SO FINE, A Duff Mckagan Story.

LOVED TO DETH, dave mustaine.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing; dave mustaine x fem!reader

summary; a very fatigued dave mustaine finally gets home after a very lengthy megadeth tour and all he wants to be is with you but you have other plans.

warnings; veryy fluffy, 1990s/countdown to extinction dave, slight cussing, no use of y/n, vague mention of drowning (unserious), bathing(??), dave is so fucking clingy you’d have to pry him off with a crowbar, & dave is really smelly. if im missing anything else let me know!

word count; 1.4k

requests open, not proofread, based on this ask.

Dave couldn't be happier to be back home. It felt like he aged twenty years on the road. Don't get his words twisted, he loved what he did. He was eternally grateful that he was able to make a living off of what he loved most. Well, maybe not most. But he really couldn't figure out an ethical way to make money off of doing you—so the music would have to do. 

Three years ago Dave would have never dreamt that he could be in a healthy, loving relationship that wasn’t all about lust. Sure, he had great times with other girlfriends, but the lack of stability and his ever-growing dependency on various drugs truly put the nail in the coffin for anything he had going for him. And he was tough according to the press, anyhow. Rude, rough, abrasive, an asshole; all adjectives used to describe Dave. And none that could describe you.

Your pure love and innocence were sweet enough to rot all of his teeth out. The way you smiled at him—the skin around your eyes would crinkle as they dazzled in the light that guided him to sanctuary. The way your voice was ever so smooth and gentle whenever you spoke to him, almost like you were cooing at a child was like a melody to his ears he never grew tired of. The way your lips were so soft and inviting when you’d pout when you were mad at him. The way you cared for him like nobody ever had before—cooking his meals, ironing his clothes, cleaning the house—the whole nine yards.

A younger Dave would’ve gagged at the thought that he had fallen into a routine with someone that was so.. mundane and domestic. He was Dave Mustaine for God’s sake!

Yet, fate had different plans.

You had spent all day cleaning up the house and doing laundry that you had forgotten all about Dave coming home today. Not that you’d necessarily forgotten, but you had collapsed in Dave’s armchair in the living room. That was a problem. He forbade you from sitting in his chair when he was home, something about not wanting to wear out the cushion. However, you couldn't help but nestle into a little ball in it. It was so comfortable and soft, and it smelt just like him. It smelt just like home.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” A soft chuckle from above stirred you out of your sleep. For a second you believed you hallucinated his voice. Maybe your sleepy eyes deceived you as they landed on the tall ginger standing before you. The moment his eyes met yours, the slight furrow of his brow faded away and it felt like his hard, deep hazel eyes softened just for a moment.

“Hi,” you breathed out with a smile, looking up at him as his hands rested on your cheeks, calloused palms gently pressed down on your soft skin. “You’re home..,” It was almost adorable how endearing your tone of voice was whenever you spoke—like you missed him. And you truly did.

“I’m home.”

The subtle submission and admiration he had for you made your heart flutter in your chest and your stomach flip and churn as you giggled at him. I mean, who else gets to see Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine all domestic and loving like this? You wanted to take a photo of this moment and frame it in the Louvre—No. You wanted to keep this moment to yourself forever. Your special secret.

“I’ve missed you, so much..,” Dave hushed tiredly, but the gleam in his eyes only lightened up, his smile widening so far that his cheeks ached. His hands scaled down your face to reach your arms as he clutched your palms. His grip was firm but gentle—as if he were to let go you’d vanish.

“I think you’ve got it the other way around, honey. C’mere,” you beckoned him to lay beside you in the armchair. He immediately complied, snuggling up protectively to your side. Dave wrapped his girthy arm over your shoulder while his other arm rested on your thigh, hands playing with the hem of your shirt innocently.

A small, gentle laugh left his lips. Dave just couldn’t help but feel so joyful around you, the love blooming in his chest just made him want to jump up and down with you in his arms and squeeze you til you turned blue. You were the light of his life that shined bright, even in his darkest hour. His sin, his soul. He was undoubtedly and unconditionally in love with you.

Suddenly, his eyes shot up as your head recoiled back, your cute nose scrunching up in disgust and your lips pursing.

“My God Dave. When was the last time you showered? You smell terrible!”

“Uhh… Well..,” Dave awkwardly cleared his throat and chuckled. There goes sappy, sentimental Dave, I guess. To be frank—he hated it when he got that way. It made him feel so weak and vulnerable.

You quickly scrambled out of his lap, walking away to your shared bedroom. He watched your frame trudge up the stairs, the way your legs swished back and forth. Dave half considered jogging up to catch up with you, but he was honestly too exhausted. The road took a lot of energy out of him and the last thing he needed was a stupid argument the moment he went inside his own house.

Then the bedroom door slammed shut. Seriously?

He waited a minute for you to come down. Maybe you had to use the bathroom. He knew you hated the downstairs one. He knew everything. Then he waited two. Dave yawned sleepily and with a dramatic huff, he stood up from the chair.

Only when he arrived upstairs into your shared bedroom he could hear the light whispering of water running, but no lights seemed to creep from under the door. Oh God, were you drowning yourself because he stunk that badly?!

Dave slowly crept the door open, peeking into the bathroom. His hazel eyes adjusted to the darkness—the only light being a few vanilla candles surrounding the bathtub that you had placed down previously. Your “spa day” candles, as you say. Two towels lay on the counter—one for his hair and the other for his body.

“Did I really smell that bad—?”

“No. It's your spa day, babe. Now I want you to lie down and relax, okay?”

Dave chuckled and sent you one of his iconic smirks you often saw on his band’s posters, “If you wanted me naked you could’ve just asked—”

“Mustaine. Bath. Now.”

How could he argue with such a pretty face?

The next morning, you could hear birds chirping outside, a domestic tune that often greeted you in the morning, a natural alarm clock. Your face scrunches up as the sun’s blinding rays peeked from the curtains. You roll over with a groan, eyes still shut as your hand feels around the side of the bed for your (now clean) companion. Instead, you were greeted with coldness.

The door to your bedroom gently opened and your eyes slowly adjusted to the sight before you, blinking ever so often. A ginger figure approached you, holding out a TV tray with a hot plate of chocolate chip pancakes and sizzling crispy bacon. Wait—what?

“Good morning… I thought I'd make you a little treat since you were—y’know, nice, Yesterday..,” Dave’s voice came out in a mumble and if it weren't for having a visual before you, you would’ve thought it was a little schoolboy this. His cheeks flushed a soft red, almost rivalling the color of the messy locks that framed his face. He looked ethereal. A Greek God, if you will.

His large, calloused hands carefully placed the tray on your lap, careful not to spill a single drop of syrup on your lap. Dave’s sharp eyes scanned the meal before he noticed the lack of a drink on your tray. Goddamnit!

“Damnit, I forgot your orange juice. Stay here,” Dave demanded and pointed a stern finger at you. His brows furrowed in concentration: the man was on a mission.

And right there, on that random Tuesday morning, with the sun in your eyes and the hot pancakes melting the butter Dave scraped on top, the (not so) quiet banging of unfamiliar cabinets opening and shutting in the kitchen, you knew that you had made it in life.

a/n; i had so much fun writing this! please give me feedback, this is my first fanfiction LOL.

© lagunned (2025—) all rights reserved.

i am so happy to finally have this out! i appreciate the support you all have given me for this. i hope it lives up to your standards! 💗 will be working on my asks in my inbox in the meantime.

taglist: @prettypersuasion, @creepindeaathh, @nelnroses, @hyperiondickrider, @hollywoodroses

PATIENCE

pairing. izzy stradlin x original female character

synopsis. lethality: one of the most popular rising bands to come out of the sunset strip since the great days of early mötley crüe and van halen. but get this—a woman is the leader! lethality frontwoman, singer-songwriter jackie riot, guitarist-songwriter sean carnegie, and drummer dennis knight are on the brink of international superstardom. with a fresh deal from elektra records and a coveted spot opening for guns n’ fuckin’ roses on the appetite for destruction tour, their dreams are finally becoming reality.

but the road to fame is a long, dangerous one. jackie is already struggling to balance her ambition with the tensions in lethality—especially with sean, her boyfriend and bandmate. then there’s guns n’ roses’ rhythm guitarist izzy stradlin—mysterious, magnetic, and drowning in excess. jackie knows getting close to him is reckless, idiotic, unfathomable even, but on the road, temptation is everywhere.

while sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll crash together, jackie must decide what she’s willing to risk—for love, for music, and for a place in musical history. will jackie and izzy get their happily ever after they desperately yearn after?

status. on-going

tags. female original character, a lot of cussing (gnr-typical), religious trauma, mentions of physical and mental health issues, depictions of childhood trauma, unhealthy romantic relationship(s), period typical homophobia, mentions of AIDS crisis, drug & alcohol abuse (seriously, it’s a gnr fic), slow burn, NSFW themes (eventual smut? who knows.. only i do ;)) mentions of eating disorders, lastly, again, its a fucking guns n roses fanfic, please be aware of the triggers that come along with that group.

links. AO3, wattpad.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ prologue on AO3 and wattpad

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ chapter one: welcome to the jungle on AO3 and wattpad

Helloo, how are you? :)

I wanted to ask you if you can write something random that i just saw in tiktok haha please if you want

idk if you saw those videos where a girl is recording her boyfriend being a soft baby like "who's my good boy?" and he says "me", and they're cuddling and she's babying and praising him without him knowing and when he notices he gets all manly again lmao

i wanted you to write that with Dave Mustaine. like 80s Dave but at the present time

sorry for my bad english. i hope you can write it. thanks!! <3

p.s: i love your writing, you're so funny🤧

THANK YOU SM!!!!! love you. anyway, here’s the fic, i hope it’s alright! i whipped it up in a hour instead of doing my reflection papers.

CHAPTER 4 | MR. BROWNSTONE.

w.c. 4k

tags. original female character, mild period-typical misogyny (it's the late 1980s), cussing, physical & mental abuse dynamic, PTSD induced panic attack, childhood trauma, mentions of familial abuse, heroin consumption via injection, mentions of needles, mentions of relapsing, mentions of nausea. if there is anything else needed to be added, let me know!

a/n. oh boy. this is a TOUGH one. poor jackie ;-; as someone who has struggled with addiction, PTSD, and panic attacks i really hope i portrayed all the feelings well. if any of you are struggling, please shoot me a dm or ask. i will always listen. i love you all! take care and i hope you enjoy this weeks dosage of ‘patience’!

taglist. @prettypersuasion, @creepindeaathh, @nelnroses, @hyperiondickrider, @hollywoodroses, @tranquilitybasegrunge.

you can find chapter two on wattpad and AO3, linked under the respective platforms aforementioned.

last two previous chapters:

chapter two: terror n' tinseltown - wattpad and AO3.

chapter three: kill 'em all - wattpad and AO3.

so nervous while writing patience. i fear it won’t be as good as you guys have made it out to be…

CHAPTER 1 | SHE TALKS TO ANGELS

w.c. 2.3k

tags. original female character, mentions of college, busy work environment, i don’t think there’s any more tags. first few chapters are pretty tame!

taglist. @prettypersuasion, @creepindeaathh, @nelnroses, @hyperiondickrider, @hollywoodroses, @tranquilitybasegrunge. it you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, send me an ask!

pinned so fine masterlist last chapter

A few days had passed since his first shift, but Duff's gaze still lingered on the counter where Cynthia was standing, balancing a tray of drinks with one hand while adjusting the collar of her denim jacket with the other. The usual clatter of plates and the buzz of the busy kitchen faded into the background as he focused on the small detail that had caught his attention the last time he saw her: the Aerosmith pin on her jacket.

It had been harder to miss today, glinting silver under the fluorescent kitchen lights. Aerosmith. Duff recognized the logo instantly—it was a staple in his own music collection. The sight of it on her jacket stirred something unexpected inside him. It was just a small pin, but it felt like an invitation to know more, a thread he couldn't wait to pull on.

Cynthia set the tray down on the counter with a soft thud, and Duff cleared his throat, glancing at the stack of dirty plates in front of him. He was still trying to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do, but he couldn't shake the feeling that talking to her was going to be harder than washing dishes.

"Hey," Duff started, a little awkwardly. He wiped his wet hands on his apron. "I, uh... I saw the Aerosmith pin on your jacket. I didn't expect that. You, uh, into them?"

Cynthia didn't answer right away, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes as she glanced over at him. She set her hands on her hips and shrugged.

"I like them, yeah. Not really a huge deal or anything." Her voice was guarded, but not unfriendly. She didn't seem particularly eager to continue the conversation, but she didn't shut him down either. Maybe this was progress?

Duff shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to figure out how to keep the conversation going without making it weird. "Yeah? I've got a couple of their records," he said, nodding toward the kitchen's radio. "'Get Your Wings' and, uh, 'Toys in the Attic.' Those all-time classics."

Cynthia's mouth twitched at the mention of the albums, and for a moment, Duff thought he might've said something wrong. But then, she spoke again, her tone a little more relaxed this time.

"Yeah, 'Toys in the Attic' is a good one," she said, her voice softening just slightly. "I've got it at home. Honestly, I like their older stuff the most."

Duff grinned. She was starting to open up, just a little. "Same. There's just something about that early sound... rawer, you know?"

Cynthia nodded slowly, her fingers brushing over the edge of the tray. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, still cautious about letting him in. "Yeah. Raw. I can't stand all that... shitty pop ballad stuff. Aerosmith's real, you know?"

Duff chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron again. "I hear you. That's kind of the beauty of it, right?"

Cynthia didn't respond right away, but she gave a small shrug. The conversation, though brief, felt like a small step forward, a crack in the wall she'd built around herself.

After a beat of awkward, tense silence, Duff tried to push a little further, sensing an opening. "So, you've been working here for a while, huh?"

Cynthia's eyes flicked over to him, but she didn't meet his gaze directly. "Yeah," she said, almost dismissively. "Since I was sixteen. Two years. It's just... what I had to do, you know?"

Duff leaned against the counter, trying to make the conversation less forced. "I get that. Had to start somewhere, right?"

Cynthia nodded. "Yeah, exactly." Her voice didn't give much away, but Duff could tell there was something behind it. She'd been working here a lot longer than he had, and there was a weariness in the way she spoke, like she was tired of it. "It's been fine, but I'm ready for something else."

Duff's curiosity piqued. He had to know what she meant by "something else." He took a step closer, lowering his voice a little as if he was treading carefully. "Yeah? What's next for you?"

Cynthia hesitated, her hand lingering on the edge of the counter. "I'm leaving LA," she said, almost to herself. "I've been here long enough."

Duff raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're... leaving LA? Where are you going?"

Cynthia's eyes finally met his, and there was a fleeting, intense look in them. "Princeton," she said simply, like it was just a fact. "In the fall."

Duff blinked. Princeton? The Princeton University?

He didn't know why, but the thought of her going to such an Ivy League school threw him off for a second. She didn't seem the type. But he didn't say that. Instead, he tried to cover his surprise with a half-smile. "Princeton? That's, uh... that's a big deal. How... how'd that happen?"

Cynthia shrugged again, her eyes shifting to the side as if the conversation was starting to bore her. "I don't know. I worked hard for it, I guess. I'm finally done with high school. Ready to get out of here." Her gaze hardened as she looked at the restaurant, almost like she was staring straight through it. "This place is a hellhole, and I'm finally getting out. I don't have time or the patience for the strip anymore."

Duff blinked, the bluntness of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He'd heard people complain about LA before, but there was something about the way she said it that made him think there was more to it. More to her wanting to leave than just the usual complaints.

"Hellhole, huh?" he repeated, his voice softer now. "Funny, I said that about Seattle."

Cynthia turned her gaze back to him, her expression unreadable. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I've been stuck here for too long. I'm done."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that hung in the air and made Duff feel like he was intruding. He wasn't sure if he should push further. She'd given him a glimpse of something—something that felt personal—but she was still keeping a lot to herself.

"So... Princeton," he said after a beat, trying to lighten the mood. "That's gotta be exciting. You must be looking forward to it."

Cynthia gave a half-smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, I am. But it's not all... excitement, y'know? It's not exactly the escape I thought it would be."

Duff nodded, understanding that. He didn't know what her story was—what made her want to leave LA so badly—but he could see the weight behind her words. He didn't want to pry, but there was something there he couldn't ignore.

"Well, it's a big step. I'm sure you'll figure it out," he said quietly.

Cynthia looked at him for a moment, her gaze softening just a little. "Yeah, I guess." She paused, then added in a more casual tone, "Anyway... I gotta get back to work."

Duff gave a small nod. "Yeah, sure. Don't want to get you in trouble."

Cynthia gave him a brief, almost amused glance before she grabbed her tray again, walking back toward the restaurant floor. As she left, Duff couldn't help but watch her go. She was different from anyone he'd met. There was something tough about her, a kind of resilience that made her stand out. But there was also a vulnerability there—a feeling like she was running away from something.

And, for some reason, Duff wanted to know what it was.

The rest of the shift went by in a blur of clinking dishes, the muffled sound of people talking, and the steady rhythm of the restaurant. Duff worked in quiet concentration, trying to keep his mind on his duties, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Cynthia.

There was something about her, something raw and unspoken. He couldn't get her out of his head, even as he scrubbed the same damn plates over and over again. Her eyes—cool and guarded, but with flashes of something deeper. The way she'd shrugged off talking about Princeton like it was just another stop on the way out of LA. But he could tell it meant something to her, even if she wouldn't admit it.

He stole a glance at her across the room, watching as she moved through the dining area with a practiced ease. She was always busy, weaving between the tables, balancing trays in each hand like it was nothing. Every now and then, her eyes would flicker to him, but there was always a slight tension in her gaze, like she was unsure of how to look at him.

After about an hour, the dinner rush started to die down, and the staff began to clean up. Duff wiped his hands on his apron again and leaned back against the counter, feeling the exhaustion settle in. He didn't know how anyone could stand on their feet for hours like Cynthia did. But maybe it was easier when you didn't care about the job.

"Hey, Duff," Bruce's voice broke through his thoughts, and Duff turned to face his brother. "I'm gonna head out soon. Everything good?"

Duff nodded, glancing over to Cynthia for a moment, but she was busy talking to another waiter. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just, uh... figuring it out, you know?"

Bruce gave him a once-over, his eyes flicking toward Cynthia before settling back on Duff. He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Uh-huh. Right. Well, don't be shy. You're doing just fine." He clapped him on the back. "If you need anything, just ask Cynthia, alright?"

Duff swallowed a grin, wondering if his brother had noticed anything he didn't realize he'd been giving off. "Yeah, I'm good," Duff said, trying to play it cool. "Thanks, Bruce."

Bruce gave a quick nod and started heading toward the door, but just before he left, he threw over his shoulder, "Don't forget. You're supposed to pick me up from the bar tonight, right? I don't trust the boys to get me home."

Duff's eyes widened as he realized he'd forgotten. "Right. Shit, I almost forgot. I'll be there."

"Great. See you later," Bruce called as he slipped out of the restaurant.

Left in the quiet of the backroom, Duff took a moment to lean against the counter. His thoughts drifted back to Cynthia. He had a million questions about her. Why was she so... distant? And why did it seem like she was carrying some heavy weight? She couldn't just be running from LA; there had to be more to it.

Suddenly, the sound of a tray crashing to the floor broke through his musings.

He spun around to see Cynthia standing near the dining room entrance, her face flushed with frustration. She'd dropped a tray of drinks—ice and soda splashed everywhere, the glasses broken on the floor.

Duff moved before he even realized it, his instincts kicking in. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, his voice a little sharper than he meant.

Cynthia stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide. She exhaled a shaky breath, then bent down to begin picking up the glass shards.

"I'm fine. Just... a stupid mistake," she muttered under her breath, her hands shaking slightly.

Duff stepped forward, crouching next to her and reaching for a piece of broken glass. "You sure? You don't have to do clean this by yourself."

Cynthia looked at him for a long beat before giving him a tight smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "I think I can handle it."

The sharp edge of her words stung, but Duff couldn't help but feel that there was more to her snapping than just a little mishap with the tray.

He set the glass down and backed off a little, letting her take control of the situation. "Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to step in—I mean—Just... wanted to help, y'know?"

Cynthia gave him a quick nod but didn't say anything else. The air between them was thick with unspoken words. He could feel her walls creeping back up, and it was clear that she wasn't interested in opening up just yet.

Duff watched her work in silence, taking in the small details—the way her hands moved deftly despite her apparent frustration, the slight furrow in her brow that always seemed to be there when she wasn't smiling. It was like she was trying to hide something, but no matter how hard she tried, he saw it.

After a moment, she stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans, and finally met his gaze. Her expression was softer now, but there was still something guarded in her eyes.

"You don't have to keep offering help, okay?" she said, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm fine. It's just a little mess. No big deal."

Duff nodded, taking a step back. "Right. Got it." He felt that familiar awkwardness hanging in the air again, but he wasn't sure how to fill it. He didn't want to push her, but something told him that the more he tried to reach out, the further she would pull away.

Cynthia straightened up, giving him a brief glance before she picked up the broken pieces one last time. "I'm going to finish cleaning this up. Don't worry about it."

Duff was about to say something else, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he simply nodded and turned toward the backroom, his mind buzzing. There was more to Cynthia than she let on, and something told him that getting to know her wasn't going to be easy. But he was starting to realize that he didn't mind.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

CHAPTER 2 | TERROR 'N TINSELTOWN.

w.c. 1.6k

tags. original female character, mild period-typical misogyny (it’s the late 1980s), some cussing, mentions of alcohol/cocaine consumption but no depictions of it, this chapter is pretty mild so not many tags are necessary ig?

a/n. thank you to everyone who's shown excitement for this series so far! i see you all, and i appreciate each and every one of you ^_^ and i’d love to hear from you as we go through this process together! silent readers scare me and i fear i’m going to need to motivation to keep going on this long, slowburn journey. also i apologize for the short chapter this week, i’m trying to realistically write and develop each characters’ relationships without making it too OOC while keeping a natural pace to it all. next week’s chapter is wayy longer—about 3k/4k words. bear with me!

taglist. @prettypersuasion, @creepindeaathh, @nelnroses, @hyperiondickrider, @hollywoodroses, @tranquilitybasegrunge

you can find chapter two on wattpad and AO3, linked under the respective platforms aforementioned.

last two previous chapters:

prologue - wattpad and AO3.

chapter one: welcome to the jungle - wattpad and AO3.

LOVED TO DETH, dave mustaine.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing; dave mustaine x fem!reader

summary; a very fatigued dave mustaine finally gets home after a very lengthy megadeth tour and all he wants to be is with you but you have other plans.

warnings; veryy fluffy, 1990s/countdown to extinction dave, slight cussing, no use of y/n, vague mention of drowning (unserious), bathing(??), dave is so fucking clingy you’d have to pry him off with a crowbar, & dave is really smelly. if im missing anything else let me know!

word count; 1.4k

requests open, not proofread, based on this ask.

Dave couldn't be happier to be back home. It felt like he aged twenty years on the road. Don't get his words twisted, he loved what he did. He was eternally grateful that he was able to make a living off of what he loved most. Well, maybe not most. But he really couldn't figure out an ethical way to make money off of doing you—so the music would have to do. 

Three years ago Dave would have never dreamt that he could be in a healthy, loving relationship that wasn’t all about lust. Sure, he had great times with other girlfriends, but the lack of stability and his ever-growing dependency on various drugs truly put the nail in the coffin for anything he had going for him. And he was tough according to the press, anyhow. Rude, rough, abrasive, an asshole; all adjectives used to describe Dave. And none that could describe you.

Your pure love and innocence were sweet enough to rot all of his teeth out. The way you smiled at him—the skin around your eyes would crinkle as they dazzled in the light that guided him to sanctuary. The way your voice was ever so smooth and gentle whenever you spoke to him, almost like you were cooing at a child was like a melody to his ears he never grew tired of. The way your lips were so soft and inviting when you’d pout when you were mad at him. The way you cared for him like nobody ever had before—cooking his meals, ironing his clothes, cleaning the house—the whole nine yards.

A younger Dave would’ve gagged at the thought that he had fallen into a routine with someone that was so.. mundane and domestic. He was Dave Mustaine for God’s sake!

Yet, fate had different plans.

You had spent all day cleaning up the house and doing laundry that you had forgotten all about Dave coming home today. Not that you’d necessarily forgotten, but you had collapsed in Dave’s armchair in the living room. That was a problem. He forbade you from sitting in his chair when he was home, something about not wanting to wear out the cushion. However, you couldn't help but nestle into a little ball in it. It was so comfortable and soft, and it smelt just like him. It smelt just like home.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” A soft chuckle from above stirred you out of your sleep. For a second you believed you hallucinated his voice. Maybe your sleepy eyes deceived you as they landed on the tall ginger standing before you. The moment his eyes met yours, the slight furrow of his brow faded away and it felt like his hard, deep hazel eyes softened just for a moment.

“Hi,” you breathed out with a smile, looking up at him as his hands rested on your cheeks, calloused palms gently pressed down on your soft skin. “You’re home..,” It was almost adorable how endearing your tone of voice was whenever you spoke—like you missed him. And you truly did.

“I’m home.”

The subtle submission and admiration he had for you made your heart flutter in your chest and your stomach flip and churn as you giggled at him. I mean, who else gets to see Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine all domestic and loving like this? You wanted to take a photo of this moment and frame it in the Louvre—No. You wanted to keep this moment to yourself forever. Your special secret.

“I’ve missed you, so much..,” Dave hushed tiredly, but the gleam in his eyes only lightened up, his smile widening so far that his cheeks ached. His hands scaled down your face to reach your arms as he clutched your palms. His grip was firm but gentle—as if he were to let go you’d vanish.

“I think you’ve got it the other way around, honey. C’mere,” you beckoned him to lay beside you in the armchair. He immediately complied, snuggling up protectively to your side. Dave wrapped his girthy arm over your shoulder while his other arm rested on your thigh, hands playing with the hem of your shirt innocently.

A small, gentle laugh left his lips. Dave just couldn’t help but feel so joyful around you, the love blooming in his chest just made him want to jump up and down with you in his arms and squeeze you til you turned blue. You were the light of his life that shined bright, even in his darkest hour. His sin, his soul. He was undoubtedly and unconditionally in love with you.

Suddenly, his eyes shot up as your head recoiled back, your cute nose scrunching up in disgust and your lips pursing.

“My God Dave. When was the last time you showered? You smell terrible!”

“Uhh… Well..,” Dave awkwardly cleared his throat and chuckled. There goes sappy, sentimental Dave, I guess. To be frank—he hated it when he got that way. It made him feel so weak and vulnerable.

You quickly scrambled out of his lap, walking away to your shared bedroom. He watched your frame trudge up the stairs, the way your legs swished back and forth. Dave half considered jogging up to catch up with you, but he was honestly too exhausted. The road took a lot of energy out of him and the last thing he needed was a stupid argument the moment he went inside his own house.

Then the bedroom door slammed shut. Seriously?

He waited a minute for you to come down. Maybe you had to use the bathroom. He knew you hated the downstairs one. He knew everything. Then he waited two. Dave yawned sleepily and with a dramatic huff, he stood up from the chair.

Only when he arrived upstairs into your shared bedroom he could hear the light whispering of water running, but no lights seemed to creep from under the door. Oh God, were you drowning yourself because he stunk that badly?!

Dave slowly crept the door open, peeking into the bathroom. His hazel eyes adjusted to the darkness—the only light being a few vanilla candles surrounding the bathtub that you had placed down previously. Your “spa day” candles, as you say. Two towels lay on the counter—one for his hair and the other for his body.

“Did I really smell that bad—?”

“No. It's your spa day, babe. Now I want you to lie down and relax, okay?”

Dave chuckled and sent you one of his iconic smirks you often saw on his band’s posters, “If you wanted me naked you could’ve just asked—”

“Mustaine. Bath. Now.”

How could he argue with such a pretty face?

The next morning, you could hear birds chirping outside, a domestic tune that often greeted you in the morning, a natural alarm clock. Your face scrunches up as the sun’s blinding rays peeked from the curtains. You roll over with a groan, eyes still shut as your hand feels around the side of the bed for your (now clean) companion. Instead, you were greeted with coldness.

The door to your bedroom gently opened and your eyes slowly adjusted to the sight before you, blinking ever so often. A ginger figure approached you, holding out a TV tray with a hot plate of chocolate chip pancakes and sizzling crispy bacon. Wait—what?

“Good morning… I thought I'd make you a little treat since you were—y’know, nice, Yesterday..,” Dave’s voice came out in a mumble and if it weren't for having a visual before you, you would’ve thought it was a little schoolboy this. His cheeks flushed a soft red, almost rivalling the color of the messy locks that framed his face. He looked ethereal. A Greek God, if you will.

His large, calloused hands carefully placed the tray on your lap, careful not to spill a single drop of syrup on your lap. Dave’s sharp eyes scanned the meal before he noticed the lack of a drink on your tray. Goddamnit!

“Damnit, I forgot your orange juice. Stay here,” Dave demanded and pointed a stern finger at you. His brows furrowed in concentration: the man was on a mission.

And right there, on that random Tuesday morning, with the sun in your eyes and the hot pancakes melting the butter Dave scraped on top, the (not so) quiet banging of unfamiliar cabinets opening and shutting in the kitchen, you knew that you had made it in life.

a/n; i had so much fun writing this! please give me feedback, this is my first fanfiction LOL.

© lagunned (2025—) all rights reserved.

summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes

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