SO FINE. Duff Mckagan - Blog Posts

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!

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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.

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PROLOGUE

w.c 1.2k

tags. original female character, mentions of smoking, busy work environment, i don't think theres any more warnings. this chapter is pretty tame but duff is smitten.

a/n. once again thank you all for the support and encouragement on my works! i put in a lot of time and effort and i hope you all enjoy them as much as i do writing them. feedback is always appreciated!

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

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Los Angeles smelled different.

Back in Seattle, the air was damp with rain, laced with the sharp bite of gasoline and coffee. Here, everything was drier, hotter—like a sunbaked concrete jungle mixed with car exhaust, grilled meat, and something vaguely metallic from the kitchen vents.

Duff McKagan had only been in LA for a few weeks, and the reality of it was setting in fast: dreams didn't pay rent. He needed money, and fast, which was why he was standing in front of a steakhouse instead of playing bass in some dingy club.

Black Angus wasn't exactly where he pictured himself when he decided to move here, but his brother, Bruce McKagan, had a job lined up for him—but not on the dining room floor. Oh no, his day-glo blue hair was too distracting. Duff's new job: dishwasher. It wasn't glamorous, but neither was being homeless.

With a long, deep breath, Duff pushed open the heavy wooden double doors and stepped inside.

The noise hit him first—forks clinking against plates, the low murmur of conversation, waitresses calling out orders. The kitchen, partially visible from where he stood, was alive with movement: flames flaring up from the grill, line cooks moving in a well-rehearsed dance, the clatter of pans slamming onto burners.

And then—

"Look who finally showed up," a familiar voice called.

Duff turned as Bruce emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. His older brother was dressed in the standard manager get-up: button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled, hair slightly disheveled, expression hovering between amused and vaguely exasperated.

"You look a bit lost," Bruce smirked.

"Just taking it all in," Duff said, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.

Bruce clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the glamorous world of dishwashing, little brother."

Duff snorted. "Yeah, can't fuckin' wait."

Bruce grinned and jerked his head toward the back. "Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone."

The kitchen was hotter than the front of the restaurant, thick with the smell of butter, charred meat, and something greasy sizzling in the fryer. Steam curled from the dish pit where another worker was elbow-deep in sudsy water, stacking plates onto a drying rack.

"Alright," Bruce said, steering Duff past the prep station where a guy with a cigarette hanging from his lips was aggressively chopping onions. "That's Tony—he preps in the afternoons and works the line at night. Don't piss him off."

Tony didn't even glance up from his cutting board, but he grunted in acknowledgment.

Bruce continued walking. "That's Manny on grill, Paula on fryers—"

The introductions blurred together, a mix of names, faces, and brief nods. The kitchen was a well-oiled machine, and Duff was pretty sure he was about to be the next wrench thrown into it.

And then—

"This is Cynthia."

Duff turned, and for a second, the noise of the kitchen faded into the background.

She was leaning against the counter near the order window, flipping through a notepad, her pen tapping absently against the stainless steel. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She had a sharpness to her—something about the way she carried herself, like she had everything handled and didn't need anyone's help.

When Bruce said her name, she glanced up, her brown eyes flicking toward Duff for the briefest moment before dropping back to her notepad.

"Cynthia," Bruce said, "this is my brother, Duff. He's the new dishwasher."

She gave a small, barely interested nod. "Cool."

Duff felt like he should say something—anything. "Uh, nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too." She didn't look up.

Bruce smirked. "If you have any questions, ask me or Cynthia."

At that, Cynthia finally looked at Duff properly. Her gaze wasn't unkind, just assessing—like she was trying to determine if he was worth acknowledging.

"Just don't get in my way, and we'll get on fine," she retorted.

Then she was gone, striding toward the dining area, already focused on something else.

Duff exhaled. "She's... efficient."

Bruce snorted. "Don't take it personal. She's been here a while—knows this place inside and out. You? You're just another new guy."

"Right. Another dishwasher she won't remember by next week."

Bruce clapped him on the back. "That's up to you, kid."

Dishwashing was exactly as awful as Duff expected.

The sink water was too hot, the plates were crusted with food that had no business existing, and the steam from the dish machine made everything feel soggy. His fingers were already bright red and pruny, his arms sore from scrubbing.

Still, it wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was Cynthia.

Not in a bad way—just in a distracting way.

Duff caught himself watching her more than once, though he tried to be subtle about it. She was quick on her feet, moving between tables and the kitchen with practiced ease. Her voice cut through the noise whenever she called out an order or shot back a sarcastic remark at the cooks.

Cynthia was confident. Unshakable. Completely at home in the chaos.

Duff, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up with the never-ending pile of dishes.

At one point, Cynthia came back to the kitchen to grab a refill. On impulse, Duff decided to try and talk to her.

"So, uh... Cynthia, do you like working here?" Duff liked the way her name felt in his mouth—soft but steady, like a melody that stuck even after the song was over.

She barely glanced at him as she filled a glass with Coke. "It's a job."

"Right." He scrubbed at a stubborn stain on a plate. "Seems kinda crazy."

She let out a dry laugh. "You should see weekends."

Duff smiled, encouraged. "Guessing it's not your dream job either?"

"Dreams don't pay rent."

He hesitated. "Yeah, but if you could do anything else, what would it be?"

For a second, Cynthia looked at him like she might actually answer.

Instead, she grabbed the drink and walked off.

Duff sighed. Strike one.

By closing time, Duff was exhausted. His back ached, his arms were sore, and his shirt was damp from the heat of the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Cynthia, looked as composed as ever. She was leaning against the counter, talking to another waitress, her laughter carrying over the low hum of the closing shift.

Duff didn't realize he was staring until Bruce walked up beside him.

"You survived," Bruce said.

"Barely."

Bruce halfheartedly chuckled. "You'll get the hang of it."

Duff rubbed the back of his neck. "Place is busier than I expected."

"You should see Saturdays." Bruce glanced over at Cynthia, then back at Duff. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

Bruce raised a confused eyebrow. "The job."

"Oh. Uh—yeah. It's fine." Duff paused. "It's work."

Bruce studied him for a second, then shook his head, amused. "Right."

Duff wasn't sure what Bruce was implying, but he didn't ask. Instead, he stretched, rolling out his sore shoulders.

Across the room, Cynthia grabbed her denim jacket, slinging it over one shoulder effortlessly. As she turned, the dim dining room light shined a few pins fastened to the fabric—one of them the unmistakable winged logo of Aerosmith. The red and white design was a little faded, edges worn like it had been there for years.

Duff's lips quirked slightly. Aerosmith. He wouldn't have pegged her as a fan, but then again, he didn't know much about her—not yet.

She disappeared through the door without a second glance.

But he had a feeling he'd be learning soon enough.

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SO FINE, a duff mckagan story.

pairing. duff mckagan x original female character

synopsis. it's 1984, and duff mckagan, a 20-year-old punk rocker from seattle, moves to los angeles to chase his rockstar dreams. but reality hits hard—he needs a job. thanks to his brother, he lands a gig as a dishwasher at black angus, a steakhouse.

enter: cynthia atkins, an 18-year-old waitress who's been working there since she was 16. she's tough, smart, and has zero patience for wannabe rockstars. when duff sees her for the first time, he's instantly smitten, almost knocked over by how perfect she is.

despite his awkward attempts to get her attention, cynthia isn't impressed by his punk rocker hair or measly music dreams. but as the two spend more time together, they start to see there's more to each other than they thought. can duff balance trying to get a band together and his growing feelings for cynthia? or will they pull away before they get started?

status. on-going, updates every monday.

tags. female original character, a lot of cussing (gnr-typical), heavy depictions of mental health issues (post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, bipolar, anxiety), depictions of childhood trauma, period typical misogyny, drug & alcohol abuse (seriously, it's a duff fic), slow burn, NSFW themes (eventual smut? who knows..) references to past abuse and assault (physical, mental, sexual in reference to children and adults), depictions of panic attacks due to anxiety and substance abuse.

additional warnings will be marked at the beginning of each chapter—please be mindful! also i have decided i will post 'so fine' here on tumblr as well as AO3 and wattpad, which are linked below.

links. AO3, wattpad.

: ̗̀➛ 00. prologue.

: ̗̀➛ 01. she talks to angels.