Vulgar Display Of Power

Don't Tread On Me

a rough james hetfield oneshot

𖤐 a disgruntled james hetfield needs to blow off some steam after a sound mishap on stage. you, the newly promoted—slightly cocky engineer who caused the fuck up, were caught dead in your tracks.

𖤐

content(ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

dubcon...?☻︎ power play, slapping, public humiliation, blowjob, degradation, roughhousing, asshole james and again, ragdoll reader

enjoy:-)

╰─..★.────────────────╯

"What in the fuck was that?!"

An irate voice echos through the halls of the backstage area of the stadium. It was after the show. You knew exactly who that question was for, and the responsibility ripped through you like a machete. A few small mistakes you made as the prime audio engineer—

"Well, where the fuck is she?!"

—led to a livid James Hetfield. Sparing the details, these fuck-ups were definitely not gone unnoticed—by both the crowd, the band, and everyone, you just should've let someone else take over tonight.

The voice grew closer, and everyone around turned to you, knowing who was responsible. Your heartbeat picks up as you feel several pairs of eyes on you, and distant footsteps nearing. Though, you kept yourself together, shooting back a few glares to the company to protect your dignity, trying to remain tall as if you weren't being...for lack of better term, hunted down, at the moment by James Hetfield of Metallica. You loved this job and enjoyed your time working on the tour, and of course, enjoying your time with everyone on it. Though admittedly, you're pretty stubborn with almost everything that you do. Ever since you were promoted to the primary engineer, you've slightly let it get to your head, your coworkers growing more annoyed with you by the minute. You were all family, but like a cousin that needs to be addressed at the family reunion, you were becoming reckless. In your defense, the previous night of drinking and everything that came with it that you did with a handful of other crew and band, lasted until a little after daybreak, but it really caught up to you this time.

You know that you should have let someone else fill in for this show, just like you were wisely advised to, but nooooooo... you insisted everything was fine, and that you were independent, grown, and a professional, that you needed no help or anybody to tell you what you should and should not do; foolishly cocky of you, it must have been the liquor still talking. These words were not just repeated to anyone, but repeated to everyone in the room, including James and Lars. You didn't care for what the drummer had to say, but it was the frontman who clamped down on the suggestion that you should sit this one out. Though, you were fixed on getting the last word in, never liking being told what's good for you.

"I swear to God, when I get my hands on her! Half the show—fucked up!" You all hear, and reassurance from somebody on staff following, telling James that it wasn't that bad, and that they'll communicate with the engineer responsible—you. James shuts them down, saying that he'll handle it. Then finally, his angry voice pairs with his angry person, as he walks into view from around the corner.

Everyone in the room falls quiet, dead as a doorknob, cautiously examining him. James, fresh off the stage, skin and hair still slicked in sweat and pumped with adrenaline—ready to tackle this issue from the root. Your confidence almost diminishes upon seeing him, and hoping that you can slink away before he can catch you. You make the smallest shift in your legs and he instantly snaps his head at you.

Found you!

His jaw clenches, and unclenches, and he starts for you. You instinctively step back but he snatches your arm, towering down at you. Seeing him this amped up, this close, and the anger rightfully directed at you makes you wanna puddle right then and there. "The fuck was that?" His grip was firm, and you're shocked at how he's got you, especially in front of so many people. Your pride gets the best of you as you huff at him, "We can talk this out like adults—" "No. We're past this. I told..." he trails off as he notices you now looking at someone else, seemingly pleading for them to intervene, he responds to this with a slap to your face, grabbing your face afterwards to force you to look at him. "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you." The little audience around gasped and exclaimed amongst themselves; so big of reaction, and yet nobody steps up. You all knew that James wasn't the friendliest at all when upset, and folks definitely expected the worst given how shitty the show's sound went tonight, primarily thanks to you. Your heart drops to your ass out of shock, slight fear and anger. Not to mention the humiliation of being scolded in front of everyone as if you were a little kid. This was a signal for you to also shut your smart mouth, but you refused to take that.

"What in that actual fuck is wrong with you?!" You spat, the sting on your cheek bringing flustering heat through your entire body. "Are you serious right now?!" You try to break from his hold, reaching your free arm to retaliate, but he quickly dodges you and throws his arms around you, holding you captive under him. You're damn near at loss for words. You don't notice that more people rushed into the room to witness what was going on. You were advised not to come in today, and yet you were the one to roll your eyes, brushing everyone's concerns off, and all with a pounding hangover! But damn, nobody wanted to step in to help you? "You don't fucking listen." He furthers, causing you to blush deeper, and you struggle against his large frame. "Get the fuck—!" You fight, you grumble something about how you both could easily discuss this in private. This outburst shocked you to your core, having rarely seen this side of him. Is he drunk? You call him a big baby and child among other things.

He lets you loose, but at an arm's distance for grabbing you back again. He looks around the room smugly, letting out a loud set of laughter, and gesturing to you. Your threats you made to him translated as weightless to him, which made you feel quite small in the moment.

But before you respond again, he suddenly starts to drag you to an open door a few steps down the hall, calling out on the way there, "I'm the child... fuckin' please." And reaches around to land a punishing smack to your ass, making you exclaim loudly out of shock, cursing him out. You hear distant giggles from bystanders, as they seem to be full of relief watching you finally confronted. That right there drove you mad.

You're dragged into the room, and he doesn't bother with shutting the door. It's sort of empty, a few crates, and almost vacant shelves, fluorescent facility lights beaming down on you. You're pushed into the right facing wall, back smacking it without warning, leaving you out of breath. Purposefully done so that everything could be seen by passerbyers and know that it's you. James reaches down, unfastening his belt, face set on you, "On your knees." He orders. You're just dumbfounded, and you stare wide eyed at the frontman, paralyzed. "God, do I need to use this on you?" his hands grasping along his belt. You perk up and shake your head quickly,

although...

Never mind.

"Then get that sweet ass on the ground." He spat, starting for you. You quickly obeyed, sinking to your knees. James grabs you roughly by your hair, hand sliding down your face, slapping you once again on the same cheek, and grabbing your chin, causing you to whimper. "Open." James growls, but before you could protest, he shuts it down by smacking you roughly again, "Open." Tears swell in your eyes and you, now irritated, open your mouth, tongue resting slightly over your lip, and you look up at him obediently.

"That's what I thought."

He peels his pants down, just enough for him to pop right out, stiffened and already ready to go. Hm, wonder when that happened? With little warning, he slides himself in your mouth, taking you by surprise and gagging you immediately. He pulls out, cackling down at you. "Cat got your tongue now, huh?" James moans as he taps himself on your tongue while you attempt to regather yourself, your heart still beating out your chest, you start to move your lips the slightest bit to protest, one last time, but he quickly shoves himself back in, letting out a gutted moan, furrowing his brows down at you.

"Dumb fucking bitch. Yeah, take my cock down your throat." James' large hands cradle your head, his left holding your hair like a leash, and his right on the side of your face, stretched to the back of your neck. He thrusts himself in deep, and slow, triggering your gag reflex, causing tears to roll down your face. Your hands fly up to his hips to try to create some type of barrier, but he overpowers you greatly. You whine around his cock, but it does nothing. Nothing but winding Hetfield up.

"Shut you up reeeal good," he starts lowly, "not much to say now." He takes himself out again, gracing you with oxygen. A trail of slobber connected the both of you, you try to catch your breath and brace yourself again, because you know that he's not going to let up. He moves his hand off your face, and moves it to cup your neck. "You're gonna learn to fuckin' listen today." The singer grimaces, you look up at him with pleading eyes, wanting so badly to beg for mercy. Mainly because your ego was damaged. A feeling of shame growing—shame from this confrontation being witnessed by your peers and many others, shame that you let yourself almost derail the show, and shame that you were oddly enjoying the way James decided to deal with you. Wrong? Sure, you were definitely in the wrong. Were you gonna admit it, had James not roughed you up in front of the goddamn city backstage? Probably, a little, yeah, sure.

"Don't give me that shit. This was lonnng overdue." He chortles, then forcibly opens your jaw again. James suddenly spits directly in your mouth, dribbles getting on the side of your face,

"Picture fuckin' perfect, darlin'." He moans deeply as he shoves himself back in, this time, rocking his hips with a power behind it. Absolutely throatfucking you. You hum around him, allowing him to turn your throat raw; he grunts as if it were a song, carelessly waving the fact that you're starting to choke, and tears are rolling down your face due to the lack of oxygen. He switches his hair holding hand, giving his left arm a break, resting it on your shoulder.

By this point, you had began to see tiny black floaters in your vision, your eyes starting to flutter. James noticeably close, with the way he's biting his lip, huffing, cock twitching in your full mouth. You thought you were going to pass out, until you notice that someone has walked into the room, calling for James. He had a headset on, and was watching the scene unfold briefly before snapping back into the moment. James slows, and you can't tell if he's aggravated or not by the interruption, but he pulls out and turns his head; you cough and try to catch your breath. The guy clears his throat, stealing glances at you while he begins to speak,

"Um, sir, you uhh." He pauses, rubbing his chin awkwardly. The singer gives a sarcastic grin, "Spit it out." He doesn't even acknowledge the situation, acting so nonchalantly that it's just...scary. The man continues, almost flinching at James—fuck is he the one nervous for?—, "You have that interview? The rest of the guys are waiting for you..." He trails off, half-smiling at the frontman. James keeps smiling, his hand loosening on your hair and shrugs, "Be there in a minute man, tell 'em not to start without me." The man nods, stealing one last glance at you before rushing out the room, reaching to close the door, but James stops him.

"Leave it." He orders, turning his head back to you. The man lets go, and leaves.

James chuckled dryly. "Think they're enjoying our little show?" He grabs himself, jerking roughly. You grumble in response, and spit out a "Fuck you, James." His eyes grow dark, smirking down at you, "Mmm, say that again for me..." A suggestion of rhetoric, because he pumps himself back into your mouth immediately, finishing what he was starting to do, "And leave those fucking hands behind your back."

You oblige, and he follows up with a "good girl."

Moments later, James had worked himself back to the finish line, choice words flying out, which honestly furthered your confusing enjoyment. He looked good, the whole exchange that is, his aggression only adding to it all. To speed him up, you assist him by moaning, whimpering around him. "Fuck, bitch," He clams his eyes shut, roughly thrusting into you a few more times before he pulls out of you, jerking himself to his end, telling you to keep your tongue out. He positions your head for you, relieving himself all over you. Your face, your tongue, even your favorite black long-sleeved shirt. You catch your breath for the final time, throat raw and eyes puffy, you fall back on your thighs, and hang your head, trying to keep your composure. James regathered himself, grabbing his belt once again, he seizes the opportunity to get another quip in over you. He folds it in half, pointing it at you, "I'm far from done with you." Before letting out another laugh. You say nothing, your face speaks for you, a blush pulls at your already slightly reddened face and you quickly look away. He approvingly hums, fastening his belt back to him. He walks towards the exit, turning back to you.

"Do as you're told."

You squint your eyes at him, starting up something else to say, but couldn't find the words, considering they were throat fucked right out of you. Seems you've learned your lesson. At least you knew he wouldn't have you fired off the tour.

He leaves the room.

You stay where you are, recollecting yourself, trying to chalk down what just happened, and think about what's to happen next, shivering with both fear and heated curiosity. Then finally, you rise to your feet.

Somebody walks past the door, slowing down to break their neck into the room, eyes finding you, but then quickly continuing down the hallway. It hits you. That was the supposed to be the person to cover you for this night! At this point, all you can do is groan and look at the ceiling.

You were advised, you were warned and you were told.

Guess you got what you deserved!

♓︎𝔞𝔱𝔢

Happy pride month to these two!🏳️‍🌈👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼

are U lot being held hostage ? 🤔

😊

lars ulrich amirite?!🥴

Да he’s soooo hot хаха с его необрезанным пенисом и огромной головой 😳😹

when in doubt, dime that shit out

racists, homophobes, bigots, misogynists, and other idiots.

fuckadiddily do, i put a fucktard spell

on you.

∧＿∧

　 (｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。

⊂/　 /　 ・゜

　しーＪ　　　 °。+ * 。　

　　　　　 .・゜

　　　　　 ゜｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。

　　　　 　ﾟ。　 　｡ﾟ

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

peace be upon you 🪷🖖

we are ⋆˚࿔ ♓︎𝔞𝔱𝔢 & ♌︎𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

two assholes who love writing and all things rock ‘n roll!

feel free to send in your requests. your wish MAY be our command ;-) we don't care of who and definitely not of what, if we don't know 'em hell, we'll figure it out Xx — we ARE the voice of the depraved mentally ill fans!

“So ladies, stand your ground. Just because they’re rockstars doesn’t mean you have to be what they want you to be. Be who you want to be for them.” ‎

- Groupielations 18:18

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •🍓•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Lars’ dick is not vegan Kirk…

that airtime is something serious though, he tryna escape the Floods?????

confession time.....

we actually hate lars ulrich

april fools!!!!!!!!!!!!!🤣🤣🤣🤣 #pikmin4ever

Fight Fire With Fire

a lovely night with kirk hammett | oneshot

𖤐 you challenge metallica's sweetfaced guitarist that his fingers only know what's going on on a fretboard, and nothing further. he proves you very wrong!

𖤐

content(⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

edging, teasing, lightly forced submission (fought and lost).

enjoy!

└───────── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ─────────┘

It was a cool night in January of the mid 80s. Metallica had gained household name traction with their first two studio releases, with another one coming very soon. But, they were still early 20 something, hardheaded guys who loved to rock, drink, party, and all of the above—and their relatively fresh friendship with you never changed. You met them a few years back at the mall where you worked at, a curious pretzel stand employee, they were just another band trying to promote themselves, handing out flyers to their next gig, and even trying to sell some demo tapes to shoppers. One day, on your last (well, only) break of your shift, you decided to walk over there to see what they were all about. The short one with the slight...what sounded like maybe Danish accent, took this as a time to make an advantage on you instead of stick to their script, you counter, calling it "adorable", causing everyone—excluding him—to guffaw.

So on, so forth.

The five of you were cooling down in the band's rented suite. The after the after of the after party. It was prime sleep time, but you all stayed up, talking and laughing.

That's when it happened. You and Kirk got into some sort of banter about wrestlers, who was better, who could you both take down, all just immature talk. See, you always thought of Kirk as a cute, baby faced guy. You weren't in any means not attracted to him, he was actually very attractive to you. However, you thought he was just a big soft, sweet and pretty quirky character, no matter what would come out of his mouth. Innocent to you, almost. It's not like you were with them while on tour, so you don't know what he really gets into while on the road...not that you spent much time thinking about it anyway. You always admired his crazy work on guitar, he can play make that thing jump, very quick reflexes and very quick hands.

"Oh, brother, please. I'd take you down with these eyes shut." You chaff, facing the guitarist. The others just watched and instigated; James, the band's lead singer, made fake wrestling commentary. Kirk, who had just finished the last of his water, was playing around with the bottle, not meeting your eyes as he just laughs. "Wanna put that to the test?" He clears his throat, now looking up at you, sitting confident. The others excitedly 'ooo', knowing exactly what Kirk was suddenly alluding to. You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where this conversation took a turn to,

"Kirk, baby," you chuckle, "if this is an invite to hopping in the ring, then—" you were then cut off by a crude comment from James, admitting under his voice that Kirk "wanted to fuck", but then disguising it with a cough. Your eyes widen, and you look back at him, the thought crossed your mind, and you blush slightly. You quickly regain yourself and grab back your wit. "And I bet you the only work that Kirk does with his fingers is working that fretboard." You giggle, gaining approving laughter and "ouch"es from the band, yet they knew their string playing friend, and they had an idea about how this could end.

Kirk grins at you.

~

Next thing you know, you were in the next-door bedroom that the band had also rented; laid out on the messy bed, clothes everywhere but your bodies.

You, sprawled out, out of breath, and sweating, were powering your way to an intense orgasm, all courtesy to Kirk Hammett. That motherfucker. It took him less than 20 seconds to get you pinned and puddling before him, all with the work of his fingers and his way of words. Playing you right out your clothes. He has you open, your right leg resting backwards, bent at the knee, his hand rested on your thigh to keep it in place; and his other hand on your chest, thumbing with your nipple, ensuring chills are kept sent through your system. Love bites were planted on both of your thighs.

His tongue flicks at your center skillfully, his eyes fluttering up at you with determination behind them. For about 10 minutes now, he has been tip toeing on your orgasm, stopping his movements whenever he saw you fly too close to the sun, rotating on you from his mouth to his fingers. Presently, you were now close again, silently praying he lets off on teasing you this time, growing more and more hangry by the minute.

Slick drools from his lips and down to his chin as he comes up for air, a ravenous look of him, giving you thick families of butterflies in your stomach. "Can't handle it?" He smiles ever so angelically. Tears almost tug at your eyes, you let your head fall on the mattress out of frustration and exhaustion, "Hmm." He murmured, as he waited for you to calm down. Then he started again.

"Kirk...baby..." Words unironically calls back to your earlier banter. You practically squeal as the curly haired guitarist skillfully tongues and sucks at your clit, his eyes never leaving your face, scanning you to watch the product of his work come undone. He softly gives you an "mhm?", kissing your bud, and cheekily smiling, as he knows that he was rightfully proving your expectations wrong. "You like that, huh?" He quietly adds on, chuckling, gripping your thigh with his left hand, and brushing his right thumb over your spot, and he goes in to tongue your slit. "Please—" You started, he shushes you: "Uh-uh, I'm driving." And he keeps at you with his thumb, making you squirm underneath his gentle hold on you. Antsy feelings mixed with pleasure rip through you, causing you to tremor.

"Look at you shaking."

He grins, he knows what you want, but he holds it from you. Dangles it in front of you like a carrot to a bunny rabbit. Your hips start to needlessly grind against his hand, he stops you, removing his hand holding your thigh to plant your hips into the bed. "No." He declares, prompting him to playfully swat your inner thigh, teasingly beaming at you. You move back into begging, which is something you'd never thought you'd do for him of all people. "Kirk, please, g—, you win... you win." You sheepishly cry out, he continues to tease you, moving you slowly and lightly, though even those actions itself tap danced on your edge, given how sensitive you were at this point.

He takes note of your watery eyes, wanting to milk the moment, but he's now got the words he needed to hear. "Wish I had my camera." He snickers, and sits up, leaving you empty again. Without hesitation, he stands on his knees, and grabs your hips, dragging you towards his, he looks down at you, jerking away at his erect; then, he gently slides himself inside of you, vibrating as he does. "Ahhh, fuuuuck, that's it..." He sung out, furrowing his eyebrows. You squeak loudly, clamping your teeth down to keep yourself quiet, and suddenly recalling that you're in this thin-walled hotel room. Kirk moves into you meaningfully, taking his time, appreciating the way your walls hug around him. He gradually grows the strength, and gradually picks up the pace. He lays himself down on your body, gaining access to your lips, and he crashes his against them. Elbows set on both sides of your head.

Kirk separates from your lips, letting you get the words you've been moaning against his lips out, "K— god damn.", and he bites his lip hearing you respond so delightfully to his movements. Dark, round eyes locked into yours, so innocent looking... but filled with so much lust. He admires you and your look of pleasure: mouth agape, eyes weak and dribbled with tears of absolute satisfaction, and eyebrows arching and raising. He quickly found your spot, and was sure of it due to your response. "So beautiful, this is what I do to you?" His soft words sends sonic waves throughout your body, it's like he knows exactly what to say you right now to drive you crazy. Hips snapping against you at a promising pace and strength, God, did you underestimate this here guitarist greatly. Kirk's dark curls hug his face, strands sticking to the sweat accumulated on his skin, and the necklace he wore dragging across your skin along with him.

He plants another warm kiss to your lips, biting yours, and then pulls away; he sits up to throw your leg over his shoulder, hooking it against him. You look up at him with a devil in your eyes, awaiting his next move. He slips back in, resuming his pace, this time slipping his free hand down to your clitoris, rubbing you quickly. Your eyes aim to roll to the back of your head as you lose control of the cursing flying out your mouth.

"Is the pretty girl gonna come for me?"

Kirk teases, moaning along with you. Those words alone broke your dam. You claw at the nearest pillow behind you.

"Let it alllllll out. That's it, honey."

He softly adds, still working you, still dragging into you, he was proud of his accomplishment tonight. You knew were never gonna hear the end of this.

Kirk watched you unfold, his breathing slightly staggered, big eyes filled with big desire, he licks his lips hungrily, ready to chase his own nearing summit next. Kirk pulls out and looks down at his busy hand, slowing down as you calm down, then ultimately tracing his fingers up your thigh, leaving behind a trail. Kirk bends down to kiss, and follow the trail with his tongue, craving your taste once again, and he lets a moan scratch his throat, followed by a dry chuckle. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of you like this." Kirk breathes out, still tauntingly, but now focused as ever.

He works his member a few times with his fist, and lies down next to you, he pushes you to your side, and runs a hand up your body, stopping at your chest to squeeze, you turn your head to find his face, and he meets you again, smiling down at you; no words were needed to be exchanged in this moment as he lifts your top leg again, and slides his cock up and down your slit, him moaning softly. You gasp slightly as he enters you again, and in such a vulnerable position. Your eyes lock as he speeds up, Kirk moving his hand to your neck, though not squeezing, but showing its presence.

"Fuck," he grunts down at you, his thrusts determined and proficient, "God, you feel so good." You didn't think he'd be able to bring you to the edge again, and so easily, and so quickly, but the image before you was just too good to not enjoy. A pale-faced and sweating Kirk, sounds of pleasure and praises falling from his full, pink lips, as he bites them occasionally. His hand quickly falls back down to your rose bud, sloppily playing with you again. Familiar chills run all over your body again, and you unconsciously reach your arm back to grab a hold of Kirk's luscious hair.

The room was circling with song and heat in the air, you didn't care how loud your party was, and clearly not Kirk either; he wasn't afraid to sound his enjoyment, which is something you appreciated greatly, his moans and grunts were music to your ears.

Soon enough, you were dancing on the edge again. Fat and heavy kisses exchanging between you two, coming out for air every other minute and vibrating each-other with your vocal cords. Kirk slightly separates from you, telling you he's close, you breathlessly responding for him to keep going. His fingers seem to not tire at all, as he's locked on finishing you once again. You meet that intimate squeeze feeling in your stomach, you contraction like a balloon, and finally release, his thrusts nor fingers letting up as he talks you through your second powerful orgasm. You then feel him twitch, and he swings his arm back up to your neck as a pole for him to grab on as he grows hangry with his thrusts. He twitches some more, and he shortly follows suit, pulling out slightly, but letting himself accumulate into you that it spills out of you. His staggered breathing remained, moaning growing softer, "Oops." Kirk breathlessly, and jokingly hums. He knew exactly what he was doing with that move.

Kirk's whimpers die down and he falls on his back.

"I told you so." he purrs confidently, breaking the not so silent, silence.

You fully roll over to your back, and all you can give him through your cooldown is a defeated, feign annoyed look, you roll your eyes and weakly push his face away. He warmly laughs before he comes back to plant a lengthy kiss on your lips, then moves a strand of hair from your face, grinning down at you like a goddamn champion.

The quiet moment was suddenly interrupted by a loud bang at the door, and the familiar voice of Cliff. "Fuck, man!" he exclaims in what sounds like pain as if he fell. You hear a couple of other voices shushing him, and a little argument breaks out. You and Kirk knowingly share a look, as it dawns on you two that you've probably been spied on the whole time behind the closed door. You just ain't noticed, of course, being very distracted. Part of you knew this was going to happen and it seems through you and the guitarist's shared laughter, the thought crossed both of your minds.

You'll be sure to recall this moment the next time you see him play. It's always those innocent looking ones.

♓︎𝔞𝔱𝔢