So So So So So So So Fineee😩😩😩😩

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ★ . . . my boyfriend’s pretty cool

Finally 19🎉🎉

Cry me a river series🍸

Izzy Stradlin x Reader

~Chapter Four: One drink

You tell yourself it’s just one drink.

Just one drink because you’re curious, because you’re restless, because you want to prove to yourself that seeing him doesn’t matter anymore. That you’re over it… over him.

He orders a beer. You go with something lighter, just to keep your hands busy. The air between you is thick, humming with old tension and words that never got said.

“So,” you say, tracing the rim of your glass. “Still writing songs no one gets to hear?”

Izzy smirks. “Still pretending you’re not dying to ask why I left?”

You go quiet. He notices.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he mutters, taking a sip. “That wasn’t fair.”

You shrug, staring down at the scratched wood of the bar. “It’s true, though.”

A long pause.

“I didn’t know how to be in something real,” he says suddenly, catching you off guard. “Didn’t know how to stay.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So disappearing was the easier choice?”

“No,” he replies, voice quieter now. “It was the coward’s choice.”

You study him. His eyes don’t dodge yours like they used to. There’s a rawness in his voice you don’t recognize. Or maybe you just never got to hear it before.

“I thought about you every day,” he adds. “But I figured you were better off.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s the thing about people like you, Izzy. You always think you get to decide what’s better for everyone.”

He leans back, wincing. Like your words landed where they were meant to.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m here now.”

“And what exactly does here mean?” you ask, finishing your drink. “You want forgiveness? Closure? A do-over?”

He looks at you like he’s trying to figure that out himself. Then he leans in just slightly, voice low and rough.

“I want to know if you still feel it.”

Your breath catches. Your body remembers before your brain can argue. But you push the feeling down, like you’ve trained yourself to do.

“You don’t get to ask that.”

He doesn’t press further. Doesn’t need to. The spark between you is already burning at the edges, slow and dangerous.

“You walked away once,” you say softly. “And if I let you back in… if I feel anything again… don’t you dare do it twice.”

Izzy nods, jaw tight. “Then don’t let me back in… yet. Just let me stay here, at this bar. One drink. One night. No promises.”

You look at him. Really look at him.

And for tonight… you don’t get up.

Hey, can you write an imagine where Y/N cheats on Izzy with Slash. When Izzy finds out, he is heartbroken, breaks up with her, and falls into a heavy alcohol addiction. Only then does Y/N realize how much she loved him and tries to win him back.

Including angst and fluff please, make it real long please ♡

Yess I gotchu! Sorry it’s late, I’ve been sick for the past week, but I finally finished it yay me! Hope you enjoy :) btw I have an alternate ending that I did for this, so if you want it let me know!

Damaged💔❤️‍🩹

Izzy Stradlin x reader

(featuring Slash | themes: betrayal, addiction, heartbreak, regret)

Warning ‼️ (angst, fluff, kinda long)

Y/N POV~

I never meant for it to happen. That sounds like bullshit, I know, but I didn’t. One minute, I was drunk, laughing too loud at one of Slash’s dumb stories, and the next, I was in his hotel room, tangled in sheets that didn’t smell like Izzy. They smelled like smoke and sweat and betrayal.

And now here I am, sitting on the floor of Izzy’s apartment, my back against the cold wall, knees pulled to my chest, wishing I could claw the last 48 hours out of existence. He hasn’t said a word in hours. Just paces. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like he’s trying to walk it off, like heartbreak is something you can sweat out.

“Izzy…” My voice is small, and I hate that. I used to speak and make his head turn. Now I sound like a ghost.

He finally stops and looks at me. Really looks. Eyes red, jaw tight, that wild black hair falling into his face like it always does. Except now he doesn’t brush it away. He just stares, like he’s seeing me for the first time. Or maybe like he wishes he wasn’t seeing me at all.

“You fucked Slash.”

There’s no question in his voice.

I open my mouth to speak, to explain, though I have no explanation worth a damn, but he cuts me off before I can try.

“You fucked him, Y/N.”

“I was drunk”

So was I! Every night for the last four years. You don’t see me climbing into someone else’s bed.” His voice cracks, and that’s worse than if he screamed. I’d rather he throw a lamp or smash a guitar than break like this.

“Izzy, I’m sorry…”

He turns away.

And just like that, I know it’s over.

I didn’t see him for weeks after that. The guys said he’d holed up somewhere in L.A., sleeping on a friend’s couch, bottle always in reach. Sometimes it was whiskey. Sometimes vodka. Once, it was cough syrup and Coke.

Slash didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. The smirk he gave me backstage after a show said everything. I was just another notch. Another story he’d laugh about. Another mistake.

But Izzy? I ruined him.

I started hearing things. That he missed rehearsals. That he’d fallen asleep during a recording session. That Axl threatened to kick him out if he didn’t pull it together. Duff tried to help, but even he was at a loss. “He loved you,” he told me once, shaking his head. “He really fucking loved you.”

I knew. God, I knew.

The first time I saw him again, it was pouring. The rain was heavy and mean, like it was trying to drown the whole damn city. I waited outside The Viper Room, soaked and shaking, because someone said he might show up. And he did.

He didn’t recognize me at first.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

“Hey,” I said, breathless when I saw him, cigarette dangling from his lips, coat clinging to his shoulders, eyes bloodshot.

He blinked. “Y/N?”

“Izzy… I need to talk to you.”

He just stared, swaying slightly, the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. “Talk? Now you want to talk?”

“I miss you.”

He laughed. It was empty. Hollow. “You miss me? What part? The part before or after you fucked my bandmate?”

I flinched. “I made a mistake.”

“You made a choice.”

We stood there in silence, rain hitting the sidewalk like a metronome. I reached for him.

“Don’t.”

His voice wasn’t angry this time. Just tired. Broken.

“I’m not okay,” I said softly.

“Neither am I,” he whispered. “And that’s because of you.”

I didn’t give up.

Call me pathetic. Call me delusional. But I loved him. I love him. And I couldn’t let it end like that. I started writing him letters. Leaving voicemails. Waiting outside shows. I became the girl I used to roll my eyes at, clingy, desperate, hopeful.

Weeks passed.

Then one night, I heard a knock on my door.

I opened it and nearly collapsed.

“Izzy…”

He looked different. Thinner. Tired. But there was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time, clarity.

“I can’t sleep,” he said.

I stepped aside.

We didn’t talk much that night. We didn’t need to. He lit a cigarette and sat on my bed, fingers trembling just a little. I watched him. Studied him. Every line of his face. Every bruise I left on his heart.

“I still dream about you,” he said finally. “But in the dream, you always leave.”

“I’m here now.”

He looked at me. Long and hard. Then set the cigarette down and stood.

And when he kissed me, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire and pain and everything we never said. His hands were rough, callused, trembling. He pinned me to the wall, his mouth hot on my neck, his voice a low growl in my ear.

You ruined me,” he said, breath hot as he lifted my shirt. “You fucking ruined me.”

“I know,” I whispered.

He kissed me again, harder this time, like he wanted to forget. Like he wanted to punish me. Maybe he did. Maybe I deserved it.

Clothes fell to the floor. His body pressed against mine, hot and heavy, every thrust a reminder of what we had, what we lost. He held my wrists above my head, lips on my collarbone, moaning my name like it hurt.

“I hate you,” he gasped against my mouth.

“No, you don’t.”

And I was right, because he came undone with my name on his lips, burying his face in my shoulder as we collapsed together.

Fast forward ~

It had been almost a year since the night izzy came over.

Twelve months of silence, of blocked numbers, of showing up to the studio just to hear he’d left five minutes earlier. I had written letters. Sent messages he never opened. I even showed up at his old apartment once. Slash answered the door.

“You’re the last person he wants to see,” he said coldly, before slamming it in my face.

Izzy had fallen deep into it, alcohol, bar fights, late nights with women whose names he didn’t bother to learn. I heard the stories. Everyone did. He was burning out and didn’t care who watched.

But I still loved him. That never changed. Even as guilt gnawed away at me like rot under the skin.

And then one night, I found him.

Passed out in a back booth at some shitty dive off Sunset. Guitar case on the table, empty bottle in front of him. He looked like a ghost, pale, thinner, eyes sunken like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Izzy,” I said, crouching beside him. My hand touched his shoulder. He flinched hard.

His eyes opened, bloodshot and slow to focus. “Why the hell are you here?”

“I needed to see you. I’m worried.”

He sat up, barely. “A little late for worry, sweetheart.”

“I know I hurt you,” I whispered. “But I love you. I never stopped.”

He looked at me, really looked, and I could see it all behind his eyes. The pain. The love. The memories.

“I believe that,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “And it doesn’t matter.”

My throat tightened. “Izzy…”

“You broke something in me. And no matter how much I want to pretend I can forgive you, I can’t.” He reached for his bottle, found it empty, and dropped it with a thud. “I hope you figure your shit out someday. But you and me? We’re done.”

And that was it.

He stood and walked away, guitar slung over his shoulder like a war wound. I didn’t chase him.

Because maybe this was how it was supposed to end.

Requested✨✨

Popcorn & Panties🥵

Warning ‼️ (Public smex, dirty talk, quiet moans)

Sorry this is kinda late, I was going to post this yesterday, but I had to catch up on some homework and I also had work this morning sooooo.. here’s a new story. Hope you guys like it especially @slashduffizzysgf 😘

Y/N POV

The lights dimmed and the movie started, but I barely noticed. My eyes flicked to the row in front of me, Duff, Slash, Axl, and Steven were already getting into it, whispering and tossing popcorn like overgrown kids.

But I was only focused on the man beside me. Izzy sat back, long legs stretched out, that usual slouch like he owned the whole damn theater. His hand rested casually on my thigh, thumb stroking slow circles through the fabric of my jeans. Just enough to drive me crazy.

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “You okay, baby?”

I nodded, but the truth was, I was yearning for his touch. The way his fingers teased, the smell of his leather jacket, the heat between us… it was too much.

“Izzy,” I whispered, my voice tight. “I need you.”

He looked at me, those dark eyes smoldering, jaw clenched like he was trying to keep control. I didn’t give him the chance to say no, I slipped from my seat and carefully slid into his lap, straddling him in the dark.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck, Y/N… here?”

I smirked, grinding my hips just enough to make him groan low in his throat. “Be quiet, baby,” I whispered, lips brushing his. “Unless you want the whole band to hear how good I make you feel.”

He didn’t need more convincing. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him. Our lips crashed, hot, desperate, messy. I kissed him like the world was ending, biting his bottom lip until he groaned again, quieter this time.

“I’ve been hard since you walked in here,” he hissed against my neck. “You know what you do to me, don’t you?”

I grind down again, feeling his thick cock beneath me. “Then do something about it.”

He didn’t waste time. One hand slipped up my shirt, fingers brushing over my tits, while the other fumbled with his zipper beneath me. The rustling of the movie masked the sounds, but my heartbeat thundered louder than any soundtrack.

“Goddamn, baby,” he muttered as I helped guide him inside me, slow and silent. My breath hitched, he stretched me perfectly. Full, deep. Dangerous.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled in my ear, barely audible.

His hands gripped my hips tightly as I sank down on him, slow and steady. My head tipped forward, resting against his shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled like leather, cigarette smoke, and that warm, musky scent that always drove me wild.

“You’re gonna kill me, baby,” Izzy groaned low, biting back a moan as I started to move. “Fuck… you’re so tight.”

I rocked my hips slowly, careful to keep quiet, but it was getting harder and harder. The thrill of it being right behind the guys, in a public theater, stuffed full of him while we pretended to be watching a movie… It was too much.

Every time I moved, he twitched inside me, his cock thick and hard, pressing against all the right spots. His hands slipped under my shirt, thumbs brushing my nipples through the thin lace of my bra.

“You’re so wet already,” he whispered, voice strained. “All this for me?”

“All for you,” I whispered back, trying not to whimper. “You feel so good, Izzy. So deep…”

His hands guided me as I picked up the pace, grinding in tight little circles. He kissed my neck, sucked on my earlobe and growled, “You better stay quiet, sweetheart… unless you want Slash turning around and seeing my cock buried in you.”

That image made me clench around him, and he felt it. He smirked against my skin, pulling my shirt up just enough to kiss down between my tits. His warm tongue flicking over my nipples as he thrust up once, deep, sharp, and toe-curling.

I gasped, hand flying to my mouth. “Izzy, oh my god…”

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Be a good girl and take it.”

My thighs shook with the effort of staying quiet. He kept fucking me, slow but hard, making sure every thrust hit that perfect spot. I was melting around him, trembling, so close I couldn’t think straight.

“You’re gonna cum for me, right here in this fucking theater,” he hissed. “While they sit right there… and you sit on my cock, dripping all over me.”

“I—I can’t hold it,” I whimpered, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the moan.

“Yes, you can,” he said, kissing me deep. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

His thumb slipped between us, rubbing fast, tight circles on my clit, and that was it. I broke apart in silence, shaking, thighs squeezing around him as the orgasm hit me like a freight train. My body tensed, clenching around him, and he groaned, losing it right after me.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, gripping my waist. “I’m gonna fill you up…”

And he did, pulsing deep inside me. I collapsed against him, trying not to laugh from the mix of thrill and afterglow.

Axl turned around for a second, eyes narrowed. “You two good back there?”

I coughed, straightening my shirt. “Yeah. Just—uh, he dropped his drink.”

Izzy smirked, still buried inside me, still throbbing. “Yeah. Big mess.”

Axl shrugged and turned back around. I glanced at Izzy, breathless, heart pounding.

“We’re not done yet,” he whispered, lips brushing mine. “I want a round two later, so I can hear you scream.”

And I believed him.

he’s the love of my life wdym we’ll never get married and live happily ever after

Popcorn & Panties Part 2😝

This is a re-upload⚠️

So I had a request for a part two of this izzy story. Can’t find the request anymore😭, but if you enjoyed the first one hopefully you’ll enjoy this one :)

Warning ‼️ contains (public smex, choking, a bit of praise/degradation, dirty talk)

Y/N POV

The movie ended, but the tension didn’t. Izzy kept his arm slung around your waist as you all walked out of the theater, trying to act casual even though your legs still trembled from the orgasm you’d ridden out in his lap.

Duff tossed an empty popcorn bucket at Steven. “Told you that chick was gonna die.”

Slash lit a cigarette and snorted. “I could hear you losers whispering the whole time.”

But Izzy didn’t say a word. He just kept walking. Only you noticed the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand dug a little tighter into your hip like he was barely keeping it together.

He barely waited for the others to around the corner before his hand was around your wrist, dragging you down the side of the theater like a man possessed.

“In here. Now.”

The alley was barely lit, smelled like beer and smoke, but you didn’t care, because he spun you around and pinned you to the wall with his body, mouth already crashing into yours.

“You know what you fuckin’ did to me in there?” he growled, already shoving his hand between your thighs. “Got me so fuckin’ hard I couldn’t think straight.”

You gasped as he put his hand up your dress and yanked your panties down your legs, letting them fall around your ankles. His fingers plunged into your soaking wet pussy without warning, and you moaned into his mouth, legs trembling.

Look at you,” he hissed, rubbing tight circles on your clit with two fingers inside you. “Dripping like a slut. You wanted someone to hear you in there, didn’t you? Wanted Slash to turn around and see me ruining you.”

You bit your lip, nodding shamelessly, and he laughed.

Nasty little girl,” he said, low and filthy. “Bet you’d let me bend you over the hood of their car right now, wouldn’t you?”

Izzy….” you whined, breathless.

Shut the fuck up,” he growled, yanking your shirt down to expose one tit, biting hard at the soft flesh. “You wanted it nasty, right? That’s what you’re gonna get.”

His hand wrapped around your throat, not hard, just enough to make your head spin, just enough to say “you’re mine”. Then he spat in his free hand, stroked his cock once, twice, and shoved it into you from behind, fucking you rough and fast without any warning.

You cried out, back arching, nails scraping the brick.

That’s it, baby. Take it. Take this cock like the filthy little slut you are.”

He was brutal, fucking you deep, hands bruising your hips, sweat dripping down his head. His hips slapped against your ass, echoing down the alley like the world didn’t matter. Like he didn’t care if someone walked by and saw it all.

You like this? You like me fucking you like a dirty whore behind a goddamn movie theater?” he panted, one hand back around your throat, pulling you up against his chest.

“Yes! fuck! yes!, Izzy, I love it”

That’s right you do. You love my cock. You love being full of me. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you? Make a mess all over me like a desperate little bitch.”

His fingers reached around and rubbed your clit fast. You broke in seconds, shaking, and moaning shamelessly as your orgasm ripped through you, walls closing around him.

He hissed, lost in that tight pussy of yours. “Fuck…fuck, baby! I’m gonna cum in this tight pussy. Gonna fill you up right here, so the next time you walk, you’ll be dripping my cum down your thighs.”

And he did. Thrusting deep, cumming inside you, swearing against your ear as he spilled every drop.

You stayed against the wall, panting, legs weak.

He slapped your ass and laughed. “Still think we’re done?”

You turned to him, cheeks flushed, spit on your lips, his cum already leaking down your thighs.

“I hope not,” you whispered. “You owe me a round three.”

Backstage Games✨

Izzy Stradlin x Reader

Warning!!! (Humiliation/degradation and jealousy)

Side note: long story, but full of sluttiness😈

The air backstage was electric, sweaty, loud, thick with smoke and leftover adrenaline. GNR had just finished their set, and the crowd was still screaming like animals out in the arena, but you were tucked away in a quieter corner of the chaos, drink in hand, casually chatting with one of the guitarists from a supporting band. He was charming, kinda cute, and clearly interested, leaning in close, laughing at everything you said.

You felt a presence before you saw him.

Izzy.

His eyes were dark. Not just annoyed. Possessive. The kind of look that made your stomach twist and thighs clench. He didn’t say a word, just watched, jaw tight, cigarette hanging from his lips, like he was deciding whether to ruin you or the other guy first.

“Hey, man,” the guy greeted him casually, clearly unaware of the storm about to break. Izzy didn’t respond. He just tilted his head toward you.

“Let’s go.”

His voice was low. Final. You didn’t argue, you knew that tone. You followed, heart racing, every step toward the exit laced with anticipation and dread. You could feel his silence pressing against you in the car. That dangerous stillness.

By the time you got to the hotel, he was already gripping your wrist, dragging you into the room, the door slamming behind you. You barely had time to speak before he had you pinned against the wall, breath hot against your ear.

“You like acting like a little slut in front of everyone, huh?”

His voice was venom, rough and low, and your body reacted instantly, heat pooling low even as your face burned.

“Did you think I wouldn’t see you? Letting that loser touch your arm, laugh at your stupid fucking jokes? You wanted me to see, didn’t you?”

You swallowed hard, breath shaky, not answering because you had wanted him to see. You liked what it did to him.

“I asked you a question.”

He grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to his.

“Yes,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

He spun you toward the mirror over the hotel dresser and pushed you down so your hands braced against the wood. His hand slid up your skirt, rough and impatient, yanking your panties down.

“Look at yourself,” he growled. “Look at the filthy little slut who can’t even keep her legs closed backstage.”

You whimpered, heat flooding your cheeks as you stared at your reflection, eyes glassy, lips parted, already wrecked just from his words.

“You like when I talk to you like this, don’t you?”

You nodded, heart pounding.

He laughed, dark and cruel. “Fucking pathetic.”

And then his hand cracked across your ass, loud and stinging. You gasped, and he did it again, harder.

“Every time you moan, I’m gonna remind you what you are. My slut. My filthy little plaything. No one else touches you. No one else even looks at you.”

Another slap.

“Say it.”

“I’m your slut,” you whispered, broken and breathless.

“Louder.”

“I’m your slut!”

He grabbed your hair, pulling your head back so you couldn’t look away from your reflection. “That’s right. And you’re gonna thank me for putting you in your place.”

And oh, you would.

He didn’t let go of your hair. If anything, he gripped tighter, yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp, forcing you to hold eye contact with yourself in the mirror.

“Look at that,” he sneered. “Already dripping and I haven’t even fucked you yet. You love being treated like this, don’t you?”

You whimpered something like a yes, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“No, no,” he snapped, delivering another sharp smack to your thigh. “Say it. Say you love when I humiliate you.”

“I love it,” you gasped. “I love it when you humiliate me”

“That’s fucking right.”

He shoved his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was through his jeans. You tried to grind back, desperate, needy, but he slammed his hand down on your lower back, pinning you in place.

“Not so fast,” he muttered. “Sluts don’t get to make the rules.”

He moved behind you, undoing his belt with slow, menacing clicks. The sound alone made your knees weak. Then he wrapped the belt around your throat, tight enough to make you gasp.

“Hold still,” he warned, lips brushing your ear. “Or I’ll tie you up with this instead.”

Your body trembled, but you held your breath, loving the way the leather bit against your neck, loving the way you had no control.

“You think that guy backstage could do this to you?” he growled, pressing his body against yours, now skin-to-skin. “Think he could break you open and make you beg the way I do?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. One rough thrust and he was inside you, no warning, no mercy. You choked on your moan, body clenching around him as he slammed into you again, deeper, harder.

“Dirty little toy,” he hissed, fucking you like he was punishing you. “Moaning for me after flirting with some no-name loser like a cheap backstage groupie.”

Each word was another thrust, another slap of his hips, another crack of his hand across your skin.

“You belong to me.”

He pulled back just enough to spit, spit, on your back, watching it slide down your spine before he shoved in again.

“Fucking love ruining you.”

You could barely breathe, barely think. Every word, every movement, every humiliating detail had you dizzy with need. You hated how much it turned you on, how being treated like this made your body sing.

“Tell me what you are,” he demanded, breath hot and filthy in your ear.

“Y-Yours,” you stammered.

He tugged the belt tighter. “What else?”

“Your slut.”

“Louder.”

“Your dirty little slut!”

“That’s right. Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Izzy,” you choked out, broken and breathless, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks.

“Good girl,” he growled.

And then he really gave it to you.

Fucking you hard, rough and fast. Your moans turning to cries, the sound of the headboard slamming against the wall.

You didn’t even notice how loud it got, how unhinged he sounded as he groaned your name, calling you every degrading, filthy thing he could think of because you were so close.

And he felt it.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you? You’re gonna fall apart like a pathetic little toy just ‘cause I’m fucking you like trash.”

“Yes,” you cried.

He reached around and rubbed tight circles around your clit.

“Cum. Cum for me now, or I’ll leave you aching all night.”

That was it.

You shattered with a scream, body convulsing around him as you came hard, still pinned to the dresser, belt tight around your throat, tears streaking your face in the mirror.

Izzy groaned behind you, hips jerking, spilling inside you with a deep, growled curse. He didn’t pull out right away, just leaned against your back, breathing hard, hand still tangled in your hair.

The silence that followed was thick, the kind that made your head spin even harder than the orgasm had.

Then he slowly loosened the belt, letting it fall to the floor. His arms came around you, unexpected, rough fingers suddenly gentle.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured against your neck, voice rasped from effort. “Was I too rough?”

You shook your head, still trying to find your breath. “No… it was perfect.”

He turned you around, pulled you into his chest, kissed your forehead like he hadn’t just degraded you six ways from Sunday.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.

“You really drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smiled against him, lips swollen and sore, legs trembling.

“Good.”

Mood rn