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Pitchy, bitchy and beautiful part 2 - there’s always a part 2.

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Pete Townshend

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About Face Tour 1984

Picture by Ginger

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Jimmy Page & Robert Plant (Backstage, Birmingham, June 13, 1969).

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Hi, can I get a David bowie one please? Maybe something where the reader is also a singer? Thank you so much!

Pairing: David Bowie x Singer!Reader (reader is gender neutral)

Word Count: 1,534

Summary: Reader performs at a nightclub. They close the show with a haunting cover of “Heroes”, not knowing that the man himself is in the audience.

Warnings: Smoking

Author: Whitney

A/N: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 Also, reminder that requests are open!

Your heart pounds as you get ready to take the stage of the small club. It’s nerve wracking to take the stage even though you’ve performed here at least half a dozen times. You peak out from behind the curtain at the small crowd gathering around the stage. With all the lighting focused on the stage, and the cigarette smoke circling around the room it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly how many people are out there. 

The manager ushers you out there, and you get a bit better of a look at the crowd. It’s not as busy as you’ve seen before, but that doesn’t do much to ease your nerves. You wave to the crowd, feeling a little silly when you do so. Still the crowd welcomes you warmly with a few familiar faces looking up at you. You smile as you make your way up to the microphone.

“Hello, I’m (y/n),” you introduce yourself. 

You open the show with one of your original songs. You strum your guitar softly as your voice carries through the club. People listen intently, their eyes glued to you as you sing. The insecure side of you worries people are bored, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. The club that had been so loud just moments earlier, is captivated into near silence by you standing on the stage. Your voice lulling the chaos into peace. You do a couple more of your own songs before setting your guitar to the side. You make your way to the piano, taking a seat on the bench before clearing your throat.

This was the part of the performance you were the most concerned about. David Bowie was one of your favorite artists, and you’ve always considered singing one of his songs. 

One night while you were at your house tinkering on your own piano, you’d inexplicably begun playing “Heroes” in a low key. You’d sang the song in a whispery tone, and the way it sounded to you was so sad. You’d felt confident that it would add something to your performance, but as you sat on the stage preparing to cover the song in the same way your confidence was faltering. You consider making a small introduction, maybe provide an explanation. But as your hands begin shaking, you realize it’s now or never.

You begin playing the familiar tune on the piano. It’s a shock to you that your voice doesn’t quiver a bit when you begin singing. Instead you’re as confident in the words as you would’ve been if you’d written them yourself. You end your performance with this song, to a surprisingly enthusiastic response. You shyly bow and thank everyone before leaving the stage.

It takes a while for you to get calmed down. You step outside the club to the small alleyway to smoke a cigarette. Still feeling buzzed from your performance, your hand shakes a bit when you lift the cigarette to your lip to take a deep drag. You  lean your head against the wall as you exhale the smoke. The street seemed to exist in a completely different world than the club. It’s quiet and dark in the alley. Only the streetlights on the blue neon sign of the club provided any kind of light, and where you stood around the corner even that was muted. You close your eyes as you feel yourself slowly begin to unwind.

“I liked your performance,” a man’s voice interrupts your silence.

You open your eyes, and pull your head forward from it’s previous resting place against the wall. In the split second it takes to do this, you’re prepared to chase off some unwanted drunkard. Instead you see a thin figure leaning against the wall opposite of you. The blue neon hitting his angular face reveals his identity to be David Bowie himself. You want to say a thousand different words of praise, but instead you simply smile in an attempt not to seem starstruck. 

“Thank you very much,” you smile. 

“I must say I’m particularly fond of the last song,” he smirks. 

 “Me too,” you agree. “It’s my favorite. Although, I was afraid I might butcher it.” 

“Not at all,” he leans forward. “I’m a little envious I never thought to sing it that way.” 

Your heart is racing, sending a rush of blood to your cheeks. You know in the light you probably look purple, and for some reason your brain wants to replay a children’s film in your mind at this moment. 

“No need to be envious,” you tease. 

He steps forward, taking the cigarette from your lips. He takes a drag from it before giving it back. 

“Perhaps the next time you perform, I could join you,” he suggests. 

Your eyes widen at the suggestion. All you can think to do is nod. You flick the cigarette onto the ground, and finally find your bearings again. 

“I would love that,” you agree. 

He chuckles as you let your admiration show for the first time. He pulls his coat closer to his thin body. 

 “Next time then,” he promises. “I get to choose the song though.” 

“Of course,” you smile. 

He starts to walk away, but then hesitates. He turns to you again with a small smile. 

“Do you come to this club frequently?” you ask, hoping all of this wasn’t just empty promises. 

“I do,” he nods. “Although, I hope that won’t affect your performance. I quite like listening to you sing.” 

“There’s nothing that could stop me from singing,” you promise. 

He smiles, “Good to hear it. So many people are quick to give up on their dreams.” 

“That’s the great tragedy of life, I suppose. Probably more so than death.” 

He nods thoughtfully, for a moment his eyes seem to look just past you. You don’t interrupt what seems to be a deep train of thought. Instead allowing him to pull himself back into the moment. 

“There’s a little cafe down the street, the people there don’t really bother me,” he explains. 

You nod, still a bit oblivious to what he was implying. 

“Would you like to go with me to get some coffee or something?” 

A small gasp leaves you, but then you try to regain your composure. As though you always meet famous people, then of course get invited to go somewhere with them. Just another day in your very exciting life. 

“That would be nice,” you agree. 

He offers you his arm politely. You try not to die as you intertwine your arm with his, and he begins leading you down the street. 

“Won’t anyone miss you?” you ask as the neon lights from the club fade, and everything is bathed in streetlights. You knew he didn’t come to this club alone, why would he? 

“I’m sure the fact that I’m missing will come to their attention at least once.” 

You laugh, “I’m sure more than once.” 

“It will be fine,” he assures you.

Your mind is swimming with questions. You look up at him. His hair is combed back rather neatly, and his mismatched eyes watch the street carefully. He looks different than you’d imagined he would. Somehow he seems incredibly alert and relaxed at the same time. 

He leads you to the small corner cafe, and you take a seat at the back booth away from the window. A waitress comes by to take your orders, there’s a glint of recognition in her eyes as you both order coffee. But she doesn’t say anything. Finally seeing him fully in the light, you’re struck by how handsome he actually is. 

“I like being able to move around freely,” he says unprompted. “It’s always a delight to meet people who will go along with that.” 

“Everyone should be allowed to live freely,” you agree. 

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between you. You steal glances at one another, smiling when one of you is caught. The waitress brings your coffees and sets them down. You add cream and sugar to yours, noticing how closely he seemed to watch you as you did so. There’s a curiosity in his eyes you didn’t expect. You bring the mug to your lips, taking a careful sip. 

 He’s the first to break the silence, “So, you wrote the first songs you performed?” 

You nod, “I did.” 

“Very good,” he compliments. You feel your cheeks blush a bit. 

“Thank you,” the insanity of it all seemed to hit you for the first time. 

“I own all of your albums,” you blush at the confession. “I suppose you could say I think you’re rather good as well.” 

He laughs at this, “Thank you very much.” 

You take another sip of your coffee. You want to ask how you ended up here in his company, his eyes seemingly locked onto you. Watching every move you make as though you’re half as interesting as him. Somehow you fear that questioning the moment will absolutely ruin it. So, you sit in the cafe sipping your coffee and allow yourself to indulge in the moment. 

There’s a hope lingering in your chest that perhaps this will lead to more than just one cup of coffee. 

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Will I ever stop crying for Syd? Never

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Ride A White Swan(Marc Bolan Imagine)

Pairing: Marc Bolan x reader Word Count: 273 Summary: An autumnal walk in the park with none other than Marc Bolan himself! Warnings: None! Just fluffy goodness. Author: Bacon A/N: This is my first post on our brand new blog, so I really hope you enjoy! If you like what you see here, don’t be shy and request something!

Imagine you’re sitting at home, bored out of your mind. Suddenly, the phone rings. You pipe up and answer. On the other line, it’s your friend Marc! He’s very giddy and excited. He invites you for a walk in the park. You accept.

As you both stroll through the park, Marc begins picking flowers from the bushes as you pass them. You laugh as he continues to be silly and high energy. The air is cool and the leaves are falling down. You hug your arms closer to your body. Marc comes closer, noticing you’re cold.

He smiles and wraps an arm around you. You shiver as a particular gust of wind hits you.

“These are for you.” Marc hands you the bouquet of flowers. You smile as you accept them. You both continue walking down the path. Marc is telling you about his upcoming tour and you listen to his every word. His voice is so soothing and comforting.

Once you reach a bench, he leads you to it and you sit down. Marc is smiling so brightly, and you find him so endearingly cute.

“I’m so glad you came with me today.” He says as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m glad I did too.” You admit, hoping he won’t notice you blushing.

His eyes are mesmerizing as he leans in. His kiss is soft and brief, leaving you wanting so much more.

“You’re so beautiful, girl. Like a bright star in the night sky.” You laugh at his compliment, and you kiss him back.

You’re so comfortable with Marc. He makes you feel so real.

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Classic Rock Band Imagine #4: Bob Dylan (Solo Musician)

Imagine running into Bob Dylan at a small post-concert shindig that your manager forced you to attend. 

WARNING: Mentions of drug use, death, and suicidal ideation.

26 May 1966. London.

“So, you’re a glamour girl now, huh?” he laughs, sadly, hit with the urge to smoke. 

Again. ​

A joint would do him good for now. A fat one, preferably. One fat enough to make him just forget.

​Forget about all those pigheaded assholes and their labeling of him as some oracle who magically held all the answers to life.

​Once he plugged in his Fender Stratocaster, they catapulted him with jeers and boos and jibes. Cried, “What the fuck happened to you, man?” as though he had been some pet monkey who lived and existed solely for their consumption.

But he needs even more to forget about the girl standing before him. Or, rather, the memories he has of you. 

Namely, of you and him.

You chuckle, albeit dryly. “Well, it appears to be that way, don’t it?” 

You toy with the hem of your dress, eyes dropped down to your feet.

God knows what could be behind those baby blue eyes of his if you ever dare to find them. 

You have neither the heart, nor the stomach, for it. 

To make matters worse, the Ray-Ban Wayfarer shades he has since become known for wearing are not on his face. ​

You will kill Giuseppe for dragging you here.

You clear your throat, setting the thought aside.

Bob rummages in the breast of his coat for a loose smoke. But for anything, really. If he keeps still, he will go fucking insane. 

“You know, I, uh, see you on them magazines. I see you on the newspaper stands. All the time. On the cover of that what’s it called, that Harper’s Bazaar, whatever it is.”

“I’ve shot for that one, yeah.” 

You find his eyes. Finally. 

And you would be a damned liar if you said you didn’t miss them. Two years later, and still, you ache for him. You love him still — as much as it absolutely nauseates you. 

You add, in an unusually nonchalant tone, “British Vogue and Mademoiselle, too. Oh, and Vogue Paris. Shot for them a few times.”

“Guess I still gotta get used to you bein’ all dolled up.” He forces out a half-assed chuckle. “Names I didn’t even think about.” 

​Damn if it doesn’t nauseate him to pretend to not be in anguish when it clearly reads on his face. 

And really, he wants to scream, “Woman, who even are you?” at you. But, to be fair, he hasn’t a clue to whom he became, either. ‘64 was the last time either of you had been normal.

Or perhaps “unbroken” would have been a better word. 

Perhaps it was he who had broken you with all of his broken promises.

No doubt, the guilt had broken him.

You scoff. “Did you really expect me to be the same ol’ homely girl singin’ for change up in East Village? I’m allowed to change, aren’t I? Well, I am. Just like you.”

“Just like you.” 

Three words that gash deeper than any jeer of “traitor!” or “Judas!” from any angry folk purist ever could.

For so long, he lamented your burgeoning modeling career, persuaded that you would have been consumed by a world that had not even existed. And the sweet peach you once were would have came back merely a bitter and rotten pit. Those ravenous and parasitic industry hounds would have gladly taken everything from you.

And with no reward on your end. And that girl he came to know and befriend and love will have been nothing more than a husk of herself.​

You had been all in his head as he scribbled “To Ramona” furiously on an old, discarded napkin.

For so long, he had deemed himself to be above the smoke and mirrors that seemed to have lured you in. 

Until you reminded him that he wasn’t.

Sex and drugs. Madness and despair. 

The monstrous cycle that each musician found himself succumbing to, he soon followed.

Before you stood an agitated, erratic shell of the awkwardly charming Midwestern boy whose rugged denim overalls loosely fit his stout, ample legs. Now, they are scraggly twigs, having grown limp from three days of no sleep. And the pills, among other things, have made his mind troubled and uneasy. Frantic. Just last night, he nailed the best-looking broad who lacked just enough self respect to throw herself at him.

All while Sara nurses their newborn baby at home.

Different, he surely is not.

Silence suddenly befalls you both, deadening the exchange. But the pangs of regret linger among you.

Regret about his failure to see your engagement through. Regret about his unwillingness to be faithful to you. Regret about the miscarriage that he knew for a fact damaged you.

Hell, it damaged him, too. More than he cared to admit.

And yet, he abandoned you still. For that same mythical world he cautioned you against.

* * *

The silence dissipates, at last, once you set eyes on his frame. He looks sick and damn near dead. “You’re not eatin’ much, are you?”

He groans. 

I get this shit enough from Albert. I’m done hearin’ ‘bout it.

“And you’re askin’ me that, why?”

“‘Cause it don’t look like you are, that’s for damn sure!”

​Sure. Maybe he would have looked better with extra pounds put on. But still, he does not need fifty different people telling him what he already knew. 

It’s no one’s fucking business, either.

But you were never the type to bite your tongue. And he knows it. 

​“Christ, [Y/N].” He slaps a hand on his brow to rub a pulsing temple. “Not like you gotta see me naked anymore.”​

“Oh, we’re well past that.”

“I know, but sometimes,” he confesses, “I wish we weren’t.” He runs a calloused thumb across the fullness of your lip, organic in its pout. “I dunno, babe. I still crave those lips from time to time.”

“Tuh! The only lips you should be craving” — you pull back from his taunting caress — “are the ones that belong to your wife.”

You spit the word “wife” with perhaps a bit of resentment. Because had he really loved you as he claimed to have, it could have been you. 

You were still mourning the loss of your baby when he called it quits. You lost both of your loves all at once.

And your dream of an autumn wedding would have stayed merely a dream.

“Silhouettes” by The Rays sounds on the stereo. 

You both remembered it as one of your favorite old records to make love to. Pairs of bodies begin to merge all around you, stumbling rhythmically in a tight embrace. You felt sick. 

“I gotta go,” you stutter, frantically, before charging out of the suite with a light, fast clunking of the heels. 

And there, he stands alone, amidst the barrage of dancing lovers. You have abandoned him, as he had done to you a couple springs ago.

Serves me right.

You were gone.

​And, perhaps, for good.

He leaves the suite for his room. Knowing the risk, he decides to wash down a couple downers with the meager swallow left from his nearly empty bottle of wine. 

If I die, I just do.

He blinks at the typewriter in front of him all night. 

He feels his insides churn whenever he thinks of how badly he hurt you.

And all of a sudden, dying doesn’t seem so bad.

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to be loved (jimmy page oneshot) - nsfw

tw - drug mention

“I tell myself I have to build defenses ‘Cause once you are in love, you are defenseless Everything was easy when it meant less But once you are in love, you are defenseless.”

- Askjell (ft. AURORA), “To Be Loved”

The tarmac was drenched, reflecting the multicoloured guide lights perched high above. Clouds obscured the black sky, blocking the moon and any stars that dared try to show their faces in the monsoon. It was late in the evening and only one plane was waiting, though the delay was not because of the downpour. 

“Where is he?”

Peter Grant’s expression was thunderous, mirroring the electricity outside. He towered over the three-fourths of Led Zeppelin that had bothered to show up, pacing the length of the Starship’s lounge. Robert Plant joined him on the floor, anxiously dusting his hands over his blue jeans every now and then. His curls, which had been flattened by the rain prior, had sprung back up, surrounding his angelic face like a halo. Always looking to avoid the trouble, John Paul Jones squared himself away in the corner, lounging on the couch with a cigarette between his lips. The final present member of the band- John Bonham- was also seated on the extended sofa, a petite blonde perched on his lap. His arms were around her, like a great bear hug, but it was completely platonic. He was comforting her, the others knew.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,” Bonzo muttered, a blunt in hand. He offered a drag to the curly-haired woman on his knee, but she refused, same as every time before. 

“Daisy, do you have any bloody idea where Jimmy is?” Grant blustered. “We’re going to be late for fucking check-in. I'll kill that lad.”

Daisy took a tiny sip of the drink she’d been nursing, her expression collected. “If I knew where he was right now, he’d be here,” She responded matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to be late either, Pete; I’m playing at the same damn festival tomorrow.”

Robert stepped away from their manager, slumping down on the couch beside Daisy and Bonzo. Taking the joint from the drummer’s fingers, the golden god took a long drag, shaking out his hair with a huff. Before John could complain, Daisy slipped off his lap, throwing open the door to the Starship and stepping outside. Despite the protests from behind her, she plunged herself into the rain, her heels clicking furiously as she descended the metal stairs. The press had left long ago, leaving the tarmac completely empty.

Rain poured down on the singer’s slender body, instantly soaking her cashmere sweater. Her hair, which had been as curly as Robert’s moments ago, stuck flat to her neck, dripping down over her shoulders and back. Barely even noticing, Daisy peered out over the flooded expanse, blinking as the rainwater trickled into her eyes. 

“Daisy!”

The voice was barely audible over the thrumming of the deluge on the pavement, nearly drowned in thunder. Whirling on her heel, Daisy turned to face the airport, where a lone figure was jogging gawkily through the thunderstorm. His hair, like hers, was plastered to his face, his suit dishevelled and saturated. 

“Jimmy,” Daisy breathed, and suddenly she was in his arms. Despite the rain, his skin was scorching, and when he kissed her so soft and sweetly, his mouth was dry. When they pulled apart, Jimmy sagged against her, his emerald eyes fluttering open and closed. 

Immediately upon returning to the Starship, Peter Grant unleashed the wrath of God on Jimmy. The guitarist just took it with a blank stare, his body swaying slightly. In the back, Daisy towelled herself off, stripped down to her camisole and jeans. The rest of the band had faded into the rear of the aircraft, trying to evade their manager’s rage as the engines started up. 

“You’re fucking hammered, aren’t you?” Daisy caught Grant lecturing Jimmy, his face turning red. “Bloody hell. Just go to bed, Page.”

As Peter stormed from the lounge, Daisy sidled up to Jimmy, laying a hand on his arm. He felt fragile under her touch, like the slightest push would send him bowling over. His bones felt hollow and avian, like the slender appendages of a bird. Grant was wrong; Jimmy wasn’t drunk. 

“Where were you?” Daisy pressed, guiding him down the stretch of the jet. They got to the sole bedroom just as the plane took off, knocking Jimmy back into the pillows. He laid there, splayed out over the velvety sheets as if his own arms were pinning him down. His breaths were languid and quivering, his gaze flickering dazedly. For a brief, terrifying moment, it looked as if Jimmy wasn’t breathing at all, his prominent ribs still in the dim cabin lights. Daisy bent down, pressing her petal-soft lips to his, and he gasped in her air.

“You did it again, didn’t you.” Her chest was tight. 

“Are you upset?” Jimmy’s voice was slurred, his mouth stretching into a slight grimace. “I don’t want to make you upset. I love you.”

There was a lump in Daisy’s throat that she couldn’t speak around. Instead, she kissed the guitarist again, her tongue exploring his mouth. Caught unaware, Jimmy groaned into her- a low, heady sound- and clutched at her waist. When they pulled apart, he tried to chase her lips, eventually falling back onto the sheets with the slightest whimper. Daisy smiled imperceptibly, her hands trailing the length of his torso until her fingers met the sodden cloth of his pants.

“Off,” Jimmy pleaded. 

Daisy paused, her eyes flickering to his wanton expression. “Why’d you do it, Jim?” She uttered instead, her palm leaving his hips. He looked at her with bleary eyes, barely able to lift his head from the pillow.

“I don’t want to think about it,” Jimmy confessed finally. 

“Think about what?” Daisy hovered over his face, goading him to continue. One hand caressed his cheek, her thumb brushing the end of his browbone. With a melancholy look, Jimmy turned away, silent and unresponsive. After a long time, Daisy lowered herself into the bed beside him, her back against the sheets.

“I love when you touch me,” Jimmy began slowly, a quiver in his voice. “But I don’t want to think about the day you won’t anymore.”

The windows in the cabin were suddenly clear, rain no longer spraying the surface. The room lit up faintly in the pale moonlight above the clouds, casting ovular beams over the bed where they laid. The sheets rustled and Daisy was abruptly upright, blinking as the light hit her square in the face. Jimmy, who was turned away, curled up tightly.

“There’s a lot I don’t want to think about,” He muttered, tugging the blankets to his chin. 

“Like what?”

Jimmy turned, an irate expression on his face. “I just said- oh, fuck.”

As soon as he’d faced her, Daisy surged forwards, her lips finding the nape of his pale neck. Jimmy went limp, a moan escaping his mouth. He twined his fingers into her curls with a pitiful noise, his body writhing. Smiling quietly, Daisy flicked her tongue across his skin, an angel in the disguise of a snake. 

“D-Daiz…” Jimmy scarcely managed to gasp. “Touch me.”

Daisy obliged, her fingers trailing down his chest as she undid each button of his shirt. She stroked the trail low on his stomach until Jimmy was bucking, strangled noises escaping his throat. Only then did she finally explore his arousal, a yelp escaping the guitarist’s lips.

“I’m not fucking you in this state,” She spoke lowly, leaning down to press a kiss to his hip. “But you love it when I use my hands, anyway.”

The dark-haired guitarist threw his head back on the pillows, his chest heaving unevenly. He was easy tonight, groaning and whining as Daisy trailed along his length. 

“Don’t stop,” Jimmy swallowed thickly. The blonde smirked, licking her lips.

“You’re so handsome, you know that?”

Jimmy was beautiful as he came, his moan muffled as she pressed her lips to his. She stroked his hair with her available hand until he stopped trembling, his emerald eyes flickering open to catch her face. 

“An’ you’re just gorgeous,” Jimmy mumbled breathlessly.

It was a little while before they could lay together, and by the time Daisy slipped back under the covers, Jimmy was barely conscious. Scooping her arms around his bare chest, she pressed herself up to his back, nestling her chin on his shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to be holding you,” He whispered drowsily.

“Not tonight.”

They’d only get a few hours of sleep, for sure. After all, the plane was supposed to land early in the morning, before the sunrise. Jimmy seemed to sense her thoughts, pushing back against her with a soft yawn.

“I feel like I’m sinking through the mattress,” He uttered softly. “Am I going to fall, Daiz?”

“I’ll make sure you won’t.” Daisy smiled, kissing the soft skin below his ear. “You should fall asleep, though. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Today,” Jimmy corrected sleepily. “Later today.”

The Starship lumbered through the sky on great dark wings, for once not the scene of some licentious party. Satisfied, Daisy kissed Jimmy one last time, succumbing to her own exhaustion soon after.

[classicrockshenanigans]

Kinktober Day 10: Leather(Cinnamon Girl)

Word count: 1098

Pairings: Peter Steele x reader

Warnings: Smut, cemetery kink, slight swearing

It’s a cold October day. It’s late afternoon, and you’re outside smoking a cigarette. You’re waiting for your boyfriend to meet you outside the cemetery gates. He’s not one to usually be late, but you know tonight will be special. You’ve decided to wear your(and his) favorite leather dress. It’s strapless, short and tight. Everything Peter loves on you. You’ve got on a black trench coat that’s covering up the goods.

The sun is starting to set in the sky, and you know that Peter will be here any moment. Your eyes scan the sky as it turns all kinds of beautiful colors. The reds, oranges and yellows from the dying leaves mix in with the hue of the sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A deep voice asks from behind you. You turn to find your boyfriend, roses in his hand.

“It’s gorgeous. Just like you.” You tell him and he smiles. Peter hands you the roses as he takes your hand and leads you further into the cemetery. The wind is blowing softly, and you love how this is all setting the scene for a perfect date.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask him, but he just smiles at you again. He loves surprising you. It’s one of his favorite things to do with you.

Finally, you come upon this little clearing between the headstones and celtic cross markers. There’s a blanket set on the ground with a picnic basket on top of it. You love how much Peter goes out of his way to please you. He is the perfect gentleman.

“Come, darling. Let’s eat.” He coaxes and you both sit on the ground. It’s become chilly, but you love everything about this right now.

As you unbutton a few buttons from your coat, Peter smirks. His eyes can’t help but scan your body.

“You look ravishing, my beauty.” You blush at his compliments.

He unpacks the picnic from the basket, and you both dine on some charcuterie meats and savoury cheeses. Peter pours you some red wine, and you drink it down quickly.

“No need to rush, baby. We’ve got all night.” Peter says as you slow your drinking. You want to climb into his lap and cuddle the whole night in this clearing.

“I’ve got something special planned.” He admits, and you can see a slight blush on his cheeks. 

“What’s that?” You ask, and he smirks once again. His large hands reach out to unbutton the rest of your coat, and he groans slightly once he sees what dress you are wearing.

“Did you do this for me?” He asks and you nod. He smiles and pushes you down softly to lay you back.

Peter gets on top of you and his hair falls around the both of you like a thick, black curtain. His lips are so close to yours; you can taste the red wine on his breath. His eyes are dark, and you can see his canines peeking out from behind his lips.

“Have you been a good girl today?” He inquires, and you blush.

“Of course.”

His lips meet yours in a very passionate kiss. Peter is never that rough with you. He loves taking his time and savouring every moment with you. He’s always been preoccupied with pleasing you and exploring your body.

His large hands caress your body and he moans when he feels the leather dress. His tongue is velvety and soft in your mouth, and you can’t help but thrust against his crotch. He pulls away for a second to catch his breath.

“I love you so much.” He says to you as his kisses go lower. You can feel his teeth scrap lightly on your neck as you mewl. There’s a wetness between your thighs that’s growing exponentially. You want him so badly, and you know he wants to please you.

“I love you too, Peter.” You whisper into his lips. He kisses you deeply before caressing lower and lower down your body. One of his hands reaches for the hem of your tight dress as the other nudges your thighs apart.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” He growls as his head dips between your legs. You can feel his hot breath on your clothed pussy. He can probably tell how wet you are already. You want him to do something, but you know he will take his time.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He moans as his fingers begin teasing you through your panties. You cant your hips forward to continue the pleasurable feeling. He’s teasing you now, but you know it’ll be all worth it once he undresses your core. You want to cum all over his face, and he knows it.

“I’m going to make you tremble so hard, baby.” Is all he says before pushing your panties aside. 

All it takes is one swipe of his tongue on your lips for you to moan and shake. It’s impossible at this point to form coherent thoughts. It’s just pleasure and happiness from this point on.

He stops to give your thigh a gentle bite, and he sucks the area for a moment. You hate how he’ll keep you waiting like this, but you know you’re in for a wild ride.

His tongue goes back to tantalizing your clit as you buck your hips. His hand reaches up to your hips to steady you, as his other hand teases your entrance. You can feel one of his fingers circle your dripping, wet hole as his tongue does not relent on your nub. It won’t be long before you cum hard.

One of his fingers pushes its way into you as you cry out. His lips purse around your clit as he begins to finger fuck you at a rapid pace. His name falls from your lips in a chant as you can feel your orgasm approaching. Your toes curl in momentum as you thrust upwards. There’s a tingling sensation as he continues to lap at your pussy.

“Peter, I’m gonna cum…” You sigh as the first wave of pleasure hits you. You can feel your juices running down his hand and wrist as he continues to fuck you. His lips and tongue do not stop until you push him away gently.

“Mmm, good girl.” He moans as he licks his lips.

“You’re mine, forever.” You moan softly into the night. Peter brings you closer to him and hugs you tightly. The wind howls softly, and you both just hold each other for a little while longer.

[classicrockshenanigans]

Kinktober Day 5: Double Penetration(All My Loving)

Word count: 938

Pairings: John Lennon and Paul McCartney x Reader

Warnings: Smut, two Beatles sharing you, double penetration, slight swearing.

“She’s such a cutie, isn’t she, Macca?” John purrs. His hands are all over you, while Paul is in front of you, kissing your lips. Both of them are driving you crazy. 

“She’s certainly a beautiful bird.” Paul breathes. His lips are red and puffy, just as you guess yours are as well. They’ve been pawing at you for hours, switching spots, kissing you and nipping at your neck. You’ve been wanting them for so long, but they were busy all the time.

With John nibbling on your earlobe and giving you soft love bites, and Paul kissing you so passionately, you were so aroused. How could you have gotten so lucky to get both of them to agree to this?

“You think she wants it now?” John asks in a cocky manner. You nod at his question and Paul chuckles.

“I think so, Johnny.”

They shed their suit coats and begin unbuttoning their white dress shirts. You’ve been naked for some time now, waiting anxiously for them to finally take you. John is first to unbuckle his belt and remove his pants, while Paul continues to kiss you.

“How do you want us?” Paul asks you, and you smile shyly.

“I want both of you. At the same time.” John’s eyebrows shoot up at the mention of that.

“Aye, but can you take us both at the same time, love?” John is curious about this. You smile at both of them.

“I’m ready for you both.”

At that, John grips you at the waist and holds you up. Paul quickly removes his pants and boxers and you’re all finally naked. John is teasing your wet, hot entrance with his manhood. You groan slightly, as this is just not enough for you.

It’s not long before John impales you on his thick cock. Paul is in front of you once again and kisses you through all of this. You hiss at the sensation of being stretched.

“Are you sure, love? We can take turns.” Paul suggests, but you shake your head. You really want them both.

“Alright then.” And he starts to play with your clit. With his other hand, he is trying to find the best placement for his cock to fit inside you along with John’s member. Finally, you are wet enough and stretched enough, so Paul takes his chance and John helps him enter you roughly.

Having both of them inside you is indescribable. You love the sensation of being full of both of their cocks. You can barely catch your breath before they start thrusting within you.

“Fuck, it’s so tight.” John says between gritted teeth. Paul just moans in response and all three of you work your hips to a good pace. John is becoming rough and is squeezing your breast in his large hands. You whimper and moan as they continue to fuck you in tandem.

Paul catches your lips with his, and he bites down on your bottom lip. You want to scream and cry at how good they are making you feel. John is slamming his hips, while Paul is a bit more methodical and soft with his thrusts.

“You like that, you nasty girl?” John whispers in your ear, which makes you tremble. You love how dark he can be and how kinky he is, while Paul is softer and more loving. The contrast is driving you insane.

“Fuck me, please.” You beg as they both start slamming into you. You cry out in pleasure as your first orgasm washes over you.  Your toes curl as your whole body shivers and shakes. John smirks while Paul smiles. They are so sexy. The slick sweat covering their bodies while they fuck you into submission.

“Let’s trade sides.” John suggests, and you agree with him. Suddenly, you’re being tossed around like a sack of potatoes. They are quick to ease the sensation of loss of contact by entering you roughly. Paul is enjoying grabbing your ass to force you more on their cocks.

“Tell us how badly you need this.” John’s voice is gruff. You want him to fuck you even harder, if that’s even possible.

“I need this so fucking bad, John. Please fuck me hard, Paul.” You want both of them to know they are both important. You know how much they love to have their egos flattered.

John starts grunting as his hands go to your hips. Paul’s breathing becomes a little ragged as his thrusts are a little more sloppy.

“Fuck!” John cries out. He pulls out just in time to cum on your tits and stomach. Paul is still thrusting into you like there’s no tomorrow.

It’s not long before Paul starts moaning and cums deep inside you. You would have liked for both of them to cum inside you, but John had pulled out before you could even say anything.

“Fuck you, Paulie! Who said you could cum inside her?” John is furious. He’s not very happy with missing out on this.

“Couldn’t hold back.” Is all Paul says in response. Paul lays you down on the bed, and he walks over to the bathroom to clean up and get something for you to clean up with. John sulks in the corner and lights a smoke.

“Not even going to clean up?” You tease him and he smirks at you. He seems a bit more at ease now.

“Sorry for getting snappy. I didn’t want Paul to claim you.” He explains.

“No one is claiming me. You can both have me.” They both light up at the idea.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[classicrockshenanigans]

Kinktober Day 2: Sex Work(Keep Me Comin’)

Word count: 1211

Pairing: Eric Carr x reader

Warnings: Sex work/escort, adult themes, drinking, smut.

Tonight is just like any other night. I’m going to put my tights on one leg at a time. I’ll zip up my platform boots. I’ll apply my vampy red lipstick. 

It’s all going to be the same as it has been for the last few years. I’ve never really thought too much about how things could change for me, but I guess I had forgotten all my childhood dreams. That seemed so long ago.

Tonight, I was going to receive calls from men who wanted my company. This wasn’t new and it wasn’t really getting old either. Being an escort sure beats being homeless, or even being an actual prostitute. This all started a few years ago when I was still in high school. Some of my friends had told me about how they started making some money on the side. Just little chores for some older fellas.

This soon turned into us becoming strippers at the crummy bar on the wrong side of town. My parents hated that I had become this person, but I knew I was independent.

Sure, maybe they think I’ve got no dignity, but I’ve got plenty of it. I don’t let the men do whatever they want to me. I’ve got standards and boundaries.

Speaking of which, Madam Blanche is the one who takes care of all our “business” calls. She tells us who we are going to take out on dates. She’s the one who lets us know when we will be having sex with them. She’s like the mother of this place. 

Tonight, somehow, had become different. I got a call from a man who just wanted to talk on the phone. We chatted for a few hours. He told me that he was a musician, and that he was lonely. 

The next night, he booked me for a date at a small diner down the road. I met him there at 8 o’clock. This man had to have the biggest hair I’ve ever seen. He was smaller in stature than most of the men I’ve been on dates with, but something about him made me feel so comforted.

He didn’t tell me his real name, and we kept things mostly formal for that night.

The next night, he asked for me again. Usually by the third night, men want to fuck me. That’s usually when I’m fine with it. But he just came to stay with me in the motel I was staying at. We talked all night and I really got to know him. His eyes were soulful, his laugh was contagious, and he was so sweet. Finally, he leaned in closer to me.

“I don’t know why I decided to do this, but I guess my friend talked me into it. I’m pretty glad I did.” He whispered before placing a gentle kiss on my lips. His kiss left me wanting more. No man has made me feel this way in so long.

“Stay, will you?” I asked him. He pressed his forehead to mine as he contemplated his choices. I could tell he was torn. I wanted him to spend the night with me. Even if we didn’t sleep together, I just wanted his company.

“I want to, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do.” His voice was so soothing.

“Who cares about what’s right or wrong in this situation?” I argued. He sighed softly before getting up.

“I gotta go.”

I didn’t hear from him for the next three nights. I hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time I would see him. Sometimes, miracles happen. He called on the fourth night. He wanted to meet up in my motel room.

When he arrived, I was dressed in a tight red leather dress and some black pumps. He seemed so surprised to see me dressed like this. The last few times I had tried to keep my outfits a bit more conservative, but this time I wanted him to know how much I needed him.

“You’ll stay this time, won’t you?” I begged him. He sat on the bed and we shared a bottle of red wine as we talked for hours once again.

This time, he was not hesitant to kiss me. He had me pinned to the bed; that red wine had gone straight to his head. I ground my hips into his as we shared a heated open mouth kiss. His tongue was like velvet, which I didn’t expect anything other than that from a man who spoke so eloquently.

“Fuck, I want you…but I can’t have you.” He seemed so torn once again. I wanted to beg him to stay and have his way with me, but I didn’t want to seem weak.

“Of course you can have me. I’m right here.” His hands were all over my body as he caressed my curves.

“You don’t understand.” He muttered as he unzipped my dress from the back. One would think he was going to go for it, but I couldn’t tell if he was actually going to go through with this.

“Help me understand.” I whispered against his lips.

My dress was off in an instant with the help of his strong hands and my wiggly hips. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. There was a kind of sorrow in his eyes as he released his member from his underwear.

“I have a girlfriend.”

This is what he told me as he entered me roughly. Sure, I had been with men who had girlfriends before, so this wasn’t anything different for me. Sometimes, these men have regrets.

I moaned as he grasped my hips and started a good pace. He smiled at me as he leaned in to capture his lips with mine. He began groaning and moaning as he pumped into me faster and sloppier.

Suddenly, he stopped and he flipped me over. I could feel his thick fingers enter me and finger me with ease. I loved the way he was using me. I didn’t care if I didn’t see him again, but I would have regretted not sleeping with him.

“We can’t see each other after this.” He said matter-of-factly. I nodded as I tried to concentrate on the pleasure he’s giving me. His fingers were deep within me and I’m moaning. I wanted him in me once more.

“I want you.” His voice was gruff. He entered me once again as I cried out. His hips thrust in time with mine. For the first time in a long time, I could feel my orgasm approaching. My toes curled in anticipation as he kept slamming into me.

My whole body shook as he pulled out and jerked himself off to completion. I could feel his cum all over my ass and on my back.

“I’ll miss you.” He said before cleaning himself up.

“I’ll miss you too.” We parted with one last sweet kiss.

I never knew his name, but I found him in a music magazine not long after that. I could see his soulful eyes behind all that kabuki makeup; behind the giant drum kit. He was the newest drummer for the band KISS.

And the best fuck I’ve ever had.

[classicrockshenanigans]

Kinktober Day 7: Dirty Talk(Just What I Needed)

Word count: 729

Pairings: Danny Elfman x unnamed OC

Warnings: Depraved smut, swearing, intense dirty talk

Okay, so here’s the thing, I’m a sucker for dirty talk. I can’t help it, I’ve been that way since I started becoming sexually active. Something about someone whispering dirty anything in my ear will drive me wild.

That’s why when I started fucking Danny, I knew he was the perfect match for me. He enjoyed making me wet by just telling me what he was going to do to me.

“I’m going to destroy that tight pussy of yours.” He’d say and then give me that wicked smile.

We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks before he picked up on the dirty talk kink. I loved how he just started playing along without me having to tell him how much it turned me on. I think he was turned on by it too.

“Fuck me harder. Let me feel that thick cock.” I breathed out as he slammed himself in and out of my wet cunt. I was dripping and out of breath as he did exactly as I asked.

“You’re such a cum slut, and you know I fucking love that shit.” He muttered as he continued to fuck me. I cried out as his hands wrapped around my body. He was so warm and felt so good.

Sometimes it spooked me a little. He was this fiery sex imp. It was crazy how passionate and wild our sex was. I had never had this sort of connection with anyone. Just hot, raw and passionate sex. We loved to fuck whenever we got the chance.

“Fuck your pussy is so wet and warm, I could blow my load inside you right now.” He grunted as he picked up his pace. I moaned as fucked me into submission. I didn’t want him to stop.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You little cum slut, you always want me to cum inside you.” He grunted again as he paused for a moment. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, I flipped myself over. The look on his face was amazing as he plowed himself into me roughly.

I knew he liked to take me from behind, and this caused us to have even more crazy sex. Danny knew every move and every word that would make me cum. I just always tried to hold on for as long as I could.

“Oh god, your cock feels so good this way. Don’t fucking stop.” I pleaded with him, and he picked up his pace once more. This was so depraved and so animalistic, I would probably pass out from the sheer pleasure of it all.

His hand came down on my ass cheek with a loud sound, and I whimpered as I felt the pain. He would spank me occasionally, which added to the experience. Danny was a sex fiend, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

“Yes! Yes! YES! Fuck me with that thick cock!” I cried out as he slumped over me and started to really wail into me. The sounds coming from us were so obscene, and I loved hearing and seeing his cock pump into my wet, desperate cunt. I could tell he was getting close, and so was I. The feeling of this tenseness in my abdomen was so apparent.

“You gonna cum, little girl? Cum for me, now.” Danny groaned as his hands went straight for my hips. He was now forcing me onto his cock like some man who’s been without sex in a long time.

“Fuck me, Danny. Give me your fucking cum!” I was desperate. I loved the feeling of our juices mixing deep inside me.

My body started to tremble as he kept up with spanking me and pounding me, and then I felt my orgasm washed over me. I screamed out in pleasure as the first waves of pleasure came over me. My walls pulsed and squeezed his cock tight, and I could feel his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier.

“I’m gonna cum deep inside you, you little bitch.” He groaned as I could feel him ejaculating inside of me. My cunt was like a vice for his cock as he thrust into me one last time.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” Danny said, “but I absolutely love that about you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. No one’s got a cock quite like yours.”

[classicrockshenanigans]

Introductions are in order!

Hello! We are Bacon and Whitney! This is our attempt at a classic rock fanfiction blog. We’ve been writing together for about ten years now, dating back to the days of Quizilla. We thought it would be fun to get back to collaborating on the fandom that bonded us in the first place: classic rock. So, here we are!

We’re open to taking requests for fics, nsfw/sfw alphabets, ships, and headcanons!

Some of the bands we’d like to write about are:

Led Zeppelin

The Beatles

Bob Dylan

The Band

The Doors

The Who

The Sex Pistols

Pink Floyd

Fleetwood Mac 

Queen

David Bowie

Metallica 

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

The Rolling Stones

The Runaways/Joan Jett

Pearl Jam 

Oingo Boingo

Alice Cooper

T-Rex/Marc Bolan

Misfits

Ramones

KISS

Guns N’ Roses

Type O Negative

If something isn’t listed, feel free to ask anyway because it could still be something we’re open to!