metallicames

Latest Posts by metallicames

Hi I love your writing. I was wondering if you can write a fic where both James and Jason fall in love the reader. James and Jason met the reader separately on two different occasions. Both James and Jason don’t know that they fell in love with the same person. Whoever the reader ends up with is up to you. I’d love it to be angsty.

I admit... it took me a long time to write this story because I had too many different ideas... I hope you like how it turned out.

Between Two Fires

Warnings: just sweet love making, passionate kisses, a little bit of angst.

You have no idea how you ended up in this situation, it feels unreal, like something out of a movie.

It all started at that concert of some unknown band you didn’t even want to go to.

The venue was small, thick with smoke and sweat. Red lights pulsed in time with the drums coming from the stage, while the crowd’s screams blended with the guttural sounds of the amplifier. The smell of beer, leather, and sweat was everywhere.

But then he smiled at you: Jason.

You bumped into him at the bar while you were desperately digging through your bag for cash to buy a beer after the concert. He handed you his drink, laughing and saying: “Here, take mine. I overdid it. I don’t even know why I got another one.” Light eyes, long messy brown hair, a kind but shy smile. You introduced yourselves and started talking. At first, it was a bit awkward, but then you discovered you had so many interests in common: music, movies, the outdoors. He was like an open book, transparent and sincere. He made you feel safe, as if the chaos around you faded every time he looked at you.

After that concert, you went out a couple of times. Once to the movies, shared milkshakes and stolen kisses, tender and sweet. The next time, a long walk in the park with music blasting through your headphones.

Jason was sweet, a little clumsy at times, but always present. He was the kind of guy who apologizes just for brushing your arm for too long and who got worried if he sees you unusually quiet. Over time you started to feel comfortable, appreciated, and safe.

But then he came along: James.

You meet him one night at a friend’s house, one of those nights where no one really knows what they’re celebrating, but everyone drinks like it’s New Year’s Eve. And you’re no exception. While sipping yet another drink, you feel someone’s eyes on you. You turn around and see him staring at you from across the room. Tall, broad shoulders, worn leather jacket, and a dark look. He’s holding a beer, and when your eyes meet, something inside you freezes. He intimidates you, but instead of backing away, you find yourself moving closer without even realizing it.

There’s something magnetic about him. It’s not just his beauty, it’s…his intensity.

You approach him confidently, a confidence partly fueled by the alcohol.

You greet him. He doesn’t answer. He just gives you a small smirk, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, as if he’s mocking you… or tempting you.

“James” he says after a moment, in a low voice.

His tone is rough, as if he’s not used to saying his name, because really, everyone already knows it. And you do too. He’s James Hetfield, from Metallica.

“Nice to meet you... are you having fun?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though you feel tense and dizzy inside.

“Mmmh yeah. As long as there’s alcohol, you know.”

At first, he only replies with monosyllables. He’s not like Jason. He doesn’t make you feel safe, he makes you feel off balance.

He asks sharp, uncomfortable questions, the kind no one else would dare to ask. But he intrigues you and you realize you want to get to know him better.

Time passes, and you find yourself in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of a car while he stares into your eyes.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, every word is deliberate, every sentence has a purpose, it feels like he’s digging inside you.

Even though he’s clearly drunk, his eyes are scarily lucid.

He talks about music, anger, death, dreams.

And slowly, you begin to see something behind the tough-guy mask: a young man burning inside, a wounded soul who uses music as his only escape.

There’s a connection. Raw and visceral.

As if you’re two magnets drawn to each other.

The music from the party is distant now, just a blurry background you no longer feel.

While he talks, you can’t stop looking at him, your bodies getting closer and closer, a thick tension builds between the two of you until, suddenly, he kisses you.

He does it with urgency, without grace, without thinking.

His mouth crashes into yours, your tongues instantly tangling.

He sucks on your tongue, bites your lips, then your neck.

He presses his hips into you, pushing your back down onto the hood, his large hands gripping your hips with force.

He presses against you gently but firmly, as if he wants you to feel every inch of his body on yours.

You’re practically lying down now, with him on top of you.

You feel his erection against your thigh, hard, insistent and your body responds without filters.

You’re wet. That kiss has driven you mad, opened you up as if he’d already fucked you.

Every rub of his body against yours makes you vibrate inside.

You move against him, seeking him with your hips, as if you could take him like that, through your jeans.

His hands roam over your body, gripping your skin, pulling you closer.

His mouth tastes of beer, and his skin of something you can’t quite identify, but it drives you wild.

And just as you’re about to lose all control, a male voice calls out from a distance.

“Het!” the voice shouts irritably. “That’s my car, dick!”

You both pull apart instantly. You, with swollen lips, ragged breath, trembling legs. James turns to the guy without flinching, raising his hands in mock surrender, but with that cocky smile you’ve come to know is part of him. “Relax, man, I warmed it up for you.”

The guy shakes his head, muttering something unintelligible as he approaches the hood.

James looks at you again, his gaze suddenly a bit more serious. He leans into your ear.

“You’re dangerous, Y/N.”

“You are the danger” you reply, breathless. He chuckles softly, almost embarrassed.

You both move away from the car and spend a little more time talking, sitting on the sidewalk.

You tease each other, trade jokes, and every time he touches you - a hand on your knee, a finger tucking a strand of hair behind your ear - your body tenses.

Your thighs clench instinctively, as if to contain the desire still pulsing inside you, alive, insistent.

Then, out of nowhere, one of his friends shows up, completely drunk, stumbling toward you with a dazed expression and a goofy smile.

James stands, grabs him by the shoulder, laughs in his face, and tries to hold him up.

Before he leaves, he turns to you and slips something into your hand: a backstage pass, crumpled and a little sweaty.

“Promise me you’ll come” he says, with a look you can’t quite decipher.

You nod without thinking, maybe a bit too quickly.

Then he disappears. Lost in the crowd, swallowed by the noise of the party.

You stay there, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, your heart pounding, your mind clouded by alcohol, desire, and that strange euphoria he left on your skin.

You look at the pass in your hand.

And for a moment, you wonder if any of it actually happened.

Two days pass before you manage to think clearly.

The kiss, James, and his intensity still buzz inside you like a song you can’t stop listening to. But at the same time, you realize it was an instant of passion driven by alcohol and the thrill of the moment, and you start to feel guilty.

Then, just as you’re trying to rationalize it all, your phone rings.

It’s Jason.

“Y/N! You have to hear this! I auditioned… and I got in! I’m the new bassist for Metallica!!!”

Your heart stops.

“What???”

“I know, it’s crazy! I didn’t tell you anything because I wanted to surprise you. They contacted me through a friend if mine. I went, played… and boom! They want me on stage already next weekend!!! Madness! You’re coming, right? It’s my first concert with them… I can’t not see you there.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’m so happy for you.”

You say goodbye and with a sigh you lean your back against the wall.

You’re honestly happy for him, but inside you feel like a battlefield.

Jason. James. Metallica.

Neither knows about the other.

And now you’ll see both of them on the same stage.

One who looks at you with the sweet eyes of a boy in love.

The other who burns you with just a glance and gives you no certainty.

On the night of the concert, you’re in the crowd, squeezed against the barricades of the pit, practically front row.

Adrenaline is through the roof.

The crowd is wild, lights flashing, smoke filling the air.

Then you see them come on stage.

Jason looks for you almost immediately. He smiles at you. He’s visibly emotional and incredulous, like a kid living a dream.

His gaze is pure. Happy. Proud.

But your heart races when James appears.

Guitar slung over his shoulder, confident stride, sharp eyes under the red lights.

He doesn’t look at you right away.

But when he does, it’s like a punch to the stomach.

His gaze pierces you.

He recognizes you. He shows nothing on his face… but the corner of his mouth twists into a half-smile that seems to say: I know your eyes are only for me.

And maybe he’s right.

Because while Jason plays, you smile and get emotional but.. it’s James who leaves you breathless.

The concert ends in an explosion of lights and screams.

The crowd is delirious.

Jason jumps off the stage with the energy of someone who just touched the sky with a finger.

You’re there, still front row, hands sore from clapping, heart pounding, not just because of the music.

You slowly head toward the backstage, where the chaos is almost worse than in front of the stage.

Technicians rushing everywhere, cases and beers scattered around.

You make your way through the crowd, your pass swinging from your neck as you look for Jason, but it’s James you see first.

He’s sitting on a worn-out couch, a half-empty bottle in hand, sweaty and shirtless.

Around him, two girls laughing and getting too close, one sitting almost in his lap.

James smiles, but it’s a tired, dull smile, almost disinterested.

When he looks up, his eyes meet yours.

For a moment, he seems sober.

His eyes dig into you, but he doesn’t move.

No gesture. No words.

And in that moment, you understand.

He will never be yours. Not the way you want.

James is a fire, and you’re not made to burn forever.

You turn and walk away briskly, almost running.

And finally, you find him.

Jason is in the hallway leading to the dressing rooms, still holding his bass, sweaty and euphoric.

When he sees you, he smiles with that expression he’s always had just for you.

“You were amazing!! Really incredible.” you say to him enthusiast.

"I had so much fun! The best night of my life!" He flashes a bright smile like someone who knows they just achieved their dream.

You talk for a few minutes about the concert, but then he notices something different on your face and his smile falters soon after.

“Y/N… are you okay?”

You swallow hard. The lump in your throat is too tight.

But you can’t lie to him.

“Jason… there’s something I have to tell you. It’s important.”

He stiffens slightly, as if his body already knows.

But he stays still.

“Tell me.”

“A few weeks ago… before you knew about the audition… I… I met James. We kissed. It happened… and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jason doesn’t speak right away.

He turns to the side, leaning against the wall.

A long silence separates you.

“..James? Why?” he finally asks, voice low and broken.

“I don’t know… the alcohol, the party, the thrill of the moment…” You feel terribly guilty but he deserves the truth.

He doesn’t speak, just stares at the floor, then takes a sip of beer.

“Fuck… tell me it was just a kiss.” He raises his gaze and for the first time you glimpse anger.

“Yes… just a kiss. But it was… wrong. And I only realized it now. I actually want you. Because I like the person I am when I’m with you.”

He looks at you. His lips tremble slightly.

He takes a step toward you.

“It’s not easy to hear… you hurt me. But I want to believe you, I'm fallig in love with you Y/N..”

Then, in a gesture that seems like relief, he hugs you. Tight.

As if afraid you might run away again. And you stay there, in his arms.

You kiss.

This time it’s different from before, no longer tender and sweet, you feel the desire and let yourself be overwhelmed.

You end up in his dressing room, a small room dimly lit by a corner lamp.

There’s still the smell of the stage, sweat, adrenaline.

At first, he’s a bit awkward.

He looks at you like he’s afraid of doing something wrong, like he doesn’t know where to put his hands.

“Are you sure?” he starts to say, but you stop him with a kiss. Sweet. Slow.

Your hands find each other, your mouths meet.

Every movement is an exploration.

No rush, no dominance. Only tenderness mixed with passion, and that silent desire to be close, to forget the rest of the world.

Jason’s fingers tremble a little as he pulls your shirt off, but then he looks at you like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

You make love on the uncomfortable dressing room couch, bodies sweaty and tangled.

His forehead against yours, breaths seeking each other. It’s tender, but also burning.

You surrender to him as if you know, deep down, it’s the safest place you could ever be.

Your bodies intertwine in a deep, primal rhythm. His breath merges with yours as your movements grow more intense.

He holds you tight, as if wanting to imprint the memory of every touch, every moan onto you.

When it’s over, you stay there, lying down.

He strokes your hair silently. And in that moment, you feel grateful. For him. For forgiving you. For not making you feel guilty.

You want to tell him, but you remain silent.

Then, suddenly, a violent noise.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three sharp knocks on the door.

So loud you both startle.

And then that booming voice.

“Newsted. To the bus. NOW!”

You recognize it.

James.

His voice echoes in the small dressing room like a gunshot. Authoritative. Impatient.

It snaps you back to reality.

Jason gets up. He says nothing, but you see a flicker of tension in his eyes.

You get dressed slowly without speaking, but before leaving the dressing room Jason kisses your temple, like to reassure you and that gesture says more than a thousand words.

He grabs a beer, says goodbye, and gets on the bus waiting in the parking lot to take them to the hotel.

James passes you by, you stop him, wanting to be clear even with him, even if maybe he doesn’t deserve it.

"Hey James… the other night, I know maybe you don’t even remember, but we messed up… actually, I messed up. I’m seeing Jason and…”

“Y/N… no need to justify yourself, I get it.”

He doesn’t show any emotion, doesn’t give you the satisfaction of knowing if he’s disappointed or angry. He’s like an enigma, as he has been since you met him.

“He’s a good dude, you know? I like him.” His voice, slightly slurred from alcohol, sounds sincere, but his indifference irritates you, and the words come out of your mouth without thinking. "Is that it? That was your idea of interest? A drunken kiss and then off you go chasing someone new..." You wanted a reaction, and you got it.

He steps closer, his presence towering over you.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? You spend the whole night talking to me, opening up… You tease me, let me get a taste and then tell me you're already seeing someone else? Fuck you." The tone of his voice makes you tremble.

He grabs your arm tightly, his lips now just inches from your ear.

“I just hope he doesn’t know he’s only the convenient choice…because I know what you really want Y/N” He whispers through gritted teeth before throwing you one last devilish glance at you and then boarding the bus with the others.

And you stay there, stunned.

A shiver runs through you, and that shiver, that slash of instinct that struck you like lightning, makes you realize you’re not free from his spell yet.

💔

The energy of this pic alone is so catastrophically beautiful that I have no other way to explain it 😭😭😭😭😭😭

are u planning to write new stuff? I need new storiesss 😝

Yep! I'm finally working on a request from a long time ago, but unfortunately I only just found the inspiration now.

I actually have three pending requests involving these James

He's so fuckin hot bye

100%

Good god which concert are these from?????

Getting emotional rn 🖤

James Hetfield and Ozzy Osbourne

1986 | 2025

hiii! I literally can’t go a day without reading one of ur fics they’re so goooooddddd!

<3 💌

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Time flies 🥹

This aint hear me out this is hold me back

imagine like 2010s papa het coming home after a rough few years of touring to you, angry and frustrated cus lars wont get off his back- then you let him take his anger out on you (FREAKY DEAKY ROUGH STUFF 😛) ok ty babes im done being freeky xxx

A/n: in this specific era I think James was such a good and caring dad and on the other side a freaky beast in bed 🤪

Home

Warnings: dirty talking, rough sex, crampie, unprotected sex, oral sex (f/receiver), squirting.

Finally, James is home.

God, I still can’t believe it. After years of being away on tour, dropped calls, stolen moments in hotel rooms, he’s back. And not just for one night. He’s back for good.

I watch him as he eats, the warm light from the chandelier casting shadows across his face, tired, but still breathtakingly handsome.

Our kids are laughing, telling him everything he missed: little adventures, drawings, school plays, daily dramas, and he listens, as always, with eyes that sparkle, answering with that perfect smile that made me fall in love all those years ago. But I know him too well.

That smile is forced. His shoulders, even though he tries to relax them, are tense. He has that wrinkle between his brows that only appears when something is really bothering him.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, while we clear the table.

He looks at me for a moment. The kind of look that sends shivers down my spine, like he’s reading my soul and finding his reflection there.

“Yeah, it’s just… I couldn’t wait to come home, you know? Between the exhaustion and the usual drama with Lars… I’m at my limit” he murmurs, gripping the glass in his hand tightly.

A little later, he offers to put the kids to bed. He’s missed them terribly, and I know how much he loves to lull them to sleep with his voice until their last yawn. But before heading to their rooms, he gives me a look that knocks the wind out of me. One of those looks that makes me dizzy.

I felt it all through dinner: his eyes fixed on my lips, his fingers brushing against my wrist a little too slowly, that tension hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

After the usual bedtime ritual with the kids, he returns to me, his presence heavier than before.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click. And just like that, he’s changed. Gone is the loving, patient father reading under soft lamplight. What stands before me now is raw, undeniably male, every inch of him taut with restrained energy and anger.

He doesn’t speak. The silence between us hums. His eyes lock onto mine, dark with want, a hunger that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. His chest rises with slow, deep breaths, as if holding back a storm.

I take a step toward him, but I don’t get far. He’s already there, closing the space in one swift motion. His hands find me, rough and certain, and then his mouth crashes into mine. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s claiming. It’s desperate. It tastes like everything we’ve been holding back.

“You’re tense, James…” I murmur after a moment, my voice low and warm as my hand rests gently on his chest. “You need to let it out.”

His eyes darken, as if I’ve just unlatched the door to something wild that’s been caged for far too long. He says nothing, just grabs my arm and spins me around with a force that weakens my knees.

“Let it out, huh?” he growls against my ear, his breath hot and unsteady. “Maybe on you?”

My back meets the hard press of his arousal, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“Sure.. I’m at your disposal…..Daddy” I slowly pronounce the words, especially the last one. In an instant I’m bent over on the bed, ass in the air and face against the mattress, the robe I was wearing hiked up on my hips, my bare skin burning under his gaze. I feel his breathing getting heavier as he leans over me. His hands squeeze my hips with a power that makes me moan softly. Then, without any warning, his lips reach my pussy. There’s nothing gentle about his kiss, it’s ravenous, purposeful. Like he’s starving, like he needs to claim every inch of me with his tongue. My head sinks into the pillow as the moans escape me, helpless, raw.

“I’ve missed you like crazy…” he growls against my skin, his voice rough, almost breaking.

“You need to feel it. Just how fucking much I missed you.”

And god, I do. Every inch of me does.

His tongue is practically fucking me, it pushes so hard against my heat that I have to hold on to the mattress to keep the position stable. Instinct takes over, his hands clamp around my thighs, holding me in place, keeping me pinned to his mouth with no intention of giving me a break.

I feel his moans of pleasure against my wet folds as my eyes roll back in my head and my mouth opens slightly for air. “J-James.. James.. I’m coming.. god don’t stop” I barely manage to speak as James slides two thick fingers deep inside me, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady. His fingers start slow, deliberate, each movement teasing, exploring, then quicken, plunging harder and faster until he hits the spot that shatters me. Heat spreads through my body, building until I lose control. In no time I come with a moan muffled by the pillow. James brings his open palm down on my ass with a sharp, punishing slap that echoes through the room. The sting sears into my skin, and my legs buckle beneath me, giving out completely. I collapse onto the mattress, gasping for breath, thighs trembling and soaked, utterly undone.

The sight of my body trembling with pleasure drives James wild. I feel it in the raw urgency of his movements, the frantic way he strips, like he’s seconds from losing control. I feel him above me biting the delicate skin of my back then my shoulders, before sinking inside me with his big cock. His round and swollen tip penetrates deep into my still hyper sensitive pussy, pressing directly on the weak point.

The sensation takes my breath away, I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he presses his large, rough hands into the dimples of my lower back, pressing me against the mattress and moving my body as he pleases, intent on watching the point where our bodies join. I let him take total control, I feel him press me hard against his pubic bone, his thick length sliding deep inside me with every powerful thrust. My moans blend with his while wet, urgent sounds filling the air as our bodies slam together faster and harder, the slick heat between us growing hotter with every brutal collision. Every thrust, every movement shows me just how much James needed this—needed me— to finally let go, pouring into each motion everything he’d been holding back for months. He keeps me pinned against the mattress as he goes down with his chest against my back, his low and rough moans in my ear make me vibrate. “How much did you want my cock?? Tell me mh? How much did you miss being slammed like that?”

I can barely keep my eyes open because he’s fucking me so good it’s almost too much. But through the haze, I choke out “God..I love it so much.. p- please, harder, baby… please…” loud moan leaves my mouth and in that moment I thank the soundproof walls because I’m screaming now, lost in the storm of it, every nerve lit up and begging for more. “Harder?? Little needy thing.. I’ll ruin this beautiful pussy of yours.. I’ll destroy you”. His hips shift finding the right angle so he can reach the perfect spot to make me come again. The thrusts become stronger and drier his arms wrap around me holding me still.

“God..I’m bout to come again… f-uckkkfuck” my pussy tightens around his thick girth soaking it completely as I reach another powerful orgasm. After just a few hard thrusts, James buries himself deep and comes inside me, spilling thick ropes of seed, filling me up completely. “Ohhhh fuckkkk.. that was a lot…” he says still dazed, panting in my ear.

He flips me over onto my back without giving me time to recover. “I need more…” he says breathlessly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

“I love watching your horny little pussy swallow my fat cock.. it drives me nuts”. As he says it, he grinds his freshly hardened shaft against my soaking folds, slick with both our juices. He moves slow, teasing me, his eyes locked onto mine while he stays kneeling between my legs. I bite my lips looking at his naked and tattooed body and his tense muscles while he pushes my legs against my chest holding them tight by the back of my thighs “I’ll keep you spread-eagled until tomorrow morning.. until you tell me to stop.." he growls while he sinks into me "..I’ll ruin ya".

He drives balls deep hitting me hard as his cock pounds against my cervix, stretching my soft walls with fierce intensity. I moan, breathless, losing myself in the relentless rhythm, going crazy feeling his balls slamming against my ass, and seeing his face lost in the pleasure of the moment. His powerful body drives me harder against the headboard, leaving me barely able to hold myself steady. I stretch my arms above my head, desperate to keep from banging them, every muscle straining under his force.

“Cum for me baby.. soak my cock” his words turn me on like crazy, and when with one hand he starts to stimulate my clit I know it’s the end. My vision blurs in the blink of an eye and I start to shake convulsively, “oh my- god James.. that- that’s too much.. fffuck”

I tremble and feel a hot jet of squirt expand on my lower abdomen, but James doesn’t stop, he continues to pound me and at the same time torturing my swollen clit biting his lower lip until he almost draws blood. “I’m cumming, babe… I’m cumming so hard… again” he groans in a low, desperate voice before spilling inside me once more with a guttural moan. I melt around him, utterly his and completely full.

He delivers a sharp slap to my clit, his eyes locking onto mine with a wicked smirk and a look of pure satisfaction. Then he pulls away from my flushed, trembling body and sinks down into the armchair beside the bed, legs spread wide, his chest glistening with sweat.

“Come here and suck it sweety” he commands, his voice low and husky.

I look at him with a look that is a mixture of amazement and defiance.

I lock eyes with him, a fierce mix of awe and defiance burning in my gaze.

“Fuck… you’re insane” I murmur, a slow smile spreading across my lips as I push myself up from the bed, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. I kneel in front of him who gives me a little slap on my hot and red face, then his hand tangles into my hair, pulling it back into a messy ponytail just as my mouth closes over his swollen, slick tip. And just like that, it all begins, again.

LOL this is exactly what I visualize while writing smuts... just saying

thinking abt this rn.

James Hetfield - 1989

Y'all I'm writing a request about James from 2010... I almost forgot how HOT he was 🥵🥵

I'm afraid I won’t be able to put into words what I’d want this man to do to me

if you send me pic of him during this period it'ill be much appreciated 🤪

bye I can't do a public reveal 🌺 but I love youuuu 😗😗😗😗 (viking story was so good I'm still not over)

💗💗💗 I loved that request sooo much

Wes Borland dressed as a young James Hetfield 🔥😍❤️

Video credits: alexag.08300

gimmefulgimmefahgimmethawichadesah ooh

I love you don't explode pls

I love your fics and every morning I check the app and your blog lmaooo

Thank u😍 this is so beautiful! I love sharing my obsessions with y'all

P.S. I wish I knew who the anon sending me requests are. I'm so curious! 🤪

Metallica edition

Looks like a cinnamon roll, could actually kill you:

Looks like he could kill you, is actually a cinnamon roll:

Looks like a cinnamon roll, is actually a cinnamon roll:

Looks like he could kill you, could actually kill you:

Fade Into You

Request: James falls for a quiet, bookish girl who's his complete opposite. His friends tease him, so he pretends not to care, but when they say something hurtful about her he realizes how much she means to him and goes after her, leading sweet makeup sex.

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sex.

Outside the “Vinyl” bar there’s always a bit of a confusion. Not enough to be annoying, but just enough to make the air feel alive. It’s one of those places with slightly rusty metal chairs and wobbly round tables, but the coffee is good and there’s always music drifting from some window, probably from the recording studio next door. I sit here almost every afternoon, walking over from my house just a few minutes away, always with a book in hand and a tea that gets lukewarm too quickly. I like the way the hum of voices blends with the pages. It’s my space between two worlds: the real one that slips past me, and the imaginary one I truly inhabit.

One day, as I’m deep in my reading, a loud, infectious laugh breaks the rhythm. I glance up for just a second, curious, and I see him. Jeans, worn-out boots, and a white tank top. He’s drinking a beer, laughing with three other guys in front of the studio door. I don’t think he noticed me. But I’m wrong.

The next day he’s there again. And the day after that too. He pretends not to see me, but now and then I hear him speak louder, as if he wants me to hear. Once, he throws a quick glance my way as he opens yet another beer. Another time he gives me a mock-salute. I ignore him. Or at least, I pretend to.

A week later, he sits down at my table, unexpectedly.

“Is that book any good?” he asks, nodding at the worn cover.

“I don’t think it’s your kind of thing” I reply without looking up.

He laughs. “Morrison, right?”

“Yes. You know him?” I ask, glancing up slightly.

“Just the name. You seem to know more than I do” he says with a smile.

“Definitely” I say with a sarcastic tone.

“Hit and sunk.”

I want him to leave. But he doesn’t. And from that moment on, he starts showing up more and more often.

One day he introduces himself. “James” he says. His gaze is bold, unashamed, but with a strange kind of curiosity I didn’t expect from someone like him, especially toward someone like me.

I'm the girl who wears oversized sweaters even in May, hair thrown up carelessly, makeup reserved only for special occasions. The kind who gets lost in the pages of a book and relaxes listening to jazz, letting her mind drift far away, into quieter worlds.

He, on the other hand, is the complete opposite.

James is noise, swagger, crude jokes, metal music, and rivers of alcohol that never seem to affect him.

He says stupid things, like: “Do you read all those books because reality sucks?”

“No, I read them so I don’t have to listen to people like you” I reply with an ironic smile.

And he laughs. Always.

But it’s not annoying, after all. It’s… surprising.

He’s kinder than he wants to appear. And much smarter than he lets on. And even if I don’t realize it right away, I start to wait for him, somehow between a cold tea and a joke something begins.

In those brief moments that are just ours, there’s a connection I can’t quite explain. A shared glance, a few words, fragments of experience… and I begin to feel at home.

Sometimes, I accept a beer from him, even if I sip it slowly, more for the closeness than the thirst.

Other times, I let myself get carried away by one of the melodies he improvises on his guitar before heading into the studio. I close my eyes and let the sound take me somewhere else, listening to those notes that seem to come straight from his heart.

Over time, without even realizing it, our bodies start to seek each other out.

Hands brushing, knees touching under the table during pauses.

Once, as I’m reading with my head down, he gently moves a strand of hair from my face. He stays there, still, watching me in silence.

Then, inevitably, his band mates start to notice.

“Hey, Het, did your little girlfriend find a new novel to ignore you with today?” one of them shouts.

“Be honest, you only like her because she has no idea who you really are, uh?”

At first, James laughs. We both do.

I think it’s just an innocent joke.

But as the days go by, something shifts.

James starts to pull away, as if he feels the need to choose between me and the world that defines him.

I see him drinking beer after beer like it’s water, throwing himself into arguments and laughter with the others, while I stay there next to him, but feeling more and more distant.

And in those moments, I realize that maybe, no matter how real this thing between us might be, it only takes a little—a misplaced laugh, a careless comment—for him to slip away from me.

That day, I’m outside the bar again, but he doesn’t sit with me. He’s with them, nearby. I’m reading, or at least trying to.

Then I hear one of the guys say, laughing,

“I think you’re only into her because she plays hard to get. Otherwise, you’d be bored already like with all the others.”

“Yeah, exactly… I mean, someone who dresses like that without showing even a bit of skin? I doubt she’s much of a sight naked,” adds another, leaning against the wall.

And I see James laugh, really laugh, without saying a word.

In that moment, something breaks.

I close the book.

Leave the tea half-finished, and walk away. Fast.

I need space, distance from that voice, from that laugh that wedges itself between my ribs like a splinter.

I feel stupid for believing, even for a second, that he was different. That he could actually see me.

I get back to my apartment, shut the door behind me, and the silence hits hard.

Normally, I like it. But not today.

Today, it’s too much.

I sink onto the couch, dazed.

More than just disappointed, I feel insecure.

I’ve spent years learning to accept my body, learning to love myself. And that comment, said so casually, with that tone, it cuts deeper than I ever imagined.

While I’m lost in thought, there’s a knock at the door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I don’t move.

Then I hear his voice, muffled but unmistakable.

“Open up.”

I wrap my arms around myself.

“I know you’re in there… please.”

I open the door.

James is there, hands in his pockets, his expression anxious.

“I messed up.”

I say nothing.

He looks me in the eyes. This time, he’s not laughing. “When they said those things… you heard, didn’t you?”

I nod.

He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair.

“Shit… I shouldn’t have laughed. I'm an idiot. And… I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks slightly. I can feel how hard it is for him to admit he was wrong, to take responsibility.

I can hear it in the way his voice wavers.

“Maybe they’re right,” I say quietly. “Maybe I’m not your type. Maybe you just like the idea of chasing a girl who doesn’t belong to your world.” As I speak, without meaning to, I hug myself tighter, feeling small, vulnerable.

“No, Y/N, listen, those guys are just drunk kids who don’t know what they’re saying… I like you. Fuck, I really like you. But I'm not able to show it to you enough. It’s just.. you intrigue me. You make me want to know you, really know you.”

"I really like you too James..." I confess.

There’s tension between us, and in that moment I realize how deeply I’m drawn to him.

Without thinking, I step back and invite him in.

He doesn’t say anything as I close the door. Neither do I.

I look into his eyes and see he’s trying to figure out if he can touch me, if I’ll let him.

With my gaze and the way I move closer to his chest, I show him he can.

And I let him hold me.

The first kiss is slow. Hesitant. But also full of relief.

I taste the beer on his lips and feel the warmth of his mouth ignite something in me.

Then his hands begin to touch me gently, like he wants to explore me, to memorize every detail. His movements are different from what I expected. Less confident, more careful. He touches me like he’s afraid of breaking me.

We move toward the bedroom.

We lie down on my bed, and for a moment we just stay there, our bodies intertwined.

His eyes locked on mine.

“If you don’t want to…” he begins.

I interrupt him with a kiss.

His hands move over me as he slowly undresses me.

He pulls off my sweater, then the thin silk shirt that slides off effortlessly. He kisses my neck, my shoulders, my hands.

I’m left in just my bra, heart racing.

A flicker of insecurity rises as he gazes at me in silence. It’s a deep look, intense, but also incredibly gentle. There’s no judgment. Only admiration.

I feel myself blush. And yet… I feel more desired than I ever have before.

A little later, I find myself lying on my back, with him above me, kissing my breasts gently after removing my bra, alternating between soft lips and playful little bites that send shivers through me. I smile. He smiles. Then he slowly moves down toward my navel, kissing my abdomen with gestures full of care, almost reverence.

But when his hands reach the button of my jeans, something inside me tightens. My breath catches. A wave of anxiety rises suddenly and without warning. He notices right away.

“Should I stop?” he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“No… it’s just…” I lower my eyes, searching for the words. “Nothing, it’s my problem.”

He looks at me seriously, his eyes scanning mine.

“Relax… I can feel how tense you are.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that… sometimes I don’t feel comfortable in my body and…” I don’t finish the sentence.

James looks at me with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs. He doesn’t just hear me, he sees me.

“You don’t have to feel that way with me” he says softly. “And for what it’s worth… you’re beautiful.”

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. I try to let go, to trust him.

He starts moving gently again. He undoes my jeans and slowly slides them down my legs. I try not to think. Not to ask myself if he likes me, if he expected something different, if I'm up to the level of the other women he's had. I just try to feel. His hands, his breathing, his voice. After taking off my panties and undressing completely, he approaches my heat with his mouth, he gives me one last look as if to ask without speaking: can I?

I answer him with a nod, my body tensing, my breathing becoming short. And he sinks his mouth where my desire beats strongest. I feel his hot breath against my skin, his moustache then his lips, his delicate and attentive tongue moving along my wet folds with a devotion that makes me tremble. I close my eyes and let myself go. I don't think about anything anymore. There is nothing else but him, here, now.

His lips move with a mastery that takes my breath away. Every touch of his tongue is precise, conscious, as if he already knows every corner of my body. As if he had studied me in dreams. I feel a wave of pleasure run through my back, warm, liquid, deep. My body tenses, arches slightly against him, as if attracted by a force I can't control. A moan escapes my lips, spontaneous, impossible to hold back. My hands close on the sheets, I squeeze the fabric as if it could anchor me to reality, but it's all too intense. Too beautiful.

Then, without even realizing it, my fingers abandon the sheets and go looking for him. They intertwine in his short hair, my nails barely touching the nape of his neck, while he continues, tireless. He barely looks up, a smile at the corner of his mouth, his lips wet with me. “Your taste amazing.. so sweet” he murmurs, his voice deep and hoarse, vibrating against my burning skin. Then he goes back down, giving me no respite. His mouth starts moving on my clit again, hungrier, more determined. And when I feel his thick fingers slide inside me, slow, delicate, perfectly in tune with his movements, a shiver runs through me. I bite my lip to keep from screaming, but it’s impossible to contain the sensations. He knows what to do. He knows when to slow down, when to press just a little harder, when to look for that spot that sends me out of control.

I feel the pleasure building, rising like a wave that shows no sign of stopping. My breathing is ragged, my hips moving on their own, following the rhythm of his mouth and fingers. “James…” I whisper, not even knowing if I’m calling or begging, “I want you inside me… please.” The words come out as a broken whisper, but thick with desire. My eyes search his, full of urgency. James rises slightly, his chest brushing mine while his eyes remain fixed on mine, burning. He doesn’t say anything. He reads everything in my body, in my voice, in the way I’m searching for him.

He positions himself between my legs, after quickly putting on the condom, and slowly guides himself with one hand towards my entrance. The first contact makes me moan deeply, and a tremor runs through my body. He teases me, dragging himself along my slick folds before pushing in, inch by inch, stretching me wide. He is big. But my body welcomes him, wants him. There is an initial tension, a held breath, but then… then the sensation of him filling me, completely erases every thought. I cling to his arms, to his shoulders “God.. You're so tight” he whispers with a strangled moan, as if the pleasure were bending him from the inside. He moves with a sweet, almost hypnotic rhythm, letting our bodies adapt to each other. Each thrust is a heat wave that sends me into ecstasy. He bites my lower lip gently, then kisses me, deep and wet, while our moans mix. His hands slide over my hips, squeezing them and I feel completely his, all insecurity disappears.

His thrusts deepen, his warm chest pressing against my breasts as one of his hands finds mine, fingers tightly intertwined. "Look into my eyes... yes like that, good girl" he says between sighs. I get lost in his blue eyes, and in that moment I know he's taking me exactly where I want to go.

I feel the wave building inside me, slow and unstoppable. The pleasure takes me to my throat, to my belly, spreading in every corner of my body like a flame. My breathing becomes irregular, I cling tighter to his hand. "James... my god" I whisper, my voice broken by the pleasure that is growing. And then it happens. My body tenses and I am overwhelmed. It is a silent explosion that makes me tremble, moan, close my eyes as the world disappears for a moment. He feels everything, perceives it, welcomes it. He doesn't stop looking at me, caressing me with his gaze. A moment later his face changes, becomes more tense, crossed by pleasure. He moves a few more moments, deeper, faster. Then he stops, his body rigid against mine, his breath ragged against the skin of my neck. A low moan escapes his throat, as he too abandons himself "Fffuck!!" he exclaims, gritting his teeth as the climax shakes him.

My heart is still racing, as if he hasn’t realized it’s over. He lies down next to me, his chest rising and falling in a broken rhythm, still a prisoner of the wave that swept us away. “I go fucking insane watching you fall apart like that…” he whispers shortly after. His breathing is shallow and his skin is slightly sweaty. A drop slips from his temple, slowly, tracing a shiny line on his jaw. “It’s impossible not to.. you’re surreal” I admit without shame. I can’t stop looking at him. Every detail is perfect, but it’s not just his body: it’s the way he touched me, the way he looked at me. I feel full of him. In my soft legs, in my warm belly, in my heart that can’t slow down. We remain silent, enjoying the sound of our breathing slowly settling, and the heat of our naked bodies entwined under the crumpled sheets.

Then he breaks the silence, his voice hoarse, relaxed: "shit... I have to go back to the studio..." he says, as if he were truly sorry. He looks me in the eyes, serious but sweet. "Will you leave me your number? I want to see you again, maybe outside the bar. And avoid those assholes, they don't even deserve to look at you." I smile, struck by the naturalness with which he says it, I nod smiling. He gets out of bed, slowly, and comes to me for one last kiss. On the forehead. That simple and intimate gesture displaces me more than a thousand words. I remain still as I watch him pick up his shirt and put on his shoes, I accompany him to the door giving him the note on which I wrote my number, he turns one last time, and smiles. I watch him go away. Tall, confident, with slightly golden skin and broad shoulders that seem made to protect, to hug. And as the door closes I can still taste him on my lips, his touch all over me. It's like he's still there, imprinted on my skin.

Hiiiiiii!!

Ok, so I had this idea and I can’t get it out of my head. Like imagine mid-late 90s James with a girl who’s like the complete opposite of him. Loves reading, wears sweaters and dresses, naturally much more quiet, but her being the first girl he like-actually truly does care about and the guys notice it too and kinda tease him for it. With the guys teasing him, he kinda tries to pull away from the reader and act like he doesn’t care as much as he does before his bandmates say something about her that James sees she hears and that just made him go right after her when he saw how hurt she looked and just sweet make up sex.

This is sooo beautiful! Hope you like my idea :)

>>Here's the story<<

bye 💀

Dirty minds at work 👅

Ride

crazy collaboration with @metallicames !! ♛

Description: James buys the motorcycle of his dreams and wants to surprise you…

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, fingering.

Imagine,

You’ve just stepped out of the shower, when you hear the phone ringing. It’s James.

“Honey, come down to the garage, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I’m coming” you reply, curious. You wrap a towel around your chest and head downstairs. You open the door… and there he is. Sitting on a black Harley, with a boyish grin and eyes that burn. The bike is gleaming, massive, like it rolled straight out of a movie, you've always dreamed of a motorbike like this. You stop for a moment, surprised.

“Oh my God… you actually bought it?” You're happy like a little girl.

“Surprise! Come take it for a spin.” He nods for you to climb on. You do. The towel still covers you, but as soon as you settle in front of him on the seat, you realize it’s short. Very short.

You lean back against him, feel the heat of his chest against your bare back, and a half-smile escapes from

your lips. You bend forward to look at the handlebars and the buttons...

"One is the cruise control. The other... with the other you turn on the headlights."

His voice drops. You hear him breathing slowly against your skin. You feel his gaze all over you. You're not doing anything unusual, but you know exactly what he sees: your bare, parted thighs, the curve of your back under the towel, your skin still damp. He moves your hair gently with one hand and kisses your shoulder. A soft, slow kiss. Then another, even lower.

"Are you wearing anything underneath?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

You don't respond. You smile. You let him kiss your neck, let him wrap his arms around you and pull you close to his chest. His hand moves over your stomach, then higher. He touches your breast over the towel with growing passion. Your breathing shifts.

"You're getting distracted from the engine" you whisper with a smile.

"Absolutely.. It’s already way over-revving."

You open the towel. Let it slip off your body. Turn your head slightly towards him. His eyes are already dark, his jaw tight. He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at you, then touches you with more intensity.

He grabs your breast with one hand, holds you steady by your waist with the other. He inhales your scent at your neck, then bites you.

"Have you got any idea how irresistible you are like this?" he whispers. "Do you know what I want to do to you right now?"

You lean forward, placing your hands on the handlebars, arching your back forward. You feel him move behind you, his erection still pressed inside his jeans, firm against the bare skin of your backside.

His hands glide over your thighs, up your back, then down with his fingers tracing along your spine, until he reaches the place where your warmth turns wet and eager. Two fingers find their way between your folds, drawing a soft moan from you at the sensation.

"Already wet, baby, I knew it… such a good girl, just how I want you."

He leans in, urging you forward. He gets up and undresses, throwing his clothes wherever he can. You feel yourself burning with desire, he comes back behind you, his hard cock against your buttocks.

He takes you by the hips and lifts you slightly towards the handlebars, positioning his throbbing girth against your slit that takes him slowly, completely. You both hold your breath at the intoxicating sensation. You feel every vein, every inch sliding inside you deliciously, slowly but firmly. He’s back sitting on the saddle, you are lying in front of him with your body pressed against the fuel tank, while his hands are spreading your ass cheeks, so he can see how he penetrates you, how deep he's buried inside you. He loves watching your bodies come together, hearing the skins clapping sloppily against each other, and you know it.

"You like what you see?" You ask him, your voice altered by pleasure. "Fffuck yeah.. this position is perfect.. you look so fucking hot", his words and the way he says them make you stagger, you feel shaken by pleasure as he moves inside you with a steady rhythm, thrusts strong deep hungry.

His hands are always on your ass cheeks, his fingers digging into your hot and wet flesh, every now and then your clit rubs against the saddle, covered by the towel that is still under your legs. The sensation amplifies your pleasure and you decide to voluntarily push yourself against the saddle moving your hips slightly. You moan, you moan a lot without holding back, you want James to feel how much you like it. He reaches out and grabs your throat with one hand, pulling you forcefully against his body. Your back arches, your hands grip the handlebars and the rhythm of his thrusts increases and so you both moan.

"You're so fucking gorgeous baby.. so pretty while taking my cock so well..."

"J-james... gimme all of i-it.. God" you urge him, you feel close, you grip the handlebars in front of you with all your strength.

"You're soaking wet... come on my cock.." The hand that was squeezing your butt ends up on your hip as you move against his pubis, fucking yourself against him increasing the friction between your burning bodies.

His breaths become growls, yours become ragged. You enjoy it so much that you can't speak, only moan and struggling to let his name out through clenched teeth, until you come with a spasm that shakes you from head to toe. You end up forward against the gas tank of the dazed motorbike, your legs feel weak, shaking but James doesn't seem to stop. He wants to reach orgasm, he needs to fill you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer against him. You turn your head slightly towards him.

"Fill me baby... fill my pussy up..." Your words have the effect you wanted on him. You feel his body tense and with one last push he lets himself go inside you, his hot seed covers your still sensitive walls, you feel him growl against your neck and pant deeply behind you as he squeezes your entire body with his arms.

When it's all over, you stay there, your body still warm, your heart going crazy.

"I didn't think it was this comfortable." you say in an amused tone.

"Yeah... great purchase." he says breathlessly.

-mel & ally

I'll never be normal about his hands

HIS ARMS AND HANDS GOOD LORDY

Forget the arms LOOK AT THAT HAND OH GOD

I need him to show me how to touch myself

Metallica boys celebrating their last Black Album gig

James, Jason and Kirk pouring alcohol on each other

@eet--fuk i thought you might like this Jase video

Love Wes 💓

I need to travel to the past and give Wes another Metallica shirt 🥀

whats a stereotype for your country that you absolutely do. mine is that i unironically go "eh" and apologize a lot and i often drink maple syrup straight

I LOVE these photos.

This is my favorite (look at his hair and arm)

Plant Studios Sausalito, Nov 1995

yikes he looks sooo good in a white tee… and this is one of my favourite haircuts on him ❤️‍🔥

It’s a warm late‑summer afternoon. A lazy golden light filters through the half‑closed windows, casting soft shadows over the still‑rumpled sheets. The air carries the scent of skin and the hush that follows love. He lies on you, his head resting on your chest, his arms draped at his sides as though he’s finally found peace. You can hear him breathe slowly and deeply, each breath washing over you like a gentle, calm wave.

You stroke him tenderly, your fingers sinking into his long, blonde hair—slightly tousled from sweat and passion. It’s soft and wavy; you love touching it, and you know he does too, even if he’d never admit it. To the rest of the world, he seems rough, defiant, even fierce at times. But not with you. With you, he lets go, just like now. It’s his way of showing trust: leaning on you without defenses, surrendering completely.

You feel the weight of his naked body against yours, relaxed, as if he’s melted into you. Your hand glides down his tanned back, caressing him gently, drawing invisible circles with your fingertips. You slide down to the small of his back, then rise slowly. He emits a soft sound, a low murmur, like an animal stretching in drowsy wakefulness. You smile.

Then you begin weaving locks of his hair, slowly and unhurriedly. You do it to calm yourself, yes, but also to soothe him. Because he deserves it. Because you know deep down he has a desperate need to feel loved, caressed, protected—even if he pretends otherwise. Each little plait is a silent act of love. A caress.

You feel him growing calmer, his slow breaths against your chest, and you hold him close, as one holds something precious, fragile—even if he looks like he needs no one. And in that moment, while outside the cicadas are singing and the light grows warmer, you think that nothing could be more perfect than this moment. You and him. Just like this.

Whenever I see James's hair from the early '80s, I can't help but picture this exact scenario.

💚💙🩷💛

a little bit of encouragement to start the day