Metallica one shots and headcannons

Burning winter🔥❄ (James Hetfield one shot)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mature themes, explicit language, power dynamics

__________________________

The house felt far too big for just me, especially at night. My parents were off gallivanting across Europe for Christmas, leaving me behind with strict instructions to "stay focused" on my studies.

And, of course, they'd enlisted James to check on me.

The doorbell rang, sending a jolt of anticipation through me. I tried not to look too eager as I opened the door.

There he stood, a faint dusting of snow melting on his dark hair, his broad shoulders wrapped in his coat. James didn't have to try to look good; he just did. His eyes met mine, and a slow smile curled his lips.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside. His voice, low and smooth, had the same effect it always did—making my pulse quicken.

"Hey." I closed the door behind him, the chill of the outside air replaced by his warmth.

"Studying hard?" he asked, glancing toward the books I'd spread across the coffee table to give the illusion of productivity.

"Obviously," I said, feigning innocence.

"Hmm," he murmured, shrugging out of his coat. His fitted sweater hugged his torso, and I found myself staring at the way it stretched over his chest. I tore my eyes away before he could catch me.

"You can sit," I said, motioning to the couch.

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he sat down, leaving a polite amount of space between us.

"You don't have to sit so far away," I teased, shifting closer.

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Just trying to be professional."

"Oh, come on. It's just me," I said, letting my hand brush lightly against his forearm. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a spark through me.

His eyes flicked down to where my fingers rested, his jaw tightening. "Y/N." His voice held a warning.

"What?" I asked, tilting my head innocently. My fingers drifted higher, over the fabric of his sweater. "You're always so tense. Someone needs to help you relax."

His breath hitched, and I caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"Maybe I want to play," I murmured, leaning closer. My lips were just a breath away from his, and I felt the warmth of his exhale against my skin.

"Y/N," he said again, but this time my name came out as a growl, low and rough.