Metallica one shots and headcannons

No one else's, only mine- (Kirk hammett one shot)

The studio always had an energy to it, one that hummed through my body every time I stepped through the doors. Today was no different—amps buzzing faintly, the occasional clink of drumsticks against the floor, low laughter echoing down the hall. It was exhilarating and yet oddly comforting, like the calm before a storm. I adjusted my leather jacket and tucked my hair behind my ear, keeping my head down as I passed the main control room.

Being around Metallica had a way of making you feel small. Not because of anything they said or did, but because they just were so much. James with his loud, raspy jokes. Lars constantly pacing, his hands in motion like he was conducting some invisible orchestra. Jason with his easy, boyish smile. And then there was Kirk.

My Kirk.

He was leaning over his guitar, fingers idly plucking out a riff. His curls fell into his face, and his lips curved into a faint smile when he saw me lingering at the door. "Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice soft. Always soft with me, even when everything else about him was electric.

"Hey," I murmured, stepping inside. "Need anything? Coffee? Water?"

He shook his head, setting the guitar down and crossing the room in a few long strides. Before I could blink, his hands were on my waist, pulling me close. "Just you," he said, low enough that only I could hear.

A flush crept up my neck, but before I could respond, the door creaked open behind us.

"Y/N!" James' voice boomed. "You've been holding out on us, huh? Got some secret training or what?"

I laughed, stepping out of Kirk's grasp before anyone could make things awkward. James had this way of teasing that always felt just a little too sharp, like he wanted to see how far he could push before you snapped.

"Just lucky, I guess," I replied, brushing past him to grab a clipboard from the counter.

His eyes lingered a beat too long, and I felt Kirk stiffen behind me. I knew the way they all looked at me. I wasn't oblivious to the glances, the subtle comments when they thought Kirk wasn't listening. And I wasn't blind to how Kirk saw it all. He never said much about it, but I could feel the tension rolling off him like a storm cloud.

By the time the session wrapped up, I could tell Kirk was on edge. He hadn't said a word since James' latest round of jokes, and his hand was tight around mine as we left the studio.

"You okay?" I asked once we were in the car, the city lights blurring outside the window.

He glanced at me, his jaw tight. "They don't get to look at you like that," he muttered. "Like you're some kind of...prize."

I sighed, resting my hand on his thigh. "They're just being themselves. You don't have to worry about it."

"I do worry about it," he snapped, then immediately softened when he saw my expression. "Sorry. It's just...you're mine, Y/N. I need you to know that."