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Ain't No Rockstar: Part 1 -Slash

Criador:  fluffyunicornofdanger on tumblr

Slash x Reader

Solicitado por anônimo

Resumo: Y / n não era nada mais do que uma maquiadora estressada, pelo menos isso ela pensava que era. Acontece que ela era mais do que isso para um membro da banda para a qual trabalhava. Ela não só teria que navegar pelos sentimentos dele e dela, mas também teria que encontrar a coragem de agarrar o que ela queria antes que ele desaparecesse.

Contagem de palavras: 3,3 k

Advertências: desde que o inferno, linguagem, álcool, menção de drogas

O cheiro de spray de cabelo misturado com fumaça encheu suas narinas enquanto Y / n testava o frasco. Ela estava passando spray de cabelo como uma louca e não ajudava que metade dos frascos não funcionasse. Pressionando o bocal para baixo, ela esperou que a névoa aparecesse antes de se voltar para a pessoa sentada à sua frente.

Doing hair and makeup had never been her ideal job. Though, when asked what job that might be, she had no answer. All she knew was what wouldn't make her happy. She'd learned that running wasn't for her, neither was waiting tables, and that coffee wasn't the best drink in the world while yellow didn't please her eyes. But when she was asked what was for her, what drink was best, and what color pleased her eyes, her mind would go blank. How was she supposed to know the answer to any of those? She'd barely experienced life, She was at the beginning of a journey that had yet to begin.

Y/n sighed as she thought about her "shortcomings"– as her mother called them. Playing with the auburn hair in front of her, she shaped and teased it to the height she wanted before spraying it with the can in hand.

Y/n looked at the man sitting in front of her through the mirror, "Is that high enough, Axl?"

Axl didn't even bother to look, too engrossed by the conversation he was having with his bandmates to care about his hair, and Y/n sighed. Grabbing the comb off the vanity in front of them, she decided that the hair hadn't been teased high enough. He would bitch either way: it was either too high or too low. Nevertheless, she began to run the comb against his hair, spraying it as she went along, the toxic mist hitting her in the face as she went along.

Y/n may not have known what she wanted to do with her life, but one thing she knew for sure was that she didn't want to deal with rock stars. Glancing at the men around her, she reflected on their dark leather jackets, ripped jeans, 'I-don't-care' attitudes, and wasn't sure how people put up with them. In her mind, they were like crows. Screeching at the most random of times and doing whatever they pleased, not caring who it upset. Never once in her time of getting them ready for shows or photoshoots had she seen them drink something that wasn't intoxicating, or manage to stay out of trouble. They were the outcasts, the black cats that people were wary about, and with good reason.

Being outcasts didn't matter to her, though. Not when they were such assholes. If they weren't busy pissing each other off, they were pissing everyone else off. On multiple occasions, stylists, photographers, and assistants had quit because they could no longer handle the group. Vices stacked against them or not, they weren't a bunch of innocent schoolboys, anyone who thought so was a fool.

"I look like a fucking poodle," Axl grunted, looking up for the first time and wincing at his appearance. Y/n rolled her eyes, combing out some of the hair. "It's too big! I don't want to look like I borrowed a wig from Dolly Parton!"

Her jaw set as a fake smile crossed on her lips and she nodded. "Lower then."

He smiled. "Yes, lower."