Metallica one shots and headcannons

Just us two💕 (Kirk Hammett one shot)

The bar was buzzing with chatter and laughter, but it felt like time had slowed down, the space around us shrinking to just me, Kirk, and Dave. I could feel the weight of the decision in my chest, like a slow, steady beat pulling me toward something—toward someone.

Dave had that way of looking at me, of making me feel seen, like I was the only person in the room. His confidence was magnetic, pulling me in with ease, and yet, tonight, it felt almost suffocating. His words, though playful and teasing, seemed to have an edge, as if he expected something from me—something I wasn't sure I was ready to give.

Kirk, on the other hand, was quieter. He hadn't said much all night, but every time his eyes met mine, it was like a soft invitation, a question wrapped in silence. There was a warmth in his gaze, a patience that I hadn't even realized I needed until now.

"You don't have to stay quiet, Y/N," Dave's voice cut through the air, his tone smooth but edged with something more, something almost challenging. "You know, you can have a little fun too."

I didn't know how to respond. I liked Dave, I did. His boldness was alluring, like a fire I could touch but not fully embrace. But in the pit of my stomach, I felt something stir—a pull toward something softer, something gentler. My gaze flicked to Kirk, sitting beside me. He hadn't said much, but his presence was like a quiet reassurance.

Kirk shifted uncomfortably, his fingers nervously tracing the rim of his glass. "I—I don't know what to say," he muttered, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "I just... don't want to make you feel pressured."

I smiled softly, appreciating the way he cared, his gentleness in the face of my uncertainty. I wasn't sure what I needed right now, but I could feel it in the way my heart was quietly drawn to him.

"I get it," I said gently, "but it's not that. I just... feel like I've been in my own head tonight."

Kirk looked up at me, his lips parting as if he was about to say more, but he seemed unsure, like he wasn't sure what the right thing to say was. His eyes met mine, full of something soft, something I couldn't quite put into words, but it made my heart flutter in a way Dave never had. His patience, his quiet understanding—it was all the reassurance I needed.

The air between us shifted, and for a moment, everything felt clear. I wasn't drawn to the confident boldness of Dave anymore. I was drawn to Kirk's quiet care, his ability to wait without rushing me, without demanding anything.

I turned back to Dave, who was still watching us. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the shift, his lips curling into a tight smile. The playful edge in his voice softened as he spoke, but there was still something sharp behind it. "Why don't you stop sitting there and actually say something, Kirk?" Dave said, his voice taking on a sharper edge, his gaze flicking between us. "You know, it's not all on her to make the first move."

Kirk's expression flickered, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He didn't like the attention, the push that Dave was trying to give him. I could see his fingers tighten around his glass, his discomfort clear. But there was no anger in him—just a quiet sadness, a feeling of being unsure if he could measure up to someone like Dave.

I couldn't stand it anymore. The tension was unbearable. It wasn't the time for games or posturing. I had to make my choice.

I turned back to Kirk, meeting his eyes with a soft, steady gaze. "Let's go," I said firmly, my voice cutting through the tension. "I want you, Kirk."

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed to freeze, caught off guard by my words. But there was no hesitation when his hand reached out for mine, his fingers closing around mine with warmth and steadiness.

"We should get out of here," I added quietly, the decision finally feeling clear, like the fog had lifted. I didn't need to say more. My eyes met his, and in that moment, there was no doubt—just a shared understanding.

We stood up together, walking past Dave, who remained sitting at the table. His gaze lingered on us, but there were no words, no confrontation—just the quiet acknowledgment of what was happening.

As we stepped out into the cool night air, the noise of the bar was left behind, and the world felt calmer. The street was quiet, the sound of the city distant but comforting. Kirk's hand in mine was warm, steady, and as I walked beside him, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't realized I was missing.

"I wanted to make sure," I murmured after a while, breaking the silence. "I didn't want to rush anything. But now... I'm sure."

Kirk's voice was soft, the relief in it palpable. "I'm glad. I just... I didn't want to make you feel pressured."

I squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his sincerity wash over me. "You never did. It was just me, trying to figure things out."

He smiled softly, the tension melting away, and we continued walking side by side, the city lights casting a quiet glow around us.

We reached a small park bench, tucked away in a quiet corner. Kirk sat first, and I followed, sitting beside him. Our hands were still intertwined, no need for more words.

"I'm glad you're sure," he said after a while, his voice gentle, but there was a depth in it, like he was relieved to hear me say the words.

"I am," I replied softly. "I want this. I want you."

Kirk looked at me, his gaze full of warmth, his fingers squeezing mine in return. We didn't need anything more. The connection between us had always been there—quiet, patient, and full of understanding. And now, with each other, it felt like everything had fallen into place.