vxlkyrieee - Tumblr blog

vxlkyrieee · 8 months

Text

𝙱.𝙰.𝚁.𝙴.𝙵.𝙾.𝙾.𝚃

⋆ ★ 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍

" 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚊𝚖, 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗 "

part four of multiple

𝙱.𝙰.𝚁.𝙴.𝙵.𝙾.𝙾.𝚃 • 𝙲.𝙾.𝙽.𝚃.𝙴.𝙽.𝚃.𝚂

⋆ ★ warnings: none

⋆ ★ word count: 5.0k

the contents of this story will not be for everyone. if you aren't comfortable with unethical and/or age-gap relationships, then do not read.

»»———-　story by 30-3am　———-««

Chapter Five - Slipping

10:48, 27th June

Downey, CA

Somehow, James had ended up with a clean house, a girl coming over, and twenty-four cans of coke in the fridge. He had been preparing for her arrival all Saturday, making sure his house was presentable, and that there was food in the cupboards and drinks in the fridge. He wasn’t particularly nervous about her coming around; he was fifty-eight, so there was no need to be nervous but he wanted to make her comfortable. He had an inkling that she was not the one who broke that ashtray and he wanted to help. Anger consumed him at the treatment she was subjected to, an anger he had tried to suppress for many years. In the current situation, however, he supposed his reactions were deserved. If James was younger and a little more stupid, Robert Palmer would have a black eye and a broken arm by now but he had outgrown his irrationality long ago and knew that hostility was not the answer.

More so irrational than his aggression was his infatuation; his interest. He had pushed the idea of Heather from his head many times over, reducing his unconventional thoughts to mere attraction. She was pretty. That wasn’t wrong to think and James did not see her or imagine her in any perverse manner. It was more of an intrigue, a desire to crack her open and understand who she was. It was friendly and normal - he would not jeopardise the relationship because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. It wasn’t worth it. She was only just becoming comfortable, starting to reveal herself through the music and finally starting to look him in the eye when speaking to him. It would be wrong to scare her off, to step on a twig whilst hunting a deer and have its grazing stop, head flicking up and waiting before scampering off in the other direction.

James believed it was his duty, his responsibility to rip her from that house. She had no one else and she looked at him with such joy and admiration that he couldn’t bring himself to leave it alone. Maybe it was self-righteousness, some sanctimonious need to prove himself good, but there was this girl. This girl. A girl who had gripped him by the neck and dragged him through tangles of brambles until he was scratched, bloody and at her mercy. The perpetual sadness in her eyes, the petulant pout and the mirage of innocence had pulled him in like a siren's call and he was trapped within her life. The moment he pulled into her drive, the moment she stepped into his truck, the entrance of his cage locked behind him and she swallowed down the key; he would have to go searching in the depths of her stomach if he wanted to get it back.

In a way, he didn’t want it back. He was content being trapped within her and spending his days filling in the cracks spreading like spiderwebs along her skin. It wasn’t difficult to see how much she valued him. The reluctance to get out of his truck every morning and night, the smiles that had slowly become genuine and the urge to please him at every turn. He noticed. It was hard not to.

Another thing he noticed was the fear that settled and turned stagnant in her mind. The look she had given him when they came home and Rob was on the porch stabbed him and stabbed him until his only urge was to speed out of the driveway and take her far away. How he hated Robert Palmer for giving that sweet girl a reason to be afraid and how dare he blame her for being disobedient instead of him. James wanted to take the fall for her. He would let Robert bruise and break him if it meant she would be safe.

James had watched her shuffle inside, her hands working and working at the straps of her bag, her steps unstable and looking entirely ready to give up on supporting her altogether. He’d seethed with anger when Rob walked over, all welcoming with his arms outstretched and feigning politeness with a toothy grin. The casual manner in which he spoke to James was wearing away at his civility; Robert fucking Palmer was lucky James was not the same man anymore otherwise his jaw would’ve been hanging from its hinges. The only thing that stopped him from aggression was the knowledge that it would only ricochet onto Heather.

James had stayed in that driveway for longer than necessary, wishing that some entity would open the curtains so he could see she wasn’t in danger. Only after a long moral battle between sense and blind heroism did he reverse and head on home. If she did not call, he would call her. And he waited the appropriate amount of time, driving aimlessly, his stomach roiling until he couldn’t stay in the dark anymore. He’d clicked on her name, puffed on his cigar whilst his knee bounced and had to physically prevent an audible sigh of relief when he heard her on the other end.

Then she’d asked him about the superglue that he didn’t have and once she’d gone, he’d scribbled it down onto his shopping list, Diet Coke following it.

He waited patiently for her on the couch, flicking through the Sunday daytime TV that didn’t interest him. He would’ve picked her up but he didn’t think she’d appreciate it given the circumstances. He had not dropped her off Friday night or picked her up Saturday.

Admittedly it was a little lonely, sitting in the house he hadn’t figured out how to decorate yet and not having the music he now associated with her wafting from the shitty speakers, the breeze gliding in through the windows and the muffled sound of her voice as she hums along. It was the only glimpse of her vocal ability she had granted him; he was still trying to get her to sing to him. She hummed so sweetly that it was only fair to assume she sang just as pleasantly.

Three careful knocks. The TV was flicked off, his cigar placed in the ashtray and he wiped his hands on his jeans before he took five long strides from the couch to the front door.

“You alright?” Were the first words that he uttered when he opened it. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, too busy subtly scanning her face for any marks. If he fucking touched her…James was good at controlling his emotions. He was amiable when it was required of him to be amiable, he was calm when years ago he would’ve unleashed his rage upon any unfortunate fucker who dared touch him and most importantly, he was empathetic. Fortunately for Heather, all his empathy was entirely directed at her. Unfortunately for James, the empathy was turning into an amalgamation of anger and a strange protectiveness that he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He stepped aside to let her in, holding the door open and smiling softly.

Over his many years and many relationships, he could tell when a woman was putting in the effort. When they were out to impress. Makeup heavier than usual, hair clean, legs smooth, the prettiest goddamn dress they could find on. She was the spit of that. It was endearing. It was cute. And he hadn’t seen her in a dress that wasn’t her uniform before. It was wrong to look given the circumstances but his body betrayed his sense as his eyes flicked downward as she was walking past. Her legs. Always on display. Always so tempting.

“Are you?” The sweet timbre of her voice entered his ears, bathing him in satisfaction.

She stood in the hallway, her eyes darting around her and trying desperately to stay focused on him. She lingered on the buck head he’d mounted on the wall. “I’m fine, kid.”

“Good.” She flicked her eyes away from the animal, watching as he started walking towards her. The last thing he wanted was for this to be awkward - every single urge he had only kicked him whilst screaming “Make her comfortable.”

“You want a drink, sweetheart.” He stood tall in front of her, his palm pressed to the soft skin of her forearm. “I got you coke.”

She succumbed to eye contact, her gaze flicking from her feet to his. The corner of her lips twitched, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip to stop her from smiling.

“Diet?”

He squeezed her arm, a chuckle passing his lips. Sweet girl.

“Diet,” he consolidated, sending her a wink before letting go of her and making his way into the kitchen. Heather’s footsteps were light behind his, the sound of her shoes against the floor changing as it turned from wood to tile. He pulled the fridge door open, being overwhelmed by a mixture of silver and red cans - there was more in the cupboard that he couldn’t fit in the fridge. He would never forget the look on the cashier's face when he hauled the crates of soda up onto the conveyor belt.

“I’m tryna lose weight, you know?” He’d said to her and once he was out of there, he’d snickered at his own joke, smiling all the way home as he remembered the forced smile on the employee's face.

“You prefer it outta the can or you want a glass?” He shut the fridge, turning around and leaning against his counter.

“I don’t mind. Just in the can will be fine.” Some part of James wanted her to stop pleasing the others around her. She was always so compliant, doing the things she thought her peers wanted her to, and saying things she thought should be said. It had become apparent when he started picking her up, the way she shivered when he had the windows down, the way when he asked her if she was cold, she would vehemently deny it and go so red in the face that she must’ve warmed up by then. He wanted her, more than anything, to just say “Fuck you, James, put the goddamn windows up.”

Instead, she remained silent and compliant, defying her needs and denying her comfort.

“You sure?” He felt like he always had to double-check, to keep asking until she did what she wanted.

“Yeah, I usually drink out the can anyway. Saves washing more dishes.”

“Well, that’s why I got a dishwasher.” The laugh falling from her lips was sickly sweet, her disgustingly American teeth that did not get that perfect without help, on display as she smiled

“I’ll have a glass please.” “Atta girl.”

A small victory but it made him smile all the same as he turned around to reach into the cupboards and procure a glass.

“You didn’t have to buy me coke, you know?” He pours the soda into the glass, tilting it to avoid foam and instinctually crushing the can before throwing it in the trash.

“I wanted you to have something to drink.” He passes the beverage to her before she can protest or say that water was fine and that he didn’t have to go to the trouble. It also saved him from having to tell her that he wanted to go to the trouble, that if he wasn’t willing to help her, he wouldn’t have offered to drive her to work the very first night they met. The night he’d become so enamoured with her it was painful.

She takes it gratefully, sipping on it with a hint of a smile in approval.

“About that ashtray then.”

“Oh, yeah…” She places the glass down on the counter, slipping off a strap of her bag - a bag that was not her usual for work - and rummaging through it. She pulled out the major pieces of ceramic, small bits following it, placed them next to her coke and then pushed her bag back up onto her shoulder. “Like I said I was emptying it and dropped it. I didn’t think it would smash but it all broke into chunks and…you know.”

He couldn’t help the smile at her rambling, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he leaned back and observed, legs crossed over one another.

“I don’t…can you fix it?” She let out an exasperated sigh, almost looking disappointed in herself. James was mildly amused, happy to listen to her speak no matter the situation.

“Don’t worry, kid.” He pushed off the counter, walking towards the pieces of broken ceramic and picking at them. “It won’t be perfect but it’ll still work.”

“I don’t mind.” She said abruptly, eyes flicking between the ashtray and him, hands always playing with something.

He gave her a slight nod before averting his attention back to the broken pieces, picking them up and seeing where each piece fit. Luckily for her, it was salvageable and luckily for him it’d take him him a while if she wanted it at least presentable.

“Give me a minute while I get the glue.” He touched her shoulder as he passed, feeling her eyes fixed on the back of his head as he retreated.

He needed to calm the fuck down. For some reason, he was so unbelievably worked up. It took all his mental stability to not look down at her legs, to not cast his gaze upon her chest, the dress not leaving much to the imagination. He felt gross. His mind kept wandering, thinking, wondering…it made him feel like some dirty old man, no better than some sixty-year-old pervert who spent his days groping and catcalling young girls. Thirty-six years. They were miles apart. They were on opposite ends of life, so far apart from one another that he would have to sail around the world ten times over before it was acceptable. The worst of it all was that she trusted him implicitly. It would rip her apart if she knew half of the unorthodox thoughts he had about her. So, he kept those thoughts to himself, however strong the impulses were.

It was wrong and that was that.

He grabbed the superglue from the dining room table and breathed deeply, frustrated that he had to prepare himself before seeing her again.

Fifty fucking nine in August, he had to remind himself as he returned to her, both hands clutched around her glass and sipping, clearly not sure what to do with herself. It shouldn’t have made him as hot as it did but he swatted away the thoughts intruding his mind and smiled as he approached.

“It won’t take me long to fix.” He passed by her, returning to the shattered pieces of ceramic and throwing the glue down next to it. “It’ll take a while to dry though.”

“How long?” Even her voice was pulling reactions from him and he was almost becoming too frustrated to be nice.

“Usually a day.” He preoccupied himself by picking up his glasses he’d left on the side, opening them up and placing them on his face.

“A whole day?” There was panic in her voice and although he wasn’t looking, he could just imagine how adorable she looked with her wide eyes and shock-parted mouth.

“It’s okay you can leave it overnight and I’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

“How?” He stifled his smile, hunching over the counter and pretending to glaze over the pattern of the cracks.

“When I pick you up, kid.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I can keep walking.”

James allowed himself to look at her, her insistent refusal of his kindness forcing more frustration to cloud his judgment. It wasn’t her fault. She’d caught him on a bad day. His vexations with himself and the lack of progress he’d made with her called for an unpleasant mood. They’d actually gone backwards in concerns to progress. She hadn’t been in his truck for two fucking days and he could no longer smell her perfume that lingered strong and taunting until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Taking a metaphorical deep breath, he stood up straight, shooting her a strained smile.

“I’ll pick you up and drop you off a street down,” he said knowingly, not missing the grateful glint in her eye as she nodded.

“Thank you.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, gaze flicking between her face and her chest, his mental flagellation forcing him from going lower. Heather’s cheeks flushed under his observation, shifting her glass from her left to her right, swaying in her spot as she waited for him to speak.

“You’re welcome, kid.” The words came out unintentionally strained and he turned away from her with a clear of his throat, sighing a little too loudly and forcing himself to start on the ashtray.

James felt her gazing at him, firmly rooted in the same spot she’d stood since she arrived. He couldn’t focus with her there, his thoughts running wild, his body growing hot. He was goddamn frustrated - frustrated with her, with fucking Robert Palmer who had fucked his daughter up so terribly that James’ morality refused to leave her alone and he was frustrated with himself. Because the angel and the devil on his shoulders were fighting with one another, the sinner plaguing his mind with thoughts that slandered his righteousness and the virtuous forcing sense down his throat.

“You can wait in the living room if you want.” He unscrews the cap of the glue, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Watch some TV while you wait.”

“Oh.” Why did one syllable make him feel so guilty? “Okay, thank you.”

James let her go, concerning himself with the first chunk of ashtray, her footfalls dying out as she retreated to the living room.

As soon as she was gone, he dropped everything in his hand, muttering expletives to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose. A tension headache was forming, his whole body aching with the heated debate he’d found himself in the middle of.

He wanted to help. And he couldn’t help if he couldn’t help himself. It was pathetic, really, the lack of control he had. At times, he chalked it down to the divorce, his right hand being his only friend for months and leading to some pent-up sexual frustration that couldn’t be remedied without a woman. It had only been a little over a week. Mere attraction. That was it. He would not pursue anything with the poor girl. She had enough on her plate, she didn’t need some old pervert taking advantage of her sadness, of her vulnerability and dependency. It was wrong. Plain and simple. Wrong.

He forced her out of his mind as he picked up the superglue again and started fixing what Robert Palmer had broken.

11:36

It took him longer to put the ashtray back together than anticipated, figuring out where the pieces went, the glue getting on his fingers, his exasperation and annoyance causing him to stop and take a breath whenever it wasn’t going his way.

But he was finally done, giving the stupid goddamn object the cold shoulder as he settled into a new cigar and sat down on one of the barstools that lined the island.

He hadn’t heard a peep from her the entire time, the sound of the TV muffled by the thick walls. The only reason he could hear it in the first place was because the door was wide open, her refusing to shut it. He supposed he should go and check on her, ask her if she wanted another drink, tell her that he’d fixed it so she should kindly fuck off while she waited for it to dry. Be a gracious host. He knew he was being irrationally abrasive but his mood was particularly off today, a combination of anger, sexual depravation and self-disgust fueling his saturine state.

Years ago, he would’ve settled it with a drink but he didn’t do that anymore. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to do that anymore. Another option he couldn’t pursue was sex. He could try. There was no lack of women out there but none of them appealed. Only one did and unfortunately, it was too inappropriate to even imagine a situation in which it would work.

It would be nice if he was mean enough to fuck her and leave her to the dust but he was not that guy anymore. Even if he was, not even the worst of men would think to leave her. She was fucking perfect.

He placed the cigar in his ashtray, standing up tall and deciding to bite the bullet and engage in small talk until he ushered her out of the house and could feel fresh oxygen enter his lungs once again. The sound of the TV was faint, growing as he got closer to the living room door.

“Hey, kid it’s-.” He stopped when he passed the threshold, eyes landing on her, asleep, on his couch. Soft breaths bordering on snores passed her lips, her head resting uncomfortably on her shoulder, neck at the wrong angle. A few strands of hair were in her eyes, her chest rising and falling with her breaths.

It was not helping his situation. Not one bit.

However, he found himself softening at the sight, his previous irritation dissipating - diffusing into the air and becoming lost.

He tucked his glasses into the neck of his shirt, letting them hang there as he gazed at her. Truthfully, she looked exhausted the moment he’d seen her. No amount of makeup could expel the fatigue etched into her features and he most certainly didn’t study her sleep schedule but he knew as soon as she got home, she went to bed to sleep off her shift. Friday morning he had called her up over an hour after the fact, hoping she wouldn’t answer - for her sake - but she’d picked up the phone, clearly, not asleep. He worried about her, hoping that she at least got a couple of hours.

From her clear weariness, she had not caught up on her sleep. So, he would let her rest. On his couch. Under his…watchful gaze.

The TV was shut off with a press of the remote, her bag moved from under her feet and onto the armchair off to the right. He took her empty glass from the coffee table, smiling at the coaster under it and traipsing into the kitchen to put it in the dishwasher. He hastily made his way back to the living room to make her more comfortable.

There was something so intimate about watching her sleep, seeing her in her most vulnerable state. There had been times in the truck when he thought she had been asleep, only to find out she had been drifting in and out of inertia, still aware of her surroundings but blissfully ignorant as to the happenings. Now, however, as he gazed at her, she was well and truly asleep. And, God if she didn’t look perfect.

When her eyes were shut, there was no sadness to penetrate his soul, making him just as despondent as she. There was no furrow to her brow, no constant state of stress on her face. Just calm. It made him calm too.

With that calm, came clouded judgement, no rectitude to make him believe he was a bad person for even thinking such things. He reached out a hand to her, thumb experimentally hovering over her cheekbone as he brushed her jaw with his palm. She didn’t stir. He seized the opportunity and covered the left side of her face with his hand.

To take her away. To shield her from the world. In this moment, he’d do anything she asked. He’d take her back to Vail if she let him, he’d sedate Robert by handing him a healthy sum, bundle her up into his truck and drive her far away. His stomach was growing hot as he ran his thumb over and over her cheekbone, mesmerised by her sleeping face, enamoured with the softness of her skin - the warmth of her cheek.

He stilled as she unconsciously nuzzled into his palm, her mouth closing and sighing through her nose. With a swallow, he peeled away the hair that covered the right side of her face, brushing it from her eyes and letting it settle behind her ear. She began shifting, her body aware of his touch but her brain unaware. At her movement, he snatched his hand back, breathing out and looking away.

Running his thumb and index finger over his moustache, he stole another look, her body still again and her breaths soft through her nose. She looked so uncomfortable with her neck on her shoulder that the urge to run was overpowered by the desire to make sure she slept well. It must be difficult to get a good night's sleep in that house - always on edge, listening for the sound of the front door, and footsteps on wood.

With hesitation, he leaned down to grab her calves, hands wrapping around the smooth skin and lifting. He checked once to make sure she was still soundly asleep and with the confirmation she would not be waking up, placed her legs down on the couch, her body slanting awkwardly to the side. He took care of that afterwards, arranging the pillows and guiding her head down onto them.

He dusted his hands off once he was done, standing up tall and scanning the room for a blanket. Pinpointing the one on the back of the chair, he plucked it from its resting place and unfolded it, draping it over her.

He stayed hovering over her for a while, watching the rise and fall of her chest, her hair splayed out beneath her and his hand was twitching at his side - wanting and needing. He’d got a taste for what her skin felt like against his palm, her hair beneath his fingers and his body screamed for that sensation back.

It was biting at him, begging him to reach out again, to feel her beneath him.

It didn’t seem so bad when she was asleep. He didn’t have her judgement, her rejection of him and his knuckles were stroking at her temples before he could think twice about his decision.

He was weak and he knew it. In every other aspect, he was secure. He was secure in his life, in his mind. He was figuring all his goddamn shit out but she had been sent to him. Someone had challenged him. She was no longer his vocation, she was an obstacle - an obstacle that he would either jump over without difficulty or would fall into and break his neck. As his knuckles brushed over her skin, her hair tickling him as he skimmed over it, he knew he was already falling into the hurdle. He had jumped too early. He would not land.

“Mhm.” She shifted under his touch, groaning as her eyes fluttered open. His heart hurtled to his throat and stopped beating there, his hand stopping its movement and staying stubbornly against her. “James?”

She grumbled his name sleepily and shame washed through him at the reaction his body granted him. He cleared his throat in an attempt to rid of the discomfort, gazing down at her. She was barely awake, her eyes half-open, disoriented and struggling to stay up.

“Go back to sleep, Angel.”

It seemed a fitting nickname, something he had thought about calling her before but deemed it too personal, too romantic to use on a twenty-two-year-old girl. She was an angel though, and he was fallen. If he continued, he’d drag her down with him. He’d ruin her.

And with a small, muttered “okay” from her, he removed his hand, his skin burning with the feel of her, the softness of her skin branded into him for eternity. She fell back to sleep quickly after his permission and his stomach roiled in mortification. He’d let himself slip. And she’d caught him.

He had no idea if she’d remember the interaction when she woke up, but he hoped, as he exited the living room and closed the door behind him, that she would have no recollection.

He returned to his cigar, letting the familiar taste fill his mouth and calm him just slightly. If he was younger, if she was older, he would’ve fucked her by now. But, alas, she was not. The harsh reality was that it was inappropriate and wildly immoral. He had said to himself when he got the divorce that young girls were off the table. He’d always frowned upon such relationships, an old man freshly free of his “dried up” wife preying on young girls; it disgusted him. And he was doing exactly what he was repulsed by.

After everything she had gone through, everything she had seen, had been subjected to, it was not fair to manipulate her into some strange and unethical relationship that would not work after two months of trying.

But he’d touched her, he’d felt her. Her warmth. Her soft skin. Everything from her head to her toes he was entirely infatuated with. Not only that, but she sang and she played guitar and she had the music taste of an old woman his age but it only added to the attraction. She worked hard, she was beautiful and she was her. Heather. Even her name was pretty. And he was slipping. Someone had poured liquid soap on the floor, lathering it until it was impossible to walk on without falling flat on your face. He had challenged it, thinking that he was better than the contenders before him but was rudely awakened as he slipped and smacked his nose on the ground.

He had slipped and he would continue to.

The devil on his shoulder was overpowering the angel with a harsh thwack to the face, beating it until it was a bloody pulp on the sidewalk.

⋆ ★

A/N: god, this was difficult to write and i'm still not entirely happy with it. writing from james' pov is really hard, especially for a full chapter. but the slow burn is starting to burn.

i promised there'd be some action this chapter. i just appreciate accuracy and you all know james would not jump into a relationship with someone as young as heather straight away.

also, i only went over this once so if there are any typos or sentences that don't make sense, please please don't be afraid to tell me. unless you write you won't understand the absolute mortification upon reading over something you wrote months ago and finding typos. i'd be forever grateful if you sent me what you found :))

alana.

#james hetfield #james hetfield x oc #fic reblog

113 notes · View notes

vxlkyrieee · 9 months

Text

so cute! he’s so shy it’s adorable 🥺

A Week In San Francisco

summary: Where she’s Kirk's younger sister and her parents are on vacation. So, she’s forced to live with her brother and his bandmates for a week.

pairing: Kill 'Em All!James x fem!reader

warnings: none, just kissing, y/n is around 19

word count: 1699

A/N: Actually one of my first requests! hope you enjoy! sorry if there are some mistakes! xo (this was beta read like once or twice idk)

✪

Y/n sighs and drops her baggage to the floor and knocks on the door. She is sweating, but not just because of the heat. Nervousness kicking in as she knocks on the door again.

“Open up, asshole.” She murmurs.

It’s a warm summer night, August of 1983. Nice time for a holiday, right? Well, that’s exactly what her parents thought. Leaving her to live with her brother Kirk and his bandmates for a week. Their first album “Kill ‘Em All” had just come out and they already felt on top of the world.

She’d met them a couple times and even saw one of their shows. They’re fun guys to hang out with, for like a day… And she has to live with them for a week no less. Knowing how messy they can be, she's a bit on edge, certainly not 'cause she thinks they're cute…

“Hey, baby sis!” Kirk opens the door with a wide smile on his face.

“Hey.” She gives him a slight smirk. “Please let me in, I’m dying in this heat.”

"Yeah! Of course!” He lets out a short laugh and grabs her bags, letting her in. With a big, welcoming hug, he squeezes the air out of her lungs, as if the girl wasn't feeling hot enough. “So, how was the trip?” He puts the bags down and guides her to the kitchen.

“It was alright.” She shrugs. “The AC on the bus was terrible, but it was better than nothing.”

Kirk rummages around in the fridge and holds up an ice cold beer bottle. His eyes travel from his sister to the space behind her.

“You want a beer? Oh, hey James!” He grins.

Y/n turns around and smiles at the blonde boy, “Hey James, nice to see you again.”

James doesn’t know where to look and smiles back, blushing tremendously. “Hey! Uh, hey.” He clears his throat. “Good to see you again too, y/n. How uhh-“ he walks to the fridge and grabs a beer himself. “How have you been?” He almost gulps half the bottle down.

“Fine, you?”

“Go-“ James starts.

“Oh! He's great now since you’re here!” Kirk interrupts James. “He hasn’t shut up about you since we last saw you.”

“Dude!” James exclaims.

Y/n opens the beer and takes a sip, eying James down. He does the same and the silence almost turns awkward.

“Ahhh, there she is!” A loud voice beams out. “The cuter-looking Hammett!”

“Lars…” She smiles and puts her beer on the counter before being engulfed with a tight hug from the drummer.

“It’s so nice to finally have you here!” Lars boasts excitedly. “Come on, I’ll show you your room!”

“I can take her!” Kirk frowns and grabs her bags. “I got her bags, see? Besides, she’s my sister. I should give her the tour!” He pouts.

James snatches one of her bags out of Kirk’s hand. “Shut up, Hammett.” He walks down the hall, smirking at Kirk.

Y/n looks at her brother with a questioning look and Kirk just returns a defeated one. “Just…” he sighs. “Follow them.”

“It’s okay.” She giggles. “You’re still my favorite member, big brother.” She kisses his cheek and Kirk groans, over-exaggerating being grossed out.

“Eww! y/n!” He whines.

“Don’t be such a baby!” y/n taunts.

“You two coming?” Lars yells from around the corner of one of the rooms.

“Yeah!” They both answer in unison.

“Me and Lars share rooms and James shares with Cliff.” Kirk explains while they’re walking down the hall.

“Where’s Cliff anyway?” She asks.

They stop at a room where both Lars and James are waiting for them. She peaks her head inside the room and sees Cliff sitting on a mattress on the floor, plucking at his bass and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“Sup, y/n!” Cliff smiles. “Sorry for sitting on your bed here.” He crawls up and flashes her a boyish grin.

Cliff walks up to her and gives her a tight hug, she holds onto him tightly. He smells like smoke and beer, but so does the entire house. She’s not complaining, though.

“My bed? But this is your rehearsal room, right?” She looks around at the guys.

The room is covered in posters and pictures from magazines. From Motörhead, Black Sabbath and Misfits to Led Zeppelin, Diamond Head and Iron Maiden. Lars’s drum-set is in the corner and around the room are some amp’s.

Kirk and James’s guitars against the wall, some torn notes on the floor. Probably forgotten lyrics. She notices a notebook laying on one of the amps, but her attention is also taken away from it as the floor is littered with empty beer cans.

“Yeah, the only spare room we had.” Lars explains.

“We all agreed on giving you some privacy.” James smiles politely as a slight blush creeps on his face again.

“Sorry for not tidying up.” Cliff grabs some cans. “We try to stay civil here.”

“Says you!” James laughs.

“Yeah? Whadda ya gonna do?” Cliff taunts and throws an empty beer can towards James’s head.

James dodges it and laughs while flipping him off. Cliff wiggles his brows and flips him off as well. Y/n chuckles and grins at the scene in front of them. Yeah, she’ll survive them.

“Look, I know it’s not like home…” Kirk walks towards her. “But, this is all we had and we all sleep on mattresses too!”

“It’s fine, man!” She reassures them. “It’s generous enough for you guys to give me my own room!”

“Okay, good!” Kirk smiles and she sees all the boys sighing with relief, almost like a weight fell off their shoulders.

“What? You’d thought I’d get mad?” She smirks.

“Maybe, we could’ve handled you though.” James teases and gives her a playful nudge.

After spending some time around her, James is looking at her with an excited twinkle in his eyes, and his confidence is rising again. He hasn't stopped thinking about her since he last saw her and made a promise not to get nervous or shy. It's time to work on that part because he's already failed it.

“I bet you would.” She tilts her head and shoves him back, laughing while doing it.

“Listen, guys. I’m sorry if you still wanted to jam tonight.” She puts her bags next to the mattress. “But, I would really love to get some sleep. I’m beat.”

“Oh, that’s fine, y/n!” Kirk smiles. “We’ll be out of your hair, goodnight!”

“Goodnight, boys! Thanks again!”

While y/n gets ready for bed and is in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. James is pacing around in his room. He forgot his notepad in the rehearsal room, now temporarily y/n’s room.

“I can’t just walk in now.” He murmurs to himself. “She’ll think I’m a creep, prancing around her stuff or something like that.”

He grunts and starts pulling his hair slightly. “Fuck it.” He decides. “I’ll just wait and knock.”

James walks out of his room as he goes over what to say to her. He’s too deep in his own thoughts and looking at the floor when he bumps into someone.

“Oh, shit!” The voice says.

“Fuck! Sorry, y/n!” James apologizes.

They look into each other’s eyes until both of them start laughing awkwardly. James scratches the back of his neck and clears his throat.

“Uhm, my notepad is still in your room.” He explains. “I didn’t want to just walk in without you knowing.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” She assures. “Go ahead and grab it.”

“Great, thanks.” James nods and smiles back.

Both of them walk into her room and James starts looking for his notebook. “You see, I left it somewhere here.” He motions around with his hands.

“Was it the one with a blue cover?” She asks.

“Yeah? Did you see it?” His face whitens. “Did you read it?”

“I didn’t, don’t worry.” y/n grins. “I saw it when I walked in, it’s on the amp near the drums.”

James looks over at the amp and lets out a relieved sigh. “Awesome, thank you!” He smiles, shoving the notepad in his pocket.

He walks back to the door ready to walk out, but he turns to her before leaving. “We’re uh, going to the… the beach tomorrow.” He says. “Hope you brought a bikini.” He mentally face palms himself and his face reddens.

“Or… or a bathing suit! Just… as we're going to the beach. Just… forget I said that.”

She giggles and walks towards him, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. Biting her bottom slightly and it doesn’t go unnoticed by James.

“Don’t worry, I brought it.” She assures.

“Good…. Good.” He mumbles as his eyes travel down her neck and to the hem of her shirt. “Nice shirt.” He compliments when his eyes linger over the print “Motörhead”.

“Thanks.” She smirks. “Goodnight, James.”

Y/n turns around, but before she can walk away, James grabs her wrist.

“Wait!”

“Yes?” She turns around, the slightest amount of hope in her eyes. Wondering what he still wants from her.

“Goodnight…” he looks down at her lips before looking back up into her eyes. Y/n does the same, biting her own bottom lip again.

“You wanna kiss me, don’t you?” He smirks.

“Maybe, do you want to kiss me too?” She smiles playfully.

“More than anything right now.” He whispers and leans in, kissing her. Carefully at first, but it turns into a slow and passionate kiss. His hands loosely on her hips as he pulls her body closer to his.

“Fuck…” he murmurs in between kisses. “Want you…”

She breaks the kiss and gives him one final peck before shoving him out of her room softly. He looks at her in defeat, his lips are pink and swollen and his blonde hair messy and in front of his needy eyes.

“We got the whole week, baby.” She winks at him and closes the door.

#fic reblog #james hetfield x reader

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