Guns N Roses Imagines

FIGHTING WITH AXL

Imagine getting into a violent fight, with Axl.
--------------------------------------
Stumbling in through the apartment, Axl made more noise than needed, his actions being over exaggerated and clumsy under the heavy influence of alcohol – it was a good job you weren't trying to sleep, there'd be no chance of sleeping through the clatter being made. "Could you make any more noise?" You call through to him jokily, turning the TV off ready to go to bed now that he was home.
He rolls his eyes, kicking his foot backwards to collide with the door. It swings back harshly, slamming as it closes. Slightly concerned at the aggressiveness you follow the noise, watching as Axl throws his keys on to the countertop carelessly. "Did you have a good night?" You ask, unsure of his mood. He looks less than pleased to see you.
"What's with the twenty questions?" He snaps, glaring at you. Taken aback by his attitude, you go to put the chain on the lock, noticing Axl had failed to do so in his drunken state.
You face him, shrugging nonchalantly, not wanting to put up with his foul mood seeing as you felt tired and irritable yourself. "I've asked two, stop exaggerating."
"Fuck off [Y/N], I've just got back and you're already nagging." He slurs his words as he walks away from you, stripping off gracelessly as he made his way to the bedroom.
You huff at his mood. There were times where after a drink he could be very cute and affectionate, but there were also times when he was completely argumentative. "If you're going to be an ass, why'd you bother coming back home?"
Shirtless, he turns to face you, visibly pissed off, the skin on his face heating in anger. He stalks towards you, his face scarily close to yours. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Giving orders around here. I pay half the rent on the fuckin' place, so don't," he pushes you back "try to tell me what to fuckin' do."
Being shoved by a drunk, angry Axl was frightening but you were being worked up in to an anger that you couldn't seem to control. You shove him back with as much force as you can, though not achieving much. "Don't push me, Axl." You warn him, not liking him being up in your face.
He pushes you back so that you bump in to the counter, giving you no room to escape. "[Y/N] I swear to god, don't do that again." His chest is dangerously close to yours as he looms over you, glaring down at you in annoyance.
"Or what?" You fire back, raising your hands to shove at his shoulders, being far too slow for Axl's speedy reflexes. He catches your wrists, his large hands wrapping around them easily, restricting your movement.
"Stop being such a fuckin' bitch, [Y/N]." He lowers his tone, a silent threat looming between the two of you. You roll your eyes at him; this was such typical Axl attitude – he could be as rude as he wanted to everyone else but the second anybody snapped back he couldn't handle it. "I mean it," he cautions, "don't fucking try me."
"Whatever," you roll your eyes deliberately, attempting to slide past him. You were done with his empty threats and drunken rampages, right now you just wanted to sleep. He blocks your attempt to escape, grabbing your jaw aggressively with one hand.
He's snarling as he speaks and you know you've really pushed him this time. "I'm sick of your shitty fuckin' attitude round here." You grab his hand, trying to remove it with force, choosing to dig your nails in to his hand when your efforts aren't enough to get him off you. Slapping him across the face to distract him, you attempt to free yourself from the strong, almost suffocating grip on your jaw. His eyes widen in fury as he backhands you so hard you think your eye is going to pop out of its socket, cheek instantly numb and tingling. You try to kick out at him in reaction to the strong pain, only to be met with Axl's fist colliding with your face.
You cry out at the blow, finding it difficult to believe Axl had punched you. He staggers back from you, shaking his head and mumbling angrily to himself – you weren't sure who his anger was aimed at, you or him. You guessed it was you that he was angry with, he hadn't seemed to realise the weight of his actions yet.
Crying softly you try to stifle the noise to avoid disturbing Axl, rooting round the freezer in search for some ice. Finally coming across a couple of cubes you wrap them in the kitchen towel, holding it to your face, hissing at the contact. Though you're incredibly hurt by Axl's actions, unable to believe he'd hit you like that, you don't want to leave him alone. If you were to leave he'd wake up tomorrow morning not understanding your absence. At least if you stayed you could show him what he had done. Curling up on the sofa you try to block out the burning pain in your face, lying restlessly for a few hours before being able to get to sleep, lacking the comfort of Axl's warm body next to yours.
The rest is short-lived as you wake fairly early in the morning, already feeling on edge. You find small tasks to occupy yourself with, avoiding going back in to the bathroom at all costs after receiving the fright of your life when foolishly looking in the mirror. Your eye was swollen and blackened in colour; yet it didn't look anywhere near as painful as it felt, your cheek was splotched with dark red marks, finger imprints visible. It was heart-breaking to see your face look so injured, especially when you knew it was at the hands of someone who was supposed to love you.
"Mornin'," you hear Axl croak out as he shuffles from the bedroom leisurely. You're facing away from him, cleaning the bench for what must've been the third time that morning. The innocence in his voice made it clear he didn't recall last night's events at all. You weren't sure if that was a good thing or bad thing.
Undecided, you continued facing away from him, trying to sound as cheery as he did. "Morning."
"How's my girl this morning?" He asks airily as he makes himself something to drink. The question itself is endearing, but memories from last night flood back to you and erase all cuteness.
Finding it hard to keep up the cheery façade when all you wanted to do was cry, you manage out, "I'm good. Did you sleep well?" The lack of emotion was evident but you didn't feel able to do anything about it – you couldn't fake happiness.
"What's wrong babe?" He asks, frowning when you respond with a simple 'nothin''. "Come here," he calls, wanting to hold you. He knew that hugs were an easy way to cheer you up; they were most definitely your weak spot.
Trying to stall you answer. "Hold on, let me finish cleaning the bench."
"It's clean..." he drawls, suspicion building in his gut. Why won't you let him see you? He turns you gently, expecting to see a sad, pouty expression. What he sees makes his stomach swirl in disgust and anger; never having seen you look so damaged. "[Y/N]! What happened?" He asks, baffled. Green eyes flit wildly around your face, trying to piece together the story. Without being able to fully recall the memory, he has a instinctive feeling it's his fault, spotting the hand print on your face. "Did I...?" He can't finish the question, guilt eating at him.
You look down and nod, not bearing the crestfallen look on his face. "Yeah."
"No," he splutters, holding your head gently for inspection. "No... baby, I'm so sorry." He's gasping for forgiveness, the hideous sight being unbearable. "I'm so so sorry, [Y/N]. I can't believe I did that." Neither can I, you think to yourself.
You shrug, finding it hard to keep a grudge against him but not wanting to fall in to the trap of a toxic, violent relationship. "Don't worry about it, you were drunk." You use the excuse you expect him to use before he has the chance, knowing you wouldn't be able to bear it if he brushes it off in the name of alcohol.
"I will fuckin' worry about it," you can't mistake the panicked look in his eyes. "I'm such an asshole, being drunk isn't an excuse. It won't happen again [Y/N], and if you think I'm getting too aggressive ever again I give you full permission to swing that baseball bat at my head." He nods in the direction of the bat, looking sincere. The way he claimed responsibility for his actions was heart-warming; it helped take the sting out of the blow, so to speak.
You can't help but giggle a little at the thought of swinging a bat at Axl, finding the idea absurd, especially with his grovelling performance right now. "Please don't do it again." Is all you can say, already knowing you'd forgiven him.
"I won't baby," he strokes your non-battered cheek. "I promise." He pecks your lips gently, walking to the freezer to make you another ice-pack.
-------------------------------------
I hope yall enjoyed! I for sure loved writing this one,also honestly I feel bad for making
Him hit the reader... -l