Metallica one shots and headcannons

Behind the appearances- (James Hetfield one shot)

The rehearsal space buzzed with energy. I'd spent the last few days trying to calm my nerves about performing alongside rock legends at the Queen tribute concert. My career had skyrocketed in the past few years, and though I'd won Grammys and collaborated with icons, this felt like a different league entirely. It wasn't just my admiration for Freddie and the band—this was my chance to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the greats.

But not everyone seemed thrilled about it.

James Hetfield, the rhythm guitarist for my performance of "Who Wants to Live Forever," was distant. I'd caught him rolling his eyes a few times during rehearsals, his whole demeanor screaming that he wanted to be anywhere but here. It stung more than I cared to admit. I'd grown up listening to Metallica, and James was one of the reasons I started writing music in the first place. To share a stage with him was supposed to be a dream come true, but he seemed intent on treating me like I didn't belong.

Still, I pushed those thoughts aside and threw myself into the music. I wasn't going to let one grumpy guitarist ruin this experience.

During a break, Slash sauntered over, grinning as he plucked at his guitar. "You know, James, some of us are jealous of you. Not everyone gets to play with her."

Joe Elliot chimed in, slapping James on the back. "Yeah, lucky bastard. She's got the voice, the charm, and she's easy on the eyes too."

I laughed awkwardly, feeling my cheeks heat. James, however, just shrugged them off, muttering, "She's just another singer." His tone was dismissive, and the guys exchanged a look, clearly amused by his gruffness.

"Well, don't let that stick up your ass ruin your day," Slash teased, earning a chuckle from Joe.

James rolled his eyes and walked off, leaving me standing there with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. Was he always like this, or had I done something to annoy him without realizing it?

The sinking feeling in my stomach grew worse when I heard him talking to Lars. I'd only gone backstage to grab my water bottle, but their conversation was hard to miss.

Lars nudged him with a knowing smirk. "What do you think of Y/N?"

James scoffed. "She's just another overrated singer for sad chicks," he said dismissively.

Lars chuckled, though it sounded uncomfortable. "Come on, man. She's good."

"Yeah? Bet she slept with some producer to get that record deal," James replied, his tone dripping with scorn.

I froze. My hands clenched around the bottle as his words settled like lead in my chest. I'd worked so damn hard to get here, poured my heart and soul into my music, and that was what he thought of me?

Part of me wanted to confront him, to demand why he'd say something so cruel, but another part knew it wasn't worth it. This was one of the biggest nights of my career. I wasn't about to let James Hetfield ruin it.