Metallica one shots and headcannons

Once upon a December❄ (James Hetfield one shot)

"Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember..."

 The ballroom is eerily silent. My footsteps echo with every step, a hollow rhythm against the cracked marble floor. Dust hangs heavy in the air, swirling in the faint silver light of the moon filtering through the shattered windows. I can almost hear the faint strains of a forgotten waltz, the ghost of laughter and voices that once filled this space.

Now, it's empty.

The melody hums faintly in my mind, unbidden, as I step further into the ruins of what was once a place of grandeur and joy.

I run my fingers along the edge of the long-abandoned banquet table, its surface still faintly sticky from spilled wine no one bothered to clean. The golden chandeliers above are dull, their light extinguished for what feels like a lifetime. My hand trembles as I let it fall back to my side.

I can't help it. I pause in the center of the room, tilting my head to take in the ruins around me. It hurts to look, but I can't tear my eyes away. I close them, pressing a hand to my chest as the memories rush in, vivid and unrelenting.

It was a night of beauty, a fairytale come to life.

The music had been loud but elegant, its melody weaving seamlessly through the laughter and chatter of the crowd. The ball had been everything I could have hoped for—a celebration of family, of peace, of everything we were trying so desperately to hold onto.

But if I'm honest, it wasn't the music or the gowns or the wine that made my heart race that night. It was him.

James.

I had seen him the moment I stepped into the ballroom, his figure impossible to miss. He stood near the base of the staircase, his ceremonial armor catching the golden glow of the chandeliers, his posture as strong and confident as ever. But it was his eyes that captured me. Those dark, piercing eyes that softened the moment they found mine.

I couldn't look away.

When he crossed the room toward me, everything else seemed to fade. The murmurs of the crowd, the swell of the orchestra—all of it became a distant hum. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

He stopped in front of me, bowing low, his hand extended. "May I have this dance, Your Highness?"

His voice was low and smooth, tinged with a warmth that sent shivers down my spine. For a moment, I hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. But then I placed my hand in his, and he leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to my knuckles.

The world seemed to stop.

The warmth of his touch lingered, spreading through me like a flame, and the way he looked at me as he straightened—it was as if no one else in the room existed. My cheeks burned, and my voice caught in my throat, but I managed to nod.

"I would love to," I whispered, barely able to find my words.