Hello, I'm via and I enjoy writing in my free time. And I'm currently working on an Axl Rose fic (I'll probably post later). I like music, guitars, books, and history. Feel free to message me about any of those things!
masterlist
Priority
Guns n' roses
Axl Rose, Slash, Izzy Stradlin, Duff McKagan (sometimes Steven)
Other bands I can write for
Motley Crüe
Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, and Vince Neil
Metallica
Kirk Hammett, James Hetfield
Cinderella
Tom Keifer
Megadeth
Dave Mustaine
RULES:
I can write member×reader, I'll probably only use she/her pronouns though. I can do one-shots and headcannons.
Please don't request anything disturbing or piss/shit kinks.
I can write smut if you request it, same with posting part twos if you want it.
Please don't expect any request right away, I'm busy with school and other things— please be patient!
I can write for other people, just ask and I'll see what I can do.
Somehow, he had enough restraint to stay where he was sitting; in a leather booth with the band, smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes, but that was normal now.
The place was humid and sticky, dark, but light enough to where he could watch you from where he was.
He knew he had no right to, you technically weren't his anything. You were around, sometimes, when the band needed you and you had free time—he'd just grown attached.
Fuck, he wanted more though.
He wanted to be the one you came to for trouble, the one who you'd become soft for. With how you were looking tonight, he wanted to be the one to please you, to keep his head shoved between your legs until you decided you had enough; until he was begging for one more taste because that's how fucking desperate he was.
Some other guy was talking to you though, stepping too close as if you would want him.
Axl couldn't focus on anything else. Maybe that was all the drinks taking over—nonetheless it was true.
He didn't hear a single word Slash was saying, not the fact his cigarette was on the verge of burning him. He couldn't look away.
Duff nudged him, that's when his attention shifted.
"yeah?"
"anymore staring and that dude's gonna think you're gonna smash a bottle over his head." Duff laughed, carefree as he could be with all the alcohol he's drunk.
He scoffed, he couldn't watch anymore.
"gonna go get another drink." He half assed an explanation before he stood. The club wasn't too crowded, enough to where he could easily maneuver despite the alcohol in his system.
Soon enough he was beside you, his hand coming up to rest on your waist like it was the most natural thing ever; instinct.
His eyes met yours when you turned around.
Fuck, your eyes were the prettiest he's seen, reflecting the dim lights from the club, staring up at him. He would've dropped to his knees if you asked.
And when you smiled at him, something familiar and warm as you always were. He was done for.
His head suddenly felt heavy and his mind carried more haze than it had. He let it drop to your shoulder, letting your scent fill his senses and it made him feel all the more dazed.
"wonderin' where you went" he muttered softly, not sure if you could hear him or not but he felt as if you deserved an explanation regardless.
He glanced over your shoulder and had to stop a grin from forming because the dude was now gone. He felt oddly satisfied that he had all your attention now, as well as your fingers threading through his hair in that perfect way you always did.
"Got a drink and talked, nothing important." Your breath lightly fanned over his ear and he swore he got goosebumps. He hummed softly and stayed exactly where he was until he lifted his head to look down at you.
His walls were down, his mind practically mush.
"so pretty..." It was said so softly, like he was whispering it to himself. He didn't wanna be apart from you, wanted to stay where he was. Have your scent stuck to his clothes as a reminder that you were real.
He let his head rest back in the crook of your next, eyes fluttering shut with the comfort your presence brought. You were pretty sure he slumped against you at that very moment; couldn't find much to complain about though.
Where like Axl and reader is dating, and they suddenly had a fight and they're ignoring each other. And gnr have some photoshoot to take so they're like getting ready and while the make up artist is doing Axl's make up, reader suddenly went to the place to bring food to the crew and thought that Axl wasn't there. Then the makeup artist sees her and left her to do Axl's make up, and then it was only the 2 of them left and they're like in this room all alone and then reader goes and does Axl's make up, but while doing it they still are ignoring each other and was starting to fight again, until Axl couldn't take it anymore and fucked her right on that room. And afterwards they're both being sneeky about it.
PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND, THIS WAS A DREAM I HADD
I HOPE THIS IS CLOSE TO WHAT YOU WANTEDDDDD
I tried to write this as quickly as I could so sorry if there are any mistakes
𝓜𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓾𝓹 𝓼𝓮𝔁
𝒶𝓍𝓁 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
you and Axl had been dating for some time now but lately he started pissing you off
the blow-up last night wasn’t even about the usual band drama or your modeling schedule. it started because he’d shown up at your place at 2 am, reeking of whiskey and cigarettes and snapped at you for
“Always running off to those fucking photoshoots instead of being here when I need you”
you’d fired back that maybe if he didn’t treat the studio like his second home and the groupies like his third, you wouldn’t feel like an afterthought. words got ugly. doors slammed. by morning you were both stone-cold silent, pretending the other didn’t exist
Guns N’ Roses had a magazine photoshoot scheduled for the afternoon at the big brick studio on Sunset—the same block where your agency’s building sat directly across the street. you knew the crew: the lighting guys, the stylists, the photographers you’d worked with on a dozen campaigns
they were harmless, loud, flirty in that big-brother way and you liked them. so when you finished your own morning test shots, you grabbed a couple of pizza boxes and a six pack of beers from the shop across the street. figured you’d drop the food off, say hi, and slip out before Axl even showed up
you weren’t ready to look at him yet
the studio was chaos—gnr guys sprawled on the couches, already wasted, sitting there with the lightning and set design crew. you handed the food to them, laughing at some dumb joke one of them said, when the head makeup artist, a tiny woman named Lena, spotted you from the doorway of the private dressing room
“Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver” she said, waving you over “I’ve got to do makeup for three more guys and only ten minutes. Can you finish Axl? He’s almost done, just needs the final touches. I’ll be right back”
you froze. he was already in there
of course he was...
Lena didn’t wait for an answer; she shoved the brush into your hand and bolted. the door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with him
Axl sat in the makeup chair. his green eyes were locked on the mirror, refusing to acknowledge you even existed
you slowly stepped in front of him, heart hammering and started dabbing at the smudged liner under his eye. neither of you spoke. the silence stretched until it felt like a rubber band about to snap
he finally broke it, voice low “Didn’t know the food delivery came with a side of you playing makeup artist”
you kept your tone flat “Lena asked. I’m just helping”
“Right” a bitter laugh “Helping. Like you were ‘just helping’ those guys out there a minute ago, laughing like they’re the funniest fucking people on the planet. Same way you do every time you’re over at your agency”
your brush paused “Are you serious right now? That’s what this is about?”
“It’s always about that” he muttered, jaw tight “You and your little crew. Every time I turn around you’re over there, all buddy-buddy with dudes who stare at you in lingerie for a living. And I’m supposed to just be cool with it?”
the anger from last night rushed back hot and fast “You’re one to talk, Axl. You were the one who bailed on me yesterday because ‘rehearsal ran late’ but somehow found time to party until dawn”
he turned his head just enough for his eyes to lock on yours in the mirror—green, furious “I didn’t disappear. I was working”
“Excuse me? Guess what — I’m working too! But at least I’m not a selfish prick who only thinks about himself”
you saw in his eyes that he had to hold back inside “Working. Right. You just love being the center of attention. Every guy in that room staring at your ass while you flirt like it’s your fucking job”
that was it
you slammed the brush down on the counter so hard it bounced “You’re such a hypocritical asshole, Axl! You disappear for days, come home smelling like whiskey and cheap perfume and I’m the one who has to deal with your shit. But God forbid I smile at someone who isn’t you!”
he shot up from the chair so fast it rolled backward and slammed into the wall. in two seconds he had you pinned against the makeup table, his body crowding yours, hands gripping the edge on either side of your hips. his face was inches from yours—eyes blazing, breath hot and ragged
“Smile at them again and I’ll break every fucking camera in this building” he snarled
you shoved at his chest but he didn’t budge “Then maybe stop acting like a jealous little bitch and trust me for once!”
Axl’s hand shot up, fisting roughly in your hair, yanking your head back. his mouth crashed into yours—angry. you bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. he growled into the kiss, the sound feral and shoved his tongue past your lips like he was trying to punish you with it
you fought back just as viciously—nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails over the tattoos, shoving your hips against his. he was already rock-hard, thick bulge grinding against your stomach through his jeans
“Fuck you” you gasped against his mouth
“Yeah?” he laughed, dark and mean “That’s exactly what you’re gonna get”
he spun you around violently, bending you over the makeup table so your chest pressed against the cold surface, scattering brushes and palettes everywhere. your skirt was shoved up to your waist in one brutal motion. he ripped your panties down your thighs without even bothering to take them off, the fabric tearing slightly
you heard his belt buckle clatter, zipper ripping down. no warning—just the blunt, angry head of his cock shoving against your entrance, already slick despite how pissed you were
he slammed into you in one savage thrust
you cried out, the sound half-moan, half-snarl, as he stretched you open so deep it burned. he didn’t give you a second to adjust—immediately pulling back and driving in again, harder, meaner, hips slapping against your ass with wet, filthy sounds
“Still wanna talk shit?” he growled, one hand fisting your hair again, yanking your head back so you had to look at both of you in the mirror “Look at you. Taking my cock like you fucking hate me”
“I do hate you right now” you spat, even as your walls clenched around him, greedy and desperate
“Good” he fucked you faster, deeper, the table creaking dangerously under the force. his free hand slapped your ass hard enough to sting “Hate me while you come on my dick”
every thrust was punishing, angry, perfect. he was so deep it felt like he was trying to split you in half. you pushed back against him just as furiously, meeting every brutal snap of his hips, cursing him under your breath between moans
“Fuck—harder, you asshole—”
he obliged, pounding into you so violently the mirror rattled. his hand snaked around to rub your clit in rough, angry circles. the orgasm hit you so sudden, shattering, your whole body locking up as you came with a broken scream you tried to muffle against his hand
Axl didn’t stop. he fucked you straight through it, chasing his own release with raw, animalistic grunts “That’s it—fuck—milk my cock like the angry little slut you are”
he buried himself to the hilt one last time and came hard, hips jerking, flooding you with hot, thick pulses while he bit down on your shoulder to keep from roaring
for a few seconds the only sound was both of you panting like you’d just ran a marathon
then he slowly pulled out, cum already starting to drip down your thighs. he grabbed a fistful of tissues, wiped you roughly, then himself. you straightened your skirt with shaking hands. he zipped up, ran a hand through his wrecked hair and shot you a glare that was still pure fire
Lena’s voice called from down the hall
you both stepped apart just in time, wearing matching expressions of cold indifference
I just read When the candle burns and it was amazing! If you're open to it I would really enjoy a part two
When the candle burns - two
Izzy stradlin × fem!reader
He wasn't used to this.
Not the fact he was back on tour again — no, the fact he actually became attached to someone. He'd gotten used to you, your habits, how you moved, and especially how you talked.
Fuck, he missed your voice.
He'd been resisting the urge to call since you left.
He was never one to want someone. He had groupies, fans, plenty of people to entertain himself with and yet his mind kept drifting back to you.
Even when he was drinking, especially when he was drinking.
Tonight the urge had been too strong, he needed you.
He was drunk, and needy, and forgetting exactly why he shouldn't do this.
He couldn't bring himself to put down the phone regardless of how irrational he knew it was.
He was half on the bed, his shoes probably fucking up the sheets but he couldn't bring himself to care the tinest bit.
He remembered your number, of course he did; he was pretty sure it was fucking drilled into his head like your touch was his skin.
His fingers moved clumsy over the dial, holding the phone up to his ear as he waited for you to pick up. If it would've lasted a few more rings, he was sure he would've pussied out.
Then he heard your voice and just froze up.
It was simple, you picking up the phone with a greeting, but he was sure if he was standing up his legs would be a little weaker than they already were.
His mind was already blurry and foggy from how much he drank, it completely zoned out just at the sound of you breathing.
"fuck, I missed your voice."
It slipped out, wasn't on purpose or anything but it happened regardless.
It was silent on your end, and he was desperate.
"I know it's late, 'm sorry, sweetheart... Couldn't think of anything else."
He could imagine you standing, you finger twisting around the phone cord absently as you tried to figure out what to say. You were probably in the kitchen, making tea, maybe dancing around while listening to a record.
"Izzy you shouldn't do this." Your voice was soft, like how you would whisper against his skin in the early mornings before the sun had risen.
He knew that, he definitely fucking knew that, but you were too damn tempting to resist.
"I cant—fuck, I can't sleep. Can't play correctly 'nymore. Can't have another girl touch me without imagining you..."
If you didn't think he was desperate before, you had to have now. He shifted to lay on his side, holding a pillow as if it could've been you. If you were here.
If you didn't leave.
"We knew what we were getting into. Nothing was meant to happen."
It sounded more like you were reassuring yourself than trying to convince him. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.
"But it did—you can't tell me I was the only one who felt that shit. You'd be lying."
He was confident in it, even if his words were slurred and his vision blurry. He saw the way you looked at him, how you would slump against him after a long day and exhale like he was the only thing grounding you. He wasn't that fucking stupid.
"Izzy, I can't right now, please..." Your voice had shifted, into something more desperate and in his drunken state, he felt as if you were cracking because of him.
Your voice was enough, even if it sounded like you were pissed at him, or held a grudge. Your breathing was enough for him to remember how it would brush against his flesh.
He couldn't take you down with him, no matter how much he wanted to drown in you.
"Okay, 'm sorry. Just needed to hear you..." He relented, closing his eyes hoping he would pass out, the last thing he wanted to hear before sleeping was your voice.
"Maybe when you're sober, Iz." Your voice cracked, the only sign of weakness you showed before the line went dead.
He curled up in the fancy ass hotel bed. All this luxury surrounding him, all the fans and groupies, sold out shows, and he could only think of you.
One day I'm gonna achieve Izzy's playing style on guitar
sorry this is kinda choppy and boring but i tried my best to save it somehow </3
also tagging my bbg @crue-n-roses
the apartment was silent, except for the low whir of a fan and the occasional car passing outside
you’d fallen asleep curled into him — warm, soft, breathing steady. but Axl couldn’t sleep. not really. his arm was around you but his eyes were wide open, locked on the cracked ceiling like it held answers he couldn’t reach
he'd dozed off maybe once
and in that short sleep, he dreamed you were gone
no goodbye
no yelling
just vanished
he woke up gasping, slick with sweat, heart hammering against his ribs like he’d been running
now, he lay stiff and haunted, his mind spinning through versions of that nightmare again and again
you walking out. slamming a door. crying. saying you were done with being second-guessed. that you couldn’t trust him. that he never gave you peace
he shut his eyes tightly
he hated how real it had felt
he hated how possible it still felt
you stirred a little beside him, adjusting in your sleep, your arm landing softly across his ribs. that touch made his throat burn. he held onto it like a lifeline
eventually, when your breathing evened out again, he slowly sat up, pushing the blanket back, wiping his face with both hands. he walked barefoot to the kitchen, poured a glass of water with shaky fingers, then just stood there — hunched and shirtless in the fridge light, shadows under his eyes
he wanted to be better. but he still wasn’t sure he knew how
he heard the floor creak behind him
when he turned, you were there in the hallway — messy hair, tired eyes, oversized t-shirt slipping off your shoulder
“…Axl?”
he looked at you, startled, like he hadn’t expected to be caught in his spiral. he tried to play it off “Go back to sleep, baby. I’m just… getting a water”
you stepped closer “You had a nightmare, didn’t you?”
he sighed. looked away
you placed your hand on his face softly caressing it
“Wanna tell me?” you asked softly
his mouth tightened “It’s stupid”
“Try me”
he exhaled, shaky “You left me”
your fingers flinched just a little “In the dream?”
he nodded. still didn’t look at you
“What did I say?” you asked gently
Axl finally looked at you. his voice cracked
“You said you couldn’t trust me. That you were tired of waiting for me every time I ran away spiraling”
the words stuck in the air between you
you smoothed your thumbs across his chest now
“I never said that”
“But you could. And I wouldn’t blame you” he muttered, swallowing “You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to hold onto and I keep fucking it up”
“You're not fucking it up, Axl”
he scoffed, voice hoarse “You didn’t even want me showing up at your job—”
“I told you already tha I was scared. Of other people. Not of you”
he blinked fast “It felt like shame”
“It wasn’t” you whispered “It was protection. I was trying to keep what we have safe. You think I’d tattoo your name on my wrist if I didn’t love you like hell?”
he looked down at your wrist now, took it gently in his hand, thumb brushing over the black ink. then he pressed a kiss there
“I keep thinking you’ll wake up one day and realize you’re better off me” he admitted
you cupped his face, eyes glassy but firm “Then you better keep giving me reasons to stay”
he let out a breath that almost sounded like a sob. pulled you into him. held on tightly
“Okay... You know, I love you so much it fucking hurts”
“I know” you whispered back “Me too”
and after that you didn’t go back to bed. you stayed curled on the couch together until sunrise — his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, the comforting words stayed until he evened out
Axl didn’t sleep
but finally he felt safe
in the morning the soft clink of coffee mugs and the low hum of the radio filled the kitchen. the sun hadn’t quite climbed all the way up yet, casting a pale yellow wash across the countertops. you stood at the sink, hair up, wearing clothes for work and your tired expression hidden behind some mascara
you were quiet
focused on your routine. packing your bag, checking the time, sipping your coffee between steps
behind you, Axl leaned against the doorframe — sleepy-eyed, shirtless, hair tangled from tossing all night on the couch. he rubbed the back of his neck and watched you for a long moment, like he didn’t know how to say what he needed to without making it worse
finally, his voice cracked through the quiet
“…Shit. I forgot you worked today”
you glanced over your shoulder “It’s okay”
“I should’ve let you sleep longer. I just— I was freaking out”
you smiled a little, barely there “I know Axl, that's okay”
“I didn’t mean to… wake you up and drag you into all that...”
still facing away from him “I’m glad you did”
he stepped closer now, barefoot, sheepish “You sure?”
you turned to look at him, one brow raised “You think I don’t want to know when you’re spiraling?”
his face crumpled slightly at that “You’re too good to me”
you chuckled under your breath, tugging your shirt sleeve down “That’s what people do when they love someone, Axl. They give a damn”
he stared at you like he wanted to kiss the guilt right out of your throat
instead, he hugged you, arms slipping gently around your back, pressing his cheek to your shoulder
“You’re so damn solid” he mumbled
you leaned into him for a second “Somebody’s gotta be. Rent’s due next week”
that got a soft laugh out of him “Ouch”
you reached up to fix the messy tangle of hair over his forehead “I don’t want you thinking I’m ashamed of you”
“I know”
“You sure?”
he paused “...Getting there”
you nodded slowly “Then we’re okay”
he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek “Lemme at least walk you out”
“I can manage—”
“No” he cut in gently, already slipping on his sweatpants “Let me do something right today”
you smiled, heart softening again “Okay”
and as you walked down the sidewalk side by side — his hand loosely in yours, your bag slung over his shoulder (he insisted) — it felt like a fragile little patch stitched back in after all the unraveling
later that day after exhausting day at work, where you were going on fumes after sleepless night you stepped out of the office building, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself
you were truly exhausted — your legs ached, your eyes were heavy and the last thing you expected was to see him leaning against some car, sunglasses on, boots crossed at the ankle like some arrogant rockstar prince who didn’t even need a reason to look good
Axl
you blinked “What are you doing here?”
he pushed off the car slowly, a shit-eating grin pulling at the corner of his mouth “Came to pick up my girl. You mad?”
“No” you said quickly but your chest tightened. you glanced nervously back at the glass doors of your workplace “You just… you didn’t tell me you were coming”
“I thought it’d be a nice surprise”
your heart dropped a little as you spotted them
Heather and Jennifer. AGAIN. just when Axl came for you to work. they were stepping out now, chatting and laughing, until—
“Wait. Is that—” Jennifer’s jaw dropped
“No fucking way” Heather gasped, immediately elbowing her friend “Holy shit, it’s him. I saw his band at the Cathouse last week!”
they bee-lined toward you, eyes wide like they’d just seen Elvis himself rise from the dead. Axl stood straighter, clearly amused
“Hey… uh, hi” Heather, nearly breathless “Are you—are you Axl Rose?”
he didn’t miss a beat “Yeah. You must be the charming coworkers she warned me about”
you cringed internally
but they just giggled
“Oh my god” Jennifer said, brushing her hair back with a flick “She never said she was dating you”
Heather practically sparkled “You're, like, so hot and I love your band”
Axl gave them a lazy half-smirk, then reached out and slung an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side like he’d just claimed a trophy
“Yeah, I hear that a lot. Lucky her, huh?”
your jaw nearly dropped
Jennifer laughed like it was the best thing she’d heard all week “Oh, she’s so lucky”
you managed a polite smile, your entire world flipped on its head. this wasn’t what you expected at all. you expected judgment, sneers, whispered insults about his hair or his voice or his loud mouth
but no
they looked like they were one breath away from asking for his autograph
“Anyway” Axl drawled, glancing at you with that knowing glint in his eye “We’ve got dinner reservations. And she hates being late”
you nodded dumbly, letting him steer you down the street as Heather and Jennifer stood frozen, mouths hanging open like they’d just watched a UFO take off
once you were far enough away, Axl grinned sideways at you
“You’re blushing” he teased
“You’re unbearable!” you mumbled, still stunned
“But you love it” he shot back smugly “You really thought they were gonna drag me?”
“I swear they were! They called you a washed-up burnout like two weeks ago!”
he grinned even wider “Yeah and now they’re ready to tattoo my name on their asses”
you shoved him lightly but he just laughed, pressing a kiss to the side of your head
“Next time” he murmured, voice warm in your ear “don’t assume I won’t win ‘em over. I’m kind of a menace like that”
you rolled your eyes, heart fluttering despite everything
Hi!! can i request a smutty or not imagine with axl in the filming of the “it’s so easy” mv and instead of erin y/n is the girl in bondage and ties and stuff and after the scene axl doesn’t let her out of the cuffs and stuff immediately and has… fun with her? 💌
i made this scene kinda differently than u can see in the mv i made it more like i imagined it so instead of blindfolds i decided to give ropes and handcuffs cause i think it turned out way better :3
𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝔂
𝒶𝓍𝓁 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
the set is dim, hazy with cigarette smoke and the crimson glow of the lights they rigged for that underground vibe. you’re on your knees in the middle of it all, wrists locked in cold metal cuffs behind your back, soft ropes tight around your thighs and chest—clutching your breasts, framing them like an offering. the ball gag sits snug in your mouth, muffling every shaky breath. you’re supposed to look broken, submissive, completely owned
and fuck, you feel it
Axl circles you slow, predatory, in those black leather pants and the open leather vest. that smirk—sharp, dangerous—cuts right through you as he grabs your chin, forces your gaze up. the camera’s rolling. he leans in close, breath hot against your face, his thumb smears your lipstick, rough and deliberate and you feel the heat pool low in your belly
“Cut!” the director shouts. crew starts shuffling, resetting lights. you tug gently at the cuffs, expecting release. but Axl’s fingers tighten on your jaw instead
“Be patient baby, just a second” as he waits until the set clears—people know better than to stick around when he’s got that look. the door clicks shut. silence, except for your breathing and the low hum of the lights
he drops to a crouch behind you, chest pressed to your bound arms, mouth at your ear “Not lettin’ you out yet, sweetheart” he rasps, voice low “You look way too fuckin’ pretty like this. All tied up for me”
you whimper around the gag, arching instinctively. his low chuckle vibrates through you. one hand slides down your spine, tracing every knot of rope, until he’s gripping your hips and yanking you back against him. he’s rock-hard already, straining against the leather and the feel of it makes you clench around nothing
“Been hard since the first rehearsal” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear “Watchin’ you kneel there, takin’ it so good for the camera. But now it’s just us”
his hand slips around front, under the flimsy scrap of fabric they called a costume. fingers drag slow through your folds—soaked—and he groans like it physically hurts him
“Jesus Christ. You’re dripping down your thighs, baby. This what does it for you?”
you nod desperately, muffled pleas spilling out. he circles your clit once, twice—teasing—then pushes two fingers inside you without warning. you cry out into the gag as he curls them, stroking that spot that makes your knees buckle against the ropes. his thumb keeps working your clit in tight, relentless circles while his fingers fuck you slow and deep
“Look at you” he growls “Can’t even talk back. Just takin’ whatever I give you” he adds a third finger, stretching you and your whole body jerks. the ropes bite into your skin in the best way, holding you exactly where he wants you
he pulls his hand away suddenly and you whine at the loss. you hear him suck his fingers clean behind you—loud, obscene—and then he’s shoving the gag down just enough to free your mouth
“Tell me” he demands, voice rough “Tell me you want it”
“Please, Axl” you gasp immediately, voice hoarse “Please fuck me. I need you inside, please...”
he laughs, dark and filthy “That’s my girl”
he doesn’t bother stripping—just shoves his pants low enough to free himself. you feel him hot and thick against your ass, dragging the head through your wetness, coating himself. he teases your entrance, pushing in just an inch, then pulling back. again. and again. until you’re shaking, begging incoherently
then he grips the ropes around your chest like reins and slams into you in one brutal thrust
the stretch burns perfectly. you scream his name, back arching as much as the bonds allow. he doesn’t pause—pulls out almost all the way and drives back in. every snap of his hips jolts you forward, cuffs rattling, ropes creaking. the angle is deep, relentless, hitting spots that make stars burst behind your eyes
“Fuck—tightest little pussy” he grits out “All bound up and still takin’ me like you were made for it”
one hand leaves the ropes to fist in your hair, yanking your head back so he can mouth at your neck—biting, sucking marks into your skin. the other slides down to rub rough circles over your clit again
you’re sobbing with pleasure now, completely overwhelmed
he suddenly pulls out and you cry out at the emptiness. before you can protest, he’s flipping you onto your back—careful of the cuffs—and spreading your tied thighs wide. the ropes keep you open, exposed, and he dives in like a man starved
his mouth is hot and filthy on you—tongue lapping broad stripes, then flicking fast over your clit. two fingers plunge back inside, curling hard while he sucks you like he’s trying to wreck you. you’re shaking but the ropes hold you down, forcing you to take every second of it
“Come on my tongue, baby” he growls against you “Wanna taste you”
you shatter—orgasm ripping through you so hard your vision whites out. he doesn’t stop, licking you through it until you’re trembling, oversensitive, gasping and begging
only then does he rise up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes feral. he lines himself up and thrusts back inside you in one smooth stroke, groaning at how you flutter around him post-climax
“Fuck—gonna fill you up baby” he pants, pace turning brutal again
a few more deep, grinding thrusts and he’s coming—hot and pulsing, buried to the hilt, he rides it out with a low, broken moan and after, he stays inside you a long moment, breathing hard
then he’s gentle—kissing your damp forehead, reaching for the key. cuffs click open. gag fully removed. ropes untied slow and careful, his thumbs rubbing over every faint red line
he pulls you into his lap right there on the grimy set floor, wrapping his vest around your shaking body. soft kisses trail over your wrists, your throat
“You're with me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice soft now
“Yes... but it was... intense” you nod, burrowing into his chest. he smirks against your hair
“You did so good baby. You took it so well, didn't protest even once. Such a good girl” he murmured caressing your hair
That was one of the first things you warned yourself of; be careful, he's a rockstar. They don't do relationships. At least not anything healthy enough to last.
So you kept him at a distance. The type to answer a call, but never be there when the sun decided to rise through the thin fabric of his curtains. Your scent was left, maybe your underwear if you were in a rush.
It was a fling.
Stupid, careless, no string attached.
It couldn't last that way though when his arms caged you against him as he slept. When his nose buried in your hair as if it was the only thing grounding him. When he started asking you to stay in the mornings and you'd watch the sunrise together while talking.
The no strings attached quickly turned into something more with his months off tour.
He'd come over to your apartment, confide in you about the band, help you cook after you got off work.
You'd let him in.
Then it was time for him to get going again. Back with the band, around different countries and away from you. It was inevitable, you knew that; still you were stupid enough to fall for it regardless.
It's been another regular night, probably the last before he left. You were sitting on the counter, legs dangling off the edge and you watched him move.
He was making pasta, something he seemed to be good at based on your experience with him now. He seemed so relaxed, carefree—was it your presence?
Candles lit up the room, flames flickering dimly in the already small space.
Suddenly it felt too quiet and your thoughts felt too loud.
"Y'know I'm not staying around and waiting while you're on tour, right?" Your voice broke the tranquility. The record that was spinning seemed to slow as you saw his back tense up slightly.
"I know, love." He muttered, his voice quiet as if he already accepted the defeat of it.
For whatever reason, maybe the guilt that began eating at your stomach with how soft his voice was.
"I just—... Can't wait around for someone. This wasn't supposed to be anything anyways. It's not your fault, Iz."
And it was true, you weren't the waiting type. You didn't rush, but you didn't waste time knowing what he could be doing. Who he could be doing.
You didn't wanna spend months worrying about that, fretting over the things you couldn't control—it was purely a waste of time for you.
He wouldn't look at you, his back stayed turned as he continued mixing in the noodles with the sauce despite the fact you were sure it was fully mixed.
You slowly got off the counter, taking a few careful steps to stand beside him instead.
You could see it now, how his jaw was clenched. How his hand seemed to grip the serving spoon as if it was a last resort.
Suddenly you realized it wasn't a good idea to stay too long. It'd get too messy, too complicated with feelings that shouldn't be felt and words that shouldn't be said.
You couldn't risk that.
"I'm really sorry, Iz." You apologized, voice soft and quiet amongst that silence that seemed to stretch.
"Wasn't meant to mean anything anyways." He repeated, not sparing you a glance as he turned the burner off.
You nodded, not knowing whether you were reassuring yourself or him. Regardless you went along with it, nothing else you could do. Can't stay waiting.
Can't stay longing.
You grabbed your jacket, the warmth that envelopes the place vanishing like the smoke as the candles were blown out.
Your footsteps echoed softly once you had your boots on, the last remaining trace of you—besides your scent of his sheets. Your hair in his shower drain. Your lipstick left on his bathroom sink. Your presence left dwelling in his mind.
Was this the cost of the life he wanted? Connections that broke because of his job, love that was left lingering in the space now between you two because of his reputation?
His eyes finally moved to you at the last second, only seeing a glimpse of your hair as you closed the door behind you.
Gone. Not waiting, not ready to try,
Gone.
And he felt as if it was his fault.
Feeding you guys before I disappear again (bound to happen). geometry is finally NOT kicking my ass, all love meant.
hii pretty, could you please write some enemies to lovers with early 80s dave pls? 🥹
im not sure if i described early dave (sorry about that) correctly but you guys know, so id appreciate any comments!
𝓔𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓹
𝒹𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
Los Angeles, summer 1982
Sunset Strip —neon signs bleeding pink and electric blue, the smell of exhaust, cheap cologne and spilled beer hanging thick in the air. hair metal was starting to glitter but the real fire was underground: thrash, fast and ugly, born in garages and back alleys. your band was scrappy, hungry and finally getting booked at places like the Whisky and the Troubadour. you handled everything—booking, promo, keeping the boys from killing each other or ODing before the set. you were twenty-four, leather jacket permanently glued to your shoulders, and you didn’t take shit from anyone
and there was Dave Mustaine
he rolled into every venue like he was already headlining Madison Square Garden. long red hair tangled and sweaty, cigarette always burning, that permanent smirk. his band was louder, faster, meaner—at least according to the crowd that night at the Troubadour when they blew your set out of the water. you stood side-stage, arms crossed, watching him whip his head during solos, fingers a blur on the neck of his guitar. the crowd lost their minds. you hated how good he was. hated more how your pulse kicked up watching him
afterward, in the cramped backstage hallway reeking of sweat and stale piss, he caught you starin.
“Enjoyed the show, sweetheart?” he drawled, wiping his face with the hem of his ripped shirt. sweat glistened on his chest
you stepped closer, chin up “I’ve seen better. Your timing’s off in the bridge of that last one. Really sloppy”
his eyes narrowed “Sloppy? That’s rich coming from the band that still plays like they’re auditioning for high school talent show”
“Fuck you, Mustaine”
“Anytime sweetie but you gotta wait in line cause I have other girls needy too ” he grinned
that was the beginning
for months it was open season
you “forgot” to tell their roadie about a time change—his soundcheck ran thirty minutes late, pissing off the club owner. he told everyone in earshot that you couldn’t hold a note sober (which, to be fair, was sometimes true). you spiked his drink with extra-hot sauce at a party in the Cathouse. he “accidentally” unplugged your band’s power strip mid-set the next week. the crowd thought it was part of the show. you wanted to strangle him
but every time your eyes met across a room—whether it was the Rainbow Bar & Grill or some after-hours party—the air crackled. he’d hold your gaze too long. you’d flip him off but your stomach flipped too
one night in San Francisco, after a brutal co-headline bill at the Stone, everything snapped
both bands were wrecked. adrenaline still pumping, amps ringing in everyone’s ears. the green room was chaos—empty bottles rolling, girls giggling in corners, cigarette smoke so thick you could chew it. Dave was leaning against the wall, leather pants low on his hips, red hair plastered to his forehead, laughing at something his bassist said. you walked past, intending to ignore him
he caught your wrist
not hard — just enough to stop you
you spun with a frown “Let go”
“You’ve been staring at me all night” he said low, voice rough from screaming lyrics for ninety minutes straight
“Bullshit”
“You think I don’t notice?” he stepped closer, crowding you against the doorframe. the hallway light flickered overhead “Every time I look up from my rig, there you are. Glaring. Like you wanna fight me. Or fuck me. Which is it?”
your breath hitched.“You’re delusional”
“Am I?” his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist “Cause right now you’re not even pulling away”
you should’ve. instead your other hand fisted in his damp shirt and yanked him forward
the kiss was violent
teeth and fury and months of pent-up hate. he groaned into your mouth, hands slamming to the wall on either side of your head, caging you. you bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. he hissed and shoved his thigh between yours, pressing up until you gasped
“Fuck” he muttered against your jaw, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your neck “Been wanting to do this since the first time you told me my riffs sucked”
“They still do” you breathed, even as your nails raked down his back hard enough to leave marks
“We will see about that” he laughed—dark, dangerous—and hauled you into an empty storage room across the hall. door locked
he shoved your jacket off your shoulders, yanked your tank top up and over your head while you tore at his belt. buckle clattered. jeans shoved down just enough. your leather pants were the worst part since they got stuck but as soon as you were out of them your panties were shoved to the side. his fingers found you first—rough, calloused, knowing exactly how to curl and press until your knees buckled
“Still hate me?” he growled in your ear, teeth grazing your lobe
“Yes” you hissed, even as you rocked against his hand
“Good”
he lifted you onto a stack of road cases, spread your thighs wide and sank in with one brutal thrust. you both cursed at the same time—loud, raw. he didn’t give you time to adjust, just set a punishing rhythm that matched the tempo of the songs you’d both been playing all night: fast, aggressive with no mercy
your legs locked around his waist. nails dug into his shoulders. his mouth was everywhere—on your throat, your collarbone, sucking bruises into skin the crew would see tomorrow and whisper about. you pulled his hair hard, forcing his head back so you could bite along his jaw
“Come on, you can go hrder” you demanded
he obliged without a word. the cases creaked under you. bottles rattled somewhere in the dark. his hand slid between you, thumb circling exactly where you needed it, until you were shaking and crying “Ahh— Dave…fuck—!”
when you came it was loud—head thrown back, his name torn from your throat. he followed seconds later, hips stuttering, burying his face in your neck with a guttural groan that vibrated through your bones
for a long minute, just panting of you both
he didn’t pull out right away. just held you there, forehead pressed into your neck
“Truce?” he rasped finally
you laughed—breathless, wrecked “Fuck no. This changes nothing”
he grinned finally pulling away from yu “Good. I like winning”
since that quickie it started regularly between you two
there was next week in San Diego: quick and dirty in the back of his van after everyone else passed out
then Phoenix: against the wall of a motel hallway at 4 am, both of you still half-drunk and buzzing from the show
rhen Portland: slower this time, in a real bed for once—him taking his time, learning every sound you made, every spot that made you arch and beg. you hated how gentle he could be when he wanted. hated more how much you craved it
the rivalry never really died. tou still fought over set times, still told anyone who’d listen that the other’s band was shitty and overrated. but now there was heat behind every insult. now every glare ended with one of you dragging the other into the nearest dark corner
one night in Seattle, rain hammering the venue roof, he pulled you onto the empty stage after load-out. just the two of you under the ghost lights
he lit a cigarette, offered you a drag. you took it
“You know” he said quietly, smoke curling between you “I still think your band’s got potential. If you ever fire that shitty drummer”
you exhaled, handed it back “And I still think you play too many goddamn leads. Ever heard of restraint?”
he laughed “Nah. Restraint’s for people who don’t want it bad enough”
you looked at him then. messy red hair, tired eyes, that cocky mouth softened just a little
“You know… Maybe I don’t hate you anymore” you admitted
he stepped closer, brushed hair from your face “And maybe I never really hated you”
the kiss that followed wasn’t angry. it was slow. deep. like the end of a long, bruising song finally resolving
It'd been a long day, the type where the hours bleed together into one long period of hell. Mainly because of work, your shift at the bar was never too pleasant; that only worsened on the holidays, even one like Valentine's day.
You were ready just to get home and sleep. To make everything worse, Axl wasn't supposed to be at your shared apartment so you couldn't even celebrate with him in person, your ear would be pressed to a phone instead as he mumbled apologies about being on tour.
You knew it wasn't technically his fault, but it was still fucking annoying.
Your fingers fumbled with the keys for a second before you were finally able to unlock the door, shutting it and locking it behind you.
You expected nothing, lights off, the scent of an old vanilla and musk candle lingering in the air as always. That wasn't exactly the case.
The lights were on, though dimmed to the lowest setting. Candles were lit and placed among various tables and countertops that crowded the small space. There were even rose petals making a small path—fake and artificial, but still meaning the world compared to the lonely night you would've had.
You carefully took off your shoes and followed the petals, glancing around for anything that wasn't a flame dancing with its shadow on the wall. You knew who was behind it; it excited you despite how cautious you appeared to be.
The roses stopped at the entrance of your bedroom, the door only cracked open. You nudged it with your foot, looking forwards in anticipation.
Laughter immediately left you at what you saw—Axl, that part wasn't a surprise. Rather what was, was him splayed out across the bed, dressed in boxers and one of your lacy bras.
He was grinning, immediately moving to his feet and tossing the bra off him as he did so.
"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, softly, his smile beginning to match yours and his arms wrapped around your waist.
"what're you doin' back already?" You question, you didn't expect him in the slightest, he was supposed to be gone for a few more weeks.
Knowing him, he probably pulled a few strings.
You didn't really care enough to give him time to answer, instead pulling him down for a kiss and you hand tangled at the hair in the nape of his neck. Still soft, but smelling on hotel shampoo instead of the usual beachy one he used while home.
You felt his hands splay out across you back, momentarily breaking the kiss, keeping so close to you he was practically whispering in your mouth.
"Wanted to be home... Happy Valentine's day..." He greeted, his hand cupping your face as he left little pecks over every inch of skin he could find.
You smile widened, if possible. "Happy Valentine's day." You muttered back
Suddenly, the day didn't seem as bad. The dickwads at the bar didn't dwell in your mind in his presence. Your fucking bitch of a co-worker wasn't even a thought.
Maybe that's just the effect Axl had on you, probably was at this point.
All you knew was that the day couldn't get any better.
And that you were getting him on that bed as soon as possible.
Sorry if this seems lazy, my lil fellas, I've been the lockest of locked in. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY
Heyo I love your fics - they’re so great❤️ I was hoping you could do an 80s slash fic where it’s like bitter sweet/ young love?
- like slash out on a lonely night - just found out his recent love left him for another. He sits at his favorite bar in hopes for relieving his pain and to find something else to replace it. Only to find another also in the same predicament as he sitting at the bar drinking as well. She’s not your average groupie or rockstar but she’s there in rather normal clothing and slash decides to shoot his shot with her?
Thank you- it could be fluff or smutty or both with. Angst but yea :)
𝓡𝓪𝓲𝓷𝔂 𝓓𝓪𝔂
𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
rain didn’t fall often in LA but it did tonight—thin, misty drizzle that curled into Slash’s curls as he walked. his leather jacket clung cold to his shoulders but he barely noticed. his heart felt heavier
he’d just found out she was gone
said she needed “someone more stable” “someone who wasn’t married to his guitar nor his bandmates”
he laughed at first
then it hit
then he left before she could see his face crack
the neon of the small dive bar he always slipped into—quiet, tucked between a tattoo shop and a liquor store—glowed like a refuge. he pushed inside, welcomed by warmth, cigarette haze and the low hum of synth-pop mixing with a blues guitar track on the jukebox
Slash slid into his usual seat at the bar—third stool from the end.
whiskey. no ice
he stared at the amber liquid, willing it to burn the ache out of him
and then he noticed you
you weren’t a groupie, not dressed like that—simple sweater, jeans, hair slightly damp with rain. no glitter, no ripped fishnets, no rock shirt tied under your chest. just… normal
but God, you looked as wrecked as he felt
you sat two stools away, elbow on the counter, fingers pressed to your forehead like you were trying to hold yourself together. a half-finished drink sat untouched beside your hand
Slash wasn’t bold by nature—unless he was on stage, guitar slung low, mic stands flying but heartbreak makes people do strange things.
and something about the way you looked—soft, tired, not trying to impress anyone—pulled him in like gravity
he gently slid one stool closer “Rough night?”
“Is it that obvious?” your eyes lifted—slow, hesitant—and the moment your gaze met his, something loosened inside his chest. you looked kind. sad but kind
“Only because I’m sitting here looking the same way”
a tiny smile tugged at your lips, just enough to make his stomach flip
“Let me guess… legendary Slash has a girl problems?”
he softly chuckled at the "legendary" word “Something like that. You?”
your smile faded “Yeah”
silence settled between you but it wasn’t awkward. it was shared—strangely comforting. like two strangers sitting in the same small boat, drifting on the same lonely tide
Slash raised a hand to the bartender “Put her next drink on me”
you blinked, almost startled “You don’t have to—”
“I know. But maybe we could both use something warm tonight”
your cheeks warmed and Slash felt a quiet swell of pride at the sight
he twisted slightly on his stool to face you more fully
“I’m, uh… Slash”
“I know”
he flushed, rubbing the back of his neck “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You just… surprised me, talking to me. Thought you’d be surrounded by people”
he huffed a small laugh “Some nights, being alone with a drink sounds better than a room full of people screaming your name”
your eyes softened “I can imagine”
another sip. another warm silence
then you said, almost in a whisper “Did she really hurt you?”
Slash looked down at his glass, rolling it between his fingers “Yeah. I didn’t think I cared as much as I did… until she walked away”
your voice was gentle “Then she’s an idiot”
he blinked
then smiled—an actual, real smile
“What about you? Who hurt you tonight?”
you drew a breath “Someone I thought was my future. Turns out I was just the ‘in-between’ for him”
Slash’s jaw tightened, protective without even knowing why “Then he’s an idiot too”
you laughed—quiet, soft, honest
and Slash felt it
that little spark
the kind that sneaks up on you, the kind that hits you in the ribs and makes your heartbeat feel a little too steady, a little too warm
he reached out—slowly, carefully—and tapped your glass with his “To idiots”
“To idiots”
you both drank
the bar grew louder but the world around you softened. Slash shifted his stool until your shoulders almost touched. he smelled like leather, smoke and a sweetness you didn’t expect. his curls brushed your cheek when he leaned closer to hear you speak
at one point, you shivered
he instantly shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it around your shoulders, eyes gentle
“Slash, I can’t—”
“Let me take care of you. Just for tonight. I could use the company”
you looked at him
he didn’t seem like the rock god plastered on posters
not the wild man smashing bottles backstage
just a young guy with tired eyes and a big heart, hoping someone might hold the pieces together with him
your hand brushed his—accidental at first
then again, intentional
he swallowed hard, eyes dropping to your intertwined fingers like he wasn’t sure how it happened
“Can I…?”
his thumb ghosted over your knuckles
a question without words
you nodded
and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours
he walked you out into the cool, drizzly night, his jacket still around your shoulders
he lifted his hand over your head as a shield from the rain, guiding you gently
“You don’t deserve to be alone tonight”
“Neither do you”
that made him look at you again—really look—eyes softening, lips parting slightly like he was afraid to smile too wide
then he blurted, cheeks warm in the neon glow “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”
you stepped closer, fingers sliding into his curls “Yeah. It would”
his lips met yours softly—so soft it almost hurt
you pulled him closer, your hands cupping his jaw
he breathed against your mouth, shakier than you expected
when you finally pulled back, you caught the faintest blush on his cheeks
“You look handsome when u blush”
he chuckled at that “So do you” he brushed the hair out of your face “Would you… wanna come back to mine? Not for anything wild. Just… warmth. Music or sum shit”
he hesitated “I don’t want to be lonely tonight. Not if you’re feeling the same”
you slid your hand into his “I’d like that”
his shoulders relaxed and with your hand in his
your apartment wasn’t far — five, maybe six blocks — but the drizzle had turned into a fine mist that made everything feel softer, quieter. Slash walked beside you with his hand hovering near your lower back, not touching unless you swayed a little. his jacket was still on your shoulders, swallowing you whole
you fumbled with your keys at the door, muttering “Why are keys so complicated?”
Slash chuckled behind you, curls dripping rainwater “You’re adorable when you’re tipsy”
the door finally popped open
you stumbled in
Slash caught the doorframe with one hand and steadied your hip with the other, guiding you inside
warm. dim. cozy little living room
a stack of VHS tapes near an old TV
a blanket half-folded on the couch
you kicked your shoes off—messily—and then flopped onto the couch with a sigh that could’ve meant exhaustion, heartbreak or relief
Slash stood in the doorway, watching you with this soft, almost surprised expression
like he didn’t expect you to be so normal?
soft. messy.
not someone screaming backstage or trying to get into his pants.
just a girl who’d had a rough night, living in a quiet apartment with romcoms and mismatched throw pillows
“You good?” he asked takin his boots off
“Mhm. Just… dizzy”
he smirked “Lightweight”
you gasped “I am NOT”
“You had two drinks”
“They were strong!”
he laughed so softly you barely caught it
Slash wasn’t drunk — he’d had enough over the years to build a tolerance that could shame a pirate. his cheeks were slightly warm, his voice low and smooth but he was steady
you… not so much
he stepped in further, flicking the lamp switch near the couch. a soft amber glow filled the room
“You want some water?” he asked sitting on the couch
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm… I want you” you purred
Slash looked almost confused
your eyes were on him—wide, vulnerable, definitely tipsy but filled with something that made his chest tighten
you pushed yourself up on your knees, wobbly but determined and crawled toward him on the couch
he lifted his hands instinctively, ready to catch you if you toppled
you reached him first, one hand sliding into his curls, tugging gently “You’re pretty”
he kissed back — because how could he not?
his hands gripped your waist, steadying you, pulling you closer just a little, kissing you with gentle restraint
but when you deepened it—trying to push him down onto the couch, trying to climb into his lap—your legs tangled with the blanket and you stumbled backward
“Oh—shit—!”
Slash caught you just before you hit the armrest
you froze, mortified “Oh my god. Fuuuck, everything’s going wrong today. I’m so stupid—”
“Hey—hey. Don’t say that we can just continue—”
“I can’t even be sexy right. I can’t even—ugh—”
your voice cracked, embarrassment hitting harder than the fall ever could
Slash gently cupped your cheeks, tilting your face up so you had to look at him “You’re not stupid. You’re drunk. And you’re hurting. That’s all”
you blinked, lip trembling
“And you don’t have to impress me, you're making up with your messy sweetness”
you let out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping as the tension left your body
he stroked your cheek with his thumb
“C’mere”
he pulled you onto the couch, seating you gently beside him. you leaned into his shoulder with a soft huff because it felt safe and he let you
a quiet beat
then he looked around the room “So… what’s this?” he pointed at the VHS tape sticking halfway out of the VCR
you sniffed “…Pretty in Pink”
“Jesus”
“What?”
“The dude’s named Duckie. I can’t take that seriously”
you elbowed him weakly “It’s sweet!”
he raised an eyebrow “Sweet? The whole movie’s one guy being friendzoned while wearing clothes that look like they lost a fight with a thrift store”
“Shut up, Slash”
“I’m just saying” he shrugged
you huffed dramatically, crossing your arms. he grinned and nudged you with his shoulder until you uncrossed them
he hit play
the tape crackled, the screen tinted slightly green at the edges.
Slash slouched down, one arm resting behind the couch. after a minute or so, he let his arm drift closer, just enough that you could lean into him if you wanted
you did
slowly not to make it weird
and he curled his arm around you, pulling you into his side
you could feel his heart, steady beneath leather
he could feel your breath even out against him “You know… he should’ve ended up with Duckie”
“Thank you!”
“But that kid’s fashion sense is unforgivable”
“Slash—”
“Un. Forgivable.”
you giggled, forehead bumping his shoulder. Slash watched you for a second too long, eyes warm, something protective flickering there
he brushed a loose piece of hair behind your ear
slow
tentative
“We don’t have to do anything tonight. I just… wanna be here with you. If that’s okay”
your fingers curled into his shirt “Yeah. That’s okay”
you rested your head on his chest. he let out a breath like he’d been carrying the weight of the world
and the two of you stayed on a half-sagging couch, in the glow of a crappy 80s romcom, wrapped in a night full of rain, heartbreak, and slow-forming something
a night that shouldn’t have felt good
but at the end it did
because he was there
and you were there
I’m so glad you’re back I love your fics!! also take all the time you need to write and dw about the people rushing you <33
i js wanted to ask if you could do a fic about slash who’s been friends/hooking up with this model and one night he confesses his feelings to her (do it whenever you can if you want to, there’s no rush)
𝓛𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷
𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
the city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windows of Slash's penthouse suite, high above the LA skyline. it was one of those rare nights off tour—gnr had just wrapped a leg in europe and he'd flown back to US craving something familiar. you. the model he met years ago at some afterparty, back when you were just breaking into the scene with your killer legs and that smirk that could launch a thousand magazine covers
what started as flirty banter turned into hookups, then "friends with benefits" though neither of you ever slapped a label on it. it was easy: no strings, just stolen nights of sweat-slicked skin, tangled sheets and that post-sex haze where you'd share cigarettes and talk shit about the industry
tonight was no different—at first. you'd shown up in a slinky black dress that hugged every curve, fresh off a shoot for some high-fashion brand. Slash answered the door in his usual low-key vibe: faded jeans slung low on his hips, no shirt, those iconic black curls wild. those tattooed arms pulled you in for a kiss that tasted like whiskey and promise
"Missed this" he murmured against your lips, his hands already roaming, sliding up your thighs to hitch your dress higher. you laughed, nipping at his neck, inhaling that familiar scent of leather and smoke
"Missed me or missed fucking me?" you teased, your fingers tangling in his hair as he backed you toward the bedroom
"Both, baby. Always both"
the sex was electric as usual. he had you pinned against the wall first, his mouth on your neck, fingers digging into your hips while you wrapped your legs around him. you rode him on the bed after, his hands guiding your rhythm, that gravelly voice groaning your name like a prayer. you came undone together
afterward, you lay there in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat steady out. he lit a cigarette, passing it to you after a drag, his free hand tracing lazy circles on your bare back. the rain pattered against the glass and for once the silence felt heavier. loaded
you propped yourself up on an elbow, studying him "What's on your mind, pretty boy? You seem... off"
he chuckled, that low rumble that always made your stomach flip "Pretty boy, huh? Keep calling me that and I'll show you I can still go another round" but his eyes softened and he stubbed out the cigarette, turning to face you fully. his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lips "Nah, seriously. Been thinking a lot lately. About us"
"Us?" you raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool but your heart skipped. you'd always kept it light—hookups, sure, but feelings? that was dangerous territory in your world of fashion shows and his endless tours
"Yeah. This... thing we've got. Started as fun, right? Friends who fuck like rabbits" he smirked but it faded quick "But it's more than that for me now. Has been for a while"
you sat up a little, pulling the sheet around you, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked "Slash..."
he sat up too, leaning against the headboard, his gaze intense under those curls "Look, I'm not good at this shit. Never have been. Relationships? I fuck 'em up. But you... you're different. You get me. The real me, not the rockstar bullshit. We laugh, we talk and yeah, the sex is insane but it's you I crave when I'm on the road. Not just your body—though, fuck, that's a bonus" he took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, his voice dropping to that husky whisper "I love you, baby. Like, for real. Not just hooking up. I want more. Dates, mornings after, all that sappy crap"
your breath caught. you'd felt it too—the pull beyond the physical. the way his calls made you smile, how you'd cancel shoots just to see him. but hearing it from him, this legendary guitarist baring his soul? it hit hard
"I... I love you too" you whispered, leaning in to kiss him soft and slow. no rush, no heat—just truth
he pulled you into his lap, holding you close, his lips curving into a genuine smile against yours "Good. 'Cause you're it for me and I don't want anybody else"
hiiiiii, i love your posts sm!!! i was reading your bdsm axl alphabet headcanons and somewhere it mentioned axl fingering y/n under the table at a diner! i thought that idea was really good so i was wondering if you haven't already can you make a fic based off that?
ofc i cannnn!! thank you for the request <3
𝓛𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴
𝒶𝓍𝓁 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
the diner was one of those classic 50s-style joints on the outskirts of LA, all chrome edges and checkered floors, with a flickering "Open 24/7" sign that buzzed faintly in the night
it was pushing midnight, the kind of hour where the only souls around were truckers nursing coffee and insomniacs chasing greasy comfort food. you'd whined to Axl about wanting something simple—no paparazzi, no groupies, just the two of you like a normal couple for once. he grinned that dangerous grin, red hair widl and said "Alright, baby. Normal it is" but the glint in his green eyes told you normal was never in his vocabulary
you slid into the booth first, your short denim skirt riding up your thighs as you settled on the cool vinyl. Axl followed on the opposite side, his legs stretching out under the table, boots brushing yours. he looked fucking edible—tight black leather pants, a half-unbuttoned shirt showing off that pale chest and those lips curved into a smirk that promised trouble
the waitress, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a name tag reading "Doris" took your orders without much fanfare. cheeseburger deluxe for him, extra fries to share and a chocolate milkshake for you—two straws, because Axl insisted on "sharing" like it was the most innocent thing in the world
as soon as Doris shuffled away, Axl leaned back, arms spread along the top of the booth, eyeing you like prey "You look good enough that I could eat you for dinner, y'know that?" his voice was low, that raspy drawl that always made your core clench "That little skirt... bet you're not even wearing much underneath"
you shifted, heat flooding your cheeks—and lower "Axl, behave. This is supposed to be normal"
he chuckled darkly, foot nudging your calf under the table "Normal? With you sitting there looking like my personal wet dream? Nah"
his boot trailed higher, up your shin, then your knee, forcing your legs apart just a fraction. you glanced around—the diner was dead quiet except for the low hum of Elvis on the jukebox and the occasional clink of dishes from the kitchen. still, the thrill of being caught made your pulse race
"Axl..." you warned again but it came out breathy, needy
his hand dropped casually to his lap, like he was just adjusting himself. then it disappeared under the tablecloth. fingers grazed your bare knee, warm and calloused from years of gripping that mic stand like it owed him money
"Spread your legs for me, baby" he whispered, eyes locked on yours, intense and commanding "Let me feel how wet you are already"
you swallowed hard, thighs parting on instinct. God, you were helpless when he got like this—dominant, possessive
his fingers inched up your inner thigh, slow and teasing, nails scraping lightly. you bit your lip as he reached the hem of your skirt, pushing it higher until the cool air hit your damp panties. he traced the lace edge with one finger, humming approvingly
"Fuck, you're soaked through" he growled softly "This what a 'normal' date does to you? Makes that pretty pussy drip for me?"
you nodded, gripping the menu like a lifeline as he slipped under the fabric. one thick finger dragged through your folds, parting them, coating himself in your slick. you stifled a gasp, hips twitching forward
"Shh" he warned, that wicked smile widening "Gotta stay quiet. Wouldn't want Doris hearing what a needy little slut you are"
he circled your clit slowly, lazily, building the pressure while watching your face crumple. your breath came in shallow pants as he added a second finger to the tease, dipping just inside your entrance before pulling back
"Please..." you whispered, voice trembling
"Please what?" he leaned forward, pretending to look at the dessert menu but his fingers never stopped "Tell me what you want, baby. Use that filthy mouth"
"Fingers... inside me" you begged quietly, thighs quivering
"Good girl" without warning, he plunged two fingers deep, curling them up to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. you slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling the moan as he started pumping—slow at first, then faster, the wet sounds obscene under the table
Doris chose that exact moment to return with your food, setting down plates with a cheerful "Here ya go, folks. Enjoy!"
you forced a smile, voice cracking as you said "Th-thank you" Axl didn't miss a beat—his fingers thrust deeper, thumb grinding against your clit in tight circles. he even had the audacity to nod politely at Doris
as she walked away, he sped up, free hand reaching across the table to steal a fry like nothing was happening "Eat your shake, baby" he ordered, eyes dark with lust "Act natural while I finger-fuck this tight cunt"
you grabbed the straw with shaky hands, sipping as he added a third finger, stretching you deliciously. the fullness made your walls flutter, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, slick noises barely masked by the music
"You're clenching so hard" he rasped, voice dropping lower "Love knowing anyone could walk by and see you falling apart. My good little whore, coming on my fingers in public"
the dirty words pushed you closer, your free hand digging into the booth seat. he curled his fingers harder, hitting that spot relentlessly, thumb flicking your clit until you were nearly on the edge
"Come for me" he commanded, leaning in to steal a sip from your shake—tongue darting out suggestively "Soak my hand right here"
you shattered
orgasm ripped through you, body convulsing as you bit down on your straw to silence the cry. waves of ecstasy pulsed around his fingers, your pussy gushing over his palm. he didn't stop, riding it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive and boneless
finally, he withdrew slowly, bringing his drenched fingers up above the table. right there in the open, he sucked them clean—one by one—tongue swirling, eyes burning into yours
"Taste yourself on me later" he said with a smirk, licking his lips "Sweetest fucking thing"
you were still dazed, embarassed with the whole thing, thighs slick, wet and trembling, when he tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table—way more than needed—and stood "Let's go baby. Before someone sees how drenched this booth is now"
could you PLEASE make a slash/axl/duff (i don't care which one) x fem reader recreating the party scene where kat's drunk and hits her head and patrick's taking care of her from "10 things i hate about you"??? if you dont know the movie you can find the clip on youtube! tysm! (also, make it set at like a party in LA during early gnr era, NOT highschoolers lol)
I'm here
Duff McKagan × reader
You were drunk, maybe a little too drunk. Maybe that's why everything was so hazy, your heading pounding and your movements more dull than the usual sharpness you radiated.
You'd lost your friends and the band in the midst of the club, somewhere between the neon lights and the lingering scent of sweat and alcohol.
The dance floor had seemed inviting, so that's where you were. Lost in the space—rather lack of it, between people's bodies, all as dazed as you.
You'd been lost in the rhythm, letting your body move on instinct rather than actual thought.
Until you felt familiar hands, matching the familiar scent of vodka, leather, and vanilla. Before you knew it you were being thrown over his shoulder.
"Duff—put me down, you ass—" your protests were weakly mumbled and slurred, likely not heard over the blaring music and the voices of everyone.
Once they were outside you finally got put down, you could still feel his arm on your skin—attempting to steady you.
Your head was pounding, way more than it did when usually intoxicated.
"This is so patronizing." You scoffed, words still slurred as you stumbled again, his hands bracing you.
His lips quirked up, "leave it up to you to talk all sophisticated while smashed." He retaliated softly, choosing out show amusement rather than concern.
"why're you doin' this?" The words slipped from your mouth before you could build the will power to stop them. You knew he'd been hanging around you, for whatever reason. He wasn't the worst, you supposed. You wanted to know why—what was he so dedicated to get at?
"I told you." He brushed off, that just made you more annoyed, even worse when the headache began to worsen.
"C'mon, duff, you don't care if I live or die." You laughed, stumbling into his side again, hand holding his wrist to keep yourself up right.
"Sure I do"
"why?" The question came out, curious as you eyes landed on him. His face almost seemed to get serious,
"because then I'll have to take out woman who actually like me." His hands found your waist as you neared a bench.
"Like you could find one." You rolled your eyes, words still slurred. His face broke out into a smile, laughing quietly.
"See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?"
You scoffed, though the act didn't stop the smile from forming on your lips.
"just set me down." You replied, the pounding getting worse despite how distracting he was—specifically his eyes.
You leaned back once you felt the bench beneath you, hands coming down to grip the edge of it as if it was the only thing that could keep you stable.
He followed in suit, his hand coming up on your shoulder when you almost fell forwards.
"Jesus..." He muttered, his hand coming up to softly cup your face when he saw your eyes closing.
"Hey, wake up—C'mon now." He insisted, relief flooding him once your eyes flickered open. It was silent before you voice broke it.
"Your eyes have a little green in 'em..." You didn't know why you pointed that out, maybe it was because he was the only clear thing in your vision.
Or how he was looking down at you with care, worry. Why'd he care again?
Before you could process anything else you felt something come out of your throat and you were throwing up on the concrete, groaning after.
His hands were there to brace you again, you were beginning to think they always would be.
Sorry if this is shit, I wrote this while building a bed frame #multitasker, also, MERRU CHRISTMAS EVE
Axl was never one to make a big deal out of Christmas. He grew up in a home where every interaction on the holiday was covered with a tight lipped smile that cut deeper than any words ever could.
He grew up and just never bothered much with it, it faded out and away like most things.
That's where you came in,
You'd met a few years back, at some party he barely bothered to show up to. You were all genuine smiles and subtle, words careful as if you knew someone was listening.
He fell deep.
The way your lips quirked up when trying not to laugh, or how beautiful it sounded when you did. How you were inviting and kind, but not willing to be walked and trampled over.
You guys hit it off as friends; he was too pussy to ask to be something more.
You lingered around whenever available, which wasn't often, you were a busy woman. He acted like it didn't effect him, but it's when you were around he smiled the most.
Like now, you were here, in his kitchen. It was domestic in a way that wasn't him, but felt natural regardless.
You'd insisted on baking something—"for the holiday" you claimed lazily, that all too familiar grin slipping into your lips as you said it.
That's how he got roped into making snicker doodles, an elvis record spinning quietly in the background.
He couldn't find it in himself to complain. Every minute you were finding an ingredient, he was staring—admiring. Whether your hands, how they formed the cookie dough; how they could run over every inch of his—he needed to stop.
"Stop staring and come held, you ass." He was snapped out of it by the sound of your teasing. He scoffed playfully in response, coming up somewhat behind you, somewhat to the side.
"this was your idea, I don't wanna hear shit." Despite his words, they held no malice. Nothing but silent reverence that lingered like smoke whenever you were here.
Your smile got bigger and he felt a sense of pride because he caused it.
Just when he was zoning out again, he felt something hit his face, coming to realize it as flour. You stared at him, that familiar gleam in your eye as you held back the urge to grin.
"you're done for"
He grabbed a handful of flour out of the bag and tossed it back, the powder getting everywhere on you just as it did him. He couldn't help but find you even more beautiful—if that was possible.
He watched as your hand reach for the flour again and on as retaliation his arms wrapped around your waist and he spun you around; laughter leaving both of you at the action.
"Axl—idiot" laughter muffled what would've been your protests as you hands ended up on his chest in attempts to stop him.
Suddenly everything felt too real, the laughter died down and there was less than an inch between your faces.
His hands were on your waist, soft and they felt like fire on your skin.
You swore you saw his eyes flicker to your lips.
His hand came up, cupping your face instead as his thumb wiped whatever flour was on your bottom lip. In all honesty, he just needed to feel skin—if this didn't escalate further, at least he knew how soft your lips were.
Even if he couldn't taste them.
You couldn't take it anymore, the distance that was barely there, the heat radiating off of him despite the cold that bit at your skin because of the late december weather.
You acted stupidly, recklessly.
You kissed him.
Lips brushing over his, soft and hesitant as if you feared it would ruin everything. (It would)
All the doubts you had left the second he pulled you closer, his lips chapped but firm against yours. He tasted of cigarettes and cookie dough batter and you never wanted to taste anything else again.
His hand slipped into your hair and yours found his necklace, pulling him closer because you couldn't bare the distance.
He wasn't sure if this was a dream or not, maybe christmas faith was real—this had to be a miracle of some sorts.
His hand moved from you waist to the small of your back, fingers slipping under your shirt slowly and splaying across your skin, you'd never felt anything better.
You pulled away, staying close enough to the point where breaths were taken together, heavy with unspoken silence.
"God, you're a dream..." He broke it, eyes darting across your face as if looking for something he was terrified to find—regret.
You found a breathless laugh leaving you, relief filling you. It wasn't awkward, you fell into the same pattern again.
"remind me to throw flour at you if this is the outcome." You muttered, not having the will to pull away yet.
"trust me, I will."
He kissed you again, deep and slow. Like you were something to cherish
My bad for the late upload, my day was spent baking and painting 💔
The apartment held the scent of warm vanilla and pine—something he found comfort in as it lingered heavily in the air.
He kept the windows sealed, well tried to atleast. The cold air seemed persistent on seeping into the place anyways, no matter how many times he tried re-locking the windows.
Christmas for him was always rushed. Everyone running around to get something done even when the day was supposed to be somewhat serene. Grandparents commenting on his height and pitching his cheek as a welcome, as if they didn't ignore every opportunity to see him. Present that were ripped open in a hurry—in a rush for what? Dinner happened late anyways.
Now it was tranquil, something he could find relaxing.
There wasn't pressure.
There was you and him. Maybe watching a movie until sunrise, baking until the kitchen held the aroma of sugar and cinnamon—you sharing the cookies with a candle lighting the area. The presents opened when you guy's finally decide to leave the bed. Sharing genuine laughter with friends, not rushed or forced.
His eyes shifted towards the tree, tall, but not overbearing. Something you guys picked out together. The lights seemed to shine brighter now, multi-colored and reflecting off of every surface available.
He remembered decorating it a few weeks back, with the band over—and how steven attempted to put the star on before realizing he couldn't. Hot chocolate you and slash made that the two of you spiked.
There were a few presents underneath, some from the band, some from your friends; that wasn't the part that mattered to him though.
How you were laying in his arms did, soft and there. Your breathing against his skin, familiar and somehow still soothing as ever.
You were focused on whatever movie was playing, the hot coco made sitting on the coffee table hot but untouched yet.
He had a feeling he finally understood what holiday cheer was about. Not the gifts awaiting, not the decorations or weather; the company. How you seemed to melt into every crack in his life and fill it with something worth it all, something that could heal him.
He was never one to dwell on the thought or being saved, being pure, in a way—he knew he'd never be. He didn't hate his life, but he never knew how good it could be until you stumbled into the picture.
You didn't push, didn't pressure him to get better; yet, he wanted to.
"whatcha thinkin' about?" You're voice snapped him out of it. His eyes shifted to meet yours, soft, curious.
"you, always you." He found himself muttering back, fingers tracing the familiar curve of your shoulder.
"You're so sappy sometimes"
Even with your words, he saw how your lips turned up into a smile, how you were tempted to laugh. He couldn't help the smile that climbed onto his lips as well.
"hm... You love it, don't lie." He scoffed playfully, shifting to lay you back on the couch to pepper your face with kisses.
"maybe a bit."
He could hear the smile in your voice, he memorized how it sounded, your words warm. Even while his lips were moving down your neck with feather light kisses.
He settled, his head resting on your chest, ear over your heart. He felt your fingers twist and play with his hair; a habit you had since he'd met you.
"Merry christmas, Duff." You whispered, voice just as warm but quiet as if you didn't want to disrupt the peace that settled over the place.
"Merry christmas, baby." His voice was muffled against your skin, he found himself not caring.
He didn't know how anything could be this perfect.
The movie faded into the background, everything else seemed to when you were around. His hands stayed on you, using both your body heat and the blanket to share the warmth and continually make sure you were there—not some figment of his imagination or a dream.
That's my bad for disappearing for a bit, I was locked in on finals and I passed my geometry one (be proud guys). I shall enter back with Christmas fics, perchance.
Whether it was too late or too early was beyond you. It'd been like this ever since he'd been on tour. It's not like you could go, you had shit to do, meetings and practices to attend.
That didn't mean you weren't sleeping like shit.
You knew the tour should be ending soon, that was a welcomed relief. He wouldn't tell you when though, not the multiple times you guys called, he even made his band mates hold back that information.
You were snapped out of it when you heard the door handle jingling and a key being twisted.
You wandered out of the living room, already knowing who it was.
Who the hell else would have a key to your apartment?
The door soon opened and you stayed standing in the small hallway, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
You could've done more if he warned you he was coming back tonight.
You hair was kept in some messy braid you did this morning, your body simply dressed in old sweatpants, lacy underwear peaking out on your hips, then your bra.
You watched him walk in, he look tired as hell, but seemed happier once he was actually in the apartment.
You flickered on the light switch and his head snapped over. He dropped in bag by the closed door before immediately engulfing you with his arms.
His scent hit you first, leather, cigarette smoke, and some worn off cologne. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers absently playing with the strands of his hair.
"Fuck—missed you. Too much, never leavin' again."
The words were whispered against you skin after he buried his face against you neck, arms wrapping around you tighter if that was possible.
"Missed you too."
You felt like you could finally breath again. He was finally home, his boots by the door like they should've been these last few months.
His lips were against the skin of your neck next, soft, warm, and slightly chapped. Laughter left you as his hands traced up your back, feeling any and all the skin available.
His lips traced up your jaw before he pulled away, eyes looking you over as if to see if anything change within the months he'd been gone.
He hadn't changed at all. Besides the slightest bags under his eyes and how his hair seemed a bit longer, his odd fringe almost covering one of his eyes. You pushed the hair away and that's when his eyes locked with yours, filled with something you could recognize as longing, affection, and hunger.
The feeling of his fingertips tracing you shifted, more deliberate with where they went.
His head fell back on your shoulder, breathing becoming ragged when brushing over you collarbone.
"I need you—holy shit. 's been too long..."
You hands traced down his arms, coming to cover where his had stopped to rest on your hips.
"What's stopping you then? I'm right here, Axl."
His hands tightened for a second. Before you knew it, he was kissing you; rough, desperate, hints of softness you caught before he was devouring you again.
You fingers threaded through his hair, tangling at the roots and tugging at it softly—a groan leaving his mouth at the feeling, the sound lost in the kiss.
You other hand went to the hem of his shirt, bunching and pushing the fabric up in hopes of meeting his skin instead.
He got the message, the kiss broken for a split second while his shirt was left somewhere between the hallway and living room.
His lips were back on yours, hands on your hips to guide you back to the couch. You let your head hit the arm rest lightly once your knees met the couch.
"Really, not even the bed?" You teased, ignoring how your breathing was labored and you hair was probably a messier braid than before.
He laughed, tired, genuine, needy.
"Nah, don't wanna wait that long."
You lips curved up, something familiar when being next to him. His lips went back to attacking your throat, leaving a path of little marks down your chest as he unclasped your bra.
You arched into his touch when his tongue traced your skin. Your hands ran over anywhere you were able to touch on him, index finger hooking around one of his necklaces to pull him closer.
When your legs wrapped around his hips you felt it, hard against the denim he was wearing. Hell, he was practically throbbing as he groaned and tried to grind against you.
He tugged down the waistband of your both your underwear and sweatpants while he kissed back up to your jaw.
Moans left you when he began using his fingers, pulsing in and out of your already wet cunt and his thumb traced your clit with the right amount of pressure.
"Missed those sounds, baby." His voice was against your ear, rough and breathy.
Something you couldn't handle with the sheer amount of need you felt for him.
"Stop teasin' me, dick." You breathed out, hands undoing the leather of his belt as his laugh was muffled with your skin.
"So needy..."
The belt was discarded somewhere and you pushed his jeans and boxers down. His fingers curved inside you once more before he slid them out.
That's when you felt him fully—thick, heavy, aching against you before he slowly stretched you out, your back arching against him as response with your moan.
He paused then, as if remembering the feeling of you that he'd so desperately already tried to memorize.
"Love you." The words slipped out of his mouth, barely audible against your skin but you heard it anyways.
"Love you too, Ax."
He thrusted, slow at first but it quickly became messy and desperate, broken sounds exchanged in-between kisses and desperate touching that left each other aching and wanting more.
He finished after you with his head resting in the crook of his neck and his mouth whispering your name over and over.
He looked up at you, not quite ready to leave the warmth he found while buried inside. But, he did so anyways, shifting to lay besides you.
You grabbed some spare blanket and attempted to lay it over the two of you as he started telling about the tour, the things he didn't tell you in the phone so you wouldn't worry. His fingers traced your skin, refusing to let go even now.
AHH! sorry for not posting, I've been locked in with wrestling and school work.
ME AND MY FRIEND WENT AS CORALINE AND WYBIE FOR HALLOWEEN
He never meant for anything to happen. It just kind of did.
It started when he saw you backstage, his band opening for yours.
You were a woman in rock, not too common, besides a few, little of them made it big. What made you stand out to him is that you never talked about that being one of your struggles. You never flaunted the fact you made it as a woman, nor did you make it seem like a struggle.
That's was drew him in.
Then it was your looks, your confidence that seemed to make you stand out in any room you walked in. Even a crowded after-party.
Then he became infatuated.
His band was on your with yours, you were never too far away. Close contact was held between all the members of both bands, you two not excluded.
He didn't remember half the night, he remembered being drunk and sitting with you in some old leather booth.
Then you guys were making out and he was dragging your ass out of there, you laughing quietly behind him, stumbling and just as wasted as he was.
It'd been a five weeks since then and he couldn't get you out of his fucking head.
It happened six times (he counted), but it was never brought up. He didn't want to talk to you about it because he didn't want you to brush him off. So, he stayed silent about and stayed your little secret.
The press didn't know, they seemed too stupid to catch on despite how fucking nosy they were.
And you it was just you two in a dressing room again.
You'd showered after the show, he was changing. The venue wasn't exactly five stars—wasn't much other option.
You were dressed though, he halfway was.
"We ever gonna go farther than just hook-ups?" He found the question coming out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
He saw you glance back, some type of amused twinkle lingering in your eyes.
He knew you weren't shy. You had groupies lining up, men and women. It didn't really shock him when you went back to braiding your damp hair.
"Why? Can't have a little fun?" You teased, your lips quirking up into the familiar grin he'd grown to love.
No. He really couldn't.
He wanted you. No matter what the media had to say about it, no matter the hard ships, or the tour schedules, or the way you relied more on cigarettes than actual sleep.
Could he say that though?
Instead, he shrugged it off as if it didn't matter.
"Wondering if you were falling for me or somethin'." He brushed off. He may have radiated confidence and sleaze, but that was around chicks he didn't actually care about—just a quick fuck to him.
He heard you laugh, saw you lips press together in your reflection as if to hold it back.
Then you turned to him, braid halfway done and hung loosely over your shoulder as you walked over. He almost stepped back, but didn't go through with it until your finger was placed on his chest and you were guiding him backwards into the couch.
He let his knees hit the old leather of it and plopped down, letting his bare back rest against it.
He swallowed as you shifted to straddle him, something foreign. Usually he was the one initiating things, on top.
His hands went to your leather clad thighs on instinct. He would've preferred skin, but the coolness of the leather was warmly welcomed against the hotness that boiled under his skin.
His eyes met yours and you were smirking down at him, your hand shifting to play with his hair. The metal of your rings was cool as always, your fingertips calloused from the strings of your guitar.
He could've melted under your touch, but he felt too damn tense with how you were reading him right now.
He physically couldn't.
"C'mon, Axl, sure you don't wanna stay my dirty little secret?"
His hands flexed against your thighs at the sound of your voice, it'd lowered to something smokey and seductive that usually came out when you were drunk.
This was intentional.
Hell, he would stay your anything if you kept speaking and touching him like this.
Then you stopped hovering and was straddled on him completely.
Fuck—
His head was thrown back against the couch before he knew it. And you'd barley touched him.
God, when'd he get so damn desperate?
The words left him, strangled and heavy.
"Fuck—yeah, anything"
He felt your breath against the skin of his throat next, felt your fingers tracing down his bicep. Your touch left hot trails wherever it went. His skin felt like it was on fire, but he couldn't get enough gasoline.
When your lips met his throat he couldn't stop the whimper that left him, nor the action of his hand slipping into your carefully half-braided hair; effectively messing it up again.
You had to be the definition of sin.
He was hard, practically throbbing underneath you already.
Yet, he couldn't get enough.
He was needy for anything you'd give him at this rate; your fingertips skimming him, your breath ghosting over his collarbone now, the way the leather of your pants felt so damn good against the denim of his.
"Good."
He was snapped out of it when you stood up; teasing and fucking tempting as ever.
There was a kiss left on the corner of his mouth that he didn't have time to react to before you were gone, back at the after-party with your hair tangled because of him.
And he was left with his breathing shallow and his dick throbbing because of you.
Fuck, he was in deep.
This was high-key inspired by the rodrick and regina tiktoks going around 😋
