#gnrfanfic

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine Duff surprising you by coming home early [fluff]

requested by my 2 anons 

It was just another uneventful Saturday morning, your house quiet except for the low rumbling of the kettle. Duff being away made home seem so desolate and lonely; it was almost insufferable. You missed the whistling sound that he made as he paced about the house, the annoying bouncing of his leg when you were trying to concentrate on something and the humming that would wake you up every morning as he showered. You always complained about these things to his face but deep down they were comforting and homely.

You had two more months to wait until the tour was over and the two of you could be reunited; days had never gone so slow, time dragged by unbearably as you counted down day after day on your kitchen calendar.

As the kettle clicked you’re pulled out of your thoughts, making your morning cup of coffee to help wake you up and ease you in to the day, caffeine fuelled and ready to go. As you stir in the sugar, you hear the noise of your front door opening. You gather that it’s your best friend – since Duff went away you’d been constantly checked up on by not only your friends but your family too. “I’m still fine,” you call jokingly – you’d been checked on the night before; sometimes their worrying was a bit excessive. Keeping focus on the coffee you were brewing, you babble away. “I don’t see why you’re still checking up on me. I’m fine. Duff will be back soon enough.”

“I’m glad you’re fine and all, but you could try to miss me a bit more.” A taunting voice comes from behind you. Gasping, your drop the spoon on to the countertop with a clash, spinning round to face Duff, who’s stood with a cheeky smile spread across his face, blonde hair swept back off his face.

“Duff!” You squeal, running towards him. You wrap your arms around him tightly, hardly believing that he’s home so early. “You’re back.” You cheer, peppering his face with mini kisses, ignoring his laughing. “Why are you back?”

He glances at you, impishly raising an eyebrow. “I mean, if you’re not glad to see me I can easily hit the road…”

You roll your eyes at his stupidity, whacking his arm. “Don’t be dumb.” You can’t help the shit-eating grin on your face, so pleased to see him back so early, excited to have time to spend with him. Despite the amount of travelling and performing he’s been doing, he looks healthy and refreshed; it was relieving to see him looking in such good condition, especially since you’d been worried about him staying healthy on the road. “Seriously though, how come you’re back so early?”

He shrugs carelessly, “They rescheduled some shows or somethin’, I don’t know. I’m just glad to be home.” He leans forward, collecting you in his arms – his limbs being so long and gangly they could almost wrap around you twice. He kisses you in the cheek obnoxiously, revelling in the ‘smack’ sound he makes as he pulls back. “I’ve missed you.” He mumbles lowly as you hug him tightly, face nuzzling in to your hair. “Let’s go out.” Duff suggests, pulling back.

“Okay.” You agree easily, more than ready to spend time with him, loving his happy mood. “Where?” You enquire, wondering where you two could go to spend some time together.

He seems to not know and not care, just wanting to spend quality time with you. “I don’t know, coffee?” He proposes.

“I’ve just made a coffee,” you pout, pointing to the steaming cup sat waiting for you. With his long strides he gets the cup, taking it to the sink and pouring it away, paying no attention to your half-hearted protest of “hey, my coffee!”

He grins at you mischievously. “Well you haven’t got one now.”

You laugh, picking up the house keys. “We best go get one then.” You play along, allowing him to lead you out, taking the key from you and locking the door. Still finding his unexpected presence a surprise, you reach out for his hand timidly, frightened that you’d wake up and it would all be a dream.

*

The two of you had been sat for the best part of an hour, laughing over Duff’s stories of his time on the road – some of them really weren’t appropriate to recall in public, not that Duff cared. Occasionally you felt the glare from the table next to you; the uptight women scoffing every time Duff brought up drugs or one of the band member’s sexual adventures going terribly wrong. Usually you were sensitive to people’s opinions of you – but being sat with Duff made you feel invincible. “She left straight after that – she was hella pissed. Poor Steven had to jerk off that night.” He finishes, the pair of you laughing hysterically at the story.

Laughter dying down, you take in the view of your beautiful boyfriend, smiling at the sight. “I’m so glad you’re back.” You tell him, completely in love with having him all to yourself.

“Me too,” he smiles back genuinely. “I think we should go somewhere tonight. Somewhere fancy.”

You raise your eyebrows at this, knowing he preferred low-key places. “Fancy? That’s a first.” Teasing, you lean forward.

Picking up on your playful tone, he teases right back. “Don’t make out like I’ve never taken you nice places.” He rolls his eyes.

“If I recall correctly, our first date was a Chinese takeaway, eaten in the hallway outside of your apartment because you lost your keys.” You grin widely at the memory, loving how, even when things went wrong, your time with Duff was never boring. Everything about him was spontaneous and new.

“God,” he gasps, playfully holding his heart. “that must have been awful for you, my heart’s breakin’ for ya’.” You laugh as you pay the bill (ignoring Duff’s loud protests), reaching for his hand as you strolled through the streets leisurely, taking time to admire the quaint little town you’d chosen to move to together.

“So where are you taking me?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Why?”

“Because.” He tries to hide his grin.

“Because why?”

“How old are you? Five?”

The pair of you playfully banter back and forth, Duff refusing to give you any clues about the nights events and you mocking him over his previous choice of date locations.

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine Izzy getting protective over you

requested by anon 

A crowded bar is where you find yourself; the mass of people adding to the heat of the dingy place. By now you were so used to grimy bars and apartments that the atmosphere was no longer off-putting - instead you indulged in the after parties, using them as an opportunity to let loose and spend time with your boyfriend, Izzy, who’s success was usually the reason you were at parties. It seemed every outing you two went to always had a connection with his band, Guns N’ Roses, whether it was a new album or new tour, it appeared there was always something to celebrate. Tonight you were all celebrating a new tour, the guys had hired out a bar, opting for somewhere other than an apartment for a change.

Duff had been outside, dragging everybody he could find in to the bar to ‘get things going’ as he’d described it. Being the party animal he was, he loved when dancefloors were full and parties were filling out on to the streets, the more people the better he claimed. He seemed to have invited a bunch of riff-raff this time though, the atmosphere becoming slightly wild, each new group of people looking tougher than the last.

You order some more drinks at the bar for yourself and Izzy, carefully weaving in between people in the search for your boyfriend, trying not to drop the glasses. You spot him chatting away with a couple of men, not wanting to disturb, you silently hand him his drink. He smiles, quietly thanking you, continuing the conversation with the men. Through listening in to their conversation, you learn that they’re part of a band that will be opening for Guns on their next tour; the chat wasn’t really anything you were interested in, so you wander off in search for someone else to talk with.

Parties like these always meant you found someone interesting to talk to; some of the most fascinating people found themselves at the guys’ parties, always equipped with crazy stories to tell. You situate yourself back at the bar, hopping on a bar stool and ordering another drink, having knocked back the previous in record time. While people-watching you’re joined by another girl who strikes up casual conversation about the party. “It’s a cool party,” she agrees with you. “I just don’t know anybody here.” She laughs slightly, guessing you were in the same boat.

She orders a drink for herself, deciding on the same thing you were drinking – a triple whiskey and coke. A grand combo. “I kind of get what you mean,” you tell her, smiling her way. “My boyfriend’s chatting away about stuff I know nothing about.” Together you take it in turns to buy each other rounds of drinks, joking about various things. When there’s enough alcohol in your systems to make each movement sloppy, you both decide it’s a good idea to get up and dance.

Unsure of whether you’re on beat or not, you still move to the unknown song that was playing. When you look over to your new found friend, Ramona, you both laugh hysterically, realising just how off-beat the pair of you were. It was at that point where two men approached you, making it clear that they were looking for some fun. Your hips are grabbed by one of the guys as he tries to dance with you. Not wanting to give him the wrong idea, you attempt to wriggle out of his strong grip, yelling “Let go” so that he can hear you over the music.

Ramona tries to help you out, dodging the grip of the other man. “Back off, creep!” She yells at him, catching the attention of people next to you who decide to chip in and help. Before you know it, there’s shouting and shoving which quickly escalates in to a full on bar fight. Being at the source of it, you and your new friend are stuck in the middle of all the fighting, trying to avoid flying fists and glass bottles.

“[Y/N], fuck,” Izzy finds you, looking relieved to see you in one piece. “What happened?” He asks over the madness of the fight.

You shrug, bewildered. “Some creepy guy was trying to hit on me, so a couple of guys tried to get him off of me and then this happened.” You nod towards the chaos, wincing as you watch someone receive a blow to the face.

He’s frowning at the scene unfolding. “Maybe it’s a good idea if you leave, I don’t want you to get hurt.” He tells you, holding you out of the way.

“Why are you staying?” You ask. If you’re going to leave you want to leave with him; there’s no way he’s staying by himself just to join in with the fight.

“I want to find the fucker who tried to hit on you.” He tells you, his protective side coming out. You both watch as the fight is broken up, the main culprits being thrown outside, normality quickly continuing as though nothing had happened. It never failed to amaze you how people could so easily turn a blind eye to things just to be able to party that little bit longer. “And it looks like he’s outside.” Without saying anything else, Izzy struts off towards the fire exit, wanting a piece of the man who tried to hit on you.

You follow in pursuit, not wanting him to get in to a fight and ruin his party. “Izzy, don’t be dumb. You don’t need to fight anybody.” You call out, apparently reaching deaf ears.

“Hey,” He shouts, pacing it down the street. He catches the attention of the man who ‘flirting’ with you – if it could even be called that, it was certainly nowhere near as pleasant. “Were you trying to hit on my fuckin’ girl?” He snarls, getting awfully close to him.

The man glances behind Izzy, looking you up and down with a smirk. “If you’re talking about her,” he nods in your direction. “then yeah.” He has no shame in admitting it, even having the cheek to throw you a wink afterwards. Izzy doesn’t take it well, lunging forward to grasp him by the throat.

“Don’t talk to my girl, don’t even look at her. If you even so much as breathe next to her I’ll break your fuckin’ neck, ok?” He asks, his hand getting tighter and tighter around the man’s throat. “She’s way out of your league, you got that?” The man nods desperately, wanting out of the hold Izzy’s put on him, face turning red under the pressure.

He manages to splutter out “I won’t.”

Izzy backs up, walking towards you. The guy looks relieved, taking the opportunity to leave the scene – almost breaking out in to a full on run. Part of you is frightened by the domineering persona Izzy so easily adapted, but another, darker, part of yourself is excited by your protective and badass boyfriend. “You okay, sweet?” He asks you, wrapping a hand around your waist as he guides you away from the dirty streets. Just like that, your sweet Izzy had returned. You hum in response, leaning in to him for comfort.

“Of course I am. I’ve got you to protect me, haven’t I?” You tease slightly in adoration for him, watching as he shakes his dark hair out of his eyes.

He shoots you a cheesy grin, “Indeed you have.”

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine getting in to a violent fight with Axl

requested by anon warning: some violence 

Stumbling in through the apartment, Axl made more noise than needed, his actions being over exaggerated and clumsy under the heavy influence of alcohol – it was a good job you weren’t trying to sleep, there’d be no chance of sleeping through the clatter being made. “Could you make any more noise?” You call through to him jokily, turning the TV off ready to go to bed now that he was home.

He rolls his eyes, kicking his foot backwards to collide with the door. It swings back harshly, slamming as it closes. Slightly concerned at the aggressiveness you follow the noise, watching as Axl throws his keys on to the countertop carelessly. “Did you have a good night?” You ask, unsure of his mood. He looks less than pleased to see you.

“What’s with the twenty questions?” He snaps, glaring at you. Taken aback by his attitude, you go to put the chain on the lock, noticing Axl had failed to do so in his drunken state.

You face him, shrugging nonchalantly, not wanting to put up with his foul mood seeing as you felt tired and irritable yourself. “I’ve asked two, stop exaggerating.”

“Fuck off [Y/N], I’ve just got back and you’re already nagging.” He slurs his words as he walks away from you, stripping off gracelessly as he made his way to the bedroom.

You huff at his mood. There were times where after a drink he could be very cute and affectionate, but there were also times when he was completely argumentative. “If you’re going to be an ass, why’d you bother coming back home?”

Shirtless, he turns to face you, visibly pissed off, the skin on his face heating in anger. He stalks towards you, his face scarily close to yours. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Giving orders around here. I pay half the rent on the fuckin’ place, so don’t,” he pushes you back “try to tell me what to fuckin’ do.”

Being shoved by a drunk, angry Axl was frightening but you were being worked up in to an anger that you couldn’t seem to control. You shove him back with as much force as you can, though not achieving much. “Don’t push me, Axl.” You warn him, not liking him being up in your face.

He pushes you back so that you bump in to the counter, giving you no room to escape. “[Y/N] I swear to god, don’t do that again.” His chest is dangerously close to yours as he looms over you, glaring down at you in annoyance.

“Or what?” You fire back, raising your hands to shove at his shoulders, being far too slow for Axl’s speedy reflexes. He catches your wrists, his large hands wrapping around them easily, restricting your movement.

“Stop being such a fuckin’ bitch, [Y/N].” He lowers his tone, a silent threat looming between the two of you. You roll your eyes at him; this was such typical Axl attitude – he could be as rude as he wanted to everyone else but the second anybody snapped back he couldn’t handle it. “I mean it,” he cautions, “don’t fucking try me.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes deliberately, attempting to slide past him. You were done with his empty threats and drunken rampages, right now you just wanted to sleep. He blocks your attempt to escape, grabbing your jaw aggressively with one hand.

He’s snarling as he speaks and you know you’ve really pushed him this time. “I’m sick of your shitty fuckin’ attitude round here.” You grab his hand, trying to remove it with force, choosing to dig your nails in to his hand when your efforts aren’t enough to get him off you. Slapping him across the face to distract him, you attempt to free yourself from the strong, almost suffocating grip on your jaw. His eyes widen in fury as he backhands you so hard you think your eye is going to pop out of its socket, cheek instantly numb and tingling. You try to kick out at him in reaction to the strong pain, only to be met with Axl’s fist colliding with your face.

You cry out at the blow, finding it difficult to believe Axl had punched you. He staggers back from you, shaking his head and mumbling angrily to himself – you weren’t sure who his anger was aimed at, you or him. You guessed it was you that he was angry with, he hadn’t seemed to realise the weight of his actions yet.

Crying softly you try to stifle the noise to avoid disturbing Axl, rooting round the freezer in search for some ice. Finally coming across a couple of cubes you wrap them in the kitchen towel, holding it to your face, hissing at the contact. Though you’re incredibly hurt by Axl’s actions, unable to believe he’d hit you like that, you don’t want to leave him alone. If you were to leave he’d wake up tomorrow morning not understanding your absence. At least if you stayed you could show him what he had done. Curling up on the sofa you try to block out the burning pain in your face, lying restlessly for a few hours before being able to get to sleep, lacking the comfort of Axl’s warm body next to yours.

The rest is short-lived as you wake fairly early in the morning, already feeling on edge. You find small tasks to occupy yourself with, avoiding going back in to the bathroom at all costs after receiving the fright of your life when foolishly looking in the mirror. Your eye was swollen and blackened in colour; yet it didn’t look anywhere near as painful as it felt, your cheek was splotched with dark red marks, finger imprints visible. It was heart-breaking to see your face look so injured, especially when you knew it was at the hands of someone who was supposed to love you.

“Mornin’,” you hear Axl croak out as he shuffles from the bedroom leisurely. You’re facing away from him, cleaning the bench for what must’ve been the third time that morning. The innocence in his voice made it clear he didn’t recall last night’s events at all. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing.

Undecided, you continued facing away from him, trying to sound as cheery as he did. “Morning.”

“How’s my girl this morning?” He asks airily as he makes himself something to drink. The question itself is endearing, but memories from last night flood back to you and erase all cuteness.

Finding it hard to keep up the cheery façade when all you wanted to do was cry, you manage out, “I’m good. Did you sleep well?” The lack of emotion was evident but you didn’t feel able to do anything about it – you couldn’t fake happiness.

“What’s wrong babe?” He asks, frowning when you respond with a simple ‘nothin’’. “Come here,” he calls, wanting to hold you. He knew that hugs were an easy way to cheer you up; they were most definitely your weak spot.

Trying to stall you answer. “Hold on, let me finish cleaning the bench.”

“It’s clean…” he drawls, suspicion building in his gut. Why won’t you let him see you? He turns you gently, expecting to see a sad, pouty expression. What he sees makes his stomach swirl in disgust and anger; never having seen you look so damaged. “[Y/N]! What happened?” He asks, baffled. Green eyes flit wildly around your face, trying to piece together the story. Without being able to fully recall the memory, he has a instinctive feeling it’s his fault, spotting the hand print on your face. “Did I…?” He can’t finish the question, guilt eating at him.

You look down and nod, not bearing the crestfallen look on his face. “Yeah.”

“No,” he splutters, holding your head gently for inspection. “No… baby, I’m so sorry.” He’s gasping for forgiveness, the hideous sight being unbearable. “I’m so so sorry, [Y/N]. I can’t believe I did that.” Neither can I, you think to yourself.

You shrug, finding it hard to keep a grudge against him but not wanting to fall in to the trap of a toxic, violent relationship. “Don’t worry about it, you were drunk.” You use the excuse you expect him to use before he has the chance, knowing you wouldn’t be able to bear it if he brushes it off in the name of alcohol.

“I will fuckin’ worry about it,” you can’t mistake the panicked look in his eyes. “I’m such an asshole, being drunk isn’t an excuse. It won’t happen again [Y/N], and if you think I’m getting too aggressive ever again I give you full permission to swing that baseball bat at my head.” He nods in the direction of the bat, looking sincere. The way he claimed responsibility for his actions was heart-warming; it helped take the sting out of the blow, so to speak.

You can’t help but giggle a little at the thought of swinging a bat at Axl, finding the idea absurd, especially with his grovelling performance right now. “Please don’t do it again.” Is all you can say, already knowing you’d forgiven him.

“I won’t baby,” he strokes your non-battered cheek. “I promise.” He pecks your lips gently, walking to the freezer to make you another ice-pack.

sorry it took so long, had the day from hell. for one, I put my card in a cash machine and it withdrew money from my account but didn’t give me cash and my bank said I couldn’t get it refunded like wtf ????? ugh. anyways. enjoy.

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine being Axl’s little sister and he protects you from bullies with GN’R

requested by anonymous (very mild) violence 

The usually serene walk home from school was a little different today; a group of boys from your school, known for their behavioural problems and lack of moral conscience, were following you. Walking alone never really bothered you; you always declined lifts from friends who could drive; the walk giving you a chance to clear your head and listen to some music. It was a nice walk – not too long to go, yet you got to see the loveliness of nature, passing by ponds full of ducks and lily pads. It was a refreshing walk and there was not a day you didn’t enjoy it. Until this one.

Being followed for the first couple of minutes hadn’t worried you much, but when you still could feel their presence after you’d taken a side route through the twists and turns of tiny pathways and backstreets, you started to feel threatened. You were following your normal route and never had you seen people take the same course of streets that you had, so you knew their following was abnormal.

As you passed the open field, flowers all blooming and beautiful, you reached the slightly more deserted part of your journey – the pathway you were taking being guarded by two ivory-clad stone walls, just a little taller than your petite height. You lived with your brother Axl and, for privacy reasons, he’d chosen a slightly more isolated house – preferring his home to be out of the way. You were excited to get home and see him; he was only back for another week and having the tight bond that you two shared meant that you liked to make the most of him when he was around.

Bon Scott’s vocals in Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap were being drowned out by the ruckus the group of lads behind you were making, it was obvious that they were getting closer. Trying to up your speed, your efforts were thwarted when a hand harshly grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Heart palpitating slightly, you remove your headphones and turn to face the boys who were grinning maliciously. Unlike your temperamental brother, you hated confrontation.

“Yes?” You manage to ask though your throat is dry with nerves. They laugh collectively, mocking you; you don’t see what’s funny but you hold back your attitude, hoping, naïvely, they’d leave you alone if you were somewhat pleasant.

Feeling surrounded, you wipe the sweat forming on your hands on the front of your jeans casually. “You got any money?” One of them asks, seeming to be the ringleader. He was stockier in build than the rest, adding to his intimidating stance.

Another laughs at this, “Of course she doesn’t – this is where all the poor kids live.” They all laugh again, someone commenting on the rip in your jeans, cracking a ‘poor kids’ joke. If only knew, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the idiocy of the group, regrettably catching the attention of the leader. Not even a half second later, he’s up in your face.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He shoves you back causing you to stumble slightly, quickly catching your balance. “I’ll ask you again, you got any money?”

Lying seemed like the best option. “No,” you drawl out stoically, apparently not being believable as he pushes you harder, your back colliding painfully with stone wall, shooting pains briefly running down your spine.

“I don’t like being lied to,” he spits, being far too close for your liking. Especially with that dog breath of his. “Give us the money, we know you have some.” he demands, clearly impatient as his friends loiter behind him. You’re not sure if he’s bluffing so you refuse to give him anything, again telling him you don’t have any money to give him. This really doesn’t go well; before you can blink he’s pinned you against the wall, pushing your shoulders so hard against it that you’re terrified he’ll crack your clavicle. “Check her pockets,” he bosses another boy in the group who obeys immediately. You try to push back against him but his strength prevails.

Not long after your pockets are fully emptied, he releases your shoulders giving you a fleeting sense of freedom before pushing you back against the wall violently. You wince, knowing your shoulders will definitely be bruised and tender for the next few days. With a vicious swing of his arm, he uppercuts you in the jaw, your mouth being caught up in the firing line. They run off in cowardice. You lean forward holding your face, hot tears trailing down your face.

You cry and try to pull yourself together, hating the metallic taste of blood. Finding the situation utterly humiliating you make your way home, without the help of Bon Scott’s vocals to make your journey more bearable. You can feel just how heavy and aching your shoulders are, face wet with tears and chin bearing evidence of your bust lip, blood collecting heavily beneath it.

Opening the door, you immediately hear Axl’s call of concern. “You’re home later than normal, everything cool?” You were planning on going upstairs and hiding from Axl, but hearing his warm tone made you crumble; all you wanted was comfort from him. Bursting in to tears all over again, you find him seated on the couch.

Axl looks up at the sound of your sobbing, eyes widening in anger and concern, jumping to his feet. “What the fuck – what happened, [Y/N]?” He attempts to hold your shoulders in comfort but you flinch away. His eyes trail down, catching sight of the splotchy skin, minor bruising already forming. He looks back at your mouth, frowning at the streams of crimson.

You fall forward in to him, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. “I don’t know Ax,” you half-lie, not wanting him to cause trouble. “Some guys that followed me from school.” Your sobbing begins to subside as he cuddles you. He asks if they stole anything and you tell them they did, giving a short list of the things you were now missing. He’s still stood hugging you, your cute moment being broken up by the boisterous men that barged in to your home, staring in confusion at yours and Axl’s embrace. You pull back, noticing you’ve gotten blood on Axl’s plaid shirt.

The men glance at you, Slash being the one to speak up. “Fuck [Y/N], what happened to you?” You dodge the question, leaving the room so that they can sit and do whatever it is they’d come to do – either write music or drink, maybe both. You go straight to your bathroom and give your face a gentle wash, deciding an early night was much needed. Tomorrow could only get better, at least you hoped.

-

School was tedious but at least the day was over. Now you were dreading the walk home, racing out of school to get a head start; attempting to avoid a similar encounter to the one you had the day before. To no such luck, you could hear the heavy footsteps and the rambunctious voices you had been dreading all day, your stomach twisting at the thought of them catching up to you.

“Hey!” One of the noisy bunch roars after you, wanting you to turn round. You keep striding, breaking a sweat in attempt to get away. Déjà vu hits as you’re once again spun round forcefully, coming face to face with the biggest prick of them all. “You got any money on you today?” He’s obviously teasing you, the group laughing at your expense.

An all too familiar voice barks out. “Is there a fuckin’ problem here?” You turn to see Axl stood directly behind you, looking beyond pissed. He’s not alone; the whole band seems to have accompanied him. Stuttering is all that comes from the instigator, obviously recognising who he was talking to, the look on his face telling you he’s clearly heard about their ‘dangerous’ reputation too. “I said,” Axl raises his voice in fury, stepping forward. “Is there a fuckin’ problem here?” He repeats the question, this time getting an answer.

“N-no, there isn’t. We were just messin’ around.” He laughs nervously, trying to worm his way out of the situation.

“Really? ‘Cause that’s not what it looked like from here.” Axl snaps, not tolerating the bullshit.

Duff chirps in, being the defensive, protective person he is. “From what we saw, it looks like you were about to try and mug [Y/N] here, ain’t that right?” He asks. The guys agree, all stepping forward menacingly except for Izzy who calls you over. You walk over to him, heart still thumping from the close encounter you just had – you weren’t sure you could take another punch, jaw still sensitive from yesterday. Quietly he checks that you’re okay but you’re both too captivated with the scene in front.

“You fuckin’ come near her again,” Axl’s so close to him, pushing him back with each step. “and I’ll find you myself, and it won’t be pretty. I don’t tolerate liars,” he shoves him right back, nearly causing him to fall over backwards. “and I don’t tolerate people who fuck with my sister, do you get that?” The boy looks like he’s about to shit himself and you can’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing he was probably feeling how you felt yesterday. “Pull this shit again, you’ll see what happens. I’ll fuck your face up so bad, you won’t be recognisable ever again, don’t try me. Oh, and give me back the shit you took. Now.” The boy fumbles about, handing over the stolen goods with shaky hands.

“What are you still doing here?” Slash asks, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. “Fuck off!”

They disperse quickly and you breathe out in relief, “thank you,” you smile at your little dysfunctional family. “I love you guys.”

Axl slings an arm gently around your shoulder, mindful of your injury. “Yeah, yeah. We know.”

“Seriously though,” Steven tells you. “If that douche ever touches you again, let me know and I’ll fuck him up completely.”

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine opening for Guns N’ Roses and Duff helps out when you get hurt

requested by anon specific detail asked for - band name to be LSD Sugarcube 

Rehearsing a final time with your band, you run through the set list, ensuring you all know what you’re doing. You’ve played at many venues but opening up for Guns N’ Roses brought a new level of pressure. You all had to kick ass – none of you wanted to embarrass yourselves in front of the glorious rock gods that were Guns N’ Roses. Everything had been practiced to perfection (you hoped) and now you all waited with anticipation as the venue filled up.

The crowd outside had been rowdy for most of the time they’d spent queueing, security breaking up fights before people even entered the stadium. Slash, while going through touring stories, told you all about a show they’d played a few months back that had ended horribly, the unruly crowd seeming not to know when to stop. From what you could tell, it was going to be one of those shows. Watching from afar you stare at the boisterous crowd, fearing for how the concert would go.

As of yet the men of the hour were unseen, so it was just your band and stage crew hanging around backstage, soaking up the growing atmosphere of the place. You fidget nervously, realising just how close show time is as everyone around you begins prepping, ready for your performance. You each realised the honour of opening up for the iconic band, really wanting to prove yourselves with tonight’s performance.

The crew began setting up the stage, crowd whistling and cheering with eagerness. While you were nowhere near as popular as Guns N’ Roses were, LSD Sugarcube was definitely on the rise, finding yourselves going from playing in small hole-in-the-wall type places, to big stadiums and opening up for some of the biggest headliners. You hoped the crowd reaction would be a favourable one.

With the now dimmed out stadium and ten seconds left until go-time, you all take your places on stage, waiting for the lights to hit you all in their bright, often blinding, colours.

In a burst of energy the spot lights hit you just as the strumming of the bass can be heard, cheering coming from the excited crowd. You broke easily in to the first song, working harmoniously with the nervous pre-show nerves that had been building up inside of you to create a lively performance. Everything was sounding great; the drums, bass and guitar working to create the rhythm you all knew, your vocals accompanying them seamlessly. Nothing could beat this thrill of being on stage.

Only half-way through your set, the unruliness of crowd really set in, you share a couple of worried looks. People are shoving others, working themselves in to a frenzy. As you’re observing the crowd, body still swaying to the heavy beat of the drums, a bottle flies at you from somewhere in the crowd, cracking you on the head with an intensity you’d never in your life experienced.

It takes you down easily. You don’t move from the floor, clutching at the side of your head – the burning pain putting you in a panic, especially when your hand finds the skin to be wet, you could only assume you were bleeding, badly at that. The music stops, all members of the band coming to aid you. In protest to the pause of music, the crowd responds passionately, shouting and throwing more things at the stage, thankfully no more bottles, pushing and shoving each other in a moment of madness.

Questions are being directed at you from too many people, it was impossible to understand them. Instead, you close your eyes and suck in through gritted teeth, hoping the worst of the pain would be over soon. Who knew getting glassed would hurt this bad?

When you open your eyes you’re greeted by the sight of Duff, leaning over you, frowning when he sees the wound you’re sporting. Sitting in between you and the crowd, he guards to make sure nothing further hits you. He’s the only person who’s somewhat comprehendible over the noise of the ruckus. “[Y/N] – fuck, are you okay?” He seems to realise it’s a stupid question the second it leaves his mouth, but finding his embarrassment cute, you play along with it.

“I’ll be fine, hurts like a bitch though.” He helps you to your feet; both of you watching the destructive crowd in total wonder, seeing it escalate more and more.

Suddenly there’s a squeak over the sound system as someone picks the microphone up from the floor harshly, calling out to the crowd. “Hey,” it catches some attention. You watch as Axl angrily stomps to the forefront of the stage. “Hey!” He shouts again, this time managing to capture the majority’s attention. “Fuckin’ quit it. You’ve ruined the whole fucking show, nice job. You can all fuck off home now, we’re not performing at all – we’re never doing shows here again. Do you get that?” He’s glaring at the crowd, his fury physically visible. “You guys suck!” He thunders, throwing the microphone down, the screech of the microphone overpowered by the noise of the chaos he’d just created, the crowd now even more out of control than before.

“C’mon,” Duff guides you to the backstage area, taking you to an on-site paramedic. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks as you’re directed to a medical room. You nod enthusiastically, wanting company – wanting a distraction, mainly in case you had to get stitches.

His offer was so sweet. “Yes please, if you don’t mind.” He tells you it’s no problem and sits with you, watching as you scrunch your face in discomfort as the medic wipes at the wound with an anti-bacterial soaked cotton ball. “That was crazy.” You’re amazed at the spectacle, never having seen anything like it.

“I know – that’s probably the worst I’ve seen. There’s been some bad shows but that was insane.” He agrees with you.

You see the medic take out equipment meant for stitching and you become nervous, gulping at the sight of it. Needles weren’t your favourite thing in the world. Duff seems to notice your nervousness, trying to find something to distract you with.

“If we make it out of here alive,” he jokes. “there’s this really cool place a few blocks away – it does the best food. I mean it, it’s the best. I say we go there after you’re finished here.” You aren’t sure if he’s asking you out of pity or if it’s a genuine proposal, but you’re thrilled nonetheless.

You smile at the thought of just the two of you going out for something to eat, suddenly grimacing as you feel the medic finish up the final stitch. “I’d like that. Like you say though, it all depends if we can make it out of here alive.” The racket of the crowd was still audible.

“Well if we do, it’s my treat. You deserve it after today.” His generosity was adorable but you couldn’t help but feel bad – you weren’t keen on people buying things for you. He cuts off your protesting saying, “It’s fine – it can be your treat next time.”

You raise an eyebrow teasingly, wincing when you cause yourself pain. “What makes you think there’ll be a next time? For all you know, this could be an absolute disaster.”

“True,” he comments. “but I’ve got a feeling it’ll be fine.”

sorry for the wait - I was supposed to post this after work yesterday but I got absolutely hammered (perks of being a barmaid) so I was unable to. I couldn’t get up my stairs let alone write a one-shot.

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine finding out about Axl’s OD

requested by anon 

Finding a crappy film to settle down to, you snuggle up on your sofa, eating away at the king size chocolate bar you and Axl had bought the day before last – he’d said you’d dig in to it before he got a chance to, and you’d disagreed with him saying “I’m not that selfish, I can hold off until we can share it together.” Oh how wrong you were. But eh, what could you say? Chocolate and movies were a classic combination, you couldn’t have one without the other.

You were waiting for Axl to come back – he’d been out partying with Duff and was due back within the next hour, you decided it would be nice to wait up for him and greet him, instead of letting him stumble through the apartment pie-eyed, knocking everything over just like last time.  

Most girls in your situation would spend the night fretting about what antics the lads got up to, but you were more chilled about the situation than most – knowing Axl wouldn’t cheat on you. It was never a concern for you – you just knew he would be faithful. It was nice having so much faith in him; you trusted him with everything you had.

Time seemed to be dragging by slowly, your eyes feeling heavier and heavier as the movie droned on in the background. Axl was supposed to be home now but it wasn’t overly concerning – he was hardly known for his brilliant time-keeping.

Deciding to get a cup of coffee to help keep you awake and alert until Axl was home you shuffle in to the kitchen bleary-eyed. Over the rumbling of the kettle you hear the rapping at the door – what timing, you think. Gathering that behind the door is Axl you make your way over, frowning at the boisterous, repetitive knocks. “Alright, chill.” You call, taking the chain off the lock.

You were surprised to see Duff standing there instead of your beloved boyfriend, pausing in the door way. “You’re not my boyfriend,” you crack the lamest joke, trying to figure out how the drunk blonde found his way to your doorstep without being accompanied by your boyfriend.

Duff shakes his head hurriedly and that’s when you notice his state; though obviously drunk he looks panicked, his breathing was irregular and his eyes were widened. “No,” he puffs. “You need to come. Axl’s in hospital.”

You could feel your face drop in disbelief, your insides becoming tense and anxious; your stomach contracting in to an unbelievably tight ball of nerves, thinking of all the things that could have happened. “Hang on,” you manage to splutter out, running to the drawer with the keys, fumbling to find the ones that matched the front door. You step out of the house, locking the door half-heartedly, though part of you doesn’t feel engaged with your actions.

“What happened?” You ask as you rush towards the car, taking Duff’s keys from him despite his protests – there’s no way he’s driving when he’s drunk, Axl’s already hospitalised – you don’t need to risk any further accidents.

With a quick start of the engine you reverse recklessly out of the parking spot, speeding down the road – the outside becoming a blurred mass of colours, your speed increasing hastily. “He thought it would be a good idea to mix a shitload of heroin and coke – but, [Y/N], I swear, once I realised he was serious, I tried to stop him.”

Mouth slackening in disbelief, you feel your foot press down on the accelerator in anger. “You let him do what?” You screech, not caring about the now borderline dangerous speed you’re doing.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” He asks lightly. You ease up but continue to drive over the speed limit, apprehensive of what lay waiting for you at the hospital. “I wasn’t encouraging him to do it – others were, sayin’ it’d be funny, talkin’ shit.”

You frown at the information, it didn’t sound like Axl to let people encourage his behaviour – he was always against conforming, being a ‘free spirit’. “What point was he trying to make? Is he stupid?” Even though your heart is skipping beats in fear for Axl, you can’t help but be furious with him – how dare he risk his life. “Why didn’t you try to stop him?” Your voice is full of accusation and you don’t try to hide it.

“I don’t know – have you ever tried stopping Axl from doing something? You can’t.” You know that’s true but you want someone to blame for this mess, as if it would help to completely resolve the problem.

Your silence tells Duff you understand – it lasts until you two get to hospital, sprinting to the reception desk. The lady barely has a chance to look up before you begin quizzing her. “Axl Rose, where is he? He’s just been brought in.” She looks between you and Duff slowly, taking her time to find Axl’s details on the computer. You were starting to wonder if you’d disturbed her from a nap – her slow pace getting on your nerves quickly. “If you could be quicker that would be great.” Your fingers tap loudly on the counter in annoyance.

Eventually she locates Axl’s room, pointing you towards the corresponding corridor. Without waiting for Duff you run to the room; now that you’re this close to him you feel yourself become overwhelmed with emotion, bottom lip trembling.

Having a peek through the window of Axl’s room you catch sight of his trademark hair spread across the hospital pillow, his eyes closed – he was asleep. You enter the room quietly, tiptoeing to his bedside. It’s weird to observe because he looks peaceful and resting but you know he’s probably the opposite, when he wakes you know he’ll feel like shit.

“You idiot.” You sob, the relief that he’s okay being all too much. “If you weren’t in hospital I would smack you so hard.”

He turns to you, eyes open but foggy, a small, cheeky smile playing upon his face. “That’s hurtful.” You’re not sure whether to laugh or to cry, a strange mixture of anger and relief flooding taking over.

“What’s wrong with you? Why did you take drugs, Axl? You said you didn’t do drugs.” Everything was a jumbled mess inside your mind, words tumbling out without much thought process in between.

He groans as he adjusts himself, propping himself up on an elbow. “I don’t – it was a one time thing.” He explains, looking at you with his tired eyes. “I can tell you now it won’t be happening again.”

You avoid laughing at his joke, hiding your smile well. “Don’t joke about it Axl, I’ve never been so worried in my life.”

He pouts his lips, telling you he wants a kiss. You lean down and peck him, not being able to hold your anger much longer. “Besides,” he attempts a shrug, failing miserably due to his current position. “I had to have some type of fun while you were eating that big bar of chocolate to yourself.”

You gasp, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I didn’t touch that chocolate bar!” You object, finding it bizarre how well he knew you.

He laughs, “You’ve still got some round your mouth [Y/N].” You flush with embarrassment, laughing with him.

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine Duff being dominant [smut]

requested by anon (kind of obvious but) warning: contains smut You and Duff were in a cab on your way home from a local show, both too intoxicated to drive; while neither of you were completely plastered it was obvious you were both over the legal limit to drive, so a cab home was the safest option.  Duff’s hand was still wandering up the inside of your bare thigh, raising the hem of the dress further and further with each stroke of his hand. He’d been in a frisky mood all night, finding each and every opportunity to touch you inappropriately, occasionally pressing up against you - making it look like an innocent hug to others, hands wrapped around your waist from behind. Only Duff and you knew that he was discreetly rolling his bulge in to your behind teasingly, not enough to get either of you off but just enough to let you know what he had in store for you.  Despite wanting to let pleasure consume you, you consistently shrugged him off, not wanting your antics to rule you blind, especially in public. There would be nothing more humiliating than getting caught mid-act out in the open, no matter how convincing Duff tried to be.  You squeezed your legs closed, not about to let him have you in the back of the cab either. “No.” You warn him lowly, making sure your voice was disguised by the murmuring of the radio, not wanting the cab driver to catch wind of what was going on.  He leans forward, capturing the shell of your ear with his teeth, scraping just enough to work tingles throughout your body. “Fine,” his voice taunts, placing a delicate kiss on your neck. “If I can’t have you here, just wait till we get home. I’m going to have you like I’ve never had you before.” This promise lingered in the air, driving you wild on the inside. What did it mean? Your excitement was enough to work you up on its own, though a tiny piece of you was nervous for what was to come, the unknown being a little nerve-wracking. Would you like it? Would you be good at it? Trying to steady your breathing you concentrated on exhaling and inhaling in casually timed sets of 3’s, not wanting him to see just how worked up he had gotten you. You wanted to at least attempt to act nonchalant, whether or not you both knew you were absolutely trembling with anticipation.  Sex was always exciting with Duff; it never seemed to be the same. However, you got a feeling you were about to really venture in to the unknown.  When the cab pulled up outside Duff’s house he could not get you out of there fast enough, throwing money at the cab driver without checking the fare - probably overpaying him somewhat, tugging you up the driveway and dragging you in to the dark house.  As the front door is shut you’re pressed up against it, Duff’s body flush against yours. Multitasking he manages to find your lips with his just as his fingers flick the light switch, allowing you to see the scene unfolding in front of you. Duff, still kissing you, one hand tangled in your mass of hair, pulls you off the door and towards him, using his free hand to caress your behind. Suddenly the presence of his hand disappears, returning abruptly with a smack, your left cheek now stinging from the hit. A gasp leaves you, entirely shocked by Duff’s rough stroke, though slightly turned on. He used the break in the kiss as an opportunity to give you orders. “Go and undress,” he tells you, breathing just as heavily as you. “I want you to wait in there for me [Y/N].”

Completely entranced with his authoritative persona, you do just that. Quickly stripping yourself of all items of clothing you wait like you’ve been told to, heart hammering in your chest in anticipation of what was to come. Duff enters the bedroom – it’s embarrassing to admit but you can feel yourself becoming wet just at the mere sight of him. Looking so confident and sexy, he was hard to resist.

He ducks his head down, peppering kisses all over your collar bone, working his way down to your breasts. Trying to focus on his bleached blonde hair, you want to try and contain the euphoria you’re feeling – wanting it to last as long as possible. Catching you off guard, you feel his teeth and mouth take in part of your breast; the amount of force he’s using, you know he’s deliberately trying to leave a mark. As he pulls back with a pop, he admires the bruising skin, kissing it with approval.

He orders you to lay on the bed, propping your legs up around his head. Without build-up he places his mouth on you, taking you to a whole new place. He fully utilizes his tongue, working in a swift rhythm. “Ah,” you cry out, “I’m- I’m nearly there.” You manage to splutter, frowning in dissatisfaction when all pressure disappears. You lean up on your elbows, scowling at the smirking man. “Why’d you stop?”

“Didn’t you say no, [Y/N]?” He asks, kissing your thighs. “I thought you didn’t want this?” The mischievous tone is almost too much to bare.

You flop back on the bed, huffing in frustration. “Please,” you beg shamelessly, moving your hips in an attempt to find a release. “You know why I said no.”

He hums mockingly, thinking over your words. “No, I don’t know why you said no,” he tells you, putting his mouth back on you again. You grasp at the sheets as your eyes roll back. Again you slouch as he stops. “Why would you say no to this?”

Giving in you answer, “I don’t know Duff. Please,” you whine, hating this feeling of teetering on the edge of pleasure but not being allowed to be fully consumed by it.

“Roll over,” he commands. You do instantly, wanting to do anything as long as it meant you’d get off. He grabs your legs roughly, spreading them so you were in a doggy-style position. Not even a second after you’d stabilised yourself, his hand firmly slaps against your behind, this time heating up your other cheek.

“Now, I want you to tell me just how much you want it [Y/N], otherwise this is going to be a very long night for you.”

[duff-n-vodka]

Imagine fighting with Axl

Requested by anon there is slight violence. It’s very mild but I have to pre-warn.

 Axl’s been in a bad mood pretty much all weekend, snapping at you when you ask the simplest of questions, glaring at you constantly… you were starting to wonder why you’d accompanied him to the studio in the first place. It got you out of the house for a little while, and it was no secret that you were starting to find the silence of your home suffocating – whether it was silence due to Axl’s foul attitude, or if it was because you were alone, you hated it. So it was nice to be out, listening to the music being made and the chatter of the band.

While the rest of the guys are creating music, Axl has isolated himself in the corner of the studio, scribbling words, presumably lyrics, in a small brown leather encased book. You’d seen the item lying around the house a few times, guessing it was either some sort of journal or a place for his songs, most likely the latter.

Getting up from the studio’s plush sofa, you walk over to him. If not conversation, his mere presence would be comforting enough. As you take your seat he snaps the book closed, looking at you irritably. “What?” His green eyes regard you coolly. It hurts being on the receiving end of his bad temperament, the only consolation being that, at the minute, it’s how he’s treating everyone – it’s not personal to you.

“I just thought I’d come sit with you.” You shrug, showing that it’s no big deal. He didn’t have to hide the book – if he didn’t want you to look then you wouldn’t. “I didn’t fancy sitting on my own.” You expand, seeing no sign of understanding on his face.

“Well I do so,” he nods back over to where you were previously sat, dismissing you without as much as another word.

Embarrassed and slightly pissed off you get to your feet, walking back to the sofa. The guys are taking a much-needed break, a little exhausted from their lengthy jam session. You’re stood with Slash, relieved you’ve finally got someone to talk to. “What’s crawled up Axl’s ass?” He asks you, taking a glance at the red-head who’s still writing away in his book.

“I have no idea,” you shake your head, glad you aren’t the only one who’s noticed Axl’s attitude. “He needs to snap out of it though, he’s been like this all weekend.”

“What’s he writing in that book anyway?” He quizzes you, assuming you’d be in the know of Axl’s creative process. You weren’t. He’d never tell you if he was working on a new song, wouldn’t share lyrics with you – the only time you got to hear it was when it was a finished product. Despite being in a relationship for a year and a half and sharing a house together – Axl was open about most things but still cagey when it came to his work; as a rule, you respected his privacy.

“I’m not sure,” you shrug truthfully. “He’s probably just bitchin’ about me.” You and Slash laugh, realising that you’re probably right. Axl always found a way to be passive-aggressive through his lyrics, so if he was in a mood with you, you’d probably feature in his song.

“What the fuck did you say?” You’re surprised by the close proximity of his voice, jumping in your skin when you see him standing next to you, looking beyond angry. You could tell by the prominent vein in his neck that he wasn’t happy, so you quickly try to deflate the situation, not understanding why he was so worked up over a little joke.

You look at Slash who looks as equally confused by Axl’s state as you are. “Well, Slash asked what you were writing, so I just said you were probably bitching about me.” He seems to be getting angrier by the second and you have no idea why. “I don’t understand why you’re so pissed,” you roll your eyes – probably not the best way to try and tame him. “It’s not like you’ve been paying attention to anything else I’ve said recently.”

With that, you set him off in to a fit of rage. “I’ve not been paying attention to you? That’s all I ever fuckin’ do because you can’t seem to leave me the fuck alone! You’re so clingy, constantly needing attention – my god, it’s like havin’ a fuckin’ dog.”

Just as angry as he is, you feel the heat of your anger in the skin of your neck, working its way up to your cheeks. “I liked it better when you weren’t talking, actually. Go back to your book.” You snap.

Out of nowhere Axl lifts a hand, slapping you with an almighty force. The power of the slap knocks your head to the side, you stumbling under the sheer weight of the blow. The noise it made was sickening – it stuck in your mind as a noise you’ll never forget, and managed to catch everybody’s attention. Slash had stepped forward to stabilise you, holding your arms to stop you falling.

Instinctively tears built up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. When it came to anything physical you were much more a flight rather than fight type of gal. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Axl; unsure whether you’d see a guilty expression or one of indifference, you wouldn’t be able to bear it if it was the latter. Holding a hand up to your flaming cheek, you flee the studio, running home. It was a long way but you couldn’t find it in you to let up your pace, wanting to just curl up at home and cry.

You locked the door you second you reached home, even going as far as putting the chain lock on – so even if Axl had a key he wouldn’t be able to get in.

-

“What the fuck was that?” Slash asks Axl, pushing at his chest a little. “You can’t go hittin’ your girl like that man.”

Duff chimes in, agreeing with Slash. “That was fucked up. Not cool bro.”

Axl rolls his eyes, not enjoying the lecture from the pair, it was only making him feel worse about the situation. “I know,” he tugs on his lengthy mane, not understanding how his frustration got that out of hand. “I don’t even know why I did it.”

“[Y/N] didn’t deserve that. She puts up with so much of your shit, yet she still sticks by you. She’s not like those other bitches you’ve had.” Slash pats Axl on the shoulder once, walking off.

Devastated, Axl makes his way back to your house, driving as fast as he could. He’d never felt as shitty as he did right now – finding the whole moment surreal. He’d put his hands on someone he loved and he couldn’t justify that, not even in his own fucked up mind.

-

Knocking on the door disturbed your drowsy state – together the crying and the painkillers for your face had made you sleepy; you’d nearly drifted off until the banging on the door heightened your anxiety, making it impossible for you to sleep.

You knew it was Axl and you weren’t desperate to answer it. The banging stopped and you could hear the sound of his key in the lock, followed by his cursing when he realised you’d put the chain lock on. You couldn’t move from the bed, too tired and emotionally bruised to face Axl. Instead, you reach for the chunky set of headphones on the bed side table, putting them on and trying to focus on the music, wanting a distraction. As you lay sobbing on the bed, music muffling all other sound, Axl had climbed through a window – being no stranger to breaking in.

He made his way to the bedroom, heart shattering in his chest as he sees you lying in bed crying, the bruised cheek facing in his direction, staring at him. Guilt pooled in his stomach.

Gently he approaches you, trying to take the headphones off. Getting the fright of your life, you jump at the sight of a body being so close, having thought you were alone. You flinch as Axl reaches for your headphones, adding to the guilt eating away at his insides.

“I’m so, so sorry,” his eyes are glassy. For once he looked vulnerable and truly guilty. He couldn’t bare to look at your puffy face knowing he was the cause for your pain. “I don’t know why I did that.” He confessed, wiping a tear from just under your eye with his thumb. “I’ll never do it again, [Y/N], I swear it.”

Fighting the lump in your throat, you speak up timidly. “I was so scared of you Axl, I’ve never seen you like that. Ever.”

Feeling his own tears starting to escape he nods, knowing he went way too far. “I know baby, I’m so sorry. I never want you to feel like that with me – I love you so much. I won’t ever do it again, I promise. I know I fucked up big this time.”

You nod. “You did fuck up big this time.” You give a half-hearted smile. “I forgive you though,” you’d always said you’d never forgive domestic violence but the sincere look he held seemed to repair a tiny bit of the damage. “just please, never do that again. I can’t be with you if you do.”

Teary eyed you embrace him, hugging him tightly. He holds you just as tightly, squeezing you reassuringly. Even when he is the problem he’s the source of incredible comfort. You break the hug, leaning back with as much of a serious expression as you can muster. “Do I get a free punch?”