Metallica one shots and headcannons

Knife kink🩸 (Kirk Hammett one shot)

 Warnings: Possessive behavior, knife play, intense romantic interactions.

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The room was dim, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows that flickered across the walls, wrapping us in an intimate cocoon. The quiet was thick, filled with a charged anticipation that made my skin tingle. He entered silently, his presence filling the space even before I saw him. The weight of his gaze settled on me, dark and intense, making my heart pound as he closed the distance between us.

He paused a few feet away, his eyes locked on mine, unblinking, studying me with a quiet possessiveness that sent a shiver down my spine. There was something magnetic about the way he looked at me, like he could see every thought, every hidden feeling, and wanted to claim them all.

In his hand, he held something that caught the candlelight: a slender, gleaming blade. It was small, delicate, yet sharp, beautiful in a way that made me catch my breath. He raised it slowly, letting the light flicker along its edge, his gaze flicking between the knife and my face. There was no fear—only an electrifying thrill that pulsed through me.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, a quiet rumble that broke the silence.

"Yes," I breathed, feeling the word slip out before I'd even thought about it. And it was true. I trusted him more than anyone. I trusted him with every part of me.

He tilted his head, a small, approving smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he lifted the blade to my shoulder, letting the cool metal just barely graze my skin, a whisper of sensation that made me shiver. He moved it down along my collarbone, his touch gentle, deliberate, tracing an invisible path across my skin. My breath hitched as he paused, his eyes holding mine.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his voice filled with something raw, something almost reverent. "The way you look, the way you make me feel... I can't hold back anymore."

The blade continued its journey, trailing down my arm, cool and controlled, a contrast to the warmth that was spreading through me. My pulse raced, every inch of my skin alive under his touch, under the barely-there pressure of the blade as he traced my wrist, following the delicate lines of my veins. He held my gaze, his eyes dark, intense, watching every reaction as if he were memorizing them, savoring the power he had over me.

"You're mine," he whispered, the words more a vow than a declaration, a quiet promise filled with devotion and need. "Every part of you."

"Yes," I managed to reply, my voice barely audible. The blade left my wrist as he set it aside, his hands finding my face, cradling it with a tenderness that took my breath away. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against mine, featherlight at first, then deepening into a kiss that was fierce and unrestrained, as though he were pouring everything he felt into it.

He broke the kiss only to look at me, his hands slipping down to my waist, holding me close. His eyes, usually guarded, were open, intense, reflecting something vulnerable yet unbreakable. "Do you know how long I've wanted this?" he murmured, his hands sliding up my sides, possessive yet gentle, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Yes," I whispered, feeling myself melt into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us.

He pressed his lips to my neck, tracing the line where the blade had been moments ago, as though he were marking me with his kisses. I could feel his breath, warm against my skin, his mouth leaving soft, lingering kisses, each one more reverent than the last. His hands moved with a purpose, exploring, claiming, as if he couldn't get close enough.

"This isn't just a passing thing for me," he murmured against my skin, his voice raw. "You're everything. You know that, don't you?"

The possessiveness in his voice sent a thrill through me, and I nodded, my hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling his strength, his warmth. "I know," I replied, my voice barely more than a breath.

He smiled against my skin, a satisfied, almost feral expression that made my pulse race. "Good," he said softly, his voice laced with promise. He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his hands resting on either side of my face, his thumbs brushing softly along my cheeks. "Because I don't plan on letting you go. Not ever."

The intensity of his gaze held me captive, and I felt a shiver of excitement, knowing that he meant every word. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was all-consuming, passionate, filled with a fierce devotion that left me breathless. His hands roamed, exploring every inch of me with a reverent possessiveness, as though he were imprinting himself into my very skin.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered, his voice husky as he brushed a thumb along my jaw. "Do you feel how much you mean to me?"

"Yes," I breathed, my heart pounding as I looked up at him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his gaze, the depth of his emotions laid bare. And I realized in that moment that I was exactly where I was meant to be—bound to him, by choice and by love, with no desire to ever break free.