Pees - Blog Posts

sources: @BopyBopss on Twitter (l&r panels), @eggstereggs (middle)

whats up hoes it is currently Bakura Loving Hours on jah

someome gifted me oil paints so u Know i had 2 test em out anyway meet astroskull they are Orang!!!!

still kinda figuring out how to draw robos but uhm 👁👁👉👈 robosona anyone

The Devil in Angel's Clothing.

heads up, smutty ass Jameson fic about James getting caught in some girly lingerie...

NSFW WARNING

oh yah, for reference, these are the lingerie referenced!.

Everyone has their skeletons. Some are more visible, more malleable, and more sinister than others. For rockstars, that’s just an immediate consequence of a title. James Hetfield of California’s beloved Metallica has always seemed so powerful, so raw and masculine that it didn’t matter what he did. What mattered was the respect you gave and the bullshit you had to put up with. That, at least, was the mindset of newly declared bassist, Jason Newsted. 

Newsted was still fresh, still a picture-perfect boyish freak with big dreams and an even bigger smile. It didn’t matter how many nasty words, pranks, cold shoulders, and even complete disregard were thrown his way. He is a determined man, and that man wanted to be a part of the band that changed his life in more ways than one. Even if it came with its pros and cons… more cons than pros. 

The Damaged Justice tour of ‘88 was an ‘experience’, he’d put it. He was met with an assortment of challenges, a variety of rewards, and all-around enjoyment. But his stage presence didn’t end at the end of the show. Hell, it starts as soon as he wakes up in his hotel room to an intense array of banging on his door, yanking him free from his alcohol-induced rest. 

“Newsted, open the fuckin’ door!” The first voice was the Danish demon himself, Lars Ulrich. Of course. Professional drummer, but full-time pain in the ass. 

“C’mon, dammit, have some fun with us! Don’t hide away in here!” Even if he wasn’t always kind, Kirk Hammett had the least malicious intentions. Or at least, Jason liked to think so. 

It wasn’t really until he heard the voice of brash vocalist, James Hetfield, that he felt a surge of dread. Along with a scratching sound, almost as if a card were being jabbed between the door itself and the lock, a malicious chuckle pierced the silence. 

“You should’ve opened the door, Jase.” 

Jason could barely open his eyes when he saw the three blurry figures rushing him. The extent they’d go to torment him was almost admirable. The creativity behind the desire to annoy, to dominate an imaginary claim was passionate. A passion that Jason wished was present when he approached them with his ideas. He felt rough hands on his shoulders, pinning him back against the tough mattress of his hotel bed. If there were a word that combined groggy, disoriented, exhausted, and annoyed, it’d be the perfect description for the bassist. The smell of alcohol on bad breath, the heat of new bodies in the room, the wild shrill laughter and commotion plus the pair of piercing eyes that stared down at him, was overwhelming to his barely functioning senses. 

“Should’ve opened the door, pansy! Did you really think a cheap hotel lock was gonna save your ass? Fuckin’ idiot.” James grinned down at him, malice, enjoyment, and a mixture of a

certain thrill danced across his facial features. There was something about that glimpse in his eyes, a gleam that implied there were more feelings that Jason couldn’t quite read. There was something almost attractive about James’ weird ability to simply overpower. Jason would probably admire him just a little if he wasn’t on the receiving end of his aggression. 

A wolfish grin paired with a rough voice distracted him from the truly degrading chaos occurring in his hotel, dragging his consciousness through the mud and hanging him up to dry. He felt every drop of alcohol leave his system, feeling painfully sober as he realized his environment. 

Trashed, tattered, ruined beyond belief. An extra fee on his tab. Well, besides the absurd amount of room service, the guys ordered him the night before. 

“Wh-... what the fuck is this, you guys?” the bassist groggily asked, earning a sadistic chuckle from his bandmates. 

He brought himself up, stiffly shuffling to sit against the headboard of his bed, his feet kicking slightly against the sheets. He deeply inhaled through his nose, bringing a hand to his forehead as he tried to take in the new environment. However, the three grins and fixated gaze on him made it even harder to adjust and acknowledge the severity of the damage. Especially when James gestured for Lars and Kirk. 

Wrapped up in his sheets, tangled in fabric, the three men began to flip his mattress, leaving his body to fall off the side, dangerously close to hitting his head on the corner of the nightstand. Immediately curled in a ball, the mattress came crashing down, leaning against the wall. Ironically, Jason felt safer in this complementary cave than outside the hotel room with the boys. He took a moment to catch his breath, his mind running in all directions yet backward at the same time. For a moment, he couldn’t make out the sounds of the retreating men, but one sour note rang clear in his ear. 

“Yeah, welcome to Metallica, faggot.” 

And then the door slammed shut. 

Five words rang in Jason’s ears, even if it’s been about an hour and a half later at this point. Unfortunately, Jason’s morality told him to clean up the best he could, and that’s what he spent that hour and a half doing. Thinking, cleaning, pissing, seething. He wasn’t a violent guy, but part of him wanted to storm into Hetfield’s hotel room and at least give him a good right hook. He knows better, though. He knows better. He thinks he knows better. He does know that James is probably drunk right now, knee-deep in groupies, lounging in fame, relishing in his actions. Not a lick of guilt in the world. Just pride. Pride and an ever-growing ego locked away behind all those muscles. An ego that ditched his humanity for an almost god-like status. 

And before he knew it, he was halfway down the hall. 

There was something about the way James had called him a ‘faggot’. It made him angry, but not because of its implications. No, it was the way that his one word made him feel lesser, subhuman. James spat venom at him with every chance he could get but it was always somehow linked to Jason’s status as a man or his sexuality. Petty shit like that never really bothered him, it just reminded him of his bandmates’ mental age and lack of maturity. James had meant every word he said to the bassist, all possessing some cryptic hidden message. Newsted’s hand rested on the doorknob feeling the cold metal underneath his palm. If his brow furrowed any further, he felt like his veins would pop. His jaw tight, teeth grinding against enamel, he raised his hand to knock. 

But he stopped. He stopped at the sound of shuffling feet. Through the crack of the door, he could smell something sweet. Like… bubblegum sweet. There was faint music, it sounded melodic, almost romantic. A complete contrast from James’ entire persona and behaviors. His eyebrows furrowed as he pressed his ear closer, squeezing his eyes shut as he listened to the darling music, almost feeling like he was at his high school prom again. 

My Special Angel by The Vogues. 

Jason’s stomach flipped at the song, his eyebrows furrowing as he wondered what James would be doing listening to a song like that. Before he knew it, his hand was twisting the knob ever so slowly, silently pushing open the silent door. He stuck in his head, his eyes settling on the flickering flames of candles, sickeningly sweet like honey. The bathroom door was open, a light leeching into the dimness of the hotel room. James’ shadow loomed on the wall, tall and broad. However, there was something about his shadow. 

He could make out the motion of his arms, running over himself, tugging fabric onto the skin. He could hear the silkiness of the fabric against James’ skin. James’ hands traced up his leg, a gentle grunt of frustration escaping the larger man’s mouth. Rustling of paper and cardboard could be heard, the sound of the material hitting the floor barely muffled by the music. Jason cursed himself for being this nosy, almost forgetting the original motivation. 

He slowly stuck more of his head into the doorway, furrowing his brow at the thought of what James could be possibly up to. He hadn’t a clue why the larger man wasn’t blacked-out drunk and collapsed on his hotel bed. Instead, he seemed rather sober and aware. Almost precise with his movements. He moved with such grace and satisfaction, that Jason felt like he was watching a piece of art from the door. Swallowing nerves, he stepped further into the room, half his body now stepping into the tempting abyss. 

Hands delicately dressed James as if he were made of porcelain, pulling the fabric up his body once he stepped into the article of unknown clothing. Jason listened as James huffed with slight frustration, snapping himself into whatever finery he so carefully maneuvered. His hands reached back, leaning his head forward to adjust himself from behind. He pulled on the bottom of

the piece before pulling at the straps, setting himself nicely in the fabric. A huff of satisfaction pushed past his lips as he slid into the final piece of attire. 

Jason felt his heart begin to pound as James finished getting dressed, turning off the bathroom light, and stepping into his hotel room. His grayish-blue hues almost bulged out of his head at the sight before him, his lips parting silently as the oxygen in his lungs hitched into a silence.  

James. James Hetfield. Was running his hand through his brushed and soft blonde hair, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes fluttering closed as his other hand ran down his side, letting out a sigh of satisfaction at the silky pink lingerie set. What shocked him the most was how well it fit him, almost like it was made for his broad body. 

Something about the material didn’t make him feel as big and broad anymore. It almost… pampered him. Hugging his frame, squeezing and pushing his features into a feminine image that threatened to betray the raging masculinity in James’ heart. Jason burnt each piece of clothing to his brain; A pink floral body suit with a cleavage cut that made Jason’s head spin, a silky thin robe of the same color yet translucent material, these high stockings that meshed well with his skin tone, tight and emphasising the fat of James’ thigh when his skin met the welt of the stocking. And finally, his favorite piece, those velvety pink, floral laced, tight and fitting panties. Jesus fucking Christ, the bassist wondered if he were dying and this was some sort of alcohol-poisoning hallucination he was having.  

He stared closer at the side of James’ face. He looked so clean, so taken care of. So fragile and perfect. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he glanced down at himself, running his hands over his hips and waist again. Jason didn’t remember James having anything close to a fitted form like this, curved and sightly. Even with his stubble of a mustache, he looked so suddenly feminine.

His lips were stained with something that made them look pinker, more flush, and plump. The bassist licked his own instinctively, especially as he watched James flow over to the record player, tilting his head and clicking his tongue at the next song playing. Unamused- or, well, turned off by the song, he switches the record, the scratch of the needle causing Jason to jump. 

The big move occurs, and James bends over to dig through his suitcase. Not at the knees, no, he arches down to rummage through, a deep sigh escaping him as he does so. 

Jason’s breath finally gives in, roughly pushing past his lips in desperation, rudely revealing his position, startling the beautiful piece of artwork in front of him. He watched as James stood straight, body tense with fear and shock. His piercing blue eyes fixated on Jason, who was now fully in the room, standing in front of the door with wide eyes. 

Jason stared in terror. Well, horrified by getting caught. Especially when it hits him that his jeans weren’t this tight before he came in. 

Before he could speak, Hetfield beat him to it. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?!” The blonde yelled, yet not too loud.

He and Newsted both knew why. 

The bassist struggled to find the words, his eyes stinging from how hard he was staring at his bandmate. He raised his hands in surrender, submitting before the demand to stand down was made. 

“I-I’m so sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to barge in. I just… I, uh… fuck, I’m sorry-” 

James was mortified. It was as if all the anger in his body was replaced with an unfamiliar yet familiar sense of fear and embarrassment. He swallowed, his hands frozen and his eyes narrowing with rage. He breathes in and out through his nose, heavy and angry like a bull. However, he couldn’t move. His hands were clutching the record, his thumb rubbing the paper cover. 

For a moment, Jason felt like he was in control. He swallowed, his jaw tensing before he licked his tongue over his lips, glancing at the nightstand next to his bed. The drawer was partially opened, ominous and promising some sort of erotic item in addition to the guitarist’s attire. He slowly took a step forward, a deep breath inflating and deflating his lungs. He chewed his lip as he looked around the hotel room, trying to piece together the actions he should take. 

“Fuck are you doing?” James questioned, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his tone. 

“Nothin’, just…” Jason’s eyes trailed up his body, his eyes softening with a sort of awe. Raking in the sight of his features, he appreciates his toned legs and nice thighs, fleshy and soft torso, strong arms, and beautiful face. His body felt like butter, melting at the flustered gaze in his eyes. It made him feel like he was in charge for once. For once. He moved closer, lowering his hands and fixating his eyes on his, a tense blue-on-blue connection. And before he knew it, he was a few feet away from James, his heart loud in his ears. 

“What the fuck, Newsted? I-... I’m not- this isn’t what it looks like, man.” The blonde attempted to reason, his eyebrows furrowing as he found himself backed up against the dresser, the vinyl slipping out of his hands as he braced himself against the cold wooden furniture. 

‘I’m not gonna tell anyone, man. Why would I do that?” Jason reasoned, feeling as if he were reasoning with a frightened animal. A predatory animal, yes, but still scared. “That’s… that’s a nice shade of pink on you-” 

“Don’t be fucking weird, faggot. Quit staring at me…” James grumbled, his eyebrows in a deep furrow as the bassist crept closer. He snarled, a pang of embarrassment and rage rushing up his spine. He spits another insult, expecting Jason to back off. 

“Stop fucking enjoying this, you queer-” 

“I’m the queer? Last time I checked, I’m not prancing around in women’s clothing.” Jason retorted without thinking, matching James’ urgent tone. 

However, maybe he shouldn’t have said that. That’s what he thought as James pushed himself off the dresser roughly grabbing the bassist by his shoulders and squeezing him tight. A lion with its claws deep in its prey. 

“You better shut your fuckin’ mouth, Newsted. You barge in here, call me a queer, and you enjoy every second of it. You have no business in here, so you should be lucky I don’t pound your little goddamn ass back to Michigan.” 

Jason knew he meant beating the shit out of him, but the words ‘pound your ass’ made his cheeks flush. James was so close, his breath hot on his face. He couldn’t smell the alcohol anymore. Instead… listerine. It was like James was really taking care of himself like a real chick. He let out a noise that sounded too deep to be a squeak, but too aroused to sound like a grunt. Shit, he was hard. His jeans were too tight on his thighs. 

The situation only got worse once James’ eyes trailed down to Jason’s crotch, his eyebrows furrowing with shock and frustration. He didn’t appreciate the churn he got in his stomach, the sudden butterflies in his chest that caused molten heat to pour into his core. 

Both of them were into it. 

“James…” Jason started, his voice barely a mumble. His eyes focused on the other’s lips, admiring the shine of his gloss. He swallowed, his hands moving up slowly, ghosting James’ body. 

“We… um… I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul. But, uh, I think that…” Jason paused, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth as he struggled to find the words. His fingertips grazed the silk of James’ bodysuit, his eyes almost fluttering at the sensation of the clothing material. He felt James tense under his touch, hardening against his palms. He shook his head with reassurance, looking up at the vocalist. 

“We can work something out. If you’re down.” Jason spoke so softly, it almost felt like a spell on James. A breath hesitantly pushed past James’ lips, relaxing underneath his fingers. He didn’t seem so convinced yet, however. 

Newsted smiled, his stupid fuckin’ mug giddy like a kid. He cleared his throat, his fingers gently clutching the fabric in his fingers, massaging the silky bodysuit. He looked up at James’ expression, noticing that his anger was replaced by nervous arousal. 

“It’d be a shame to waste such a pretty set like this, yeah?” 

Neither of them could remember how any of this started. James seemed a little pissy at first, leading to a struggle, leading to bodies crashing onto the soft sheets, leading to Jason's lips littering James’ neck with kisses and hickies. James’ head pressed against the pillow, his hands pressing against the headboard of the bed to ground himself. He wasn't too happy with the prepping part, but he was pretty damn happy when Jason slipped right in and brushed his prostate with accuracy and care. He declared himself the happiest man on Earth through groans and hisses. 

Jason couldn’t fathom how fast his head was spinning, how his body managed to melt into James’ with each feverish roll of his hips. His hands clutched tightly onto James’ thigh, resting the crook of his knee against his shoulder. His eyes stared down at the vocalist, huffing lightly with each movement. 

A newly found fetish was discovered for Jason. The feel of silky panties under his palm as he reached one of his hands to pull them to the side. He licked his tongue over his lips, hungrily glaring down at James’ package tucked away behind the fabric. His hands ran over James’ thigh, nails scratching against the thin stocking. He’s in heaven, for sure. 

James’ moans were literal music to his ears. A sweet melody performed for him and him alone. The blonde’s back arched up against Jason’s body, his eyes squeezed shut as hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. His hair sprawled across the pillow, his head tilting to the side and desperately rubbing against the soft material. He’d attempt to silence himself occasionally, yet gentle whimpers echoed in his throat, betraying his mute efforts. Jason smiled at his stubbornness, but overall he enjoyed this. He enjoyed how it was him pleasing James like this. 

He enjoyed the addicting power he held ever-so-slightly. 

But at the moment, he could give less of a shit about the power. Not when James was moaning so pretty because of him. He felt him squeeze around him, warmly accepting the stretch. His whole body felt hot, James was like a vacuum forever sucking him in with warm promise. He swallowed the spit that built up in his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing as he shifted his hips harder, grinding against him, burrowing deeper. 

“You’re so pretty, James... Pretty angel. Just for me.” Jason grinned at James’ annoyed groan, gritting his teeth as Jason’s free hand rubbed up his stomach, his palm tracing the soft flesh over his lingerie. Suddenly, his palm rubbed up to his chest, cupping and squeezing his pec hungrily. 

Rewardingly, a long moan was drawn out from James, his eyes fluttering open before closing again. Jason leaned forward, playfully humming with amusement as his fingers tilted James’ face towards his. 

“No, no, look at me. Please… Look at me.” Jason pleaded, his voice soft and affectionate. 

“C’mon, James. Open up those eyes.” 

“Fuck- faster… f-fuck me faster, and then maybe.” James gruffly replied, remaining stubborn no matter what the circumstances. He knew what Jason wanted, but he wanted something more than this slow and deep fucking pace. 

Jason scoffed, a grin on his face as he leaned forward, sliding James’ leg off his shoulder as he planted his hands on either side of James’ head. He shook his head, his brunette hair ghosting James’ face. “You’re a tease, Hetfield. A fucking tease.” 

New position, new pace. James couldn’t help the flurry of moans that pushed past his lips, his eyebrows curling with pleasure as his mouth hung open. His hands reached up, cupping Jason’s neck, thumbs on either side of his Adam’s apple. He hissed in pleasure, a rattling groan escaping him. 

“Yeah, y-yeah, fuck. Right there, don’t… Don’t you fucking stop, Newsted.” James croaked, his eyes opening to stare up at the bassist. The bed was creaking, egging them both on. 

Jason’s groans become struggling moans, his eyebrows arching and his mouth gaping open. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, crowding his senses in an enjoyably frantic way. He felt like he was in a goddamn frenzy eyes rolling in its sockets as he continue to pound into James with promise. The bassist felt his hips and back begin to ache, the consequences of fucking so slow for so long. But he couldn’t stop now. Not when his dick was so snug inside of James, not when he was so close, not when he was actually making James feel this good. 

“Sh-shit, I’m gonna cum, James-” The bassist declares, beginning to sit up. Suddenly, Jason was taken off-guard by the sudden shift of movement, James sitting up urgently and propping himself up with one elbow. His hand slithered and grabbed the back of his neck, stopping Jason from sitting up any further and pulling him right back down, pressing their foreheads together regardless of the sticky sweat. 

“No, don’t you stop. Don’t you fucking pull away from me. You better give me every last fucking drop, Newsted. Every last bit of you.” James warned, his eyebrows deeply knitted in a concentrated expression. He could feel the knot in his stomach, threatening to spill over sooner than later. 

Jason nodded his head, supporting James’ neck with both of his hands, pressing himself closer to him as he began to put his all into his pace. He moaned out, his lips ghosting over James’ as the desperate noises of the two men became a seductive symphony, echoing in the room. The bed creaked and groaned, the sound of skin-on-skin becoming louder and desperate as the two men edged closer to finish. 

“My pretty angel, m-my pretty boy. You’re so good, you’re s-so pretty, James.” Jason muttered, moaning against his lips. Desperate wasn’t even the word for his emotions. 

“You mean it?” James found himself muttering a question forced out by the pleasure. His body bucked against Jason, struggling to contain himself. He whined, his eyes rolling back for a moment before glancing back up at Jason. “Say you mean it.” 

Jason instantly nodded his head. “I mean it, I mean it, I-I promise. Please, I mean it.” He smiled through his overwhelming desires, eyes narrowing as he focused on the vocalist’s expression, the blissful pleasure evident on his face. 

James couldn’t even muster a reply, a loud moan escaping him before his breath hitched in his throat, eyes squeezing tight once more. He held him close, pulling him down as his arms wrapped around his neck, tightly embracing him as his body shook with orgasm. He let out a string of moans, each one quieter than the last until he was silent. He felt himself tremble, feeling Jason’s racing heartbeat against him. 

Jason was so blissed out, that he didn’t realize James’ eyes staring up at him. His body shook against James’ as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes heavy as he let out gentle huffs and moans, the aftershock of his orgasm wracking his body. He finally glances down at James, his thumbs gently caressing the sides of his face, lovingly stroking his cheekbones. Naturally, he was an aftercare type of guy, and James looked too pretty to discard right now. He huffed when James tried to jerk away from his touch, smiling at him. 

“Sorry, you’re just… pretty. Too pretty to waste.” Jason muttered, leaning down to get closer to his face. He waited for James to protest, but after a beat of a moment, Jason pressed his lips against James’, sweetly kissing him as a token of gratitude. 

James swallowed, furrowing his eyebrows as he deepened the kiss, his hand cupping Jason’s jawline. His lips tasted like strawberry. Flavored lipgloss. What a goddamn sissy he was. Jason liked it, though. Hell, he loved every second. 

“You know, Jason…” James started, muttering against his lips. His blue eyes stared up at Jason’s a teasing grin on his face. 

“I think this was your best idea yet, Newkid. Should do this again, sometime.” James muttered, gently offering an open situation between them. Complex, yet somewhat symbiotic. He could’ve done so without the low blow, but he is James Hetfield himself, after all. 

Jason pretended to be bothered, sucking his teeth and shaking his head lightly. He couldn’t betray the grin on his face, however. He reached up and ran a hand through James’ blonde locks, appreciating the soft locks underneath his fingers. A blessing like this shouldn’t be wasted, and he wasn’t one to deny a kiss from an angel.

“Sure, James. Sure.”