Whisky A Go Go - Blog Posts

IT'S SO EASY, guns n' roses.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing; guns n' roses x fem!reader

summary; your band, lethality, is the hottest thing that’s hit the sunset strip since mötley crüe and the notorious guns n' roses. after a sensational night playing the whisky a go-go, you to meet a very interesting group of men that take a peculiar liking to you.

warnings; cussing, no use of y/n, alcohol & cigarettes mentioned, veryy dialogue heavy, nothing really happens because i didn’t know if anon wanted it to be romantic/romantic encounter with a band member(s), steven is having fun somewhere else.

word count; 1.6k

a/n; i honestly loved writing this. i had a hard time starting it, but when i got it going i couldn’t stop. i was even considering making this a full fledged fanfic, if anyone would be interested.

requests open, not proofread, based on this ask.

The Whisky was packed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of sweat. The crowd of people blended into one the further you looked out—was jumping around, their energy feeding into yours as you gripped the mic stand, swinging it around erratically. Your heart pounded with adrenaline as the house lights dim for dramatic effect, and with a deep, intentional breath, you launched into the final chorus of your band, Lethality's, set. Your voice was raw, passionate, and uniquely fresh. The audience erupted, fists pounding in the air, whistling and clapping being heard.

This is what made every sleepless hour, every shitty bar gig worth it. The feeling of the audience, the bass vibrating your core, the drums pounding hard and intentional, the guitar wailing along to your voice. You were in your element. This was everything.

With one last powerful belt, you let the song ring out, clutching the microphone as the sound of your heavy breath mixed with the cheers. A slow, sexy smirk tugged at your lips. They loved you.

You turned, locking eyes with your guitarist, tossing your damp, messy hairy over your shoulder and stepping back from the microphone stand. The applause and whistles followed you offstage, still roaring in your ears as you grabbed a towel and wiped your damp face.

You were shocked that Los Angeles had loved Lethality that much, given that they didn't take to women-led bands very kindly. They often watered them down to being a "woman in Rock" and not a "rockstar." You loathed it, and you be damned if it happened to you. You deserved to be on the same playing field as the rest of these young, dumb, and full of cum men. Not that you honestly wanted to be compared to that, though.

"You really know how to work a crowd," a voice called out.

Your eyes shot up to see an older, chubbier man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking at you in thought. He nodded towards the dressing rooms. "You've got some serious fans wanting to meet you."

You raise an eyebrow in uncertainty, "Fans?"

The man sends you a shit-eating grin and sniggered, "Yeah. Ever heard of Guns N' Roses?"

For a brief second, your heart skipped a beat as you felt your hands get clammy—but you played it cool, tossing the wet towel onto a nearby beer crate. You exhaled through your nose and ran a hand through your hair. You knew Guns regularly went to the Whisky and other clubs you and your band frequented, and you were bound to run into them, but you still felt extremely nervous. You absolutely adored their newest album, Appetite for Destruction.

"Well," you eventually muttered, rolling your shoulders, "guess I better not keep them waiting, huh?"

With that, you strode down the hall, your heart beating so loudly you could feel it having a concert in your head. The hallway was dimly lit the further you walked down, the sounds of the Whisky still thrumming in the distance. Your heeled boots echoed against the floor as you approached the dressing rooms. Guns N' fucking Roses wanted to see you. You weren't one to get starstruck, you had met some of the best musicians to come out of the strip, but you weren't oblivious either. Part of you was curious, another part cautious. You knew how these men were. Hungry for sex, drugs, and dabbled in Rock 'n' Roll when the job called for it. You also weren't one to get caught up in the rock mystique. Yet, if they had something to say, you were damn sure going to hear it.

You reached the dressing room door and took a steadying breath. You took a second to smooth your hair and shake out the last of your post-show adrenaline. Then, you pushed it open.

The room was buzzing with soft conversation. The scent of fresh leather, whiskey, and cigarette smoke hung in the air. The ginger lead singer, Axl Rose, was the first of the four to look up, reclining in his chair, a drink idly dangling from his fingers. His sharp hazel eyes flickered with something unreadable as he took your figure in. Slash was perched on the couch, lazily tapping ash from his cigarette, while Duff and Izzy leaned back in conversation, their laughter cutting off the second you entered. Instantly, you noticed the lack of their drummer, Steven Adler. Huh.

Four pairs of beady eyes locked onto you.

"Well, well," Duff spoke up, giving a slow, acknowleding nod. "The woman of the hour."

You smirked, stepping inside with your arms crossed. "Didn't realize I was on your schedule."

Axl's lips curled into something between amusement and intrigue. "You weren't. But we couldn't ignore what we just saw out there," he tilted his head, studying you. "You don't just perform—you own that stage."

The way Axl said it wasn't flattery. On the contrary, it was a statement. A challenge, maybe. You couldn’t tell. Not yet, anyway.

You met his gaze without flinching, a newfound confidence overtaking you. "That's the job, isn't it?"

To your right, Slash chuckled, flicking his cigarette once more. "Yeah, but most people don't do it like that." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his leathered knees. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

You shrugged, "Same story as everyone else. Small-town band, a lot of shitty gigs, and too much cheap beer."

Axl smirked at that you noticed. He must've liked that reply, you thought.

"Not everyone makes it out of that."

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier, just for a beat. You could feel them sizing you up, trying to figure out if you were just another wannabe act, or something more. Maybe they were checking you out, who fucking knows?

You glanced around, then raised an amused brow. "So, you dragged me in here just to stroke my ego, or is there something else?"

Axl took a swig of his liquor, sliding his arm onto the armrest. "Maybe both."

Axl's words hung in the air, stretching the moment just long enough for you to feel the weight of their attention. You didn't mind it—if anything, you were used to being watched, analyzed, judged. But this? This was different.

Slash took a slow, tentative drag off of his cigarette, exhaling a thin breath of smoke before speaking again. "How long have you been playing as a band?"

You walked over to the other side of the couch he sat on, your eyes not leaving his hidden ones. "Long enough to know what I'm doing."

That earned a chuckle from Duff. "Yeah, we picked up on that, Susie-Q."

Izzy, who had been quiet until now, studied you with that easy, unreadable gaze. "Your sound's different. It's not just your voice—it's the way you hold a crowd. Who are your influences?"

You shrugged, "A little of everyone."

Axl chuckled and swirled the whiskey in his glass. "That's the safe answer," he retorted, clicking his tongue in amusement.

"Safe," you echoed with a knowing, smug smile, "or just true?"

That got a reaction—albeit a small one—a flicker of something behind Axl's eyes. The kind of interest that wasn't politeness. He wasn't just shooting the shit with you. None of them were. They had intentions—intentions you were unsure of.

Slash tilted his head softly, "You got a label yet?"

"Not one worth signing to," you replied smoothly as you shook your head.

Izzy and Duff exchanged what felt like their tenth glance of the night. Axl's smirk deepened as you quietly let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You were very nervous, after all.

"Good," Axl clicked his tongue, "means you're not an idiot."

You huffed a quiet laugh, "I try."

This whole conversation had your mind reeling: panic mode on. This was going nowhere, and you didn't really come here to get drilled about your music. They didn't even ask to see the rest of Lethality, just you. You weren't sure what to expect when walking backstage, but being rallied up by Guns wasn't it. Their gaze was still on you, making you feel small. You look at Axl from across the room—the gears in his head were moving. You soon realized that never meant anything good.

Axl turned his head to look at you dead on. "So, what's next for you?"

You met his gaze without hesitation, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why? You planning to keep tabs on me?"

Slash grinned, putting out his cigarette in the steel ashtray on the coffee table. "Wouldn't be the worst idea. Not every night we someone actually own the stage instead of just.. standing on it."

Duff gestured towards you with his beer bottle. "Crowd was losing their fucking minds. You got 'em wrapped around your pretty little finger."

You shrugged. “Like I said, that’s the job.”

“And like Slash said, most people don’t get that. They think it’s just about playing the songs.” Izzy eyed you, like he was still trying to figure you out. He motioned towards you as he pulled out a Marlboro from his pack. “You’ve got something else.”

Axl let out a low chuckle and cleared his throat while shaking his head slightly. Then, he raised his glass. “Right. Here’s to whatever the fuck happens next.”

Your eyes flicked to the band’s whiskey bottle on the table. Without a word, you picked it up, twisted off the cap, and took a deep gulp before setting it back down on the coffee table with a quiet, gentle clink.

“You’ll be seeing more of Lethality,” you said simply.

Slash huffed a quiet laugh. “Good. Scene’s getting boring.”

Duff nodded in agreement. “Listen—If you keep playing like that, you won’t be stuck in clubs forever.”

Izzy didn’t say anything, just gave a small, knowing smirk.

Axl’s gaze lingered for a second longer before he set his now empty glass down. “Guess we’ll have to just wait and fucking see.”

The conversation shifted, drinks flowed, and the night stretched on. Whatever this was—whatever had started here—you had a small feeling burning deep inside that this was just the beginning.

© lagunned (2025—) all rights reserved.