All The Time🤦🏽‍♀️

Cry me a river series~ izzy x reader

Chapter two: Ghost Notes😬

Back Then – 1989

It was Vegas, and it was loud. Neon signs, fans screaming, the sound of your own heart cracking beneath the surface.

Izzy hadn’t come back to the hotel that night.

You waited. Curled up on the stiff bed with your boots still on and the TV flickering static in the background. You’d stared at the ceiling so long it started to look like it was moving.

When he finally showed, it was 5 a.m. He looked like hell. Smelled like perfume and smoke and something too sweet to be innocent.

He froze when he saw you awake. “Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

You didn’t say anything.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his tangled hair. “It’s not what it looks like”.

You snorted, bitter and tired. “You don’t even know what I think it looks like”.

He turned his head toward you slowly, as if hoping the dark would hide the guilt in his eyes.

“Maybe I don’t wanna know.”

You stood up, grabbed your bag, and headed for the door. You didn’t even know where you were going, just that you needed out before you said something you’d regret.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, voice sharp now.

“Out,” you said without turning around. “Maybe I’ll find someone who knows how to keep their promises.”

Now ~Present Day

You didn’t mean to see him again.

But three days later, he was waiting outside your building. Leaning against the hood of an old car like something out of a music video, cool, casual, and completely out of place in your carefully rebuilt life.

You stopped on the sidewalk, arms full of groceries, heart pounding like a drum solo in your chest.

“Izzy,” you said, flat and cold. “What are you doing here?”

He straightened up, hands in his pockets again, just like before.

“I owed you more than just walking into that cafe.”

You walked right past him toward the door. “You owe me a hell of a lot more than that.”

“I know,” he said quietly, following a few steps behind. “I just… I didn’t know how to fix it.”

You turned around so fast he almost bumped into you. “So you ran? Typical.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t. But now you’re here, dragging ghosts out of closets I locked up a long time ago.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, he looked almost like he used to, raw, haunted, beautiful in that broken way.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

You stared at him. Really stared.

“You should’ve thought about talking then,” you whispered. “When I needed you. When I begged you not to shut me out.”

The wind picked up, rustling your coat, your hair. He didn’t move. He just looked at you like he didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“I’m not the girl you left behind,” you said. “So if you’re looking for her, go find someone else to haunt.”

You turned and walked inside.

And this time, he didn’t follow.

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.

Forgot to post this yesterday butttt it’s never too late!! Slash reposted this on his instagram and I left the caption in there Incase anyone wanted to read that lol

I’m not sure if this is too far and I couldn’t find anything that says what you write and don’t write but it has the talk of self harm and there is no need to write about it if you’re not comfortable with it! But I thought about it and I was wondering if you could write a story about Izzy Stradlin x Fem reader and they’re in the middle of sex (first time having sex so she’s nervous in general and about her scars, scared that he wouldn’t like her anymore) and he wanders down there and sees the scars from self-harm and she could see him looking at them so she gets embarrassed and flushed but instead he stares in awe and kisses her scars telling her it’s okay because he sensed and saw her embarrassed face? Then he gives her hickeys then gives her some love to her❤️

Hey! Yes I just finished it. I thought this was a really sweet and touching idea for a fic; haven’t really seen many that talk about this topic. So far I don’t have any boundaries when it comes to what I write, but if I do I’ll post about it. So, if you have anymore ideas like this one feel free to voice it😊

Nothing to Hide🩸

Izzy stradlin x fem reader

Warning ‼️ talks about self harm

Y/N POV~~

You were already nervous as hell, just from the fact that this was your first time. But being with him? With Izzy? That made everything feel even more real. He was kissing down your neck, taking his time, his hands soft and warm on your sides. You could barely think straight.

You trusted him. You really did. But still, part of you was scared. Scared he’d see them. The scars.

As his lips moved lower, over your stomach, you tensed without meaning to. He didn’t seem to notice at first, too focused on making sure you felt good and comfortable. But then his hand slid down your thigh… and stopped.

He saw them.

You felt your whole body heat up in panic. “Izzy—wait, just… don’t look at those,” you blurted, your voice way smaller than you meant it to be.

You turned your face, wishing you could disappear. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were messed up, or broken, or worse… that you’d ruined the moment.

But then he didn’t pull away. He didn’t freak out or say anything weird. Instead, he looked up at you with this soft, gentle expression.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he said quietly, like he already knew exactly how you were feeling. “I see them, yeah. But I also see you. And I still want you.”

Then, out of nowhere, he leaned down and kissed one of the scars. Then another. You felt your throat tighten up, like you might cry, but not in a bad way. He wasn’t scared of them. He wasn’t scared of you.

“These don’t change anything,” he said against your skin. “If anything… they just remind me how strong you are.”

He gave you a few hickeys, teasing you like he always did, but still being gentle. Still letting you know it was okay.

And when he finally leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep, it didn’t feel scary anymore. It felt like love.

You didn’t even remember when your nerves finally melted away, just that Izzy never once made you feel wrong or broken. He touched you like he meant it, like he saw you, all of you, and still wanted more. His hands were everywhere. Every kiss, every teasing moment, every breath against your skin reminded you that this was real. And that he was still here.

After, you were wrapped up in his arms, both of you tangled in the sheets, skin warm and flushed. His fingers lazily trailed up and down your spine, like he wasn’t ready to stop touching you yet. Like letting go wasn’t even an option.

“You okay?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, nuzzling your face into his chest. “Yeah… better than okay, actually.”

He chuckled softly, and you could feel the vibrations in his chest. “Good. I was kinda hoping I didn’t suck.”

You snorted. “You didn’t suck. Annoying as hell, maybe, but not bad.”

He tipped your chin up so you had to look at him, that familiar little smirk tugging at his lips. “Annoying, huh? Pretty sure I had you moaning my name like—”

“Izzy!” you hissed, smacking his chest, but he just laughed and caught your wrist.

He kissed your knuckles, then turned serious for a second. “Hey,” he said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. “Thank you… for trusting me.”

Your throat tightened again, but in the best way. You didn’t have words, so you leaned in and kissed him, slow and soft. He kissed you back like he had all the time in the world.

After a while, you tucked yourself under his chin again, his hand gently running over your thigh, fingers brushing over your scars like it was second nature now. Like they didn’t scare him, or change how he saw you at all.

“Y’know,” he said quietly, “if I could, I’d go back in time and sit next to you on whatever night those happened. Just sit with you. Make sure you knew you weren’t alone.”

That broke you a little, in a good way. You blinked fast to stop the tears, but one still slipped out.

You didn’t speak. Just held onto him tighter.

He pulled the blanket up higher around your shoulders and kissed your temple. “I got you now,” he whispered. “Okay? You don’t ever have to hide from me again.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to.”

He smiled against your skin. “Good. Now sleep before I make you fall for me even harder in the morning.”

“Too late,” you muttered, already half-asleep against him. “Way too late…”

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.”

Backstage Heat (modern izzy birthday story!!) I can’t believe he is 63 today🥲

Izzy x reader (Warning!! Slight smut)

This is my first story btw so let me know if I should write more😊 -slutz

The second the hotel room door clicked shut, Izzy had you pressed up against it. His mouth crashed onto yours like he’d been holding back all night and maybe he had. That look in his eyes during dinner, the little smirk he gave you when you leaned in too close, the way his fingers brushed your leg under the table like an accident; none of it was innocent.

“Happy birthday, rockstar,” you whispered, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe.

He looked at you like you were the only gift that mattered. “You gonna behave tonight?” he murmured, low and teasing, his voice gravel rough and dripping with heat.

You smiled wickedly. “Not a chance.”

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest, like thunder. “Good.”

In seconds, you were in his arms again, your back pressed to the wall, legs wrapped around his hips. His hands were everywhere, gripping, trailing, teasing. You tugged his shirt up over his head, revealing the lean muscle, tattoos, and that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You think you’re in charge?” he asked, breath warm against your ear.

You nipped at his jawline. “It’s your birthday. I’m just here to ruin you.”

“Oh, baby…” he growled, spinning you and tossing you onto the bed. “You already have.”

You laughed breathlessly as he crawled over you, one knee pressing into the mattress, his fingers hooking under the hem of your dress. His rings were cool against your skin, but the heat in his gaze was pure fire.

“You wore this for me?” he asked, sliding the fabric up slowly.

“Maybe I wanted to make tonight unforgettable.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“And you love it.”

He didn’t respond with words; just his mouth against your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. Every kiss was possessive, every touch practiced and hungry. His hands knew every curve, every spot that made you arch and gasp. The room was filled with the sounds of breathless laughter, rustling sheets, and low groans that lit your whole body on fire.

Clothes hit the floor, one by one, and the rest of the night blurred into heat and motion; his body pressed to yours, the sharp contrast of his rough hands and your soft skin. He took his time, but never slowed down. It was fast, wild, but somehow still intimate. Every look, every touch, said mine.

And when it was over, when you were both breathless, tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy and hearts racing, he lit a cigarette with one hand and pulled you into his side with the other.

Smoke curled toward the ceiling as he kissed your temple and said, “Best damn birthday I’ve ever had.”

Cry me a river series🍸

I’ve been slacking a bit on this series, so here is chapter three and chapter four will come out later tonight.

Izzy Stradlin X Reader

~Chapter three: Rewind

You slam the door behind you, the echo of it shaking through your tiny apartment like a warning. Don’t open it again. Not for him. Not for the man who once lit you up and then left you in the dark.

You pace the living room, your brain buzzing, heart racing. Izzy. On your street. After all these years. Like time didn’t pass, like your heart didn’t crack, like the silence he left behind wasn’t loud as hell.

You peek through the blinds.

He’s still out there, leaning against that same rusted Harley, cigarette glowing in the night. Like he’s got nowhere else to be but five steps from your life.

You clench your jaw and turn away. No way in hell you’re letting him in again. You’ve spent too long stitching yourself up to let him rip the seams.

But you don’t sleep.

You lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, his face burned behind your eyes. The stupid smirk. That unreadable stare. The fact that he said your name like it still meant something.

By morning, he’s gone.

Or so you think.

You walk into the dive bar two blocks from your apartment that night, just looking for noise, a drink, maybe some peace in the distraction of strangers, and there he is. Sitting at the bar like fate has a sick sense of humor.

You freeze. So does he.

“You gotta be kidding me,” you mutter.

Izzy turns slowly on the stool, eyes raking over you like he’s not sure if you’re real.

“I wasn’t following you,” he says, as if reading your thoughts. “Didn’t even know you came here.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what, this is your neighborhood now?”

He shrugs. “I was here first, technically.”

“Yeah, about five years too late.”

That hits. You see it in the slight twitch of his jaw. The silence stretches.

“You look good,” he finally says.

You cross your arms. “You look the same. Still think cigarettes and leather solve everything?”

He chuckles, low and tired. “Only the stuff therapy can’t.”

You blink. That’s… not the Izzy you remember. Or maybe it is, just one that got older, quieter, a little more real.

“What do you want, Izzy?” you ask, voice low.

He meets your gaze. “A minute. That’s all.”

And despite every part of your brain screaming no, your heart whispers one minute can’t hurt.

So you sit. Just for a minute.

But nothing about Izzy Stradlin has ever stayed small.

Hi, I’m the anon who requested the Izzy fic, and I have to say—the alternate ending you wrote feels like the perfect setup for a continuation in a Slash fic😍. Could you please do that? I really love this ending because it seems like she could hook up with Slash again after this part:

~"'Slash let out a breathy chuckle. “He’ll get over it.” I turned on him, eyes burning. “You ruined everything.” He tilted his head. “No, sweetheart. You did.”~

Please let them become a couple after this but with slash being a bad boy😍

Hey anon! I gotchu!! Here is part one. I figured I would turn this story into a few parts because I want to take this into a messy direction. But, reader and slash will become a couple in the end so don’t worry lol. Hope you enjoy 😉

(Btw my inbox is open if anyone want to request a story or ask any questions)

Damaged… or not~ Part one

Slash x reader

Y/N POV~

“No, sweetheart. You did.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Because the truth stung more than his words. My throat burned, and I hated that it was Slash standing there looking at me like he’d won.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped finally.

“Like what?” he asked, stepping closer. “Like I’ve seen you fall apart before and I’m the only one who doesn’t lie to you about it?”

He was too close. The smell of cigarettes and whiskey clung to him like a second skin. His curls were half in his face, and that damn smirk he wore made it impossible to breathe.

“You think you’re better than Izzy?” I challenged.

Slash let out a low laugh, one of those husky, condescending ones that crawled up your spine and made you want to slap him and kiss him all at once.

“No,” he said. “I think I’m worse. But at least I don’t pretend.”

I hated that I was still standing there, trembling with whatever the hell this feeling was, rage, regret, maybe something worse. Or better.

He tilted his head again, the same way he had earlier, but this time his eyes dropped to my lips.

“Izzy’s not coming back,” Slash said, voice soft now. “You burned that bridge. But I’m still here. So what does that say?”

I stared at him. “That you don’t know when to quit.”

Slash stepped even closer, his body nearly brushing mine. “No, sweetheart. It says I know exactly when to stay.”

And just like that, I kissed him.

His hands were everywhere, rough and greedy, and mine weren’t any better. We were chaos and mistakes and something that felt too good to be right.

And when he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his grin crooked, and his voice low as he spoke.

“Careful,” he whispered against my ear. “You keep kissing me like that, and I’ll ruin you next.”

I didn’t care.

I think maybe I wanted to be ruined.

A few hours later…

I didn’t sleep.

I just laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling like an idiot. Slash was passed out next to me, completely unbothered. Like what we did last night didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t messy as hell.

I pulled the sheet around me and sat up, trying to clear my head. My heart was still racing, and I felt sick, not from him, but from myself.

He shifted behind me, groaning. “Damn. You always this quiet in the morning?”

I didn’t answer.

He moved closer, his hand finding my thigh like it was no big deal. Like he had every right to touch me.

“I didn’t sleep,” I said.

He laughed a little. “You sure? You sounded pretty into it a few hours ago.”

I pulled away, annoyed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Slash sat up, resting on one elbow. “Why are you acting like this is some huge thing? It happened. So what?”

“This was a mistake.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You don’t really believe that.”

I got up, grabbing my clothes off the floor. “You kissed me right after Izzy left. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“So did you,” he said. “You didn’t stop me. You kissed me back.”

I froze for a second, then turned to face him. “Izzy’s gone, and now I’m here with you. That’s messed up.”

He stared at me. “Izzy walked away. I didn’t.”

“That doesn’t make you the good guy,” I said.

He stood up too, calm but serious now. “I never said I was the good guy. But at least I’m not the one pretending.”

I glared at him. “You ruined everything.”

Slash let out a breathy laugh. “No, sweetheart. You did.”

There he goes with that damn phrase again. I couldn’t even argue though because deep down, I knew he was right.

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.

I see that you guys really enjoyed my birthday izzy story, so I decided to write another story, but this time it will be a series! It’s called “cry me a river”Lemme know if you guys like it 🤗

Cry Me a River Series~(izzy x reader)

Chapter one: Back Then

The soundcheck was chaos. Slash’s amp kept blowing out, Axl was late…again and Duff was already halfway through a bottle of vodka even though it wasn’t even 5 p.m.

Izzy found you behind the curtains, sitting cross-legged on the floor, twirling a guitar pick between your fingers. You wore his leather jacket even though it was too hot for it, but it smelled like him, cigarettes, sweat, and that earthy cologne he used sometimes when he remembered. You were tired, running on gas station coffee and tour-bus naps, but you still smiled when he crouched down in front of you.

“Hey,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t. The girls, the rumors, the phone calls he never returned when the band was in L.A. and you were stuck in New York. You told yourself none of it mattered as long as he came back to you.

He kissed your forehead like he always did after screwing up.

“I’ll make it up to you after the show, promise.”

You wanted to believe him.

God, you did.

Present Day~

The cafe was quiet, soft jazz playing from a speaker overhead. You were on your second espresso, scrolling through emails, when the door opened and you felt it, him… before you saw him.

Izzy Stradlin. Older, sure. A little worn down, a little less wild. But still him. Still dangerous in a quiet, slow-smile kind of way. He looked like the past, wrapped in denim and regret.

“Hey,” he said, voice low like he was scared to scare you off.

You didn’t stand up. Didn’t smile.

Instead, you stirred your coffee slowly, eyes locked on his.

“You’ve got some nerve,” you said calmly. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, hand in his pocket, eyes flickering with something he wasn’t saying.

“I was in town. Thought I’d see you.”

You laughed, dry, sharp. Like the sound of a glass cracking.

“You saw me. Now what?”

He looked stunned for a second, like he expected you to fall into his arms. Like time hadn’t passed. Like you hadn’t spent years learning how to forget the sound of his voice.

“You look good,” he muttered.

You leaned back in your chair, tilted your head, and gave him a look so cold it could’ve frozen the air between you.

“I am good.”