#izzy headcanons

the morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of your little house up in the hills, the kind of place Izzy liked best — quiet, away from the noise, with enough space for his guitars to lean against the walls

it was april 8th and you’d only found out it was his birthday two weeks ago, when an old ID from the 80s had slipped out of one of his beat-up notebooks while you were cleaning old stuff from the attic

he hadn’t mentioned it

not once

Izzy Stradlin didn’t do birthdays

he’d told you once “Just another day, darlin’. Ain’t worth makin’ a fuss over it” but you’d seen the way his eyes softened when he talked about the little things that mattered to him — the way he always remembered how you took your coffee/tea or how you liked the window cracked open at night. he paid attention. always. and today, you were going to pay it back

in the morning you slipped out of bed carefully, his arm sliding off your waist with a sleepy murmur. he looked peaceful like this — hair messy against the pillow, his eyes relaxed, no trace of the old chaos that used to live there

in the kitchen, you moved quietly, pulling out the ingredients you’d hidden in the back of the pantry. you weren’t a professional baker but you’d practiced this cake twice in secret. vanilla with a hint of bourbon extract. you hummed softly under your breath as you mixed the batter, the smell of sugar and vanilla filling the air

by the time the cake was in the oven, you’d already set the table with two mismatched plates you knew he liked — the ones with the tiny flowers on the rim. fresh coffee/tea made. a small stack of his favorite records waiting by the player. nothing over the top. just… thoughtful

Izzy padded in sometime after ten, barefoot in an old faded t-shirt and sweatpants, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. he stopped in the doorway when he saw the cake cooling on the counter, candles already placed

“…What’s all this?” his voice was still rough with sleep but there was a flicker of surprise and almost boyish in his expression. he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, watching you

you smiled, wiping your hands on a dish towel “Happy birthday, Iz”

he blinked, then let out a soft huff of a laugh, shaking his head “You weren’t supposed to know about that”

“Too bad. I’m very good at snooping through your old stuff” you stepped closer, sliding your arms around his waist. he was warm and after a second his hands settled on your back — really gentle

“I wanted to do something nice. You always notice the little things for me. Let me do this for you” you added

Izzy looked down at you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. he wasn’t great with big emotions out loud but you could see it — the way his shoulders relaxed, the faint pink that touched his cheeks. shy. sweet

“Alright” he murmured finally, voice low “But only cause you put so much effort in all of this” he smiled softly as his eyes followed to the cake

the rest of the day unfolded slow and easy, the way he liked things to be. you ate breakfast together on the back porch — scrambled eggs, toast and then that cake (which turned out pretty damn good, even if the frosting was a little lopsided). he blew out the candles after you sang to him happy birthday (he found it kinda funny and you smacked his arm to be quiet cause he was making you laugh while you sang) and when you asked him to make a wish, he just smirked and said

“Already got everything I need sittin’ right here” and you blushed and said that it's too cheesy and he just blew out the candles and kissed you deeply

after that, Izzy disappeared into the living room for a moment and came back with one of his old acoustic guitars that he’d had since the early days, the one with the worn pickguard and the tiny scratch near the bridge from some long-forgotten tour bus incident

he didn’t say much, just settled on the worn leather couch and patted the spot beside him. you curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, as his long fingers started picking out soft, lazy chords. every so often he’d pause to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear or press a slow kiss to your temple, murmuring:

“This one always made me think of you” when a particularly sweet progression floated through the room

when his fingers needed a break, you pulled him outside for a walk along the overgrown trail behind the house. the path was perfect: narrow, shaded by old oaks, with wildflowers pushing up through the dirt. he walked with his arm slung loosely around your waist, thumb rubbing absent circles on your skin through your thin sweater

he noticed everything: the way the light dappled across your face, the tiny lizard that darted across the path (he stopped to watch it with quiet fascination), the fact that you’d worn the silver necklace he’d given you months ago for no reason other than “it reminded me of your eyes”

he pointed it out softly “Still wearin’ that, huh?” and the shy pride in his tone made your heart flutter

“Yes, cause it's really pretty and it reminds me of you”

back home, the afternoon melted into golden laziness

you made iced tea (his with a splash of lemon, exactly how he liked it now that he avoided anything too sweet) and sprawled out on the big quilt you’d thrown over the grass in the backyard. Izzy lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other hand resting possessively on your thigh as you read aloud from the paperback you’d found on his shelf. every few pages he’d interrupt with a quiet comment or a lazy smile, his fingers tracing patterns on your leg or hip

as the light began to soften into that hazy late-afternoon glow, you moved back inside. Izzy helped you in the kitchen — not because he was particularly skilled but because he liked being close. he chopped vegetables with careful, deliberate movements while you stirred the sauce for a simple marinara, his free hand occasionally brushing your lower back or stealing a quick, soft kiss against your neck when you least expected it

“You’re too good to me” he’d mutter once, almost to himself, voice sincere. dinner was eaten at the small wooden table by the window, candles flickering even though it wasn’t quite dark yet. he kept refilling your water glass without being asked, remembered you liked extra basil and when you laughed at one of his dry jokes his eyes crinkled in that rare, genuine way that made him look years younger

by the time evening rolled around, the house had gone gold at the windows, all that late-day light turning everything softer. he was standing at the sink rinsing out a couple of plates when you came up behind him and slid your arms around his waist. you were now wearing a robe that covered your body

he leaned back into you instantly, like his body had already learned home from you

“There’s still one present left” you said against his shoulder

he chuckled quietly “Yeah? Thought the cake was the whole deal”

“That was just the warm-up”

his head turned a little, curiosity waking slow in his eyes “You better not have bought me somethin expensive”

you laughed under your breath “Don’t worry, I didn’t buy anything”

that made him look at you properly, a faint flush rising in his face before he even had a chance to hide it. he set the dish towel down and faced you, hands settling carefully at your waist, looking curiously at your body in the robe up and down

“Then what’d you do?” he asked, though his voice already sounded like he had some idea and didn’t quite know what to do with it

you smiled, a little wicked and a little sweet “Come upstairs with me and find out”

he stared at you for one long second, then his mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin too hard “Yeah, alright” he said, quiet and almost shy about it, like he was walking into something precious

upstairs, the bedroom was dim and warm, bed had his favorite sheets on, the lamp on by the bed and the windows cracked just enough to let in the evening air. you’d already lit a few candles earlier, not because you needed them but because you knew he liked the way candlelight made a room feel cozy

Izzy paused in the doorway, looking around like he was trying to take in the whole setup at once

the look in his eyes changed so fast it nearly made your breath catch. not hungry, not rushed. just stunned in that quiet way he got when something touched him deeper than he knew how to say out loud

“You did all this for me?” he asked, almost like he couldn’t believe it

you walked to him slowly “Of course I did”

his hand came up, brushing your hair back from your face, fingertips careful as glass “You make it hard to know what to say sometimes”

“You don’t have to say anything”

“Yeah” he murmured, his thumb tracing your jaw now “but I want to”

he kissed you then, slow and deep and careful, like he was unwrapping a gift he intended to treasure instead of tear open. then he carefully slipped the robe of your shoulders onto the ground, revealing you wearing his favorite lace bra and panties set

when you pulled back, both of you breathless, his hands wandered to softly tug on your panties, smirk softly playing on his lips

“Happy birthday” you whispered

he smiled, just barely “Yeah,” he said softly “Think this one’s gonna be hard to top next year” he smirked fully and brushed lace on your bra with his thumb

you laughed and he kissed you once more. his mouth moved against yours with that same deliberate patience, tongue sliding warm and slow along yours until your knees felt a little unsteady

you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and he let you pull it over his head, arms lifting easily, the candlelight catching on the lean lines of his chest. your palms skimmed over his skin and he shivered, a soft, involuntary sound slipping out of him

“Easy” he murmured against your lips but his hands were already working on your bra, fingers cupping your breasts as soon as your bra hit the floor. then he was kissing down your neck, then your chest, open-mouthed and unhurried, sucking lightly at your nipples. when you moaned quietly he smiled against your skin

he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed, then eased you down like you were something breakable. his hands never stopped moving — tracing your ribs, cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they tightened under his touch. he watched your face the whole time, cataloging every flutter of your lashes, every little gasp, like he was memorizing the exact way you came apart for him

you reached for his belt and he helped you, kicking his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion. when he was bare he crawled over you, settling between your thighs but not pressing in yet. instead he kissed your skin until his mouth hovered right where you needed him most. he played softly with the hem of your panties; looked up at you once and when you nodded he pulled down them down and dipped his head

the first slow drag of his tongue made your back arch

he took his time, licking broad and flat, then circling your clit with the tip of his tongue in lazy drags that had you threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently. he hummed in approval at the taste of you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. two long fingers slid inside you, curling just right, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids while his mouth kept working you open

“Oh God... Izzy...” he didn’t speed up even when your hips started rolling against his face; he just held you steady with one hand on your thigh and kept going until you came hard around his fingers, thighs trembling, his name falling from your lips

“I should be the one going down on you” you reminded breathless

but he didn't answer instead just kissed his way back up your body while you caught your breath, lips shiny, cheeks flushed. when he settled over you again his cock was heavy and hot against your entrance but he still didn’t rush. he kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue and only when you were whining softly into his mouth did he reach between you and line himself up

“Good?” he asked, voice rough

“God, yes, Iz — please” you begged

he pushed in slow, inch by inch, eyes never leaving your face. the stretch was perfect, full and burning in the best way, and when he bottomed out he stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he breathed shakily against your neck

“Fuck… you feel so good” he whispered “Always so fuckin’ perfect for me”

then he started moving — long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. no frantic pounding, just steady, purposeful thrusts that built heat

you wrapped your legs around his waist and he groaned low. one of his hands found yours, lacing your fingers together and pressing it into the mattress above your head while the other slid under your ass, tilting your hips so he could go even deeper

the room filled with the wet sounds of skin on skin, the creak of the old bed and the quiet, filthy praises he kept murmuring against your ear —

“That’s it, baby… just like that… takin’ me so well… love how you squeeze around me…”

— each word spoken soft and hoarse, like he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly how you made him feel. sweat slicked your bodies; when you clenched around him especially hard he cursed under his breath and buried his face in your neck, hips stuttering for just a second before he found the rhythm again

you came a second time with his name on your tongue, nails digging into his back and the feel of you pulsing around him finally pushed him over. he thrust deep once, twice more, then stilled, groaning long and low as he spilled inside you, hips pressed tight to yours like he never wanted you to leave

afterward he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, softening inside you, kissing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth while you stroked his hair — lazy, sweet presses of lips while his thumb stroked over the back of your hand still tangled with his

eventually he eased out carefully and rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest without a word. his arm wrapped around you, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your spine

“Best damn birthday I’ve ever had” he said into the quiet, voice husky and spent “The cake, the walk, the music… and you” a soft, almost disbelieving laugh rumbled under your ear “You’re makin me want to start countin down the days till next April 8th”

you smiled against his skin, pressing a kiss right over his heart “That was the whole point, Iz. Every year. Cake in the morning, lazy days with you and your guitar, walks… and nights like this. Just us”

he chuckled lowly, the sound warm and content “Guess I can live with bein spoiled rotten like this” his hand kept stroking your back, slow and steady, like he never wanted to stop touching you “Thank you, my love. For makin’ an ordinary day feel like… home”

“But it isn't just an ordinary day Iz...” you murmured against his skin “It’s your birthday, it should feel special like this”

“Yeah... right baby” he chuckled softly and gave you a kiss on the temple

A = aftercare

he’s not the type to run a bath or whisper sweet things while stroking your cheek

but he’s not cold

his care is quiet — in the way he holds you after, one arm thrown lazily over your waist or the way he pulls the blanket over both of you without saying a word

sometimes, he lights a cigarette and just watches you in the dark, his thumb running circles on your hip as if he’s grounding himself through your skin if you shift closer to him, he’ll let you

if you need something, he gets it — no questions, no fuss

B = body part

on you: your hips

the way they move

the way they curve beneath his palms

whether you’re walking across the room in nothing but his shirt or grinding against him in bed, it’s always your hips that pull his attention

he holds you there when he’s taking his time, grips you hard when he’s losing control, when you ride him — like he's trying to memorize every rhythm you make

on himself: his hands

scarred knuckles, callused fingertips, veins like thin cables running under the skin

he’s aware you watch them — sliding a pick, flicking a lighter, curling around your throat

he likes their effect, how a simple drag along your thigh can feel like a threat and a promise

C = cum

Izzy’s possessive about it in subtle ways

he doesn’t say “I want to come inside you”—he just does, like it’s his right

he finishes deep with a low grunt, his hands digging into your skin, his body heavy against yours

sometimes he pulls out and lets it drip across your thighs or belly, watching like he’s claiming territory

he likes the mess. the proof. he’ll run a finger through it absently, then slide it into your mouth, his eyes locked on yours

D = dirty secret

he likes keeping you marked

not in obvious ways — no bruises you’d have to explain — but in places only he knows to look

a bite on your inner thigh

fingertip-shaped shadows at your hips

scratches down his back that match the ones he left on you

sometimes he’ll catch sight of them later, when you’re changing or stretching and you’ll see it — that flicker of pride, of ownership, like he’s reminding himself you’re his

E = experience

more than you could ever count

Izzy’s past is full of half-naked girls in back alleys, bathroom stalls, motel beds, and dressing rooms

he’s not proud of it — just honest. but with you? it’s nothing like that. his experience makes him calm, confident, in control — but never lazy

he doesn’t need to ask what makes you moan. he knows. he listens with his hands. and he never gives all of himself at once — he leaves you wanting, addicted

F = favorite position

he loves you in his lap, facing him — your knees on either side of his hips, your chest pressed to his

it’s not about speed

it’s about feeling every movement, every shift of your body

his hands stay on your back, holding you in place while he rocks up into you, making you take every inch

he likes how close it keeps you, how your breath mixes with his, how he can kiss you between every thrust — slow, deep, and impossible to escape

G = goofy

Izzy’s not goofy — at all

he’s got a dry wit and a half-smirk that could make you melt but he doesn’t joke during sex

he gets serious when he's turned on — focused, intense

there’s mystery in the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing something deeper than just skin

if you laugh or get awkward, he won’t shame you — he might kiss your cheek or tug you back down to him

but when the clothes come off, the game ends. he’s real then. raw.

H = hair

messy, always. on his head, his chest, down below — he doesn’t trim much, doesn’t style, doesn’t care

it’s all soft, dark, and natural. you’ll find strands of his hair on your pillow, in your sheets, clinging to your thighs after he’s gone down on you for what felt like hours

he loves when your hair’s wild too — tugged, fanned out on the bed, tangled between his fingers. clean-cut isn’t his style. he wants you ruined

I = intimacy

Izzy isn’t izzy to get close to

even when his body’s pressed flush to yours, he feels like a mystery

but when he lets his guard down — when he really touches you — it feels like the earth stops spinning

he doesn’t say he loves you during sex but he shows it in the way his lips linger on your skin, the way his voice breaks when he moans your name, the way he slows down right before he finishes, just to look in your eyes

with Izzy, intimacy is rare and sacred. he doesn’t give it to everyone — just you

J = jack off

Izzy does it often — usually when he’s away from you

tour buses. hotel rooms. studio nights alone

but he’s not just getting off — he’s missing you

he thinks about the way you taste, the sound you make when you come, the way your eyes roll back when he hits just the right spot

sometimes he’ll call you after, his voice low and rough, not saying what he just did — but you’ll know

K = kinks

power play

he likes being the one in control, but it’s never theatrical — it’s in the way he pins your wrists above your head and whispers what he wants

begging

he’ll get you right to the edge and stop, just to watch you beg

public risk

not full-on exhibitionism but the thrill of someone seeing or hearing

mild breath play

a hand on your throat, a whisper in your ear — nothing dangerous, just intoxicating

sensory kink

he loves when you're blindfolded or when he can overstimulate you slowly

also i think he is into plugs especially in the public

L = location

Izzy doesn’t care about comfort

he likes the heat of the moment

a quiet corner backstage

the backseat of a car with fogged windows

the floor of his apartment with a record spinning in the background

he also loves the romance of a crumbling motel room — paint peeling, sheets thin — just him, you and nothing to prove

M = motivation

sometimes all it takes is you saying his name in a certain tone

other times, it’s the way you touch his arm or roll over in bed and press your body into his

he doesn’t show lust obviously — no wide eyes or groans — but you’ll see it in the way his jaw tenses. the way he gets very still, just watching you, deciding how badly he wants you

and then he moves — slow, steady, like fire catching on dry wood

N = no

he’s not into humiliation, pain that crosses a line or anything performative

if it feels fake, he’s out

Izzy’s turned on by connection, even if it’s raw and dirty

he’ll respect every boundary without needing to ask twice — his style is slow consent, the kind where you say yes with your body and he reads it like a map

O = oral

he likes going down on you but prefer receiving

although he will spend ages between your thighs, fingers slow and patient, tongue deep and methodical

he likes making you come more than once — pulling back, watching you pant, then diving in again

receiving? he leans back, mouth parted, fingers in your hair

doesn’t say much — just stares down at you like you're the only thing in the world. he’ll let you take your time, groaning low when you make eye contact

loves pushing himself deep into you and usually just grabs your hair and shows you how you should do it

P = pace

Izzy’s sex is slow and deliberate

he’s not a jackhammer — he doesn’t need to be

he knows how to grind. to push deep and stay there

but when he’s jealous, drunk or starved for you, it gets rough — fast thrusts, sharp grips, panting breath against your skin

he likes building tension, then snapping it like a wire

Q = quickie

he lives for them, especially when they’re raw and half-hostile

bent over a backstage sink with the smell of bleach in your nose, one of his hands braced against the mirror and the other shoving up your shirt

there’s no aftercare here, just a muttered “Later” as he zips up and walks back toward the noise

R = risk

Izzy’s entire life is risk

also like i said he loves the risk

but he never gambles with you

he’ll fuck you with your leg over the gearshift in his car while parked behind a dive bar

S = stamina

he can go for hours

not in a loud, porn-star way — but in that slow, steady, won’t-stop-until-you-break kind of way

one orgasm isn’t enough for him

he wants to see you wrecked — trembling, breathless, used and then he wants to do it again

T = toys

he doesn’t need them

his dick and mouth are enough

but if you pull out something fun — a blindfold, a plug, a vibe — he’s curious

he’ll use it on you until you’re begging

also loves using them on you in public even tho he still thinks he doesn't need them

U = unfair

he’ll stop just when you’re about to cum, stand there smirking while you try to drag him back in

sometimes he’ll make you beg outright, ignoring every plea until you use the exact words he’s waiting for

it’s not about cruelty — it’s about proving he can own your patience as much as your body

V = volume

he’s quiet but not silent

breaths heavy. groans low and guttural

the occasional curse or ragged “fuck…” when he’s close

W = wild card

sometimes he’ll disappear for hours — no call, no warning — and come back with that restless, hungry look in his eyes

he won’t explain where he’s been, just press you against the nearest wall and fuck you like he’s been holding it in all day

later, when you’re both sprawled out and catching your breath, he’ll dig something out of his pocket — a record he found, a ring, a matchbook from some dive bar — and give it to you like it’s nothing

but you’ll keep it anyway, because you know it’s his way of saying you were on his mind the whole time

X = x-ray

long

lean

slight curve upward

about 7 inches, thick at the base, uncut

veins visible

he keeps it clean but doesn’t care about aesthetics

he’s not flashy about it — he just knows how to use it. and he does. very well.

Y = yearning

Izzy doesn’t show need like most men

but he feels it — deeply

it’s in the way he touches you at 2am when he thinks you’re asleep

the way he stares at your lips before he kisses you like it’s been weeks

he doesn't chase anyone — but when he craves you, it’s all-consuming. desperate

and he’ll make you feel it in every thrust, every kiss, every whisper in the dark

Z = Zzz

flat on his back, one arm draped over you like instinct

sometimes shirtless, sometimes in boxers

he doesn’t snore but he sighs in his sleep — those deep, slow exhales that let you know he’s finally at peace. with you

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𝓐𝔁𝓵

he was a teenager and trying way too hard to look confident

boots unlaced, hair sticking to his forehead, breathing way too fast for someone who kept saying “Yeah, I’m cool, I got this”

he didn’t not even a little and the second you kissed him, it showed

he made a broken, startled sound in the back of his throat — half moan, half whimper — like he had no idea pleasure could hit that fast. his hands fumbled on your waist, squeezing too hard, then not enough, then grabbing again like he couldn’t decide where you should be

“You sure?” he murmured, but he was already leaning into you, already losing the battle with his own body

you nodded and pulled him onto the bed and his whole weight fell on you in one messy, frantic motion. his lips crashed into yours, all teeth and breath and hunger. no technique, just need

“Fuck, you’re— I can’t—” he stuttered between kisses, hips already grinding into you without meaning to, like his body was moving on pure instinct

you cupped his face he nearly melted

his hands shook as they slid under your shirt — completely unsure, touching everywhere at once like he was terrified to miss a spot

“Slow down” you whispered

“I can’t” he breathed and he really couldn’t. his hips pressed against your thigh again, harder this time and you felt how painfully worked up he was already

“Bill” you murmured “you’re shaking”

“Yeah” he admitted through clenched teeth “I know. I’m… fuck, I’m trying”

he kissed down your neck, but it wasn’t elegant — it was sloppy, hot, mouth open, tongue dragging in uneven strokes as he tried to catch his breath. his hair tickled your collarbone, sticking to his sweat, his breaths coming faster and more uneven by the second

when he got your pants and panties off, he just froze there, eyes wide, breath punched out of him

you tugged him down he gasped like the air left his body

he pushed his jeans down barely enough and positioned himself clumsily — missing once, bumping your thigh, cursing softly under his breath before he finally slid in

he didn’t ease in he sank deep in one single, shaky, uncontrolled thrust

his mouth fell open a choked, desperate sound escaped him

“Fuck—holy—shit— I’m—” he squeezed his eyes shut, whole body trembling above you “Oh god, I’m not gonna make it”

“Billy slow dow—”

“Don’t say my name— I’ll come—fuck—fuck—”

he tried to pull back, tried to set a rhythm but the second he moved, he gasped and thrust again, hips jerking forward too fast, too hard, like his body didn’t belong to him

one more thrust — sloppy, uneven — and he broke

he came immediately barely inside you for ten seconds

his hips stuttered, breath catching in his throat, a sharp, helpless cry slipping out before he bit down on your shoulder, trying to muffle the sound

his whole body shook violently as he finished — hot, messy, intense — collapsing onto you with his forehead pressing into your neck

“Fuck—fuck—no— I didn’t mean to—” he panted, voice cracking “I’m sorry, I swear I can do better, I just— you were so warm— I couldn’t—”

you stroked his hair and he let out a small, embarrassed groan

“I didn’t even get started” he whispered miserably

“It’s your first time” you murmured

he groaned again, burying his face deeper in your neck like he wanted to disappear

“Yeah” he muttered, voice muffled “And you ruined me. I looked at you and my dick went nope, we’re done”

you laughed softly

he lifted his head, cheeks flushed red, breath still unsteady, hair sticking to his skin

“I’m gonna make it up to you” he said with raw determination. “Just… give me like… ten minutes. Maybe fifteen”

his fingers traced your thigh, slow and almost reverent

𝓘𝔃𝔃𝔂

he was a teenager— lean, quiet, pretending he’d lived three lifetimes already

but the truth was simple he had no idea what he was doing

not that he’d ever admit that

he followed her up the stairs to her apartment, hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jeans, trying to look relaxed. the hallway light caught in his dark hair, in the shy little smile he tried to hide

she was older — not ancient, not motherly, just… older. confident. beautiful in a way that made his stomach knot. she walked like she knew exactly what she wanted

and tonight, she wanted him

when she closed the door behind them, he swallowed hard. she turned to him, slow, like she was savoring the moment. he felt her eyes drag over him — the lean frame, the leather jacket, the nerves he was desperately trying to bury

“You’re tense” she murmured

he forced a smirk “Not really”

she stepped closer

his breath stopped

her hand slid up his chest, fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. he felt like her touch left a scorch mark. his heartbeat jumped so loud he was sure she heard it

“You don’t have to pretend with me” she whispered

he opened his mouth — to defend himself, to impress her, he wasn’t sure — but the moment her other hand slipped behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, every thought shattered

her mouth was slow. experienced. his was not

he kissed her back too eagerly at first, too rough, too hungry. she steadied him with a hand on his jaw, guiding, teaching without saying a word

when her tongue brushed his, he made a low sound he didn’t even mean to make — something raw, surprised, helplessly turned on

she smiled against his mouth

“Relax” she murmured

his hands found her waist — hesitant at first, then gripping tighter when she pressed her body to his. her curves, the warmth of her, the way she moved confidently against him… he was gone. absolutely wrecked even tho he tried to act tough

she pushed his jacket off his shoulders it hit the floor he didn’t even notice

her lips moved down his neck, slow, deliberate, kissing, then sucking lightly just to hear him gasp

“Ah—” he tried to say something but his voice cracked embarrassingly

she laughed softly, warmly “You’re adorable”

he stiffened like she’d insulted him. he straightened, lifted her chin, tried to kiss her with that mature, too-cool attitude he practiced

but the moment she slid her hands under his shirt — he completely lost the act

his skin jolted. he gasped again, breath shaking. his whole body leaned into her palm like he needed the contact

“Someone’s sensitive” she teased

he bit his lip, trying to regain some composure “Just— keep doing that”

she pulled his shirt off. his torso was slim, boyish, the kind of body that was run on cigarettes and trying to act cool

she kissed down his sternum and he shivered

“Fuck…” he whispered his fingers slid into her hair, too tight, too desperate

she pushed him toward the bed. he let himself fall back, propped on his elbows, watching as she crawled over him with that slow, dangerous confidence that made him feel like he was dreaming

“Ever done this before?” she asked softly, cupping his cheek

he forced a smirk “Yeah.”

she raised an eyebrow

“…Yeah of course” he didn't want to admit the truth, cheeks flushing “Just do your job”

she laughed — low, warm — and kissed him again, climbing into his lap. the pressure of her sitting on him nearly knocked a groan out of him

his hands flew to her hips, holding her tighter than he should

“Yeah for sure you've done that already... I can tell by the way you’re shaking” she whispered

“No I’m—” she rolled her hips against him his breath punched out of him

she guided his hands to her waist, then to her thighs, then higher. he touched her like she was breakable, careful, reverent, until she whispered:

“Harder”

his fingers tightened immediately her soft sigh made his head spin

“You’re doing perfect” she murmured

he bit back a moan

she undressed slowly — giving him time to watch, to grow overwhelmed, to feel the burn of anticipation rise so fast it scared him. his eyes followed every inch of skin she revealed. his breathing turned shaky

“You okay?” she asked

“Yeah” he whispered

she laughed again and kissed him deeply — and then guided his hand between her thighs

the second he felt her pussy, he froze eyes wide mouth parted heart hammering

he touched her carefully, tentatively, then a little firmer when she coaxed him. his fingers were clumsy but eager, his breath trembling, his pupils blown wide with wonder

“Fuck…” he mumbled “You feel—god—”

she kissed him until he couldn’t speak

when she finally reached for his belt, he nearly jolted off the bed. she undid it slowly, her fingers brushing his skin, and he trembled — visibly, uncontrollably

“You’re nervous” she said

he swallowed hard “I’m not”

“You are”

he tried to act tough again — right until she slid his pants down and wrapped her hand around him

he gasped hips bucking head falling back a broken, shocked moan ripping from his throat

“Oh god— wait— don’t— I’m gonna—”

she kissed his neck stroked him once more, slow, sweet, deliberate

he came instantly

no warning no control just a sharp cry, hips jerking helplessly, his entire body freezing and then collapsing all at once

he covered his face with one hand, mortified “Fuck. I—”

she gently pulled his hand away, smiling softly, kissing his flushed cheek

“Baby” she whispered “that’s how first times go”

he hid his face in her shoulder, groaning “I wanted to actually last a little longer”

“You did good” she whispered, stroking his back “That reaction? That was honest. Nothing can be sexier than that”

he peeked up, cheeks still red

she pushed him gently onto his back again, resting her body over his, her voice low in his ear

“And next time… I’ll teach you how to last”

the dressing room was a mess—half-empty bottles, crumpled setlists, sweat-stained towels. the air reeked of stale beer, smoke, and frustration. Izzy paced like a caged animal, dragging his hand through his hair, jaw locked tight. the show had been a disaster—strings snapping, feedback screeching, timing all over the place. he hated it. he hated himself for it and now he needed somewhere to pour all of that anger

when you slipped in, he barely looked at you at first. his chest rose and fell fast, his shirt clinging to him with sweat, his eyes burning. but the moment you reached for him, he caught your wrist and slammed you back against the wall

“You don’t get it” he growled, breath hot against your ear “I need to fuck this night out of me”

you gasped when he yanked your shirt over your head so roughly the seam popped. his mouth was on your throat, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. he didn’t give you time to recover before shoving his hand between your thighs, dragging your panties down

“You're already so wet for me huh” he muttered, his voice low, filthy. his fingers dragged through you, spreading the slick across your folds “You like this, don’t you? Me fucking mad, mean—” he pushed two fingers in deep, curling them mercilessly “You like when I use you”

your moans bounced off the walls and it only made him rougher. he flipped you, bending you over the table so your chest smacked down on the cold surface. papers scattered to the floor. his boot nudged your legs farther apart. he yanked his jeans open, spit on his cock, and shoved himself into you in one brutal thrust that made your eyes roll back

“Fuck—” you sobbed, clinging to the edge of the table

“Say my fucking name” he demanded, hips snapping against your ass with punishing force “Say who’s wrecking you like this”

“Izzy!”

“Louder” he yanked your head back by your hair, forcing your mouth open as he pushed hard into you “I want everyone out there to know who you’re crying for.”

your voice cracked as you screamed his name, the sound strangled by the way his cock hit so deep you could barely breathe. he smirked, panting, sweat dripping down his chest onto your back “Good fucking girl. Take it”

uyou tried to push up, tried to slow him but he shoved you flat again pressing his palm hard into your spine “You don’t get to stop me. You begged me for this every fuckin’ time. So take it”

your walls clenched around him, your body giving out and you came with a sob that made your knees buckle. he didn’t slow down. if anything, your orgasm made him lose the last shred of control. he pounded into you, hips slapping, until with a growl he pulled out and spilled his cum on your ass. you thought he was done—your body already trembling, used up—but he wasn’t. he spread his release across you with his hand, smearing it over your ass even more, then shoved his cock back inside without warning. the stretch made you literally scream

“Still fucking tight” he hissed, pounding into the mess he’d made “Don’t care if you’re crying, don’t care if your legs give out. I’m not done until I’m empty”

tears blurred your vision as your body shook, overwhelmed but his voice in your ear kept you grounded

“Beg me” he demanded, fucking you deep “Beg me to stop”

“P-please—Izzy—I can’t—”

“You can... Snd you will” his thrusts turned savage, bruising, until his rhythm stuttered. he groaned, biting down on your shoulder as he came inside you this time, hot and deep, filling you until it leaked back out around him

when he pulled out, he spread your folds with his fingers, watching his cum drip down your thighs, groaning at the sight “Messy little slut” he rasped, shoving two fingers in, to push it deeper, making you choke on another cry “You’re not done yet. Not until I say so”

he dragged you off the table, pushed you down to your knees on the filthy floor and pressed his cock against your lips “Clean me up. Use that pretty mouth for something good at least”

your lips parted obediently and he shoved himself in, groaning as your tongue licked him clean of both his cum and your slick. his hand fisted in your hair, guiding you until tears streamed down your face again, gagging around him

when he finally pulled back, he smeared the last drops across your lips with his thumb, forcing them inside your mouth “Swallow it. All of it”

you obeyed, throat working and he smirked darkly, finally leaning back, chest heaving. he helped you get up onto his lap, arms wrapping around you tight. his voice was softer now but still raw

“You’re the only thing that keeps me from losing my fucking mind in this fucking circus” he whispered against your temple, your body still trembling “Even if I break you to do it”