Metallica one shots and headcannons

Whispers in the bookshop📚🍂 (Cliff Burton one shot)

 The bell above the bookshop door jingled as I slipped inside, the familiar warmth of the place wrapping around me like a soft blanket. November had settled in hard that year, the kind of cold that made you want to bury yourself in the coziness of a bookstore or a good album.

I wasn't much of a bookworm growing up—not like this girl. I'd always considered myself a bit of a soft soul, despite what people thought when they saw me on stage. Metallica's bassist. The guy who trashed away in front of thousands of people, the guy who spent his nights in dark clubs playing loud, fast music. But deep down, I always loved the quiet things, the moments when I could slip away from all the noise and listen to my own thoughts.

And, lately, those thoughts always seemed to be about her.

She sat by the window, as usual, lost in a book. Today it was Wuthering Heights, I noticed as I walked past her, keeping my distance. I had started coming here more often, under the guise of wanting a good book or a change of scenery, but I knew it was her that kept drawing me in. I couldn't stop watching how absorbed she was, how the world faded away when she opened a new page.

I was a bit of a reader myself. I didn't tell people that often, but I loved getting lost in Lovecraft, diving into those cosmic horrors and the vast unknowns he described so eloquently. Maybe it made sense. In a world where I was always on stage, where people saw me as one thing, I needed the escape.

I didn't think she noticed me, not until one day, as I was thumbing through an old book of poetry, that fate gave me a chance.

A loud thud echoed in the quiet space, and I turned to see a hardcover book tumble from her lap and hit the floor. I was already standing, moving to help before I even thought about it. She looked up, her eyes wide and surprised, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd somehow startled her.

"Thanks," she said, smiling a little as I handed her the book. Her voice was soft, almost shy, and it made my chest tighten in a way I wasn't expecting.

I glanced at the cover of Wuthering Heights as I handed it to her. "I always hear that one wrecks people," I said with a small grin. "I mean, I love books that tear your heart out, but... this one's been on my mind for a while."

She raised an eyebrow. "You've read it?"

I shook my head. "I'm more of a Lovecraft guy, but... I think it's time I branch out. It seems like it'll stick with you, like a good bass riff."

She laughed lightly, the sound bright and clear. "I didn't take you for someone who reads Lovecraft."

"Yeah," I admitted, feeling a little shy now that we were talking. "I guess most people don't. But his stuff... it's not just about monsters. It's about the unknown. The things we can't control, the things that haunt you because you can't understand them."

She looked at me for a moment, studying me like she was seeing me for the first time. "I can see that," she said softly. "It's strange. In some ways, I think that's what the classics do too—they haunt you. Just in a different way."

I swallowed, caught up in the conversation, and then blurted out, "If you ever wanted to hear me play, I could show you what a real haunting sounds like."

She blinked, surprised, and then gave me a sly grin. "Are you saying you play?"

I nodded, a little nervous now. "I do. I play bass in a band. Metallica, you know?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, and I immediately felt awkward. "Metallica?" she repeated, as if she was still processing it. "Like... Metallica? The band?"

"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "You've heard of us?"

She smiled, a little embarrassed, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "I think my brother has one of your records... Ride the lightning I think. And he likes playing fade to black and I have to say, I love that song, a bit sad but it's beautiful.

My heart skipped at the mention of Fade to Black. That song was the soul of Metallica, something raw and beautiful. "That's... probably one of our softer ones," I said with a grin. "But yeah, that's us. If you want to hear more, maybe I could show you some of our stuff. It's got more... punch, but I think you'd like it."

"Maybe I will," she said, a playful glint in her eyes. "I like songs that stick with me. Maybe you'll show me some I haven't heard before."

We stood there for a moment, the bookshelves around us filled with stories that had nothing to do with the quiet, electric connection beginning to form between us.

"You know," I said, "If you ever want to hear the bass version of Fade to Black... I could play it for you sometime."

She nodded, the smile still lingering on her face. "I'd like that. It sounds like something worth hearing."

She smiled at me, a soft, knowing smile that made my heart skip. "I'll bring my brother's record tomorrow. We'll listen to it... together."

The words felt simple, but there was something about the way she said it, like she was already planning more than just the music. It made everything inside me warm, like I was hearing a song I already knew.

"I'll be here," I said quietly, my voice a little rougher than usual.

She stepped toward the door, then stopped and turned back to look at me, her gaze soft and lingering. "I'm really glad we met, Cliff."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just let the silence stretch between us. I couldn't help but notice how the light from the window framed her, making her seem almost untouchable, like something beautiful from a book I couldn't quite reach.

"You... you're different," I finally said, my words feeling too simple for everything I was thinking. "And I think... I think I'm glad we met too."

Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled, a real, honest smile that made my chest tighten. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," I repeated, my heart suddenly feeling full, as if something inside me was finally finding its place. "Excuse me!" I yelled and she turned around. "I'm sorry... I didn't even catch your name," I said . "I didn't ask earlier." She smiled back, a little shy. "I'm Y/N," she said, her voice soft but clear.

And she walked out, but before the door closed completely, she looked back one last time, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, it felt like everything in the bookshop had paused.

And as I stood there, watching the door close behind her, I realized something I hadn't expected: I didn't want this to end. I wanted tomorrow. I wanted more.

Maybe it was too soon to say, but in that quiet moment, I knew—this was something real. And I couldn't wait to see where it would take us.