Metallica one shots and headcannons

Raw edge- (Jason Newsted one shot)

Warnings: mature content, light possessive smut,  mature language, smut

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The front door slammed so hard, I thought the hinges might give way. My heart jumped at the sound, the sharp crack of frustration slicing through the apartment's calm. I placed my mug down carefully on the counter, listening to the heavy stomp of boots and the unmistakable sound of Jason muttering to himself.

When he appeared in the doorway, his usual composed demeanor was nowhere to be found. His jaw was clenched, tension radiating from every inch of him, and his dark eyes burned with barely contained fury. He looked up at me for the briefest second before brushing past to drop his keys and bag onto the counter with a sharp clatter.

"Jason," I called softly, watching him pace back and forth like a lion in a too-small cage. "What happened?"

He stopped for a second, his hands on his hips, staring down at the floor like it might give him answers. Then, he looked up, his expression unreadable but seething. "They don't take anything seriously," he snapped. "Every time I try to suggest something, or, God forbid, have an opinion, it's like I'm the punchline of some stupid joke. Just a big laugh for the guys."

I could see his hands trembling faintly as he ran them through his dark hair, his frustration bubbling closer to the surface with every word.

"I'm there to work, Y/N. To create something real. Not to play babysitter to a group of assholes who think they're still in college." His laugh was bitter, humorless, and it cut straight through me.

I stepped forward, carefully closing the gap between us. "I'm sorry, Jase," I said gently, my hand brushing his arm. He didn't pull away this time, but the tension in his body was palpable, a storm waiting to break.

"You shouldn't have to deal with that," I continued, tilting my head to catch his gaze. "But you can't keep holding it all in like this."

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?" His voice was low, gravelly, as his eyes met mine. "Smash something? Scream into a pillow? Pretend it doesn't bother me?"

I hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath. "No," I said softly. "You don't have to pretend. You can take it out on me."

His brow furrowed, his intense gaze locking onto me. "What are you saying, Y/N?"

"I mean it," I said, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between us. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my voice steady. "Let it out. Use me, Jason. I can take it."

He exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath this entire time. His eyes searched mine, as if trying to gauge if I really meant it. Then, something shifted.

"You're sure?" he murmured, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous.

"Completely," I whispered, reaching up to brush my fingers along his jaw.

That was all the permission he needed. With a low growl, he pulled me against him, his hands gripping my waist with a raw desperation. His lips crushed against mine, the kiss rough and unrelenting, as if pouring all his pent-up frustration and anger into me. I met him with equal intensity, my hands tangling in his hair as I gave myself over to him entirely.