pikminlovers

Latest Posts by pikminlovers

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

Hi!! I have a smut request for my pookie Kirk!!

So I know he’s a Scorpio and I know for a fact they can get jealous and I can just imagine him being jealous. I feel as if he hides it until the last minute

So imagine reader is at the club enjoying their time with the other girlies dancing and drinking and some guy decides to join reader and dance and reader decides it’s harmless fun until Kirk decides it’s time to dip basically dragging reader (who clearly wasn’t ready to go) back home to fuck them til they see stars 🤭🤭🤭

ᴏʜ ʏᴇs ʏᴇs ʏᴇs ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀꜰʟɪᴇs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs 🙂‍↔️ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ ᴜᴘ! ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

𖤐

content(●’◡’●)ﾉ

edging, faceriding, asphyxiation

└───────── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ─────────┘

You loved to go out dancing, and your 'Tallica guitarist lover, Kirk Hammett loved to watch you.

You called up your friends to meet you at a new hot-topic club that popped up early this past summer that you've been wanting to go to. Due to Metallica dropping their newest album, Load, around the time the club opened, you hadn't really made the time to go. Especially given how territorial your boyfriend could sometimes project himself to be, he wouldn't let you go out clubbing alone. It wasn't an issue of trust exactly, he pretty much just wanted you to himself, and wanted to make it known to everyone that you were his.

Finally, late in the year, you all were able to make time to make an appearance at the club!

Kirk's bandmates were also in attendance—though, they were off doing their own thing. Fishing for who they were gonna take hold of for the night like the rockstar dickheads they were at the time.

The song playing was a grooved remix of Dru Hill's In My Bed. Now, this awakened something in you. Something about the beat, something about the lyrics, you didn't know exactly, but you were truly hypnotized.

Your lover had been standing off a little to the side to give you and your friends room to dance, nodding his head along to the music, sipping on something he picked up from the bar.

All was good and peachy, that was, until you found yourself against a body that wasn't Kirk's! It oddly gave you a familiar feeling, so, it didn't quite bother you. You thought it was fine. This, was a problem.

It was dark in the club.

The man was feeling you up from behind, and you subconsciously guide his hands over your body as you sway your hips around, giggling and singing along to the song.

It was your friends you spotted before you spotted Kirk. They went from hyping you up, excitedly, to being wide eyed quickly.

You were then tugged away with a strong hint of aggression backing; you hear hostile words exchanging behind you directed between the man and Kirk.

You couldn't make anything out, thanks to the music being played loudly. Before you could look back to who you were dancing with, Kirk snatches your face to meet his.

Damn.

He suddenly goes in to purposefully make out with you, tongue possessive and sloppy. His hand snakes his way to your ass, giving it a strong squeeze before he separates from your lips, biting the bottom one before he turns you around and ropes his arm around your waist from behind.

You continue to turn your head and look up at him, strobing lights highlight his eyes glaring down into yours.

"Let's go."

He abruptly declares.

You scoff, starting to look around, but Kirk's other arm flies up over your chest, his hand grabbing your chin to keep your vision set on him. Uh-oh!

You huff. "The hell? No way. I'm sorry I didn't realize you weren't—"

"—You wanna rethink that little attitude?" His voice, cutting you off, threateningly low in your ear. The arm roped around your waist tightens a bit.

Your friends watched you get handled by Kirk Hammett, both amused, and wondering if they should step in.

You nervously smile, trying not to signal any red flags. You continue dancing, swinging your hips against him, passing your little confrontation with Kirk off as a nice, cool, and calm conversation—to save yourself the embarrassment of course.

"Stop it. I'm not going!"

You argue back, that last part coming off slightly louder than anticipated.

It seems the guy that you were blindly dancing on moments before had vanished back into the crowd, not that you would've been able to pick him out from the crowd anyway, so there really wasn't anybody you could look for saving you now.

Kirk simply nods—subtle, but feeling challenged, handing his drink off to a random, and suddenly hiking you up over his shoulder. You gasp, feeling the air rush under your dress, you turn red. "Kirk, put me down!" You squeal as he drags you away, planting a sharp smack to your airborne ass, a warning for you to calm down. You grumble, apologetically eyeing your friends, and nosy onlookers as you two exit the club.

𖤐

Here you were, straddled out over his face. Kirk devilishly eating at you from the inside out. He had one hand locking one of your struggling hands to your hip, and his other hand effortlessly stroking himself. His eyes are on your face, as if he were reading right through you; reading your thoughts, reading your emotions, and reading your slight regret from what occurred at the club.

Your hand smacks the headboard and you shudder, pleading with him that he lets you cum for him. Kirk currently was busy doing that thing that drives you crazy; sucking your clit while his tongue crosses his T's and dots his I's.

Chills ran high through your body as Kirk unraveled you. In no time were you drowning him in your slick, biting your lip, eyes shut, trying not to moan out too loudly—it's not that you didn't want to, it's that if he heard you enjoy yourself too much, he'd stop you right in your tracks...yet again. His beard tickles you lightly, along with his lip piercing as his warm lips continue to suck you firmly.

He knew you were close. Though, he wanted you soaked just enough to get you going, just enough to get you ready for him.

Kirk brings his right hand back to you, using both hands to protectively guide your hips to grind on his soft lips. His hands, now thick with pent up jealousy and power, roughly travel up and down your sides, pit stopping at your nipples. His touch, always passionate, but filled with exasperation.

Kirk, in between his actions growls out a bold, "Whose pussy is this?" Eyes still, dead set on you.

You feel like you're walking on eggshells with him when he's like amped up like this, so you quickly respond in submission. "Kir- Ah! Y-yours..." You stutter, heat crawling throughout your body in intense waves.

He surfaces again, "What was that?" Then brings a crisp palm to the side of your ass suddenly, making you chirp. You waste no time in response.

"Your's!"

Kirk frustratingly grunts, suddenly tightening his grip on you, and practically throws you off of him, sending your back bouncing into the mattress. Before you could recollect yourself, you were being grabbed once again, Kirk climbing on top of you, and next slamming into you. You cry out, throwing your hand instinctively to his bronze, sweaty stomach, covering his relatively new tattoo he got last Christmas. He works his way into you, deeper each thrust.

Your hands grasp at his arm, seemingly needing both to hold on as he pounds into you mercilessly, and needing to breathe again. Crying, whining, and moaning only worsen your condition, as you need to keep your breath so you wouldn't pass out. Kirk didn't care, letting all his jealousy fuck you dumb. Written all over his face was a fixed look of concentration, eyes dark and filled with possessiveness.

"You wanna act all unsure all of a sudden?"

He barks down at you, not moving his arm to allow you air to answer.

You shake your head no, attempting to chalk out an apology. Regardless, he wasn't having it. Your vision begins to wash in and out, seeing floaters, you start to hear ringing in your ears.

Kirk eventually lets off his grip once he sees your head start to drop, bringing you back to reality. You regulate your breathing, heart pounding out of your chest. He smirks down at you, digging on the fact that he has complete control over you in every aspect.

He pulls out momentarily to reposition. He grab your legs, folding you back like a lawn chair, giving him best access to you. He moves his body inches above yours and slides back into you, nearly taking your breath again.

"Hmmnh, I don't care who you're with, or what the fuck is happening..." He starts, letting his hips rhythmically smack into you. "I make your decisions for you." Your chest rises and falls with a purpose, you nod your head quickly. Hopefully—in your logic—if you do as he says, he'll let you come. "You understand me?"

"Yes sir...I'm sorry, Kirk!" You obediently squeak out, also with a pang of fear in your stomach that he might choke you to the point of bringing you to the edge of meeting your ancestors again. He looks down at you, not taking your apology too seriously.

"You wanna show out for other guys?"

He hardens his bucks, grunting in between. You don't answer immediately, your mind went numb with pleasure, but you were still trying your best to stay present. You eventually shake your head no.

Kirk doesn't like this response, but he twitches inside of you from his own pleasure. "Huh. You're a greedy, greedy, little thing. Aren't you?"

"F-fuck, please..." You cry, him hitting your spot over and over again with a punishing amount of power, making your bed creak loudly. Your lower stomach squeezed and your walls tightened, but you try to stop yourself because the curly, now short-haired guitarist hasn't allowed you to further on. Your eyes weaken once again, the floaters returning to you as sounds of skin slapping pollute the air.

"Shit..." He grunts out shortly after, eyebrows furrowed, more dominating whispers falling from his lips as he closes in on his gasm. He lets himself go inside of you, moaning deeply, music to your ears.

Kirk was still going, whispering sweet-for-nothings in your ear, licking down to your neck, and leaving behind a love bite, stamping you; almost bringing you to your point of no return. Seemed he was gonna take you there after all.

By this point, you're shaking, eyes squeezed shut, floating in twisted paradise. Only needing a few more seconds of him drilling into you before you follow through with yours. Though, all of a sudden, you were left empty.

Well, technically, full of seed, but empty from Kirk.

Your eyes flutter open in irritation and slight hurt, and you look to the side of the bed where your satisfied lover is now standing, lighting a cigarette, and looking down at you.

He takes a drag of the cigarette and heartily chuckles at you.

What he quipped next is what really stunned you, because then, it clicked, and it all made much more sense to you.

"Go tell James to finish you off."

♓︎𝔞𝔱𝔢

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

when in doubt, dime that shit out

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

confession time.....

we actually hate lars ulrich

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

Lars’ dick is not vegan Kirk…

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

Vulgar Display of Power

a rough phil anselmo short oneshot

𖤐 phil decides to humble you in front of a more than intrigued dimebag darrell 🎸

𖤐

content (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

forced submission; rough, degradation, slight dacryphillia, implied spanking, voyeurism. in short, ragdoll reader!

└──────── ⋆⋅𖤐⋅⋆ ────────┘

"Goddamn, dude. Fucking look at her."

You hear the gruff voice of your lovely and brooding Phil Anselmo growl out above you. All you could hear was echoes and rings by this point. Vision tainted through teary eyes, smudged mascara stains both your face, and the comforter below you. You were currently being absolutely drilled into from behind, laying damn near flat on the hotel bed; with one arm roughly pinned to your back, and your hair tightly wrapped around a large fist, restricting you from even daring to jerk away from him. Drool was pooling from your mouth as your oh-so quivery cries of both pain, and pleasure were bountiful and uncontrolled. Your throat felt raw.

Your lover was indicating how miserable he'd successfully made you look, and all in front of his very intrigued bandmate—Dimebag, who was watching the scene unfold from the couch directly set in front of the bed—your average hotel suite setup. He has a hand down his unzipped, cargo-like shorts, massaging himself; a black baseball cap on, his fluffy curls waterfalls down, and the look on his face tells all.

"Droolin' like a fuckin' mutt, I tell ya." Dime comments with a low grunt following after. His eyes trace the way your body lays out on the bed beneath the focused, sweaty, frontman. The way you're trampolining the mattress due to Phil's strong and steady pace into you, Dime appreciates the crimson bruises on your backside given to you several minutes ago, only worsening with every skin slapping thrust from his bandmate. They just craved to see your ass jump and wear—Phil giving you that nice little "punishment" to warm you up earlier—in which you didn't know which had gotten redder, your face from embarrassment, or your backside. The stinging added more pleasure-pain to your current predicament. They loved to see how pushed your limits were, seeing you cry, hearing you helplessly whimper, seeing how ruined you were all over.

You can't even chalk up a coherent sentence due to all of this stimulation, all you can do is make pathetic little noises. Your relatively smaller frame to Phil's large and threatening one berates you physically, and you know you can't fight against him. Your neck is shooting pain from how tight he's holding your head up; had your head fell, you would have been somewhat hanging off the foot of the bed, showing greatly your tiredness and defeat. Dime's eyes greet yours yet again, and he gives you a smug expression, making you slightly resent the both of the guys more and more for taking you like this.

You feel Phil's hand leave your pinned arm and he pulls out temporarily, letting out whispered and broken curses as he starts to reposition you two. His other hand still tightly held on to your hair. With one hand, he reaches under you to palm your lower stomach and guide your lower half upwards to line up with his hips, rubbing at your clit on the way, sending harsh chills through your body. By this time, you were on your way to your third orgasm of the session. Phil made it a promise to wear you out tonight.

Now in a doggy position, he drags you back further into the center of the bed, and shoves your head down into the mattress, he lets out a very teasing laugh as he lands a smack on your raw backside, making you chirp. "You're giving ole' Dime here a good show..." He groans as he trails his nicely sized package up and down your slit. You say nothing as you pant, trying to calm your breath down to speed. All you hear is a distant chuckle from a more than pleasured Dimebag, then a sharp smack to your ass breaks the air, your whimper loudly following. "So fucking pathetic. You see this shit?" Phil chortles, squeezing one of your cheeks, "Shut the fuck up." he lets go of your hair and his hand meets his other at your hip.

"Nah, dude. Rev her up. Let me hear her." Dime persists, his free hand reaching to his half drunken beer on the table beside him, then proceeding to take a swig. With this, Phil snakes his hand through your legs to your soaked center once again, and rubs your swollen valley. This action is just the thing you need to ride you to number four, making you purr against the comforter like a tigress in heat. He concentrates on your bud as he speeds it up, you feel more of your own slick painting your inner thighs and drooling onto the bed, Phil talking you through it, spewing curses like a mad man.

"Thaaaaat's it. Yeah, you fucking like that shit don't you?"

He draws uneven circles with heavy, coarse fingers, and you ache and quiver with absolute pleasure, anticipating your next comedown. Moans slipping your vocal chords as your teeth are clamped against eachother.

"Goddamn, that's what I like to hear." Dime grunts, enjoying every last second of this. You hear him mention something about how he regrets leaving his camera on the tour bus. "Can't wait to put that pretty little mouth to good use." He muttered brashly. Nervous butterflies overtake you atop of shameful anticipation.

You feel Phil's other hand cup at your ass again, spreading you apart, he spits at your slit and continues to violate you, chuckling once again. "That's it, bitch. Fuck, 'love seeing you like this." The words rush to your core, you know this is wrong, but you just can't seem to help yourself. This is the first time that phil has gotten you humbled like this, and this is the first and only time that he has done you like this for an audience; not like you're completely opposed to it anyway, just a little humiliated to say the least. "Gonna fuck you dumb."

Your thoughts and slow burning pleasure were then again interrupted by Phil suddenly stopping his motions, hand grabbing at your waist, and the other pumping himself, then guiding back to your entrance. You brace yourself as he breathlessly sighs his way back into you. You bite the comforter as he mercilessly fucks his way back into a punishing pace with no warning. His animalistic grunts filling up the room clashing with your helpless songs of pleasure. Hands hold onto your waist, easily crashing you back into him, good and hard.

You challengingly try to pull yourself away a little bit, catching him off guard at first, to which is almost immediately shut down by Phil dragging you right back to him; his hands now firmly set in place on your hips, practically digging into you. He doesn't stop, or seem to slow down. His commanding tone shakes you, "Where you goin'? You stay right fucking here." and lands you another crisp smack to your ass. You're left powerless, and flustered all over, and you quickly feel yourself nearing your next summit.

Shame is farrrrrrrr out the window, and the night is farrrrrrrr from over.

♓︎𝔞𝔱𝔢☙

man we've got shit like TUBI now 🙏 LET 'ER RIP

are U lot being held hostage ? 🤔

😊

lars ulrich amirite?!🥴

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

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

lar looks so cute hehe :3

I wish these guys were real

WHEN I SAY LARS, YOU SAY DRUMMER OF THE CENTURY

🗣️LARS