something instead. Remember? We talked about all of this?”

“Yeah, it was just a one time thing, too,” I recalled to her. “I also remember going to see Alice in Chains before the pandemic and I knew right away that I wasn't going to reach Jerry from where I was sitting. Like I said, Marce, the chances of it happening are so far out there, that it almost feels pointless to even think of doing it.”

“Was it pointless to make the drawing of Jerry?” she asked me, to which I paused for a moment.

“No. If anything, that was one of the drawings I was most proud of.” I paused again as I thought back to that big bright psychedelic drawing that I had made for Jerry, of him with Chris and also Lars. I still had it stashed away in the back of my desk drawer to keep it safe. “Yeah, that drawing was one of the highlights of that summer. The summer before quarantine.”

“Okay, now... do you think it's pointless to even try it out?”

I stopped again, that time with my thoughts going into making those artworks. I couldn't bake something, even with as much as I wanted to, but I could share art. I had to keep it with me at all times until I found a chance, and up to that point, I had often heard and read of stories of fans going to meet people like them, and it seemed to happen like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. It had happened to me as well, but it was lightning in a bottle, though, and it always was with everyone else who had a story like that.

I had my doubts and my questions, but somehow, even through it all, I still held out a tiny ray of hope.

“Okay, well...” I began again, “before I go in there and spend the rest of my money on art supplies, what do you think I should I draw?”

“The four of them,” she insisted. “Mark, Alex, Dave, and Mike. You've got four hours, and I've watched you draw in a shorter amount of time, Al. You can do it.”

“You want me to go in there and get some paper and nice markers, and work on something here in the car?”

“Yes! Yes, you should!”

I pursed my lips. “I really don't know, Marce. I mean, like I said, we talked about this a few months back when they announced the ten year anniversary show. When I met Chris, it was such a one in million occurance that I really don't think anything like that could happen again.”

“Okay, but what if I helped you remember your thought process back then, though?” she asked me as she leaned in closer to me with her elbow rested upon the center console. “Do you remember what you were thinking back then before you made that painting? And also, before you made that drawing of Jerry?” I paused for a second: I sat there in a brief moment of disbelief that my meeting Chris had been nearly a decade ago at that point, a decade since I had gotten face to face with Chris. But I remembered it all, though. I still pictured it on the back of my mind as if it had just happened.

“Do it anyways,” I recalled in a low voice. “Because you never know.”

“You never know, exactly,” she assured me. I sighed through my nose and peered out the window to those front doors. We were down the parking lot from them, but I swore I could see my own reflection there.

I hoisted my purse off the floor from next to my feet, and I climbed out to the gray afternoon sunshine.

I closed the door behind me and strode up towards those big glass front doors. My mind fell blank from that point forward as I was guided by nothing more than my own heart. I never spent all of my money on the nice paper and that little set of alcohol markers as well as a new pencil, and it never registered in my mind until I found myself in the parking lot once again with Marcy next to me.

Four A3 sized sheets of paper for the drawings. I had their likenesses stuck inside of my mind. We had the ocean at our backs and the sun over us, and I let her watch me all the way until I was finished with all four of them.

It was days like that when I missed him. I was going to a show and yet, I knew in my heart that there was no way I could see him again. It was all too real when I saw Eddie, and more so at that very moment. I was going to a show, and I knew I was going to have him with me the entire time as well.

Once I had completed the drawings, I leaned back in the seat and signed them on the backs.

The one of Alex, a scene of him walking on the beach with the sunrise behind him, stuck out to me, because I never put so much thought into that one, that is until I took a good long look at him there with his shoulder length hair and the fact that I remembered his being a bit on the soft side, even while long and thin.

Almost like Chris.

Mark meanwhile reminded me of another ghost from the past, one that had slipped through my fingers without my realizing it until it was too late. Mike brought me back to another moment in time, one that I wished to forget, and Dave reminded me of someone who had fallen somewhere around the same time Chris had gone away as well.

They all reminded me of someone whom I used to know, and I never realized it until I signed my name on the back of the drawing of Alex. I sat there in silence with my hands rested upon my lap, whereby Marcy leaned into my face again.

“Are you okay?” she asked me in a low voice.

“Yeah,” I duly replied. “At least, I think I am.”

She raised her hand and turned the key, and we saw the time displayed on the dashboard. Three hours before we could even go into the venue, but we had to move things along to beat the evening rush hour. This was something that I definitely did not want to miss out on, even if it meant digging up some memories.

#the skeleton key #the skeleton key fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #metal allegiance #grunge #grunge fanfiction #heavy metal fanfic #chapter 1 #fic writing #writing #also on ao3 #text

[inklore]

wild child, i want you.

part two | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things one shot #joseph quinn #heavy metal love !

[mustainegf]

SUMMARY: Kirk becomes obsessed in the dark allure of a certain groupie who is only interested in his fame. Despite his awareness that she's a perilous presence in his life, Kirk finds himself helplessly consumed by her magnetic and sinister charm. You can actually feel just how sorry he is, that he met Dirty Diana, because she's ruining his life. But she's like a drug and he can't escape, nor quit her.

READ FIRST: this story is obviously based off the song “Dirty Diana” by Michael Jackson. The song is about groupies sooo. I would suggest you listen to it while reading. I left dirty Diana nameless cause I know you guys like insert stuff!!

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, oral female receiving, degradation, praise, public sex

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was gorgeous.

Dangerous. Viscous. I was obsessed.

Sure she was a groupie, but there was something about her that was just so alluring, so tempting.

She was everything I wasn't supposed to have. And yet I had to have her. She was young, maybe 23, but the way she looked at me made me think she was much older, maybe even more experienced than me.

She knew what she wanted. I could see it in her eyes, every time we locked gazes. She looked at me like she knew me, like we had been together before. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and no one could convince me otherwise.

I knew groupies well enough by now, they were attracted to your fame, your money, your status. I knew that all she was interested in, but that didn't cease my desire.

In fact, it made me want her more. So much more.

I needed her to prove to myself that she wasn't like the others, that she wasn't going to use me. If she was, then I wouldn't care.

I'd make her mine, even just for a night.

I Leaned against the bar top. Her face drifted through the crowd, various hues flashing over her face. I’d been watching her like this for an hour now.

She seemed harmless as she talked to those around her, laughed with them, drank with them. But she teased me with her gaze every once in a while. She watched me. I watched her.

Her gaze out of greed, mine of lust.

Her toxicity was addictive.

Her beauty lethal.

She was my poison, and I wanted to consume her.

Suddenly, she was no longer among the sea of people surrounding me. I scanned the area, searching for her. As if she sensed my search, a warm hand grazed my shoulder.

My breath caught in my throat. "Hey there, rockstar," she purred into my ear. I turned, meeting her gaze.

She looked poisonous, I begged that she'd inject me with her venom. Claim me as her own.

"Something on your mind Hammett? You've been staring," she jutted her lip out, pouting flirtatiously.

I swallowed thickly, trying to come up with the right words to say to her. "You put on a good show," I remarked, flicking my brows and taking a sip from my drink.

"Speak for yourself,"

she grinned, brushing her fingertips over my cheek before taking a seat next to me.

She set her glass down, peering back over at me.

"You've been following us around quite a bit, what's your deal, sweetheart?" I flirted back. As best I could anyways.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "My deal?" she asked with a sultry laugh. "You put on a good show." She quoted me from earlier. She was good at this.

I wondered if this was how she lured men in. This whole groupie thing wasn't as innocent as some thought. The more she spoke to me, the more my mind grew fuzzy.

She was getting to me. And damn it, she knew it. I tried my hardest not to let her affect me. To keep my head straight. But she was too beautiful. Too dangerous. How could anyone resist?

She seemed to read my thoughts as she smiled knowingly, taking another gulp from her glass.

"Maybe you can put on a good show for me?" she suggested suggestively. The idea had my cock twitching.

I was so hard, I felt like I would burst if she kept talking like that. I adjusted my jeans quickly.

"Someone's eager," I smirked at her.

The club bustled in the background, yet somehow the only thing I could hear was the echo of her voice.

"Who says I'm interested in anything you could offer?" she challenged me. A sly smile appeared on my lips. "What makes you think I'm offering?" I countered.

She stared at me intently, letting her stare linger for a long moment before she took a swig of her alcohol. "You're love-sick," she said after swallowing, patting my cheek. My cheeks went hot at the contact.

"Get better soon, lover boy." She snickered, walking off with an extra sway to her hips.

I wanted nothing more than to call her back, pull her into the shadows, and have my way with her. I needed her. No, I craved her. Like a drug.

I bolted up from my seat while I still had eyes on her, quickly following the dangerous woman.

My senses were full of lust, desire, and insatiable need for her.

All I could think about was stripping her bare, claiming her body, tasting her mouth. It was all I ever wanted. I couldn't get her out of my head. All I wanted was her.

I eventually made my way close enough to tug at her arm, dragging her back the opposite direction.

Did I want to hook up in the club bathroom? No, not exactly. But it was either that, or to keep watching her. My need was spilling over.

I wanted to feel her skin. Taste her lips. Feel her hands on me. "Change your mind lover boy?" she giggled, but didn't fight me.

In fact, she seemed pleased with herself. I wasn't going to think twice about this. There was something different about her. Something dangerous. She was bad news, but the way she was looking at me...

"Call me that again and you won't be getting what you want." I snarled, my sharp gaze stabbing at her own, fighting for dominance.

I pulled her through crowds of people, people I couldn't care less for right now. Eventually, we were just outside the bathroom doors.

I shoved it open, bringing her down the tiny hall before we were finally alone. Nobody else was in here. Thank god. Even if it was packed, that still wouldn't stop me from fucking her.

I want to go too far.

Way too far. My need for her was overpowering, my heart racing.

She was the most intoxicating drug I had ever experienced. I turned to face her, pinning her to the wall. Her dark eyes were wide and dilated, showing me her interest. I needed to make this good.

My lips wasted no time in finding hers, working at her as I peeled her promiscuous shirt off of her figure.

I reached around, undoing her bra clasp with one hand, while my other roamed her lower half, popping the button of her shorts and sliding them down her hips.

She bit my lip in response, grinding against me.

God, I loved how much she liked me. She liked that I was in a metal band, and that was it. But that didn't matter right now. I used my thumbs to push her panties down until they pooled at her feet. She kicked them away, and then, I could feast on her.

I swiftly lifted her up, spinning her around to set her down on the sink counter.

I took a step back to admire her as she spread her legs for me. She was perfect. All I wanted was her.

The only way I knew how to handle this was to get my hands on her.

"Make some noise, don't want us getting caught," I instructed her, leaning my face in between her thighs.

She moaned. And I smiled. This would do nicely. I didn't hesitate, diving in for what I really wanted.

My tongue flicked against her clit, and she gasped, clutching onto the counter, moaning loudly.

I didn't even look up to see if anyone was coming. I didn't care. All I cared about was my taste buds dancing on her delicate flower. She gripped the counter tightly, whimpering louder than I expected.

I savored the taste of her, wanting to remember it later.

"Not so confident now are we?" I taunted, nipping at her slightly, earning a twitch.

"Come on, speak up, missy," I glared up at her.

I had my hands on her thighs, and I was working my tongue like a pro. "You have a voice, use it!" I growled.

"Fuck me like you mean it. She snapped back.

I pulled my face from in between her legs, watching her with a look that might as well have been lethal. "You'll take what I give you, groupie."

She had no idea who she was dealing with. I wasn't a man you toyed with. I stood from my crouched position, forcing her to straddle my hips while still sitting propped up on the counter.

I palmed myself, letting her feel just how hard she had made me. I grabbed her hips, flipping her around until she was facing the mirror behind her.

Her ass was on full display for me as she bent over the counter.

I couldn't help but grin. God, she was perfect.

Perfect. A little too perfect. I hurried to pull my jeans down, my boxers following. My dick finally sprang free of its confines, just begging, throbbing with the need to be inside her and her only. I wrapped my arms around her waist, not being gentle as I pushed my cock deep inside her.

"Kirk!" She cried out, her head flinging forward.

"That's right, say it," I grunted, still feeling her velvety walls coating every vein on my cock.

I toyed with her clit as I began thrusting into her, forcing obscene sounds from her lips.

"Say it," I ordered again, my hands tightening around her waist. She let out a harsh scream, making me groan.

I let go, pumping into her harder, deeper, more rough. I wanted to pound into her until she felt me in every bone of her body. She fell forward onto the counter, slamming against it.

Her back arched, her body trembling from my brutal fuck. "Yes, Kirk! Yes! More!" She cried, pushing back against me. I slammed my cock deep into her again. "There you go, there's the girl I knew out there," I snickered.

Her nails dug into my skin, leaving a mark. I knew where those nails went each time she was alone. I knew what they would feel like as they dragged over my sensitive flesh. I let out an angry growl.

Not yet. "Oh, god." Her words broke me. I lost all control, falling onto the counter behind her. I fucked her hard, fast, and unapologetically. Our skin slapped together. Sweat dripped off of both our bodies.

We were a mess. Every surface of this bathroom was a mess. Everything. But I didn't care. All I could focus on was her moaning, crying, and screaming my name. It was music to my ears.

"Are you gonna cum already? You really are a slut huh?" I teased, making sure to graze her g spot a little longer.

I loved feeling her come undone under my touch. I felt powerful. Like nothing else mattered. If only that were true.

"God, Kirk!" She gasped. "Yes. I'm going to cum!"

"Good. You better not hold back with me. I'm tired of your cheap little tricks. Do it. Now." She came undone under me, bucking and shuddering around me. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Her words cut through me. I didn't think it was possible, but I got even harder.

I pumped faster, harder, letting the power of her muscular walls send me spiraling. "Yessss!" She screamed, wrenching my heart out.

I was seconds away from release. "On your knees, now!" I hurried her, pulling out and stroking myself.

She immediately spun around, her knees hurting the floor as her mouth fell open.

I set the tip of my length on her tongue allowing myself to finally cum.

I erupted, spilling my seed down her throat.

"Swallow it, You fucking slut." I barked out. The words barely left my lips before she was complying. She swallowed everything I gave her, and then some.

"Good girl," I cooed, grinning down at the helpless girl. Her snarky facade had been lifted, at least for now.

"Such a good little thing," I shook my head with a scoff, watching her swallow the last of me.

I admired her smeared beauty. Her makeup just slightly smudged, her hair rustled from the sex.

And her eyes, evil. I knew what I was getting into doing this.

She licked my sensitive tip a few times before standing up to meet my gaze.

She looked like she could eat me alive, stalk, haunt, possess me.

I'd be her victim. It didn't matter.

#mustainegf #metal #reqs open #smut #request #smutshot #metallica #metallica fluff #metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #thrash metal #heavy metal #kirk hammett x reader smut #kirk hammett x you #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett smut #kirk hammett #kirk hammett fluff #fanfiction #oneshot #fanfic

[spinning-stars]

VINCENT SINCLAIR X METAL HEAD

Head cannons🫶

Gn reader!

💍Hear me out... He's got the hair that fits.

💍 He would definitely make you help him do his own piercings (especially wear piercings)

💍He would Blair Mayhem, slipknot, and countless other bands while you two do each other's corpse paint.

💍 He doesn't care about his nails, but if you want to paint them he wouldn't mind

💍takes off his rings so that he doesn't scratch his guitar. (His guitar is covered in scratches, stickers and paint because he has had it since he was a teenager.)

💍 most of his band shirts have holes in them, whether he put them in the shirts or he accidentally ripped a whole in them.

💍 He loves seeing you in his band shirts tho🫶

💍 He'll teach you how to play the guitar if you don't know how to

💍He has a few old band posters hung up in the corner of the room

💍 Bo definitely calls him emo

💍 Lester says he looks like everyone in the lords of chaos movie. (Vincent watched the movie right after Lester said this)

💍I'ma be honest, his hair is probably greasy ass hell, I'm sorry.

💍He has a book of lyrics from songs that reminds him of you

💍also has a book of guitar solos that's he wants to learn

Authors note- Hiii requests are open!🫶 A short little post for today🫶🫶🫶

#fanfic #slashers #horror character #slashers fanfiction #x reader #ao3 #gn reader #fluff #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent x reader #vincent sinclair #Vincent Sinclair is a metal head #heavy metal #metal head #slashers x y/n #ao3 slasher feed #slasher feed #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclar headcannons #slasher headcanons #slasher hcs #tumblr writers #hannigram feed #sinclar brothers #love you guys 🫶🏻 #short fic #shitpost #lords of chaos

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Can I please request Kirk Hammett smut<3

Ok so. fem.Y/N and Kirk re good friends, one night he climbs into her room. BOOM = cute love confession, they’ll have hot sex……but Y/N has to stay quiet😏

The Midnight Rambler

Pairing: Kirk Hammett x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, language, unprotected sex, thigh riding, brief mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 3.6k

Request?: yes!

A/N: This one jumps right into the action! Enjoy!

Sleep.

Peaceful, undisturbed sleep.

Nothing made me happier than a good night's sleep after a long day.

Nothing beats finally allowing myself to relax every muscle in my body atop my comfortable bed.

The world was pitch black, my body was trapped in a state of inertia as I drifted off to peaceful sleep. People always appear to be concerned that when they die, all they will have is eternal sleep. But, hey, if all I get when I die is eternal sleep, that sounds pretty damn good to me.

Creak.

Shit.

Come on, I was nearly asleep.

It was simple to dismiss the creaking sound. My apartment was old and constantly made noises for no apparent reason. If only my stupid apartment would stop bothering me and let me sleep.

Creak.

Hm. That was certainly unusual. When I opened my eyes, my retinas struggled to adjust to the darkness of my bedroom. The hazy outlines of my furniture gradually emerged, the thin whiteness piercing through the black veil.

I twisted my neck upwards to glance towards my bedroom. Thankfully, it was closed. My brow furrowed.

Creak.

Shit. Holy shit.

There was no denying that those creaks were footsteps.

Oh God.

I was a single girl, alone and defenseless. I jerked up until I was sitting straight, bracing myself with my hands placed behind my torso. My gaze darted around the hazy figures in my bedroom.

My blood ran cold.

My heart began to pound, the sound resonating in my eardrums.

My fight or flight response had been activated.

Weapon? Do I have a weapon?

Shit.

Creak.

Lamp! I have a lamp on my bedside table! It’s heavy enough to do some damage if I get a good swing.

I scrambled out of bed as quickly as I could, careful not to make too much noise. I bent down to the right of my bedside table, yanking the plug from the white outlet.

Creak.

Shit.

Why was this guy walking so slow?

If he really wanted to kill me, he should have done it already.

Not that I was complaining.

I wrapped my hand around the thin metal lamp and raised it above my shoulder, spinning around to face the door, prepared to strike anything that moved.

Creak.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

He was right outside my bedroom door.

I told two, slow steps forward, lamp over shoulder. I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my chest from heaving with anxiety. As I struggled to breathe and swallow the growing pool of saliva inside my mouth, a thin layer of cold sweat began to form on my brow.

I stood about a foot away from the door, figuring that would provide me with ample distance to get a good swing towards the intruders head.

My arms were shaking. I was struggling to hold the lamp above my shoulder.

Creak.

The doorknob turned.

The lock slipped out of the door frame with a loud click.

There was no way I could fight off an armed man in the pitch black!

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The slight drafts blowing through my room pushed and pulled my body in opposite directions, making me tremble like a leaf.

The door creaked open and remained slightly ajar.

“Y/N?”

A man whispered from the opposite side of the wood.

My stomach flipped.

Jesus Christ how does this guy know my name?!

“Are you awake?”

I furrowed my brow.

No.

No way in hell.

“Kirk?”

I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?”

Kirk whispered back.

“Oh my fucking God.”

I said in annoyance, my voice returning to its normal volume.

I removed one hand from the lamp, grasping the ajar door's edge and flicking it open to reveal Kirk Hammett's skinny figure behind a thin veil of darkness.

I dashed for the light switch, which was located to the right of the door frame. As bright fluorescent light flooded my bedroom, illuminating Kirk, my retinas burned as they adjusted.

“Kirk! What the hell!”

My vision was only a thin, blurry strip as my eyes burned while accommodating to the white light.

Kirk’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead, wrinkles forming on his brow.

“Jesus Y/N. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I rolled my eyes and let the lamp fall to my side, the metal smacking against my hip as I gripped it with one hand.

“I thought I was about to see a ghost! Jesus Kirk I was about to whack you with a fucking lamp!”

I showed him by raising the lamp before allowing it to drop back down to my side.

“Jesus Y/N. I didn’t think you’d be that scared of me.”

Kirk chuckled.

Oh my God.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Kirk! You broke into my house in the middle of the fucking night and didn’t say anything until you were right outside my bedroom door! Obviously I’m going to be fucking terrified!”

I tried not to raise my voice too much to avoid startling the neighbors.

“I’m sorry-“

“Do you know how thin these fucking walls are?!”

My gaze remained fixed on him as I pointed behind me to the blank wall above my bed frame.

“One scream and the cops would be on you in two seconds flat!”

“Jesus Christ Y/N I said I was sorry!”

I took a deep, slightly agitated breath. My free hand dropped to my side.

“Okay. Sorry, I guess I just got a little worked up.”

I turned, walking towards the small wooden bedside table and placing the lamp back to its original position.

“How was the bar? Did you boys have fun?”

I sat on the edge of my bed, hands in my lap, turning my head to face Kirk, who had taken a few large strides toward me.

“It was… good.”

Kirk stroked his thick hair, the curls falling back atop his brow as his hand reached the back of his head. His gaze dropped to the floor, his free hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans.

“Okay Kirk what the hell is going on? Seriously.”

Kirk's eyes were drawn to me, both of his hands now stuffed into his jeans.

“Oh. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Kirk exuded an unsettling energy. His hands were crammed into his pockets to keep him from fiddling with the collar of his button-up shirt.

“Okay.”

I smacked my thighs.

“Talk then. I’m all ears.”

Kirk was deafeningly quiet, his tongue running along his plush bottom lip as he shifted his weight between his lanky legs. His eyes shifted to mine briefly before the crushing weight of our intertwined eyes made him far too uncomfortable, and he returned his gaze to the carpeted floor.

“Do you remember that one show we did? In Albuquerque? The one where we were all drunk out of our minds?”

I smiled, my mind traveling back in time to the exhilarating memories of that night.

“Yes. It was a wild show and an even wilder after party.”

I scoffed and raised my legs to sit Indian-style atop my bed, my hands dipping between my intertwined legs.

“You were blackout drunk, it was fucking hilarious.”

Kirk pursed his lips.

“Yeah…”

His voice trailed off.

“I actually didn’t have anything to drink that night.”

I cocked my brow, not fully understanding what he was saying. I could tell there was supposed to be some significance to the newly revealed information, but I couldn't figure it out.

“Okay?”

Kirk's thin fingers found his shirt collar and he rolled the fabric between his fingertips.

“I just said I drank a lot so it wouldn’t seem weird when I tried to kiss you.”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

His words rushed out, his tongue unable to stop itself as he spilled his dirty little secret into the open air.

-

Kirk's hand gripped my waist, drawing our chests flush together as he breathed deeply, the hot air fanning across my face. Kirk's nose brushed up against mine, his lips slightly parted, as the invisible energy drew our mouths inexorably closer.

“Kirk…”

I muttered.

My hands were resting uncomfortably on his chest, my body unsure how to react to this unusual situation. But my mind was curious as to where this predicament would eventually lead.

Kirk's sensual eyes abruptly broke into a lighthearted gaze. He let out a laugh, his body instinctively pulling away from mine. The invisible energy had broken, and I could feel my heart slowing to a normal pace as his body heat slipped away from me.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m so fucking drunk right now.”

He brought a hand to his face, his finger pads rubbing the headache from his brain.

“It’s alright.”

-

“I should’ve known.”

I gulped.

“I didn’t even smell any alcohol on your breath.”

The electricity has returned. The anxious anticipation had subsided, and an invisible force had stepped in between us to replace the uncomfortableness.

“I thought I felt something but I was such a goddamn idiot and the whole situatuon was totally fucked u-“

I threw myself off the bed in desperation, my body lunging forward. My mouth collided with his, the invisible force dissipating as I granted the universe its wish.

I enveloped his neck in my arms, his firm chest pressed against my soft breasts. Kirk inhaled sharply, his body tense before settling into the situation. His lips began to move hungrily against mine and the tip of his tongue played against my lower lip. Kirk drew my body closer to him, his thick belt buckle pressing into my stomach through my thin t-shirt.

I moved my hands slowly down the plane of his chest, enjoying the sensation of his gorgeously plump lips moving in unison against my hungry mouth. Our chests heaved in unison, our noses struggling to provide our bodies with the oxygen we required for such passion.

My hands found his belt buckle.

“I want you.”

I sighed with lustful passion against his mouth before reconnecting our lips.

“I want you inside me.”

His cock began to harden under my fingertips, the tent in his jeans becoming more prominent. Kirk rolled his hips involuntarily against my hands, his groin longing for friction to relieve the tight sensation brewing in his abdomen.

Kirk growled against my mouth, the vibrations reverberating down my throat.

“Fuck baby…”

Kirk turned and pulled me along with him. When the mattress smacked the back of his knees, he flopped down onto the creaky bed, with me straddling one of his jean-clad thighs.

Kirk’s hands found their way to my back, where they lazily rested against my shoulder blades, his gentle grasp keeping me close. Kirk’s tongue pushed between my teeth while his knee rammed against my clothed pussy. His actions sent a jolt of pleasure through my spine. I gasped, my brow knitting in pleasure as I instinctively rolled my hips along the rough fabric of his jeans, wetness pooling inside my panties.

“Shhhhh.”

Kirk stared at me seductively through his lashes, his eyes completely black as his pupils were blown with lust.

“You gotta keep quiet baby girl.”

His voice was low, a deep sensual whisper that cut through the stillness of the room. Kirk's calloused palm moved from my waist to my face, tenderly cupping my face.

“No one else needs to know I’m making you cum all over my cock.”

Kirk trailed the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip before gently pushing his thumb past my teeth.

“How bout you suck on that while you ride my thigh.”

I braced myself by placing my hands atop his shoulders, utilizing my grasp on him to grind my clothed pussy against his rough jeans. I pictured his thick cock throbbing inside my mouth as I sucked mercilessly on his thumb. Kirk’s opposite hand assisted me in dragging my pelvis along his thigh, his mouth falling open as he watched me getting off on his lap. I dragged my tongue along the tip of Kirk’s thumb, watching intently as he grew painfully hard inside his jeans.

I was wet, horribly wet. But the two layers of fabric separating my cunt from Kirk’s rough jeans ensured that I would be unable to cum on top of his lap. I groaned around Kirk’s thumb in frustration, desperate to quell the ache building in between my thighs.

“Oh, poor baby.”

He leaned into my ear, hot breath grazing my earlobe and sending a powerful chill directly to my cunt.

“Why don’t you take off your clothes for me.”

Kirk pulled his thumb out of my mouth with a loud pop, leaning back on his hands as he stared. I clambered off his lap, my knees shaking as I undressed under Kirk’s crushing eyes.

I dropped my clothes to the floor, my nipples hardening as the cool draft blew through the room and smacked against my bare chest.

“That’s my good girl.”

Kirk lifted a ringed pointer finger and made a “come hither” motion. I climbed back atop his thigh, the gentle brush of his jeans agaisnt my soaking wet cunt making me groan with desire.

“Think you can be quiet?”

Kirk asked while placing his hands on my hips, his cool rings providing a stark contrast to my flaming hot skin.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Kirk smirked.

“Good.”

He jerked his knee upwards, his rugged jeans hitting my clit.

I inhaled sharply, immediately jumping back into my previous train of actions. My head fell into the crook of Kirk’s neck, hands grasping his shirt in desperation.

“Kirk…”

I mumbled incoherently as he continued to push and pull my pelvis along his thigh. My wetness dragged along his jeans, seeping into the fabric of his pants as my chest heaved with every strangled breath.

“I want you.”

The coil in my stomach began to tighten, my moans growing more anguished as my orgasm was steadily approaching.

“Shhhh baby. If you make any more fucking noise I won’t give you anything.”

I knew he was most likely bluffing. He had waited far too long to not fuck me completley silly. But the truth is that I desire his cock just as much as he wanted to fuck my cunt.

I couldn’t take chances.

So I bit my tongue and fought to keep all my noise deep within my chest.

I was so close.

So fucking close.

I could feel myself already drifting into the land of nirvana that was post orgasmic haze.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl for me.”

I moaned softly through a closed mouth, my eyes squeezing shut as I desperately fought every desire inside of me to scream out Kirk’s name like a prayer.

“Cum all over my thigh. Make a fucking mess of my jeans.”

My lower abdomen was pinched tight. There was no room for my desire to build any further than it already had. So, with a final jerk of my hips, I came all over Kirk’s jeans, my knee bumping against his painfully hard cock the moment my body released the enormous tension built inside of my stomach.

Kirk groaned in pleasure as I threw my head back, exposing my neck for him to admire as I rode out my orgasm atop his thigh. I transformed my heavy moans into gentle gasps of air as I came down from my intense pleasure high.

“Fuck Kirk…”

My eyes fluttered open, drinking in Kirk’s sweaty, lust blown face as my mind wandered to the next substantial event of the night.

“Jesus Y/N. I want to fuck you so damn bad.”

I swung my leg over Kirk’s lap, assuming a comfortable position on my bed. I bent my knees, spreading my legs as far as possible to invite him to fuck me.

His eyes raked along my body, taking in every inch of my naked form, the tent in his jeans tall and prominent.

“Please Kirk.”

I begged.

Kirk gulped loudly, rising to his full height and undressing while his eyes remained fixed on my lustful gaze.

I bit my lower lip as Kirk undid the thick leather buckle on his cum soaked jeans with a loud clunk. He pulled the leather through the loops with a satisfying whoosh and allowed it to fall to the floor beside him.

Now that his belt was gone, his erection was ten times more obvious. I inhaled shakily while envisioning his thick cock stretching my walls to the brim, swollen tip slamming against my g spot as tears of pleasure formed in the corners of my eyes.

Kirk refocused his attention to his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it to reveal his slightly toned chest before bringing his large hands down to his jeans.

Fuck.

My pussy clenched desperately around nothing as the imagine of his painfully hard cock came into view.

“Kirk.”

I forced my gaze away from his pink swollen tip leaking with precum to meet his dark eyes. Kirk’s black curls framed his pale face, making his subtle perfections pop.

“Please I can’t wait any fucking longer.”

Kirk had enough of the foreplay. He clambered over the bed, his gaze burning into my eyes as he assumed his position atop my desperate body.

“God you’re beautiful.”

He mumbled, inches away from my face while hiking my leg up to his waist, using his opposite hand to drag the tip of his painfully hard cock through my folds.

I moaned loudly before remembering my vow of silence. I closed my throat, my pleasure-filled noise erupting from my lips as a choked groan rather than a lustful cry.

Kirk pushed into me, his thick cock stretching my walls to the brim.

I threw my head back, choking on my moans as Kirk bottomed out inside of me. He was quick to begin a set of merciless thrusts, his balls smacking against my cunt as he fucked me into the mattress.

He intertwined his fingers with mine, holding my hands over my head as he stared longingly into my eyes. Kirk’s scrawny hips snapped forward vigorously, burying himself inside of me with each passionate thrust.

His hair fell down around my face, trapping us in a realm of solitude.

“Kirk…”

The swollen tip of his girthy cock slammed against my g spot after a particularly hard thrust. My voice broke off into a cry as my profound wetness fully coated his length.

“Shhhhh.”

He hissed through his teeth.

“You’re mine. No one else needs to know how good I make you feel.”

His possessiveness made me even more desperate for him.

I wanted more of him.

I wanted every inch of his veiny cock buried inside my wet spongy walls.

I wrapped my legs around Kirk’s skinny waist, the new angle allowing his tip to bang against my g spot with every passionate snap of his pelvis.

“Kirk… you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”

I whispered, my throat constricting as the prevalent coil in my lower abdomen began to tighten.

“God your pussy is so good.”

Kirk gasped in desperation before his head fell into the crook of my neck.

“I wanna do this to you all through the fucking night.”

I was about to cum.

God, no man had ever made me cum this quickly before in my life.

I’d most definitely be up for another round.

Or another ten.

Or another twenty.

Hell, I’ll go all through the night with him if it meant I could feel him pumping inside of me with every passing second.

“I wanna keep stretching you out and fucking you until you physically can’t take any fucking more.”

The whispering tones combined with the soft smacking sounds of sex were nearly enough to send me toppling over the edge.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my orgasm so close.

I didn’t hold back. If everything Kirk whispered under his breath was true, I’d be in for a wild night to remember.

“Please keep fucking me Kirk.”

I gasped, my cunt clenching around his cock to milk the last of his orgasm as his hot cum coated my walls.

My abdomen was ready to snap.

“I want you inside of me for the rest of my life.”

I came around his cock. My body seized, head thrown back as the tightness of all my muscles was simultaneously released at once.

Kirk gave a few more lazy thrusts to my cunt before collapsing, cock still inside of me.

“All good Hammett?”

Kirk’s heavy heartbeat resonated throughout my chest cavity, bouncing around my ribcage.

“Yeah. I'm all good. You all good?”

“Yup.”

I smiled, burying my face in his curls while gently dragging my nails along the planes of his back.

“Are we done?”

I asked, searching for confirmation that the promises of a long wild night were true.

Kirk chuckled against my neck.

“Hell no.”

Kirk’s cock remained inside my overstimulated walls, keeping me full and ready for more.

“I'm not pulling out until we’re done.”

Kirk pulled his face back to meet my calm face, a stark contrast to the pleasurable expression my features were contorted into only moments ago.

“And we’re fucking done yet darling.”

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