broidobe

[broidobe]

sorry dudes writings coming soon lol!

been busing with family shit

tis the russian orthodox season

excuse my russian:

Кто-нибудь еще помимо огромной русской ортодоксальной семьи?? как вы постоянно ходите вокруг говоря Христос Воскресе

[broidobe]

can't believe you rated young chris cornell a 5 and a 7... UNACCEPTABLE!!!

you know how i like my men….tattooed, mormon-looking, metal band, specifically deathcore or metalcore. example: phil bozeman

[broidobe]

Rate young Chris Cornell on a scale from 1 to 10 <3

5 with long hair, 7 with short hair.

normally i’m a fein for some long hair but i just don’t like his….oops

[broidobe]

𝔧𝔢𝔣𝔣 𝔟𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔩𝔢𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

requested!

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓫𝔂𝓮 𝜗𝜚 𝓳𝓮𝓯𝓯 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝔂

⁎⁺˳✧༚80s-90s rock masterlist

jeff would absolutely write you songs without telling you

like you'd just be lying in bed, watching the ceiling spin, and he'd pick up his guitar, strum something low and haunting, and just start singing things like

her eyes are the color of something i forgot / but i dream of them still…

and you're like "jeff??" and he's like "don’t worry about it" as if he didn’t just crack open your soul

he's the type of boyfriend who stares at you across a crowded room but not in a creepy way

like you're talking to a friend and you just feel it — that warm gaze — and you look over and he's smiling, all shy, sipping coffee with that little upturned smirk

you ask him what??

and he goes you just look really nice in this light and then goes back to whatever he was doing like he didn’t just melt your insides

he keeps polaroids of you in his guitar case

you found them once by accident, and it was like… photos of you asleep, brushing your teeth, making soup, sticking your tongue out at him

he just smiled and said, i like remembering the soft parts of us

literally who gave him the right 😭

this man kisses like he’s trying to memorize the moment

hands cradling your jaw, always lingering a little longer

his lips are gentle at first but then they grow deeper, hungrier, like he’s pouring everything he’s ever felt into that kiss

and when he pulls away? he presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time

arguments are rare but intense, full of metaphors and pacing

he gets emotional fast, but never yells — he just… retreats, writes, stews

later he’ll show up at your door, soaked in rain, clutching a notebook and whispering i couldn’t sleep without telling you how sorry i am

and you read the poem inside and now you can’t sleep because why is he so devastatingly romantic 😭

you're his muse, but in the realest way

he studies the way you move, the way you talk, how you hum songs when you’re washing dishes

he doesn’t just love you — he documents you

your love becomes a living art project that he tends to like a garden

songs, doodles, scribbles in margins of books

you find your name written on napkins, your laugh recorded on tapes

nighttime with jeff is a whole experience

he loves lying on your chest, tracing patterns on your skin

tells you stories about stars and ghosts and his childhood

falls asleep halfway through a sentence, fingers still curled around yours

whispers your name in his sleep like it’s a song he doesn’t want to forget

[broidobe]

just to clarify

not sure how many more times i need to say this but my requests are closed. if you forgot, i'm finishing the upcoming fics list and then going on break. i don't mean to be a total dick but...c'mon...i've said this A LOT.

[broidobe]

𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔩𝔞

requested by ☁️!

☾you and sami were once inseparable back in his hanoi rocks days, but time and distance pulled you apart. years later, a trip to LA throws you straight into the path of someone you never stopped missing☽

☾warnings: some angst (just a lil), cursing, emotional pining, implied romantic feelings, fluff overload at the end☽

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓲𝓽 𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝓮 𝜗𝜚 𝓳𝓸𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓪𝓮𝔃

⁎⁺˳✧༚hanoi rocks masterlist

you don’t expect to see him. not in a city this big, this sprawling and always moving — where everyone’s chasing something and running from something else.

but there he is, standing outside a small venue on sunset boulevard, lighting a cigarette like no time has passed at all.

his hair’s still long, still messy in that way he never tried to fix. and even now, with a different band and years of life in between, he looks just like you remember.

sami yaffa.

your sami — well, not really yours, not anymore. maybe not ever.

you stop in your tracks, heart thudding like it’s trying to remember all the things you forgot. the laughter, the late-night phone calls, the way he used to lean his head on your shoulder when he got too tired after shows. the promises to visit, the letters that came less and less. until finally, silence.

you almost don’t say anything. almost turn around and chalk it up to fate being cruel. but then he looks up, and his eyes catch yours.

and just like that, the world stops.

"no fuckin’ way," sami breathes, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “is that—?”

you laugh before you even mean to, a nervous, disbelieving kind of sound. “hey, sami.”

he drops the cigarette to the sidewalk, crushes it under his boot, and walks straight over — pulling you into a hug like no time’s passed at all.

“i thought i’d never see you again,” he mumbles into your hair, voice a little hoarse. “fuck. what’re you doing in LA?”

"work trip," you say, arms still wrapped around him like muscle memory. “just a few weeks. i didn’t even know you were here.”

he pulls back enough to look at you — really look at you. his eyes are softer than you remember, but the way he looks at you? that’s the same. like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"jetboy’s been keeping me around here lately," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "but... shit, i missed you."

you smile, a little sadly. “i missed you too. a lot.”

you end up grabbing coffee, sitting in a booth at some tiny diner with sticky menus and bad lighting, but it’s perfect. you talk for hours. about the in-between years. about what you’ve both been doing. about everything and nothing and the million things you never said.

somewhere between his third refill of black coffee and your sleepy grin, he says it. softly, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for years.

"i always thought about you. even in london. even when i didn’t call.”

your breath catches, but you meet his gaze. “i thought about you too. every time i heard your name, every time i saw a letter in my mailbox that wasn’t from you.”

“i was scared,” he admits, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. “scared if i called, you wouldn’t care anymore. that i ruined it.”

“you didn’t,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “you never did.”

he smiles, something small and shaky. “can i make it up to you?”

you nod. “yeah. but only if it involves pancakes. i haven’t had proper pancakes since i got here.”

his grin is boyish, full of mischief and something deeper — something tender.

“pancakes and a second date, then,” he says. “you’re not getting rid of me again.”

[broidobe]

𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞 𝔫𝔰𝔣𝔴 𝔞𝔩𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔱

requested!

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝜗𝜚 𝓶𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓱

⁎⁺˳✧༚megadeth masterlist

a = aftercare

nick’s soft as hell after sex

wraps you in blankets, gets you water, wipes you down

strokes your hair and whispers sweet stuff like “you okay, baby?”

if you say you’re sore? he panics like a golden retriever in trouble

b = body part (his + yours)

on you: thighs. obsessed. will worship them

on him: hands. and he knows how to use them

flexes his fingers on purpose just to make you squirm

c = cum

messy af. loves painting your body with it

especially between your ass cheeks 😮‍💨

rubs it in, stares you down while he does it

menace behavior

d = dirty talk

filthy. unhinged. cocky.

says things like:

“you feel how soaked you are for me?”

“whose cock makes you cum like this?”

“you’re my little toy tonight, huh?"

gets worse if you talk back—brats beware

e = experience

toured the world. seen and done everything

but with you? it’s special

“nobody else mattered before you” (🥹)

still hits like a sledgehammer in bed tho

f = favorite position

prone bone: flat on your stomach, deep strokes, ass gripped

lotus: face-to-face intimacy, slow grind, eye contact that kills

reverse cowgirl: for the view. smacks your ass the whole time

g = goofy

total goofball outside the sheets

dumb jokes, leg humping, chaotic energy

but when it’s time to fuck? switches into demon mode

will say something ridiculous like “i’d let you ruin my drum kit with that pussy” and keep going

h = hair

90s bush. doesn’t trim, doesn’t care

clean, but natural

likes your hair any way. “leave it, i like the texture”

i = intimacy

tries to be casual, but melts during soft sex

if you kiss him slow or say “i love you” mid-ride?

gets clingy and breathy

“don’t stop… need you so bad…”

j = jack off

jerks off constantly on tour

thinks about you in the crowd, panties optional

will ask to do it onto you

also loves when you watch

k = kinks

impact play: spanks like it’s his job

power play: loves dom/sub dynamics

breeding kink: “gonna fill you up, baby” 😩

praise + degradation: whiplash between “good girl” and “dirty slut”

mirror sex: wants to watch your soul leave your body

overstimulation: your shaking legs = victory

miiiight let you tie him up if you play nice

l = location

green room quickie before soundcheck

studio wall smash, hopes it’s soundproof

hotel balcony, dark lights, public risk

m = motivation

your voice when you moan? 🫠

tight clothes, teasing touches

one sexy pic or text and he cancels plans

n = no

draws the line at actual emotional degradation

will never cross a boundary

all fun, all freaky, zero trauma

o = oral (giving + receiving)

giving: pussy worship. tongue god. doesn’t stop til you cry

receiving: loud, twitchy, begs with full sentences

will praise you while you do it. full eye contact. feral

p = pace

ruthless. jackhammer vibes

but knows how to slow grind to ruin you

loves switching tempo just to make you beg

q = quickie

lives for them

bends you over anywhere, anytime

will be hard for hours afterward thinking about it

r = risk

semi-public king

turns on the second you suggest something bold

also thrives on you teasing him when he can’t touch you

s = stamina

literal machine. drummer arms = endless thrust

“you good for one more?” even when you’re limp

you’ll need an ice pack after. and maybe prayers

t = toys

loves using vibrators on you while watching you squirm

into cuffs, plugs, maybe even a little pegging if you tease him long enough

curious and kinky af

u = unfair

tease demon

will edge you for an hour just because he can

makes you beg, cry, say please 50 times before he lets you cum

v = volume

loud af. moans, curses, breathy filth

whispers “you feel so fuckin’ good” like it’s sacred

lives for your noise too—“let me hear it, baby”

w = wild card

randomly drops to his knees and eats you out with no warning

spontaneous floor sex? yes.

makes you feel like the hottest person alive mid-errand

x = x-ray (size)

long. 7.5-8 inches, not too thick, but curved to destroy

veiny, hard, pretty, cocky.

asks “wanna kiss it?” like a menace when he’s hard

y = yearning

thirsty 24/7

tour separation has him down bad

sends voice notes and videos of himself stroking it slow to thoughts of you

z = zzz

passes out hard after

but not before cuddling, checking on you, and mumbling “you fucked me up” with a stupid smile

dead to the world within five minutes

[broidobe]

𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯

requested by 🐅!

☾the reader tie up eric carr and worship his ass until he’s trembling, begging, and completely ruined—in the sweetest, filthiest way possible☽

☾warnings: nsfw (18+), rimming (reader giving), light bondage (silk ties), power play (sub!eric, soft dom!reader), dirty talk, praise, body worship, mild brat-taming, aftercare☽

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝜗𝜚 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼

⁎⁺˳✧༚80s-90s rock masterlist

you’d barely gotten the silk ties in place before eric started squirming.

"you sure you're okay with this?" you ask one last time, fingers ghosting down his bare chest as you lean over him, catching that flutter of nerves and need behind his eyes.

his cheeks are already flushed, curls a bit wild from how he’s been shifting in anticipation. “yeah,” he breathes, voice soft and eager. “please. i want it.”

you smirk, dragging your hands slowly down his sides. “you want what, baby?”

he swallows hard. “want you to… do what you said. i want you to eat me out.”

god, the way he says it—so shy but so turned on—makes you hum low in your throat. “good boy,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him deep, tongue teasing his before you trail down his jaw, his neck, biting softly just to hear the breath hitch.

he gasps when you get to his thighs—because you spread them wide with intention. his wrists are bound above him with smooth silk, tied to the headboard, and he's completely open for you, ass up just slightly with a pillow under his hips.

you trace a hand down the curve of his back and over that perfect ass, giving one cheek a firm squeeze. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

"m-mmh," he whimpers, lifting his hips just a little more, already trying to be helpful. obedient. desperate. "please."

you trail kisses down the backs of his thighs, slow and teasing. “stay still for me, eric,” you whisper, breath warm against his skin. “you move too much and i’ll stop.”

he whines—actually whines—and it makes you grin like the devil.

you start slow, lips pressing reverent kisses to the soft skin between his cheeks, hands spreading them gently. he lets out the softest moan when you finally flatten your tongue and lick a long stripe over his hole, teasing it with slow circles.

“oh—f-fuck,” he gasps, head tipping back.

“mmm, you taste so good, baby,” you purr, voice thick with heat. “such a pretty ass. made for me, huh?”

he nods, barely able to speak. “yes—yes, please, more—”

you hum against him, tongue diving deeper, hands keeping him spread just how you like. you eat him out like it’s your last meal—slow, deliberate, worshipful. you make sure he feels everything. you tease with the tip of your tongue, then push in deeper, moaning against him as you devour him.

he’s trembling, panting, hips rolling subtly as he tries not to move too much, his knuckles white where he’s gripping the silk ties.

“doing so good for me,” you murmur between licks. “you’re such a good boy, eric. so sweet. so obedient.”

he sobs out a moan at that—full-on losing it—and you can tell he’s close even without being touched.

"g-god, i—i can't—" he pants, voice shaking.

you pull back just a little, just to blow against the wet heat, and he bucks up with a shameless cry.

"what did i say, baby?" you coo, giving his ass a light smack. "no squirming. or i’ll make you wait."

he groans and nods, breathless. “i’ll be good. i’ll be good. i promise.”

“that’s my good boy.” you spit between his cheeks and dive back in—rougher this time, sloppier, letting the heat build and build while he’s gasping your name like a prayer.

he’s a full-blown mess by the time you finally slide a hand underneath him, wrapping around his cock—and the second you stroke him, he’s gone.

he cums hard, shaking, his thighs trembling, his whole body jerking under you as he cries out.

you don’t stop.

you lick him through it, slow and dirty, even as he writhes and babbles, begging for mercy and whimpering how sensitive he is. your free hand smooths down his back in contrast—soft and comforting, grounding him while your mouth ruins him.

when you finally let up, he’s a flushed, trembling heap. you untie him carefully, gently massaging his wrists, kissing each one. he blinks up at you, dazed, eyes wide and glossy.

“you okay, baby?” you ask softly, brushing a curl from his forehead.

he nods, smiling all blissed out. “i feel like i just went to heaven.”

you kiss him sweetly. “good. ‘cause i’m not done with you yet.”

he whimpers, and you grin.

[broidobe]

𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔣

requested!

☾when sami shows up to surprise you after a week apart, he’s not prepared to see your signature long hair—gone☽

☾warnings: excessive dramatics, emotional support hair scarf, mild fluff, a distressed man, clinginess, some dramatic baby crying energy, but make it rockstar☽

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝜗𝜚 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪'𝓼

⁎⁺˳✧༚hanoi rocks masterlist

it had only been a week. seven days. one tour stop and a radio interview.

and yet, when sami stepped into your apartment, arms full of flowers and a dumb little smile on his face, ready to kiss your cheeks and wrap himself up in your signature absurdly long hair—he froze.

you turned around from the mirror. “hey, babe—”

his jaw dropped. “w—what did you do.”

your smile faltered. “oh! yeah. i cut it.”

cut it. cut it?!

his eyes locked on the soft ends now brushing your shoulders, all bounce and volume and still beautiful—but gone were the curtain-like strands that once fell down your back like silk. gone was the hair he used to absentmindedly braid while you watched movies. gone was the hair he used to sleep under, like some luxurious, living blanket.

his bottom lip trembled.

“sami?”

“y—you cut it,” he whispered, stepping closer, horrified. “i didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

you blinked. “…you’re being dramatic.”

he collapsed onto the couch like a grieving poet.

“i loved that hair,” he muttered into a throw pillow. “it used to slap me in the face when we kissed. it’d strangle me in bed. it made me sneeze in the shower. it was… it was sentient. and now it’s gone.”

“sami,” you laughed, coming to sit beside him, “you’re mourning it like a person.”

“because it had personality!” he wailed, peeking out from the pillow with wide, teary eyes. “i had a bond with it. it used to get caught in my rings. i named the long strand that curled over your left shoulder.”

“…you what?”

“her name was nadine. she tickled my arm when you rolled over in bed.”

you stared at him.

he flopped dramatically into your lap. “and now i have nothing. nothing but bare shoulders and emotional scars.”

you gently ran your fingers through his hair. “you are absolutely ridiculous.”

“you chopped off my will to live.”

“but i still look cute, right?”

he pouted, looking up at you like a sad little victorian boy. “…you look gorgeous. like. unreal. i want to cry again.”

you grinned and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “you’ll live.”

“barely.”

you grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your head. “you can still play with it. just… less of it.”

he huffed, but started gently combing his fingers through the shorter strands. “i guess i could get used to this. you look like a sexy french artist now. or a movie star. or—fuck. okay. yeah. i’m into it.”

“oh, now you’re into it?”

“don’t push it,” he grumbled. “i’m still grieving nadine.”

you giggled and kissed his cheek.

he paused, sighing. “just… let me mourn properly, okay?”

you grabbed a hoodie, shoved it into his arms, and said: “fine. cry into this. she would’ve wanted it that way.”

[broidobe]

Greetings and salutations, I had to remake my account because my original one just... broke?

Anyways, would you like me to do the math on approximately how long it will take you to finish your upcoming list?

wait oh my god yes please i love you

[broidobe]

𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔦𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔱

requested!

☾2000s dave starts showing up at metallica’s studio just to stake his claim when his much-younger girlfriend lands a gig producing for the band—and he’s not subtle about it☽

☾warnings: age gap (reader early 20s / dave is 40s), possessive!dom dave, public-ish sex (semi-private studio hallway), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, marking, rough language, dirty talk, a lil praise, jealousy, heavy tension, soft aftercare at the end, possessive behavior, slight confrontation, dirty talk, public-ish pda☽

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝐼: 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝜗𝜚 𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓪 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓮

⁎⁺˳✧༚megadeth masterlist

you weren’t even sure how you ended up here—maybe a mix of stubborn ambition, a stacked resume, and being at the right damn place at the right damn time. producing metallica’s new record had sounded insane when you first got the call, but here you were, headphones around your neck and notes scribbled across half a dozen coffee-stained notepads.

what you didn’t expect was your boyfriend turning it into a territorial pissing contest.

“baby,” came a low drawl behind you, like clockwork, “brought you coffee.”

you turned from the soundboard and grinned as dave mustaine strolled in like he owned the place, a to-go cup in each hand, his signature smug tilt to his mouth. he leaned in to kiss your cheek—no, your mouth—a little too long, a little too firm, like a silent message for anyone watching.

“you really don’t have to come by every day,” you mumbled against his lips, though you weren’t complaining. the coffee was good. the possessive kisses were better.

“sure i do,” he said casually, eyes flicking toward the glass wall behind you—where, right on cue, james hetfield and lars ulrich were setting up for another session.

james’s gaze lingered. again.

dave’s arm slid around your waist, tugging you close enough that your back hit his chest. “can’t have certain people thinking they’ve got a shot.”

you swallowed. “james’s harmless.”

dave scoffed, low and bitter. “yeah, right. harmless like a viper.”

the worst part was… you had noticed the way james watched you sometimes. a little too long. a little too curious. you weren’t stupid, and neither was dave. and when you and james laughed at some stupid inside joke the day before, dave had gone very quiet on the car ride home.

so when he caught james looking again—again—during a playback session, dave didn’t even pretend to play nice.

“hey het,” he said sharply, catching the man mid-smirk. “you like the way she mixes your vocals, huh?”

james arched a brow. “she’s good at what she does.”

“yeah,” dave drawled, eyes narrowing. “real good with her mouth.”

your face burned. james blinked. lars choked on his water somewhere in the back.

dave didn’t even look at you as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then tugged the collar of your shirt down just enough to show the fresh bruise forming near your clavicle.

“mine,” he muttered, not even subtle.

you barely made it out of the booth before dave had you pinned against the wall of the corridor, lips rough, tongue insistent, fingers sliding under your shirt like he had to remind you who you belonged to.

“he wants you,” dave growled into your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “but he doesn’t get to have you. i do. you understand me, baby?”

you nodded, breathless. “yes, dave.”

his fingers curled around your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. “say it.”

“i’m yours.”

he kissed you then—hard, messy, claiming—and you swore if james turned the corner right now, he’d see a very smug dave with his hand already between your thighs.

“good girl,” he whispered, voice like gravel. “now let’s give ‘em something to really stare at.”

your back hit the wall of the narrow hallway, cool concrete seeping through your thin shirt. dave’s mouth was on your neck before you could breathe, lips dragging hot and hungry against your skin.

“can’t fuckin’ stand the way he looks at you,” dave growled, biting just hard enough to make your breath catch. “like he thinks he’s got a chance.”

“he doesn’t,” you gasped, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other fisting the front of his leather jacket. “i don’t want him. i want you.”

that seemed to crack something open in him.

his thigh shoved between your legs. his hand cupped your jaw, forcing your eyes to lock with his. “say it again.”

“i want you, dave.”

he groaned, like the words physically affected him. “fuck, you’re so perfect when you say my name like that.”

his fingers found your waistband, yanking your pants down just enough to expose your thighs. you whimpered as cool air hit your skin—but the second you felt his fingers stroke over your underwear, dragging over the growing wet spot, heat bloomed in your stomach.

“so wet for me already,” dave muttered with a smug smirk, pressing a kiss to your temple. “bet you got this soaked the second i walked in, huh?”

you nodded, breath hitching. “always do.”

he groaned again, voice wrecked. “goddamn baby…”

without another word, he dropped to his knees.

you let out a stunned gasp as his hands gripped your thighs and yanked your underwear down, tossing them somewhere behind him. then his mouth was on you—hot, relentless, worshipful.

he devoured you like a man possessed, tongue sliding between your folds, nose pressed right up against your clit. his hands held your thighs open like a vice, keeping you spread as his tongue worked you over, teasing, licking, sucking like he had something to prove.

and maybe he did.

“y’taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he groaned, voice muffled by your pussy. “gonna make you come right here… let him hear it. let him fuckin’ know who gets you like this.”

your knees nearly buckled.

you whined, hands scrambling for purchase in his hair, tugging the thick red strands as he sucked hard on your clit—harder, faster, just the way you liked it. the obscene noises echoed down the hallway. he didn’t care. you didn’t care.

your moan cracked in the back of your throat as your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, thighs shaking, body twitching, hips trying to jerk away from the intensity—

but dave didn’t let you.

he growled low, wrapping his arms tighter around your thighs, keeping you in place as he kept licking, tongue fucking into you like he was trying to milk every drop of your climax. and when your voice cracked with a sob, legs trembling from the overstimulation—

then he slowed down. just enough to let you breathe.

his mouth was slick, lips shiny, and his voice was all gravel and heat when he finally stood back up, towering over you.

“how’s that for a fuckin’ sound check?”

you giggled breathlessly, still floating. “you’re insane.”

“nah,” he muttered, nipping your lip. “just crazy about you.”

he reached down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in and kissed you deep—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. his hands gently cupped your face now, thumbs stroking over your cheeks like he hadn’t just eaten you out against a studio wall.

“you okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “too much?”

you shook your head, still dazed. “no… i’m okay. really good. just—fuck, dave.”

he smirked again, cocky and completely in love. “next time he looks at you like that, i’ll make you moan louder.”

you swatted his chest, but your cheeks were burning.

“now c’mon,” he said, pulling your pants back up gently, helping you stand. “let’s get you some water before they really hear how good you sound.”

[broidobe]

when you adressed me as Chris Cornell's no. 1 fan the dopamine was legitimately rushing through me lol that's 100% what I hope to be 😭

-🌚

i will support you on that journey queen

[broidobe]

saw chelsea grin ands signs of the swarm yesterday! i’ll be back to posting today lol

[broidobe]

not sure if anyone has read my request status but it is in fact closed. i’ve gotten some requests and i’m sorry to say but i’m not going to do them. i’ve clarified on my page that my requests are closed.

like i said, after i’m done fulfilling all my requests, i’m going on a break. therefore, i’m not taking anymore requests.

sorry!

[broidobe]

𝔬' 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔯

requested by 💋!

☾you’re on your period, and your boyfriend izzy stradlin (who’s just a little clueless but very sweet) is trying his best to help you out☽

☾warnings: mentions of periods (cramps, blood, mood swings), fluff, clueless but loving older man izzy☽

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴, 𝓸' 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻 𝜗𝜚 𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓪 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓮

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

you were curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, heating pad on your lower belly, and a look on your face that could kill.

izzy walked in, chewing a toothpick and wearing that usual soft, confused expression he always had when anything remotely domestic happened. he paused in the doorway, glancing at the couch like it had done something wrong.

“uh… you alright, sweetheart?”

you didn’t answer right away, just groaned and shifted to your side. “period.”

his eyebrows shot up. “ah. right. that time. again.”

you cracked one eye open. “what do you mean again, like it’s not a monthly subscription from hell.”

he blinked. “no no, i just meant—shit. no, i didn’t mean it like that. you want me to get you anything? do i punch someone? is this a ‘murder someone for you’ thing or a ‘buy chocolate and back away slowly’ thing?”

you snorted despite yourself. “both. but mostly chocolate. and maybe some ibuprofen. and don’t talk to me like you’re approaching a wild animal.”

“noted,” he said, nodding very seriously. then paused. “…do tampons expire?”

you slowly turned to look at him like he’d grown a second head. “what?”

“just askin’. there’s like… a box in the bathroom that’s been there since—i dunno. last winter?” he scratched his head. “do they go bad? like milk?”

“izzy,” you said, “that’s not how vaginas work.”

he raised his hands in surrender. “i said i don’t know what to do, alright? i never lived with anyone who got a period before. not even a sister. or like… a roommate. i’m learning.”

you sighed, touched by how earnest he was even if he was a little hopeless.

“come here,” you muttered, reaching a hand out.

he walked over cautiously, sitting at the edge of the couch like you might still explode.

you grabbed his wrist and tugged him close until he was spooning you, arms wrapped around your waist and chin on your shoulder.

“you don’t have to fix anything,” you said quietly. “just be here.”

he exhaled against your neck, relaxing. “i can do that. i’m really good at loitering.”

“you are.”

“and i’ll go out later and get the chocolate. and the pills. and the hot chips you like. and, uh… i dunno, heating pad refills? is that a thing?”

you smiled, eyes slipping shut as you nestled into his warmth. “no. but thanks for trying.”

he kissed your temple. “next month, i’ll have it all ready in a basket. period emergency kit. i’ll label it and everything.”

“that is the most adorable shit i’ve ever heard.”

“shhh,” he whispered. “don’t ruin my grumpy old man image.”

you laughed, heart aching in the good way. maybe cramps weren’t so bad when you had izzy freaking stradlin trying to fight them off like they were a rival gang member.

[broidobe]

EVERY TIME YOU POST I LITERALLY GO OUTSIDE AND JUMP AROUND LIKE A KANGAROO. HI. I LOVE YOUR FICS YOUR BLOG EVERYTWHING HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A GOOD DAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYSYAYAYAYAYAY

lmfao! you're literally amazing

[broidobe]

YES YOU ARE LITERALLY ONE OF of MY FAVORITE WRITERS . I GET SO HAPPY WHEN YOU POST IM LIKE YIPEEEEE🧸

omg stawpppppp!!!