Archive of Our Own

Saturday mornings were supposed to be slow, and you leaned into that tradition. The soft light bleeding through your bedroom curtains didn’t urge you to move, just to exist, to breathe, to blink slowly at the ceiling while tangled in your sheets. For a while, you just lay there, suspended in that cozy limbo between sleep and obligation.

Eventually, you got up and and queued up your usual morning soundtrack on the turntable. The opening riff of It’s So Easy by Guns N’ Roses crackled to life through your old record player, bringing a flicker of energy with it. You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips—no matter how many times you’d heard it, Duff’s bassline still hit just right. He was your favorite, had been for years. Cool without trying, effortlessly magnetic. And undeniably handsome.

With the music as your backdrop, you dragged yourself out of bed. Coffee first, of course. Then a shower, your reflection still groggy in the fogged mirror. 

You stood in front of your open closet, towel still wrapped around you, arms crossed, eyes scanning your collection like it might suddenly offer something new.

You reached for your go-to: the vintage GNR tee with the cracked Appetite for Destruction print. It was soft, broken-in, and very you but as soon as you pulled it over your head, it just felt… off. Too casual, maybe. Or maybe too expected.

Off it went.

Next came the black tank with the silver studs, paired with your favorite high-waisted jeans. You admired it in the mirror for a moment. It looked good—edgy enough, cool enough. But standing there, something about it didn’t sit right either. Like you were trying too hard for a shift you didn’t even want to work.

You sighed, peeling it off and tossing it on the growing pile on your bed.

You tried a band tee from another group, The Clash, maybe and stared at yourself for a full thirty seconds before shaking your head. Nope.

By the time you finally settled on a faded white tee and  your trusty leather jacket, you were already five minutes behind schedule. But this one felt right. Not loud, not attention-seeking. Just comfortable. Familiar. Like you weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself.

You slipped on your boots, tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear, and grabbed your bag.

Late or not, you were ready. Or at least, as ready as you were ever going to be for another slow, empty shift surrounded by records that felt more like ghosts than music these days.

The thing was, you loved records. You really did. That’s why you’d taken the job in the first place. What could be better than being surrounded by warm analog sound, lost gems from the past, and the quiet charm of a well-loved shop? But lately, the charm had worn thin. Sales had slowed, customers were rare, and most of your shifts felt like waiting rooms with background noise.

Still, you showed up. You always did.

Mr. Henley gave you a distracted nod as you walked in, already fussing with the register. The scent of old cardboard sleeves and timeworn wood greeted you like a familiar hug. The bell above the door jingled softly behind you as it closed, sealing you in for what you assumed would be another long, uneventful day.

——

It was late in your shift, and you were buried in the back corner, sorting through the newest record arrivals and filing them into their designated spots. The soft hum of a classic rock tune drifted from the store speakers, and the faint scent of aging cardboard sleeves clung to the air like nostalgia.

The doorbell chimed, a soft, familiar ring that signaled someone had walked in—but you barely registered it, too focused on alphabetizing a stack of Bowie and Zeppelin. It wasn’t until someone placed one of the most expensive records in the store onto the front counter that your head snapped up.

And there he was. Duff McKagan. Guns N’ Roses’ legendary bassist. Standing in front of you, calm as ever, with a casual smile tugging at his lips.

Your eyes flicked from the record to him, widening in disbelief. Your throat tightened as the realization hit you like a punch to the chest.

Duff’s smile deepened when he saw your stunned expression. The shop was nearly empty—just the two of you and the low hum of the speakers—offering a quiet, almost intimate kind of stillness. He gently set the vinyl back on the counter but leaned against it, watching you with amused curiosity. He could tell you recognized him, but he wanted to hear you say it.

You swallowed hard, your voice catching as you managed to squeak out, “Hi.”

He chuckled, the sound smooth and low, and raised an eyebrow with a teasing smirk.

“Hi,” he echoed, clearly entertained by how flustered you were. You weren’t the kind of girl who usually approached him, and that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. He leaned in slightly, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Uh…” You fumbled to focus, forcing your gaze away from his face. Your fingers brushed the edge of the vinyl as you reached for it, scanning it with practiced hands, even as your eyes couldn’t resist drifting back to him. “T-that would be all?”

Duff tilted his head, watching you with interest. You were trying hard to keep your cool, but your nervous glances and shaky hands gave you away.

“That’s all… for now,” he said with a smirk, his voice smooth as ever, eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, brain scrambling for anything clever to say. Anything to break the tension pounding in your chest. Finally, your voice found footing.

“That’s a very rare one you’ve got there. It’s the most expensive in the store,” you said, trying to sound casual, though your voice wavered. Then you added, almost under your breath, “But I imagine you’d have the money for it…”

Duff’s smirk widened. He caught that.

“Oh, you’ve got the good stuff in here, huh?” he said, eyes still fixed on you. He could see the effort you were putting into acting casual, but he wasn’t fooled. You knew who he was. And judging by your flushed cheeks and trembling fingers, you were more than just a casual fan.

“Eh… yeah. Not if you buy it away now,” you joked weakly, trying to shake the nerves. Your palms were sweaty as you opened a bag and slipped the vinyl inside with careful hands.

He chuckled again, clearly amused. His gaze lingered on you as you worked, soaking in every fidget and flinch.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice warm, teasing. “I’ll leave some of the good stuff for the other folks.”

You offered a shy smile, trying to look normal, but your eyes darted away instinctively.

Duff leaned on the counter again, his presence heavy and intoxicating.

“You always this nervous when someone buys an expensive vinyl?” he asked, his tone playful, almost daring.

“Only when it’s literally a GNR member…” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

That made him grin—wide, genuine, and just a little cocky. He leaned in closer, clearly enjoying this.

“Oh, so you’re a fan, huh?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.

Calling yourself a fan was underselling it. You were obsessed, but there was no way you were going to admit that out loud. You didn’t want to seem like some unhinged groupie. You nodded, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Yeah, I’m a big fan, actually… I mean, Guns N’ Roses? Literally one of the biggest bands ever.”

Duff raised his brows, clearly entertained by your attempt to play it cool. He crossed his arms, watching you with sharp interest.

“Biggest of the biggest, huh? “Sounds like you know your stuff.” he said, smirking as he studied you.

“I just… really like that era of rock and all, besides I work in a record store.” you offered a little sassily.

He nodded slowly. There was a bit of attitude in your words and he liked that. ‚Sounds like fun‘ he thought. “Can’t disagree with that.”

His eyes traveled over you again, and you could feel it—every second of it. The way you were fiddling with your fingers, the way you bit down on your lower lip—it was all too obvious. And he noticed it all.

“Yeah… I’m just— I mean, it’s crazy to meet you, actually…” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Your carefully composed act was starting to unravel. Your inner fangirl was clawing its way out, and there was no stopping her now.

Duff chuckled again, clearly seeing the cracks forming in your composure. The more you tried to keep it together, the more your fangirl side started to shine through—and he thought it was downright adorable. He leaned in a little closer, the smirk on his face deepening with amusement.

“Crazy, huh?” he said, his voice smooth. “That’s a good word for it.”

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, and immediately tried to dial it back.

“Y-yeah…” you muttered, swallowing hard. Then, attempting to regain control, you added, “Uh… do you think we could take a picture?”

Duff grinned, clearly delighted by your attempt to sound casual. He raised an eyebrow in mock warning.

“You’re asking for a picture? You’re not gonna faint on me, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached beneath the counter and pulled out the store’s camera—your fingers a little shaky.

He moved out from behind the counter with that easy, confident walk, slipping an arm around your shoulders as he leaned in close. His presence was warm, familiar, and incredibly surreal.

“Say cheese, sweetheart,” he murmured, still wearing that signature smirk.

You posed with him, grinning so wide your cheeks ached, barely believing this was real.

Duff smiled for the shot, his arm still loosely draped around you, his gaze steady on the lens. He could feel the buzz of your energy, and it made him smile wider, too. Once the picture snapped, he stepped back slowly, still watching you.

“There you go,” he said with a teasing edge. “A photo to remember the moment you got all nervous and fluttery.”

“Oh my god, thank you,” you breathed, still riding the high of the moment. “Can we maybe take one more? Just in case that one came out weird?”

He laughed, genuinely entertained, and nodded without hesitation.

“Sure, let’s take another one, sweetheart. But this time,” he leaned in, lowering his voice, “try not to shake so much, alright?”

You giggled, leaning in again, this time a little closer. You caught a breath of his cologne—clean, slightly smoky, with just the right touch of spice—and it made your head spin in the best way.

“It’s not every day you meet Duff McKagan,” you said, half-defensive, half-dreamy.

Duff chuckled at that, clearly enjoying how flustered you were becoming.

“Fair point,” he said, his arm still resting over your shoulders. “But hey, you’re doing a decent job holding it together. You’re still on your feet at least.”

You laughed. “Have you had a lot of girls faint on you over the years?”

He smirked, looking up as if counting.

“You might be surprised,” he said. “Happens more than you’d think. Comes with the territory, I guess. But I gotta say—it’s refreshing to meet someone who can keep their head.”

You offered him a crooked smile. “Well, I mean… at the end of the day, you’re still just human, right?”

Duff let out a genuine laugh at that, nodding.

“You’re absolutely right, sweetheart. We’re all just human. Rock stars, bass players, and vinyl shop workers alike.”

He leaned back against the counter again, watching you with a kind of casual fondness that only made your heart pound harder.

“…Can I take one more picture?” you asked after a second. “Just of you?”

Duff raised an amused brow, lips twitching with another smirk.

“Just one more? You sure you’re not gonna flip it on eBay or something?”

You shook your head, already smiling. “Nah. I’m putting it up on the wall behind me. It’ll look great in here—and it’s good for the shop, too.” You gave him a cheeky wink.

He laughed, clearly impressed by your smooth comeback.

“Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no? Always good to have a little eye candy in the store.”

He posed again, flashing a grin just for you.

You snapped the photo, praying it turned out okay, and lowered the camera. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem at all,” he said warmly. “My pleasure. Not every day I get immortalized in a record shop.”

As he moved away from the counter, his eyes lingered on you a moment longer, as if he wasn’t quite ready to leave the fun behind.

You laughed softly. “As if you needed any more immortalizing…”

He gave a humble shrug, his smile still there.

“Well, you’re not wrong. But hey, I’m not gonna turn down a little extra attention.”

His gaze swept over you again, playful curiosity glinting behind his eyes. He looked like he was enjoying watching you squirm.

“So…” he started, mischief in his tone, “what’re you gonna do with those pictures? Put ’em on your wall? Keep ’em under your pillow?”

You nearly choked on a laugh. If only he knew what you were really thinking.

“I’m gonna print them and hang them right here,” you said, tapping the wall behind you. “A little photo feature so people know you were here.”

Duff grinned knowingly, clearly reading between the lines.

“Ah, so it’s gonna be a shrine. Nice and subtle.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, shaking your head. “No shrine! Just… a framed photo. Behind the counter. So every customer knows Duff McKagan stopped by.”

He arched a brow. “So you’re using me for marketing now? That’s pretty clever.”

You laughed. “Yeah, my boss is gonna be thrilled.”

Duff chuckled again, clearly enjoying the banter.

“Well, if it boosts business and makes your boss happy, sounds like a win-win to me.”

He leaned against the counter one last time, his expression softening slightly. You could feel the moment winding down, even if you weren’t ready for it to end.

Then he grabbed the bag with his newly bought vinyl, straightened up, and gave you a little nod.

“All right. I gotta get going. Have a good day, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he turned and left.

The bell chimed behind him as the door shut—and the moment was gone.

You stood there frozen for a second… and then you couldn’t help it. You jumped up and down in place, practically squealing, releasing all that adrenaline that had been building since the second he walked in.

It had felt like a dream—only better. You looked down at the counter, at the receipt with his name and purchase still fresh, and grinned so hard your cheeks hurt.

Your heart was still racing, your hands still tingling, and your brain? It was nowhere close to coming back down to Earth.

————-

It had been weeks, and you were still thinking about it.

The photo hanging behind the counter had become more than decoration—it was your personal time machine. Every time your eyes landed on it, especially on quiet days, you’d fall right back into that moment. His arm around you, his grin, the scent of leather and cologne. Your ridiculous stuttering.

God.

You cringed every time you thought about how little you’d actually asked him. A once-in-a-lifetime chance—Duff McKagan, standing right in front of you—and you’d spent half of it giggling like a schoolgirl and fumbling for words. You didn’t even ask him about the band. Not one real question about the music, the stories, the years.

You could have asked about Appetite. About the first time he heard Slash play. About Axl in the studio. But no. Instead, you asked for a picture. Twice.

When it was slow in the shop—which was often—you’d find yourself replaying that moment like a scene on loop, except you kept rewriting it in your head. Better lines. Smarter things to say. Cooler ways to lean against the counter. In some daydreams, you’d even said something clever enough to make him laugh so hard he’d asked for your number.

Yeah, right.

Still, it was better than nothing. You hadn’t fainted. You hadn’t babbled about being his biggest fan. You kept it somewhat casual… even if your voice had cracked more than once.

The bell above the door rang, and you instinctively glanced up, your hand still absently scribbling a doodle on the shop’s receipt paper.

And then you froze.

Your heart slammed in your chest, the pen slipping from your fingers and rolling to the floor.

There he was.

Duff. Again.

Walking in like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t been haunting your dreams for weeks. Like he wasn’t the reason you kept zoning out during work shifts and burning your toast at home.

He looked around lazily, and his eyes caught on the photo behind you. A smirk played on his lips. Then he made his way to the counter.

You couldn’t speak. You weren’t even sure you were breathing.

“Hey again, sweetheart,” he said, that familiar low voice tugging you right back into that dazed, too-warm haze.

“H-hi again,” you stammered, cursing yourself internally for already sounding like a teenager on her first crush.

He leaned on the counter, eyes dancing. “What’s the matter, darlin’? Did I catch you off guard or somethin’?” His grin widened. “Thought we were past all that shy business after our little chat.”

His gaze flicked to the framed picture behind you and lingered there for a beat. “Looks like you’ve got me up on display. Can’t say I mind bein’ the shop’s unofficial mascot. Feel free to add more—I won’t charge royalties,” he added with a wink.

Your cheeks burned, and you forced a laugh. “W-what are you doing here? Want another rare record?”

He laughed, low and easy, like this was all perfectly normal. “That’s the question, huh?” He leaned a little closer, bracing his arms on the counter. “Truth is, I’m not here for records today.”

You blinked. Words were not forming.

“But,” he said, drawing something from his jacket, “since you brought it up…”

He held out an old cassette tape. Your eyes went wide.

You knew that logo. You knew that handwriting.

Your fingers reached out before your brain could catch up. “Wait… is that—?” you asked, your voice trailing as you carefully took it from him, like it might vanish if you blinked.

“Original GNR demo,” he confirmed, watching your reaction with clear amusement. “Signed, no less. Pretty rare.”

You stared at it, mouth open. HOLY SHIT. Then the practical part of your brain kicked in. “You-you want to sell this?“ To which he nodded.

Oh how you would love to buy this right now, but you knew you would not have the actual cash for a piece like this. 

„I-I’d have to ask my boss about it. Depending on what you want to have for it.“ 

Duff raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “That so?” he said. “Well, go on then. I’ll hang around. Maybe charm a few customers while I wait.”

He winked again, and your knees nearly gave out.

You nodded quickly, gently setting the cassette on the counter and reluctantly dragging your eyes away from it—and him. “I-I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Take your time, sweetheart,” he said with that maddening, warm smile, settling in like he had nowhere else to be.

And for a second, you wondered if you were still stuck in one of your daydreams. But no. This was real.

He’d come back.

You disappeared into the back room, heart pounding as you explained the situation to your boss. Mr. Henly followed you out a moment later, his long hair swaying past his shoulders like a true relic of the ’60s and ’50s. He took one look at the cassette and lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

As they started talking shop, discussing price and authenticity in low tones, you stayed quiet, hovering near the counter. Your eyes stayed locked on the tape—your dream tape. An original Guns N’ Roses demo, signed by Duff himself. A rare artifact from your favorite band, and it had passed through his hands, been his. And now it was going into your boss’s collection or even worse into the shop, where some random rich guy could buy it instead.

You couldn’t even be mad. It was a fair deal, and you didn’t have a shot in hell at affording it anyway. But still—you wanted to press your forehead against the glass and sob. Your fingers twitched at your sides, like they were aching to touch it again.

Duff noticed. You could feel his eyes on you, the way his grin slowly crept back into place. Something flickered behind his gaze—understanding, and maybe something else too. An idea.

The deal closed, the cassette passed hands, and just like that, the moment should’ve ended.

But Duff didn’t leave.

Instead, he turned back to you, leaned casually against the counter, arms folded like he had all the time in the world. There was that same glint in his eyes, that familiar spark of mischief.

“So, I was thinkin’,” he said, casual as anything, “maybe you’d wanna come by sometime and check out more stuff from my personal collection. Got a lot more like that back home.”

You blinked. Your brain short-circuited.

He tilted his head a little, smirking. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the valuable stuff locked up,” he teased. “Just promise you won’t try to snatch anything.”

Your jaw actually dropped. “Y-you mean… I–you’re offering to show me… like… exclusive GNR stuff? From your own stash?”

He laughed softly, clearly loving every second of your reaction. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, sweetheart. Memorabilia, demos, posters, old tour gear—hell, probably stuff even the band’s forgotten exists.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, voice dropping a little as he added, “Might even be a few surprises waitin’ for ya.”

He pushed off the counter and moved a little closer to your side of it. You could feel the shift in the air around you. Your throat went dry.

“So?” he asked, his voice low, smooth. “You interested, or what?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a breath. “I’d… I’d die for a chance like that.”

That seemed to please him more than anything. His smile softened just a little, something genuinely warm behind the teasing edge.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, voice rich and easy. “Be a shame to let it all collect dust when there’s someone who actually gives a damn.”

Then, like it was nothing, he asked, “Tell me—when’s your shift over today?”

You stared at him. “Uh… seven.”

He glanced at his watch, then back at you with that ever-present smirk. “Perfect. I’ll swing by around six-thirty. We’ll grab something to eat on the way, if you’re hungry.”

A beat passed.

Then he winked again. “And hey—remember. No stealing.”

You stood there, rooted to the spot, your brain still catching up as the bell above the door jingled and he disappeared out onto the street.

You hadn’t even exhaled yet.

————-

The hours dragged like molasses. Each tick of the clock felt slower than the last, like time itself was holding its breath. You tried to stay busy—tidying the counter, reorganizing records, even pretending to care about the dust on the speakers—but your mind kept slipping back to the same thought: Duff McKagan is picking me up today.

At one point, you caught your reflection in the shop’s window and nearly groaned. You’d been changing your outfit this morning a few times, and now you were regretting all of them. If you had known what was going to happen, you would have chosen something cute or sexy. Not your basic ripped jeans paired with an oversized band shirt and sneakers. 

Mr. Henly eventually emerged from his office, pushing his long hair out of his face as he told you to go ahead and close early. You could’ve kissed him. Instead, you locked the front door, flipped the sign, and stepped outside, heart pounding.

You stood there, hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, fingers twisting nervously. Every time a car passed, your head jerked up—but none of them were him. Not yet.

Then you heard it.

The deep, smooth purr of a vintage engine. You turned your head and there it was: a gleaming black Mustang convertible pulling up to the curb like something out of a goddamn music video.

Duff McKagan stepped out, all long limbs and cool confidence, sunglasses pushed up onto his head as he smoothed a hand through his hair. Leather jacket, boots, that smirk—he looked like he hadn’t aged much since Appetite for Destruction. His face was a bit matured now, sharper edges and to your eye he looked even more handsome like this.

He circled around to the passenger side and opened the door for you, leaning casually on the frame as he looked up at you with that lazy, dangerous smile.

“Ready to go?”

Your mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. You could barely process what you were seeing—Duff fucking McKagan, picking you up in a classic Mustang like this was just a thing that happened to people. You nodded quickly, eyes darting away so you didn’t accidentally stare too long. You managed a small, breathless, “Yeah,” before sliding into the passenger seat.

It smelled like leather and cologne and something faintly smoky.

Duff waited until you were settled before gently shutting the door. He walked around the front of the car, cool as ever, and slipped into the driver’s seat.

He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine gave a low growl. With one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the gearshift, he glanced over at you.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice light and smooth.

You nodded again, feeling way too aware of your heartbeat.

“We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us y‘know,” he said, shifting into reverse, “but I promise it’ll be worth it.”

As the Mustang eased into motion and the city started to blur by, you sat there, half numb, half electrified. Every passing second felt like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Because you were in his car.

Going to his place.

And somehow—somehow—you were part of the story now.

————-

This car was so cool.

You couldn’t help but gaze around in wide-eyed wonder, taking in the rich leather interior, the gleam of chrome, and the way the whole thing just exuded vintage rockstar luxury. It felt like stepping into a time capsule—one that smelled faintly of leather, cologne, and the ghost of cigarette smoke.

Duff chuckled at your comment, the sound low and easy, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He clearly loved showing off, especially when it came to something—or someone—he was proud of.

“Heh, thank you, darlin’,” he said, patting the dashboard with something close to affection. “She’s been with me through thick and thin. 

The way he said it made the car feel like more than just a car—it was a piece of his history. His fingers lingered briefly on the wheel before he glanced at you again, stealing little looks as he navigated the city streets. You could feel his eyes flicking toward you, taking in your reactions, your smile, the way you shifted in your seat.

“You know,” he added with a playful wink, “it’s not every day I get to share this beauty with someone. You must be special.” You didn’t know if he was just playing a little with you, enjoying your blushing or if he really meant it. But in that moment you couldn‘t help the flutter you‘d felt in your stomach either way.

You tried to play it cool, though the heat threatening to rise in your cheeks made that a bit harder than you’d like. You shifted in your seat, thighs pressed together just a little tighter, your hands disappearing into your lap in a casual attempt to steady your nerves.

“It must’ve cost a fortune…” you murmured, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the engine.

Duff laughed, a deep, easy sound that filled the space between you like warm smoke. He grinned at your attempt to stay composed.

“A fortune, huh? Let’s just say I’ve been lucky enough to earn a decent living from music over the years,” he said with that signature glint of pride in his voice. “Enough to indulge in a few luxuries, anyway.”

The city fell away behind you as the car surged onto the open highway. Duff pressed down on the gas, and the engine roared to life with a growl that vibrated beneath your feet. He turned the music louder, blasting classic 80s Rock. The wind whipped through your hair, tugging at strands and filling your lungs with something wild and sweet—freedom, maybe.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins as the car picked up speed, the horizon blazing with the last fire of a setting sun. You leaned out just slightly, stretching your arms into the open air.

“Wohooo!” you yelled, laughing into the wind.

Duff laughed with you, his head thrown back, his joy unmistakable. There was something infectious about it—the sound of him fully alive in this moment.

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart!” he called over the noise. “Life’s too short not to enjoy the ride!”

The landscape blurred past in streaks of golden light and soft shadow, a dream soaked in sun and speed. And then his hand found your knee—warm, broad, steady. He gave it a gentle squeeze, casual but undeniably confident. A jolt of heat rippled through you at the contact.

“We’re almost there,” he said, glancing over at you with anticipation in his eyes. “Just a few more miles and you’ll get to see the rest of my collection. Trust me, it’s gonna blow your mind.”

“I love this!” you shouted into the air, unable to hold back your smile. His hand still lingered on your leg, grounding you even as the rush began to settle.

Your pulse slowed a bit, but that buzz of excitement still hummed under your skin. You rested your hands back in your lap, fingers brushing where his had been.

“I’m already excited… I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Duff smiled wide, a real, unguarded kind of smile that made his whole face light up.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and sincere. “Believe me—the best part is yet to come.”

The road curved, slowing, narrowing. He guided the car up a long driveway lined with swaying trees and thick greenery. The house that emerged was sprawling and set back from the road, a private retreat bathed in the last golden light of the day.

He cut the engine. Silence fell, thick and expectant.

Then he turned to you, that sly grin creeping back across his lips, eyes dark with something unspoken.

“Well, here we are. Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand, gesturing toward the house like he was introducing you to a palace.

Your eyes widened as you stepped out of the car, taking in the sprawling property. Everything about it screamed luxury—sleek architecture, lush greenery, even the way the light hit the windows felt too perfect to be real. You were too caught up in drinking it all in to notice that he’d rounded the car and opened your door.

You blinked as the door swung open beside you, your attention snapping to the hand he extended toward you. His hand was big—calloused, strong, but still somehow beautiful. Was it weird to find a hand beautiful? Maybe. But his were something else. You’d caught yourself wondering more than once how they might feel… brushing your skin, gripping your waist—

You cleared your throat quickly, heat crawling up your neck at the direction your mind had taken. Pushing the thought aside, you slipped your hand into his, the contrast between your smaller fingers and his solid grip sending a little jolt through your system.

Without a word, he led you inside and down a hallway that opened into a spacious studio. The air changed the moment you stepped in—filled with the faint scent of old vinyl, wood, and a whisper of lingering creativity. This room was alive with history.

Duff let go of your hand, striding confidently to a large wooden cabinet tucked along the wall. With a casual flick of his wrist, he opened it to reveal an impressive collection of vinyl records, CDs, and even a few old-school cassettes. He dragged his fingers slowly across the rows, a nostalgic smile softening his features.

“This is just a small fraction of my collection,” he said, glancing over at you with a glint in his eye. “I’ve got memorabilia, instruments—the works. Want the tour?”

You nodded eagerly, unable to hide your excitement as your gaze swept across the room. He chuckled at your enthusiasm, clearly enjoying it, and motioned for you to follow him.

You trailed behind, almost dizzy from the sheer volume of music history around you. Guitars—real, vintage guitars—hung on the walls like museum pieces. Signed photos of legends stared out from behind glass, and scattered across the room were amps, mic stands, and worn equipment cases that looked like they’d seen a thousand stages.

“Oh my god…” you breathed, eyes wide as you turned in a slow circle. It was overwhelming—in the best way. And Duff… he looked ridiculously attractive with that proud, smug smile on his face, watching your reactions like they were his favorite show.

He beamed, the look in his eyes somewhere between amused and touched.

“You like it, huh?” he asked, voice low and teasing. “Figured a fellow music lover would appreciate all this.”

He led you to a display case standing like a shrine near the back of the studio. Inside were some of his most treasured pieces—handwritten lyrics, worn leather tour passes, platinum records, and even a few legendary stage outfits. You stared at it all, barely able to blink.

“And these,” he said, trailing a finger along the glass, “are just a few of the highlights. There’s a lot more where this came from.”

“Whoa… you really collected all these?” you asked, your voice quiet, reverent.

“Yep,” he replied, nodding proudly. “Been at it for years. Every piece has a story. A memory. This isn’t just a collection—it’s a part of me. A piece of rock ‘n’ roll history I get to hold onto.”

You looked around again, stunned all over, your eyes catching on every detail like they were sacred. The energy in the room felt charged—alive. You could barely find your voice as your thoughts slipped past your lips.

“I… I’d die for something signed by you,” you murmured, almost more to yourself than to him.

Duff froze for a beat. Then, slowly, he turned toward you, a spark flickering behind his eyes. That flirtatious smile curved his mouth again as he closed the space between you with slow, deliberate steps.

He was suddenly very close—tall, solid, radiating warmth. The kind of warmth that made your breath catch. You could feel the heat from his body even before he touched you, the air between you suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your heart pounded. God, he smelled good—his cologne, aged leather, and something distinctly him. The urge to lean into him, to feel those hands on you for real, pulled at your core like gravity.

And he knew it.

“Well, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dipping into a husky whisper, “I might just have to arrange something like that for you.”

His tone wrapped around you like velvet, rich and teasing. “Consider it a little token of appreciation.”

He leaned in slowly, the moment stretching like honey. His fingers lifted to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the pads of them grazing your skin with delicate precision. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver lancing straight down your spine. You froze, breath catching in your throat as your eyes met his—hot, amused, and far too knowing. That bastard.

You looked at him then—really looked—and whatever casual playfulness had filled the moment evaporated. There was something in your expression you hadn’t meant to reveal, something wide-eyed and raw. Wonder, awe… and something darker blooming beneath it. Need. Want. Hunger.

He smelled divine. His cologne was heady and masculine, like leather, spice, and temptation bottled. You didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to breathe that scent against your skin—but your mind betrayed you anyway.

Duff’s gaze sharpened, narrowing as he locked onto yours. The heat in his eyes intensified, reading you, reading all of it. The way your chest rose with shallow breaths. The way you swayed slightly toward him without meaning to.

“Well now,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, “what’s got you looking at me like that, hmm?”

Then he closed the gap.

His body pressed into yours, solid and hot, and the world fell away. His heat enveloped you like a cocoon, and your hands twitched with the urge to touch him—to cling to something, anything, as your pulse pounded in your ears.

His hands found your hips, fingers splaying across them with the kind of casual confidence that made you melt. His grip was firm, his thumbs brushing slow, maddening circles into your skin. He pulled you closer still, your bodies aligned so perfectly it was dizzying.

His mouth was just inches from yours when he leaned in and murmured against your ear, voice a silken promise.

“I’ve got something more to show you… if you’re up for that.”

The words ghosted over your skin, leaving you breathless. You swallowed hard, your knees going weak beneath the weight of the moment. His fingers kept tracing along your hips, grounding you even as everything inside you threatened to slip free.

“M-More?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, the corner of his mouth tilting into a slow, wicked smile.

“In another room, though,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours—dark, steady, charged.

Then, after one beat of silence too long, he added smoothly, “In the bedroom.”

You felt as if you were in a movie, a romance novel maybe or maybe a porn clip but you didn’t care. This was not real, you were sure. Your senses were overwhelmed, your head dizzy as all you could see, feel and smell was him and it was magenetic. You wanted, needed more.

“You trust me?” He murmured lowly, his tone dark and dangerous but it held a promise of excitement. All you could do was nod, mind still trying to process all this. Then with a swift tug on your hips, he’d turned you around, chest pressed against your back as you gently shoved you in front of him toward the door.

As you walked down the hallway, Duff’s hand stayed planted on your hip, his fingers a warm, constant presence against your body. Each step made you hyperaware of him—his closeness, his touch, the low hum of tension threading between you both. The silence felt heavy, dense with unspoken promises. All you could hear was the soft rustle of your clothes and the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears.

When you reached the bedroom door, Duff paused. He turned to face you, a wicked gleam dancing in his eyes. He leaned in close—so close his breath grazed your skin—and let his lips brush the shell of your ear.

“You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice dark, edged with something dangerous and delicious. “Once we cross this threshold… there’s no turning back.”

His words coiled around you, heavy with intent. Your breath hitched, pulse hammering as your eyes locked onto his. You didn’t need to say it. The answer was already in the hunger burning behind your gaze.

You swallowed and gave a small nod.

He growled low in his throat—a sound that felt like it belonged more to a wild animal than a man. One of approval, of anticipation. Then he pushed open the door and led you inside, his hand never leaving your body.

The room was dim, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of ambient light. The scent of lavender clung to the air—sweet, calming—but beneath it, something darker lingered. Musk. Skin. Him.

Duff’s hands slid over your waist again, then lower, guiding you forward step by step until the edge of the bed hit your knees. The feel of him, his strength and focus, made your head spin. Your feet stuttered beneath you, balance faltering, but he steadied you effortlessly—like he already knew every move your body would make before you did.

At the mattress, he turned you gently facing him again, his hands gripping your shoulders to steady you. His face hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel his breath mixing with your own—hot, humid, tasting of anticipation.

You looked up at him, breath coming hard, pupils blown wide. The moment didn’t feel real. You felt suspended, held up only by the weight of his presence, your body answering to his without hesitation.

Duff’s gaze raked over you slowly, like he was committing every detail to memory. The color in your cheeks. The rise and fall of your chest. The dazed, desperate look in your eyes.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, voice rough with desire, “look at you…”

He reached up, one hand cradling your cheek. His thumb traced along the line of your jaw with an almost unbearable tenderness—so at odds with the raw heat in his eyes. It made you ache.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice frayed and hungry. “So..so eager. I bet you’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

His nose brushed against your skin, the softest graze, before his lips followed suit—feather-light, not quite a kiss. Just a taste.

“The perks of being famous,” he added, chuckling lowly, that cocky edge creeping into his voice again.

He knew it, He goddamn knew his effect on you. Of course he did, he’d been playing this since the 80s. He knew when a woman was interested in him and lord you were far beyond just being interested. You needed him, craved him like air to breath.

You wanted to speak—wanted to say something clever, something cool—but your throat felt tight, like the words had been stolen right out of you. Nerves curled in your stomach, twisting everything into knots.

Duff noticed. The smirk that spread across his lips was slow, wicked, and far too aware of the power he held over you. He leaned in, and the next thing you felt was the heat of his breath against your neck, the subtle scrape of his stubble sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

“No need for words, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing that sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Your body’s doing all the talking for you.”

He nipped at your earlobe, just enough to make your breath hitch. “And right now,” he added with a purr, “it’s screaming for my touch.”

His hands slid down your sides again, steady and unhurried, before settling on your hips. Without warning, he lifted you up effortlessly and eased you back onto the bed. You let out a soft gasp, your heart pounding as he crawled over you, his body settling between your thighs. The heat of him pressed into you, and everything in your mind just… fuzzed out.

You wanted to reach for him, to feel him, but nerves still gnawed at you from the inside. Instead, you stayed still, frozen in that uncertain space between desire and hesitation. Somewhere deep down, you hoped he’d guide you—slow you down, help you breathe again.

And he did.

Sensing your tension, Duff’s movements gentled. He slowed his rhythm, one hand lifting to brush your hair back from your face. Then he dipped his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips traced a slow, tender line along your temple and down the curve of your neck.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice low and calming against your skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ve got all night. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s take this nice and slow, yeah?”

His hands began to explore your body again, this time with painstaking care. They mapped every curve of you through your clothes, not rushing, not pushing—just feeling. Learning. You closed your eyes and tried to let go, to give yourself over to his touch and stop overthinking. But it was hard. He was Duff McKagan, after all. That alone felt surreal.

Duff must have picked up on that too, because he pulled back, cradling your face between his hands. His thumbs brushed soothing circles across your cheeks as he coaxed your eyes open.

“Hey… look at me,” he said softly. “I know who I am, but right now? I’m just a man who wants to make you feel good. No pressure. No expectations. We go at whatever pace you need, okay?”

He leaned in again, kissed your forehead once more—gently, reverently—before meeting your gaze, searching for any flicker of doubt. “Tell me what you need. How can I help you relax and just… be here with me?”

Your lips parted before you could even think. “I-I’m sorry… I’m just… nervous.”

Duff’s expression softened instantly. A slow, understanding smile tugged at his mouth. But beneath that warmth, you saw something darker flicker in his eyes—something deeply aware of your desire to let go.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he murmured, voice dropping to something rougher, richer. “It’s natural. Especially with someone like me.” He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he added, “But I promise you, baby—I’m going to take such good care of you.”

His voice deepened into something commanding. “Just surrender. Let me lead. Trust that I know exactly what you need.”

His hands slid down and captured your wrists, slowly guiding them above your head. The press of his body kept you in place, his grip firm but never painful—controlling, not restraining.

You smiled at him then, nerves mixing with anticipation, and bit your lower lip as your eyes roamed across his face—his chiseled features, the glint of mischief in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Duff’s eyes darkened instantly, his breath catching slightly at the sight of your lip between your teeth. “Fuck,” he breathed. Then he surged down and captured your mouth in a kiss that stole everything else away.

His lips were hot, hungry. His tongue found yours in an eager, tangled rhythm, and you melted into it—into him. His grip on your wrists tightened, just a little, anchoring you to the moment as he poured every ounce of his need into you.

When he finally broke the kiss, you barely had time to breathe before his lips were trailing along your jaw, down the length of your neck. He nipped and sucked at your skin, each contact sparking a new wave of heat that pulsed through your core.

One of his hands released your wrist and slid down to your chest, cupping your breast through the fabric of your shirt. His palm was rough, his touch bold. He kneaded you slowly, deliberately, drawing a sharp breath from your lips.

You arched into him without thinking, the edges of your nerves starting to burn away under the sheer force of his attention.

You kissed him back, the sound that slipped from your lips unintentional—a soft, breathy moan that gave you away completely. When his hand cupped your tits, the jolt of sensation shot straight through you and you hissed, arching into his palm. You were so sensitive, the ache inside you barely contained anymore.

You’d been fantasizing about this for weeks—no months actually. You’d always had the hots for him but ever since you’d seen him in the flesh… smelled that intoxicating scent of his… something inside you had snapped. Every quiet moment since had been filled with daydreams of his hands, his voice, his body—taking you, owning you, fucking you until you forgot your own name.

And now, here he was. Real. Over you. Touching you.

Your brow furrowed, heat surging to the surface as something primal took over. With a low gasp, you bucked your hips up into his, the shyness that had clung to you moments before slipping away like a discarded shirt.

Duff groaned low against your neck, the sound rough and hungry. The moment your body met his—hot and needy—he felt it. All of it. The pressure of your core grinding against the hard line of his arousal made his breath hitch, his hands twitching against your skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice wrecked with want. “You feel so good.”

You could feel him—thick, hard, restrained only by the fabric still between you—and the tension in his body told you just how close he was to losing it.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue sweeping into your mouth with an edge of desperation. His hand returned to your breast, kneading more firmly now, thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric until it was pebble-hard beneath his touch.

You whimpered, arching again, grinding harder against him.

Duff pulled back with a sharp breath, his forehead pressing to yours, chest heaving.

Instead, he focused solely on driving you wild with pleasure, his hands and mouth moving in perfect tandem, stoking the flames of your desire with every touch. He tugged your shirt up and over your head, discarding it carelessly to the side, then lowered his head to capture one pebbled nipple between his lips.

His tongue swirled slowly, teasingly, as he suckled and nibbled the sensitive bud. A low sound of satisfaction rumbled from his throat, and his free hand remained busy, kneading your other breast with firm, deliberate strokes that made your breath hitch.

You sighed, your body melting into the mattress beneath you and you felt the wetness between your legs pool. Your hands drifted down instinctively, fingers threading through the hair at the back of his head. But the moment you made contact, he stopped.

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, and the stern look in his eyes sent a sharp jolt straight to your core. Without a word, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them back above your head, his grip unyielding. A deep, warning grumble rose from his chest.

Lord, he was dominant—and God, it was intoxicating.

Duff pinned your wrists above your head, his grip firm and unrelenting. The heat of his body hovered over yours, and the smoldering intensity in his eyes made your pulse skip. A deep, rumbling growl escaped his chest, a sound that vibrated through you like thunder. It was a warning, unmistakable.

He was in control here. And he expected you to surrender, completely, without question.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, voice low and edged with danger. “None of that now. Keep those pretty hands right where they are, sweetheart. Don't make me have to punish you for disobedience."

To drive his point home, he dipped his head and nipped sharply at the swell of your breast, the sting sharp and sudden before his mouth soothed it with a hot pull. He suckled there, dragging a vivid red mark into your pale skin.

His free hand didn’t hesitate. It slid down your body with possessive intent, trailing over your stomach before settling between your thighs. His palm pressed against your heat, and he rubbed you in achingly slow circles, thick fingers working deliberately, maddeningly.

Your back arched instinctively, a soft gasp escaping you as your hips lifted toward his hand, chasing more of that delicious friction.

“Oh God,” you breathed out, the words weak and trembling on a smile you couldn’t contain.

Duff’s eyes flashed with triumph as he felt you arch into his touch, your breathy moans music to his ears. It only spurred him on. His fingers kept their maddening pace, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed clit until the fabric was soaked.

“That’s it, baby,” he purred, voice thick with dark satisfaction. “Let me hear those sweet sounds.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as his words sank deep.

“You’re so fucking responsive. I love it, love feeling you come undone beneath my touch.”

With one hand still pinning your wrists above your head, Duff used the other to slowly drag your panties down your trembling legs, baring your glistening folds to his hungry gaze. The cool air hit your wet pussy, and you barely had time to react.

In the next breath, without a word of warning, he slid two fingers into you, deep, knuckle-deep, filling you with a sudden, staggering pressure. He began to move them, torturously slow, pumping in and out with precision.

Your mind reeled. It all felt like a blur. The moment he’d hooked his fingers into your panties had stretched out like time had stopped and then suddenly, there they were his beautiful, thick fingers, the same ones that commanded the strings of his bass with such power, now buried inside your drenched and slippery cunt, playing a much different rhythm. Your eyes went down to watch the obscene scene and you clenched involuntarily at the sight.

His fingers curled, seeking that sweet spot inside you to drive you higher faster and faster.

"Fuck, you're breathtaking." He groaned, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

"Gonna stretch this pretty pussy out on my cock later, fill you up so fucking deep." He groaned into your ear. 

He already had you seeing stars. Your fingers searched for the headboard, desperately trying to ground yourself.

Below, he scissored his fingers inside you, stretching your walls with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your breath hitch. Every movement was calculated, measured, not just to tease, but to prepare you for what was coming.

Then he leaned down, and his mouth found your breast. He captured one aching nipple between his teeth, biting just hard enough to make you gasp before he soothed it with a hot, wet pull. He sucked and licked at the sensitive peak until you were writhing beneath him

Your head fell back against the pillow, the tension in your neck finally giving in. As stunning as the scene unfolding before you was, his body, his control, the way he made you feel, holding yourself up like that had become exhausting. You just wanted to surrender, to sink into the pleasure and let it wash over you.

His filthy words only added to the overload, every syllable curling heat low in your belly. You tried to obey, tried to keep your hands where he wanted them, but they scrabbled for something solid, fingers clawing uselessly at the headboard.

At last, your hands found the pillow above you. You gripped it tightly, twisting the fabric between your fingers as your body trembled with need.

“Please… yes… let me feel you…” you mumbled, your voice barely a whisper, weak, aching, raw with need.

You‘d spend weeks imagining what his dick looked like, now you were so close to finding out.

Duff's eyes darkened with lust at your pleading words, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He loved seeing you like this — desperate, needy, completely at his mercy. With a low growl, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping cunt, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean with a exaggerated moan.

"Mmm, delicious. Can't wait to taste it directly from the source." He purred, his voice rough with desire. "But first..."

In one fluid, purposeful motion, he sat up and reached for his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle echoed sharply through the room. Your breath caught at the sound, it was such a small thing, but in this moment, it felt deafening, loaded with promise.

He made quick work of the rest, undoing his jeans and shoving them down along with his boxers, his movements rough, impatient, tugging his shirt off as well. Within seconds, he stood bare before you.

Your gaze swept over him, heart thudding, anticipation curling hot and tight in your dripping pussy. Your eyes lingered on his crotch, his cock standing proud and tall against his stomach. It looked delicious you thought. 

Once again, you were left in awe that evening. Your eyes traced over him, and your breath hitched—he was longer than you’d expected, thick too, and absolutely breathtaking. Every inch of him looked perfect to you, like he was made to fit against you, inside you, perfect for your tight warm pussy to engulf.

He wrapped a hand around himself, giving his length a few slow, deliberate strokes as a wide smirk spread across his face.

“Like what you see?”

Duff let out a low chuckle at the wide-eyed look you gave him. Your silence spoke volumes, and he could practically feel the heat of your gaze burning across his skin. You were devouring him with your eyes, and the hunger there made his cock twitch in his grip.

He gave himself another languid stroke, enjoying every second of your reaction.

"Go ahead, tell me how much you want it. Beg for my cock like the desperate little slut you are."

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. In your head, you’d run through countless fantasies of him fucking you in every position, every place, every wild scenario your imagination could conjure. But now? This was real. He was here, and your body was ready, but your mind… it stuttered, short-circuited. Words refused to come.

Seeing your struggle, a devilish gleam sparked in Duff’s eyes. Without hesitation, he leaned in, grabbing your chin with a firm hand and forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, commanding, and unrelenting.

“Listen up, baby,” he growled, voice gravel-thick and heavy with intent. His thumb pressed firmly against your lower lip, making you gasp as he tilted your head back slightly. “I’m going to give you what you need but you’ve gotta earn it first.”

He leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your mouth.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to work.” His eyes dipped to your lips, his smirk only growing as an idea popped into his head.

“Worship my cock like it's the most sacred thing you've ever seen. If you do a good job, maybe I'll reward you with that deep, hard fucking you're craving."

He pushed you back with ease, your body yielding beneath his as he climbed over you, completely in control. His knees bracketed your shoulders, and he shifted his hips just enough for the swollen head of his cock to brush against your cheek, leaving a smear of precum on your smooth skin. 

"Well? What's it gonna be, sweetheart?"

You looked up at him, eyes wide and reverent, and gave a small, submissive nod. Then you opened your mouth, ready, prepared to take whatever he gave.

A wicked grin curved across Duff’s lips, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he watched you open your mouth like a good little slut. He gripped the base of his cock, giving it a few slow, deliberate pumps again, his gaze never leaving yours.

Then he brought the leaking tip to your mouth, tapping it lightly against your outstretched tongue. Fuck it was all too good. You moaned as soon as you felt the weight of it.

"Yes like that," He praised, his voice a low, approving rumble. 

"Now, put that tongue to work. Lick me from root to tip like it's your favorite fucking popsicle."

He fed you more of his length, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest as your wet muscle slid smoothly along his shaft. 

His other hand tangled fiercely in your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he guided your movements, controlling the rhythm and depth with a steady, commanding pressure.

"That's it, baby. Get me nice and wet with that talented mouth of yours. Gonna fuck this pretty face so good..." You felt every pulse of his cock, every growl of his chest. It was intoxicating.

You moaned softly, his length pressed right up against your face. From your angle, you could see his face just behind it.

At first, you kept your gaze steady, concentrating on the task he’d set. But gradually, your eyes flickered up to his, watching closely for every flicker of expression, every subtle change in his reaction as you stuck to just licking his cock like a lolli.

When his brow furrowed deeper, you repeated the motion on that exact spot, knowing you’d found a sweet spot. Your lips and tongue drew groans and moans from him, the sound vibrating through you.

The longer you licked his cock, the tighter his grip in your hair became, holding you firmly in place.

You knew exactly what he wanted.

Slowly, deliberately, you took the head of him into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around him finally. Your tongue flicked teasingly at the tip, poking and swirling, savoring the taste and the power you held in that moment.

Duff's head fell back with a guttural moan as your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, teasing tongue driving him wild. He couldn't resist the urge to thrust forward, pushing more of his thick length into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Fuck, just like that." He groaned, his hips starting to rock in shallow thrusts. "Take it deeper, baby. Show me how badly you want my cock."

His grip on your hair tightened, guiding as he began to fuck your face. The obscene sounds of your muffled moans and the slick slide of his cock filled the silent room.

Soon, his hands gripped your head firmly, holding you in place as he face-fucked you with increasing urgency. The problem was, he was long, and he grew greedy.

He pushed deep, deeper than you expected, and your eyes watered as the pressure of his cock hit a raw spot. You fought hard to hold back the gag reflex triggered by the sudden fullness. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to stay still, to focus on slow, steady breaths.

Every sound he made—those guttural groans, the flush of pleasure in his expression and the soft whispers of praise he sent your way made it all worth it.

You moaned around him, the vibration only driving him further.

Duff’s eyes rolled back in bliss as he felt the tight, unyielding heat of your throat constricting him perfectly, a sensation that sent waves of pleasure rippling through him.

“Goddamn, your throat feels amazing,” he panted, hips snapping forward in erratic, desperate thrusts as he chased his release.

“Gonna… fuck…” he groaned, teetering on the edge, but then he suddenly stopped, pulling out of your mouth.

Instead of impatience, a soft smile spread across his face. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then the tip of your nose, before finally brushing his lips over yours. His touch was tender, grounding—wiping away the tears that had escaped and stained your cheeks.

“Fuck, baby, I nearly came,” he growled, voice thick with need. “You’ve got some talented throat, I gotta admit. But I think you deserve a little treat—for being such a good little slut for me.”

You swallowed hard, biting your lip as a surge of anticipation curled low in your belly. Whatever he had planned, you were ready.

With a wicked grin, Duff gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach in one swift, commanding motion. Before you could catch your breath, he straddled your thighs from behind, pressing you firmly into the mattress.

Leaning down, his hot breath brushed your ear as he growled, sending a shiver cascading down your spine.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't walk straight for a week," He promised darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "Gonna ruin this tight little cunt for anyone else."

His hand reached around you, fingers easily finding your dripping slit. The pad of his thumb circled your swollen clit slowly, teasing you. At the same time, he pressed the broad, hot head of his cock right up against your entrance—close enough to feel, but not close enough to satisfy.

“Beg for it, baby,” he growled, voice rough and low. “Tell me how much you need my cock to split you open!”

You moaned into the mattress, face buried in the sheets, your voice muffled and trembling. He took his time lifting your hips, positioning you just how he wanted, your ass arched up, exposed, and vulnerable under his gaze. One of his hands gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh possessively, while the other kept working your clit.

“P-please… yes… I—I need it…” you whimpered, breathless, unable to stop the desperation from cracking your voice.

The raw, needy tone of your plea hit Duff like a lightning bolt, sending a wave of electric shocks to his already painfully hard cock. He lined himself up with your entrance, the blunt head of his dick nudging insistently against your slick folds.

"Louder, baby. I wanna hear you scream for it," *he demanded, his voice raising in volume, dominant growl. At the same time, he slapped your ass hard, leaving a vivid red handprint on the pale flesh. 

"Beg me to fuck this needy cunt. Tell me how badly you want me to ruin you!"

You whimpered, wiggling your hips in desperation, the ache inside you bordering on unbearable.

“P-please… fuck me,” you begged, voice cracking as need spilled out of you. “I dreamed about this… about you… please…”

But it still wasn’t enough.

Duff’s eyes darkened, a feral glint flashing through them as your words sank in. A slow, primal grin curled across his lips. He leaned down, his chest pressing firmly against your back, the heat of his body caging you in.

“You dreamed about this, huh?” he growled in your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “About me bending you over and fucking this pussy raw?”

To punctuate his words, he gave a sharp, deliberate thrust of his hips—just enough for the head of him to press into your entrance, stretching you slightly before he pulled back, still holding you on the edge.

“Then beg for it properly slut!” he snarled, voice like fire against your skin. “Convince me how much you fucking need it.”

One of his hands slid slowly up your spine, fingers curling tightly into your hair before yanking your head back just enough to expose your neck, your body fully under his control. The other hand came down hard on your ass again, the sharp sting making you cry out. You gasped as he ground against you, the thick length of him sliding through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. The tip teased your entrance, swollen and ready but still withheld.

The anticipation was unbearable. You whimpered, nodding as much as you could with your head pulled back, your voice cracking from sheer need.

“Y-yes… I’ve been thinking about this,” you confessed, breathless. “In the shop… when I was bored… I thought about you fucking me—over the records, fucking me right there…”

You felt him rub the head of his cock along your soaked entrance again, gathering more of your slick on his length, and it made you whimper.

“God, please—fuck me like you’ve never fucked before,” you begged, voice pitching into a desperate whine. “I need it… I need you so fucking bad…”

Duff let out a deep, guttural moan at your shameless confession. His cock throbbed against your folds, the mental image of bending you over a vinyl collection and fucking you hard and fast nearly undoing him on the spot.

"Fuck, the things you do to me," He groaned low in his throat as he lined himself up with your entrance again, the swollen head of him pressing insistently against your soaked heat.

“Gonna give you exactly what you need, baby,” he growled, his voice rough with restraint. “Gonna give you a proper fuck, so deep, so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

Without warning, he snapped his hips forward in a single, punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you. A ragged, animalistic grunt tore from his throat as your tight, soaked walls clamped around him.

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “You feel fucking incredible.”

Your eyes rolled back at the sheer force of it. The stretch was deep, familiar—and so intense it stole your breath. But there was no pain, not really. You were too wet, too swollen with arousal, your body already primed and aching for him. The way he filled you, pushed so deep, hit places no one ever had. It was overwhelming in the best way.

You panted into the sheets, barely able to form words, only garbled sounds escaping as your body tried to process the overload of sensation. Still, your walls clung to him, pulsing and gripping like your body was desperate to keep him inside.

Duff didn’t wait—he set a brutal pace from the start, hips slamming into you again and again with powerful, relentless thrusts. The obscene sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the room, tangled with his guttural grunts and your breathless, muffled moans.

“That’s it, take it,” he snarled, voice sharp and ragged with lust. One hand gripped your hip tight enough to bruise, holding you in place while the other fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so you couldn’t do anything but feel every brutal, perfect thrust.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growled into your ear. “To be slit open by my cock, used for my pleasure?”

You could only moan in response, the words slamming into you as hard as his hips. You had wanted this—had fantasized about it, ached for it—and now you were living it, being taken exactly how you’d dreamed: rough, raw, and helpless beneath him.

He adjusted his angle slightly, and you saw stars, he found that spot deep inside you and began hitting it with precision, over and over. Your body jerked with each thrust, and the wet, obscene squelch of your arousal filled the room, lewd and unashamed.

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” he panted, his grip tightening. “Mark you as mine… inside and out.”

You moaned uncontrollably, your body jolting forward with every ruthless snap of his hips. Each time he slammed into you, it rocked you against the bed, your breath catching in your throat. At one point, he pulled out completely—leaving you empty just long enough for your body to clench around nothing—before driving back in with a brutal thrust that made you cry out.

He wasn’t holding back. The wet, messy slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with the slick, filthy sounds of him plunging into you. Your moans, his low grunts, it all echoed off the walls, heat and noise building in the small space. His hands clamped down on your hips like a vice, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. Your breasts bounced from the force, your whole body nothing more than an outlet for his desire—and you loved every second of it.

“Hmm… arghh… f-fuck,” you whimpered, words barely making it past your lips. “You’re so big… so long and big…”

Duff groaned at your praise, the sound of your voice soaked in desperate pleasure. Your words stroked his ego like gasoline to a fire, and he growled deep in his chest as he doubled his efforts.

“Fuck yeah,” he snarled. “Take every inch.”

He adjusted his angle again, thrusting deeper, harder, grinding into the spot that made your vision blur.

“Gonna reshape this cunt to fit me perfectly,” he hissed. “You’ll be ruined for anyone else after this.”

One of his hands finally released your hip, only to snake around your front, sliding down your slick belly until his fingers found your clit. He didn’t waste a second—he started rubbing tight, relentless circles around the swollen nub, just the way he knew would break you.

Your entire body jolted at the added stimulation, a cry catching in your throat as your thighs instinctively tried to close around his hand, overwhelmed.

He could feel it, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, the way your breath hitched and your body began to tremble beneath him.

“Oh, you’re close, aren’t you?” he growled into your ear, voice dripping with satisfaction. “I can feel it… your pussy’s already trying to milk me.”

His pace didn’t falter, if anything, he fucked into you harder, faster, grinding against your g-spot with every thrust while his fingers tormented your clit without mercy.

"That's it, baby. Gonna make you cum on my cock like the desperate slut you are. Scream for me!"

His hips blurred with the force of his thrusts, slamming into you with brutal intensity. The bed frame creaked ominously under the onslaught, threatening to give way at any moment but neither of you cared.

You moaned again, louder this time, your whole body shaking as his words sank in, sending another pulse of arousal through you. His voice, that filthy dominance, was too much, it pushed you closer, made your walls clench around him involuntarily.

“Ahh..hhnn, I’m so close!” you cried out, voice cracking with desperation. You were right there, right on the edge, teetering on the brink of something so intense it almost hurt. Every part of you was overstimulated—his cock grinding into your sweet spot, his fingers working your clit in merciless circles, his breath hot and heavy in your ear.

And then it hit.

Your body arched, your muscles tensed, and your walls fluttered violently around him. You shattered with a strangled scream, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, hot, deep, unstoppable. Your walls clamped down on him, gripping his length in rhythmic, trembling pulses.

He groaned as he felt his climax overtake him. He rode out his orgasm but swiftly pulled out shooting the remaining seed onto your ass. Thick ropes of hot cum erupted from his cock, splattering across the smooth globes of your ass as he was working himself through the intense waves of pleasure. "Fuck, yeah! Such a good little cumslut for me!"

You were still panting, your cheek pressed into the sheets, your body trembling and limp. Your ass remained raised, instinctively offering everything he’d claimed just moments before. Duff remained in his position behind you and admired his work with a satisfied groan. 

A few seconds passed before you felt his fingers graze your skin again, gentle this time. He lazily traced a pattern across the curve of your ass, swirling through the warm, sticky mess he’d left behind.

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” he whispered, his voice low and thick with awe and lingering lust. “Took my cock so well… like you were made for it.”

„And goddamn I never gave a better autograph..“ He said, swirling his finger around more, smearing his cum all over your back. Need to sign your insides next.“ He winked at you.