Metallica one shots and headcannons

confession with a scarf🧣(Kirk Hammett one shot)

I stepped into my apartment after the unforgettable night with the guys, the echo of laughter and music still swirling in my head. The warmth of the evening clung to me like a soft blanket, but as I tossed my bag onto the couch, a wave of panic washed over me. My favorite scarf was missing! The one that felt like a cozy hug against my skin, the soft knitted fabric I adored—gone.

Just as worry began to take hold, a familiar knock broke the silence. I opened the door to find Kirk standing there, the soft glow of the hallway light illuminating his features. My heart skipped a beat. He looked like a scene from a painting, with his tousled hair and that gentle smile that always made me feel at ease. In his hand, he held my scarf, its vibrant colors contrasting beautifully with his dark jacket.

"Hey," he said, a hint of shyness coloring his cheeks. "I think you dropped this at the party."

Relief flooded through me as I took the scarf from him, my fingers brushing against his. A jolt of electricity shot through me at the contact, and I instinctively wrapped the scarf around my neck. The familiar scent of him—an intriguing mix of woodsy cologne and something uniquely Kirk—wrapped around me, stirring emotions I had tried to keep at bay.

"Thank you so much! I thought I'd lost it for good," I said, my voice slightly breathless.

"I couldn't let you go without it," he replied, his gaze lingering on me, eyes bright with unspoken feelings. It felt like a moment suspended in time, the world outside fading away.

"Would you like to come in for a bit? I can make some tea," I offered, my heart racing at the thought of sharing this intimate space with him, even just for a little while.

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine as if weighing the gravity of the moment. Finally, he nodded, stepping inside. The warmth of my apartment wrapped around us, creating a cocoon of comfort that made my heart flutter with anticipation.

As I moved around the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and selecting my favorite lemon balm tea, I could feel his presence behind me—steady and reassuring. The gentle clinks of the teacups filled the air, punctuated by the occasional soft shuffle of his feet. I poured the steaming water over the tea bags, the fragrant aroma curling into the air, infusing the space with a sense of calm.

"So, how was the party for you?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though the tension simmered just beneath the surface.

"It was fun," he said, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed as he watched me. "But honestly? I think I enjoyed talking to you the most."

My heart soared at his words, a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Really? I thought you were getting along with everyone."

"Yeah, but there's just something about talking to you that makes everything else fade away," he admitted, his voice low and sincere, his eyes searching mine. "You have this way of making me feel... I don't know, understood?"

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and I felt a deep connection thrumming between us, the kind that makes the world feel right. "I feel the same way. It's always easy to talk to you," I replied, my voice softer now, the weight of our friendship becoming a beautiful foundation for something more.