Miss Cherry

It was your pet cat asking for affection. You smiled as you picked him up in your arms and scratched behind his ears, completely ignoring the fact that your pajamas consisted of an old, oversized shirt from a band you had no idea which one it was, but you wore it because you knew it belonged to him.

"You're too demanding for a cat, you know?" You said to the animal, who stared back at you with droopy green eyes as if bored. "Don't look at me like that. Usually you guys are detached." The cat meowed as it curled up, leaving even more fur all over the huge shirt, which made you roll your eyes.

Your eyes remained fixed outside, but this time with company, until you caught the scent of mint from the soap he'd used in his recent shower. You didn't need to turn around, because you already knew who it was from the woody scent you'd sensed when he passed through the room earlier. Then the guitarist pressed his body against your back, and you could feel his chest through the shirts you both wore — and you had never felt so safe.

"You took too long." You said, still without turning to face him, looking outside and admiring how the fog's smoke slowly dissipated, leaving only the heavy raindrops. It was like the smoke he blew into the air when you two talked in the beginning.

"Or maybe you're just as demanding as the cat." He shot back, and you rolled your eyes knowing he was smiling softly in that moment. It was predictable even for him.

"Predictable even for you, Mr. Isbell." This time, you moved out of the grip of his arms, which almost tightened to keep you there. But your movements were quicker, and you turned around, facing the man with dark hair and piercing eyes. He had something about him that hypnotized you, as if his eyes carried the very sky. The guitarist wore a dark shirt clinging to his body and matching black pants. Jeffrey had always been a man of dark colors.

He stared at you until he parted his lips as if he felt the need to say something, but then closed them as if locking away one of the many secrets you had yet to uncover. The older man was like the very fog that lurked in the night that day — dense, as if his presence was impossible to deny when he was there, but it caused the eternal fear of the day he would fade away. As if you knew he could leave at any moment, but you couldn't bring yourself to hold onto his arms on every day he chose to stay by your side.

"Jeff?" You walked to the couch in your dark knee-high socks and then called him softly as you sat on the gray couch, crossing your legs and letting Shadow curl up in your arms as if that were the best place to be. "Can I ask you something?" You asked, watching the man move, picking up a record from some 80s band, placing it on the turntable, and then approaching you as if pulled by some invisible force, as if he were a magnet impossible to stay away from.

"What?" Isbell asked as he sat on the couch and grabbed one of the cigarettes from the familiar pack resting on the armrest, lighting it. That seemed to warm him as he drew the smoke into his chest. He had never looked as beautiful as he did in that moment. You rested your head against his chest and slipped your hand under his shirt.

"Will you ever tell me more about yourself?" You knew it was your mistake to want more than he was willing to give, just as you knew he would only answer when he felt ready. When things started between you, it was like that same sky outside — completely unpredictable. He had only told you enough: the man who lived in the last house on Holloway Lane, who owned a cat and played at the bar with his small band, at the place where you worked Monday through Saturday.

His mystery attracted you, but it also made you prone to bad decisions. You liked what you had. It was the most stable relationship you'd had in a long time, perhaps because he was older or extremely reserved in personality, while you were the opposite, complementing who he was.

You watched him take a calm drag from his cigarette and finally turn to meet your eyes, as if he could see your very soul. You didn't doubt that you were that transparent to him. "Why now?" He returned the question, bringing the tip of the cigarette to the small ashtray on the side table.

"I just want to know more about you." The words left your lips, but somehow you felt it was wrong to make that request, even though it was something completely normal. "You say so little about what you did in the past or who you were." You didn't want to feel pathetic with the way you said it, the second sentence said more as a way to make him break the silence.

"It's been a long time since I left some things in the past, baby." He said, blowing the smoke upward, but bringing his left hand to your face in a tender gesture. "You should leave them there too." The words hit their mark. You knew he didn't like to talk about what had happened.

"I understand." You said, and the words came out more disappointed than you intended. His eyes studied you as if he needed to make sure everything was okay.

It seemed like somehow he knew things weren't okay between you. "Come here." Jeffrey called, making you look at him in confusion.

Isbell then pointed to his lap, and you felt your heart race, your cheeks flush, your heart pounding like the beat of the music from the record player — a soft song that Jeffrey had recorded with his band and that you loved. Of course you loved it. Music brought you together, like the day you first saw him play his guitar at the bar.

There was no way you could refuse. You moved carefully onto his lap, your legs adjusting with the black knee-high socks and your shirt riding up slightly, revealing your thick thighs. "Like this, Mr. Isbell?" The words you knew he liked escaped your lips, the cigarette being set aside for a moment.

"Maybe instead of some answers, I can help you in another way, baby." Jeffrey smiled softly, but you knew everything he did was sly, like a cat. "Let's go to the bedroom." He didn't let you go, enjoying how your cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. He liked the effect he had on you.

You knew that somehow it aroused him.

He was quick, holding you by the thighs in a way that was surprising considering his lean frame, but you knew he was much more than he appeared. The guitarist carried you quickly to the bedroom, which was to the right after a few hallways. The familiar space: the scent of tobacco, mint, and cleanliness standing out, the dark wooden bed with sky-blue sheets, the old records on the walls, and your own clothes thrown over the armchair, showing that the place was yours too.

He placed you gently on the bed and then observed you with dark eyes, your shirt lifted revealing the short shorts that left everything on display for him. Nothing needed to be said with words between you. You understood that Jeffrey worked much more through actions than words, and if his eyes could reveal everything behind them, you were his world.

His lips sought yours, tongues dueling and fighting for control, but you let him win. It was a lost battle. Your shorts disappeared before you could even notice, but he left the socks on. You knew he liked them. "I absolutely love the sight of you in just those socks." He revealed one night when you wore them for the first time when you went to dinner at his place.

"I know you like them." You replied, watching the lustful way he stared at your thighs in the socks. His hands went to them, spreading them open, your panties revealing the damp spot of arousal that you knew was leaking. He let your shirt stay on this time. You knew it was because of some desire to see you wearing his clothes.

"Fuck." He let out the curse, slowly pulling off your panties, watching you open your legs without him even having to ask. Then your eyes followed the way he quickly pulled off his black shirt, giving you a view of his abdomen and his pale skin gleaming in the dim light of the room.

Like a secret that was only between the two of you.

You watched him grab a pillow, placing it under your hips, adjusting your legs, spreading them further for a complete view. Then, seeking your lips again as you let yourself get lost in the taste that lingered on the tip of his tongue — the addictive taste that made you want to lose yourself every time. You were each other's, forever, or whatever that meant.

His lips descended, nibbling at your neck until they reached the spot he was looking for. Your most intimate part open for him. You felt soft kisses being placed on your thigh, like a preview of what was to come.

"Jeff..." You let out softly like a slow moan, his name leaving your lips like a plea. For a moment, it was as if you felt him smile against your skin, and you knew it wasn't just an illusion.

"I'm going to take care of you, darling." He affirmed with confidence, using his fingers to spread you open. You felt the stimulation and arousal leaking from your body in response, his lips finding your most sensitive place. His fingers stimulating your entrance and his tongue working together to draw out everything he could from you, as if the guitarist was savoring you with every pass of his tongue.

He penetrated your body while you could only moan at the way he took care of you. Your hips moving to meet him, not knowing if you sought to press into him or pull away from the whirlwind of sensations. It was always like this with him. Your confusion melted away with how he held your thighs, as if he could drown and lose himself in your taste.

As if he could die between your legs.

As if he wanted that.

You felt the pleasure deepen, your back arching as he held you more firmly. Your own arms moving, your fingers finding their way into his dark hair, pulling him closer.

You felt pleasure approaching. It was as if you needed his permission. "Sir, please..." The words got stuck in your throat as you allowed yourself to ride his tongue, as he explored your body as if it were the first time. "I need..." You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"I know what you need, baby." Jeffrey said, intensifying the way he sucked your clit, with precision and skill, leaving your legs weak. This time, running his hands over your thigh covered by the socks. "Let it come." Then permission, as your legs remained over his shoulders. You allowed yourself to arch your body, and he swallowed everything that came from you, as if that was exactly what he needed.

You felt drained. He slowly released your body as you felt weak, losing control of yourself. The post-moment sleep from the exhaustion of the week after work came as a form of relaxation on your Sunday off, which you always spent with him.

"Get some sleep, darling." He said, adjusting you more comfortably on the bed, moving you among the pillows, arranging your body. And it was in these moments that you felt you loved him. You wanted to please him, wanted to give him everything, but you knew he only wanted you to rest.

Sleep took you as you felt the blankets being pulled over you, like a veil covering your eyes. You then rested, watching him lie down beside you, pulling your body against his, snuggling you into his arms.

Before you even made that decision, thinking about it filled you with guilt. Your conscience tightened its grip on you and your actions. Jeffrey would not be pleased. It wasn't from lack of trust that you had decided to perhaps snoop more than you should, but from a colossal need that made you want to know more about the man by your side.

He spoke little or was absurdly vague when he talked about his past, and you knew you would love him regardless of anything. However, there was a little monster inside you that sometimes made you act like a brat. You wouldn't search too much, just something that could be a pivot for the conversation, something that could be used as a starting point.

Thousands of thoughts ran through your mind as your heart pounded in your chest. You watched Jeffrey sleep peacefully. The sheet covering his body on the warm bed. You almost let yourself give up and go back into the man's arms, cozy and hugging the pillow as if it were your body.

But before you gave up on your likely bad decision, you moved slowly with bare feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. You knew you were being a nosy brat, but curiosity was consuming you from the inside somehow. Then, walking across the plush carpet, feeling the texture, you searched skillfully through the room.

The desk had papers which you only glanced at quickly. You searched through the drawers, occasionally looking back, checking if there was any movement from Jeffrey. Seeing him sleeping deeply, you felt more confident. Then, bending down calmly, you continued your investigation, leading you to a small black notebook that for some reason caught your attention.

You opened it, calmly looking at what was written inside. They looked like song lyrics you'd heard a few times on the radio and in your older brother's raspy voice. The composition dates seemed to have been made long ago. You stared with your lips parting in complete shock. This was certainly nothing like what you had expected.

Your hands went through the pages, analyzing everything calmly, but perhaps the air had left your lungs when you spotted a section with a title written in visible handwriting, though the page was slightly stained at the edges with what you imagined was coffee. Then, above the writing of what was clearly a song, you saw underlined "Dust N' Bones."

"Sometimes these things they are so easy

Sometimes these things they are so cold

Sometimes these things just seem to rip you right in two

Oh, no, man, don't let 'em get to you"

You tried to think of all the possibilities contrary to what was going through your mind, thoughts that trapped you in a whirlwind, and perhaps the recognition that those were lyrics from one of the most famous rock and roll albums of all time, which you had seen sung many times in your own house. The signature with Izzy Stradlin and below it Jeffrey Dean Isbell, at the end of what you categorized as the biggest shock you'd ever received, was enough for you to confirm your suspicions.

Perhaps from the shock of knowing that your relationship with your older man was not just with Jeffrey, the musician who frequented the bar where you worked Monday through Saturday and played with his band for a few bucks at night, but who had started ordering more drinks than usual just to talk to you at the counter. You were dating Fucking Izzy Stradlin.

You didn't notice that, like the silent cat that your man was, he watched you with analytical calm, seeing how your lips parted in complete shock. He got up calmly, pulling the covers off his body and approaching where you were, imagining that from your reaction, he had clearly understood everything.

"It looks like we have a little lady being a brat around here." You turned around slowly with the notebook still open to that exact page, without having real time to explore. You didn't know what to answer, when you saw your boyfriend, who had given you the biggest revelation of your year, looking at you haughtily with his shirt removed from his body. His eyes not as sweet as when you went to sleep, but dark, completely penetrating, and you didn't know if that gave you any more sensation than desire. Fuck, you were so screwed and you knew it exactly.

"I..." You said in a stammer, watching him close the notebook firmly. "I didn't know, I was just curious, I didn't imagine this." The words seemed to get lost on your lips, and you felt bad for crossing the line, for invading. However, the sensation of being caught in a fine line between the shock of knowing you're dating one of the most famous rock guys who simply disappeared from the media and ended up in a small town being your man, and between the desire to apologize for having done too much.

"I told you to let things be quiet, darling." Izzy Stradlin approached you calmly, taking the notebook from your hands, seeing what you were looking at. "You know I don't like it when you're a brat, looking too much." He stared at you with those dark eyes that made you feel a tremor in your hands of anticipation, along with something warm in your stomach.

Of course you knew he had that side to him, but it seemed fucking hot in that moment, even though the shock was still frying your brain. "I didn't want to invade, but I'm shocked." You said, trying to justify your actions somehow, even knowing that both of you were wrong. But maybe that wasn't the wisest thing that could come out of your lips at that moment. "You're the Fucking Izzy Stradlin and you didn't tell me."

"You know I don't like talking about what happened, and that was left behind a long time ago." He said, still holding the book. "I didn't really want to hide it, I just wanted things to be normal for once." The guitarist approached you, placing his hands on your face with a mist in his eyes, as if he wasn't just saying the words, but remembering everything they meant.

You somehow understood what he meant, not by knowing the rockstar's complete past, but by understanding that some things were too hard to be said, and maybe if you had been through a whirlwind for most of your life, you would want some kind of peace, even if that meant leaving the past behind.

"Things with you were so different, and you seemed so oblivious to everything that happened in what was the world of fame for me." Izzy came closer, resting his forehead against yours, bringing his free hand to your neck. "I just wanted to preserve what we had and have your light with me." He said, and you felt yourself melting at his words. Perhaps because the guitarist had never been so vocal in expressing his feelings, but you never thought you would love those private moments between you so much. "Everything I need is here."

"I understand." You said, letting your eyes meet his. The way you completed each other, as if you were one. "I'm going to love you regardless of whether you're Jeffrey Stradlin, the guitarist who plays at the Bourbon Street bar every Saturday, or if you're Izzy Stradlin." Your words seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders, the mist dissipating in that instant, as if somehow you were the calm he needed.

"Fuck, I love you, baby." He said, bringing his lips to yours then. The taste of nicotine and whiskey present on those lips that seduced you. How you loved him, simply in a way that went beyond what would be normal, as if breathing without him hurt, as if you couldn't imagine being without him. Your tongues met, and he dominated because you yielded, letting him guide you and let desire take over.

Letting him teach you. The arousal running down your folds, remembering the preview you'd had, but as if you needed this as a reaffirmation that you were each other's. You felt his desire growing against your body and the way he bit your neck, his hand squeezing your ass in a way that made you let out a moan.

"Izzy..." It seemed like somehow he swallowed you more with his tongue, after hearing you gasp against his lips, the name, as if desire came in waves, keeping that warm feeling in your stomach.

"But, sweetheart, you were too much of a brat for me yet." He said, pulling his lips away from yours with a soft sound of saliva, even though you still felt completely enveloped by him, your senses more heightened, squeezing your thighs together. "You still need good manners." Jeffrey said, and that made you let out another soft moan, knowing there was no way out. He would make you learn.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invade too much, love." You said, trying to appease his reactions, even though you could see the smile on his face making him look like a cat, one with secrets you would still uncover. They would be a pleasure, clearly.

"Maybe the best way to make you learn is to give you exactly what you want, baby." He said, and then you looked at him confused, watching him move away and approach your bed. "You're going to warm me, darling, while you flip through the pages of the lyrics. Wasn't that what you were curious to find?" The older guitarist watched you with lust, and the way the words left his lips made you gasp. Of course you wanted to read that whole book, but knowing you would be impaled by his cock inside you would be something completely new for you two.

"Jeff, you're not going to torture me too much, are you?" You asked sweetly, as if that could make him reduce the time. You didn't know if you could handle having him inside you and not being able to move.

"It depends on how you behave." He said, sitting on the bed, pulling down his pants and boxers slightly to free his member for you to see. Desire rising like tentacles, seeing how he was hard for you. "For example, questioning me right now isn't being a good girl." Izzy said, reaching out his hand, waiting for you, watching you pull down your shorts which he had put back on when you went to sleep together, and removing your shirt, though you were without your panties.

You approached and then sat on his lap, watching the way the guitarist brought his fingers to your folds, checking your arousal, seeing how wet you were for him, making him hold back a sound that insisted on escaping his body as well. He positioned himself correctly, making you lower yourself onto his member. You were unprotected — you had talked about it, and the way you liked to feel without anything often prevailed. You felt that was what you needed now.

You felt the way he filled you completely. The notebook had been left beside Izzy on the bed, only noticed after a few seconds, as you felt him entering you inch by inch, trying to accommodate. "Fuck, you're still so tight, baby." The words vibrated against his chest, while you felt your cheeks flushed, but your body warm, feeling him so deep inside you. "Open the notebook, sweetheart." Stradlin said in an imperative tone, handing you the material. A command that couldn't be refused, even with the affectionate nickname at the end, like an ornament for what they were doing.

A trembling sigh escaped you as you felt him deep inside, the notebook trembling slightly in your hands. "I'm doing it, Mr. Stradlin." The words left your lips in a whisper that echoed through your room, making you feel the way he pulsed inside you.

"What's the name of this song?" He asked, looking over your shoulder, watching you open a random page. Your back resting against his chest as he guided his hands to hold your breasts, stimulating them. "Tell me the name of the song now, darling." Jeffrey ordered as you lost yourself, your vision going blurry for a few brief minutes.

"Sweet Child O'Mine, sir." You said breathlessly, as you tried to adjust yourself on his member. Everything was becoming too much when you were still sensitive from your encounter with him earlier that day.

"Very good, darling. Read it to me." The guitarist asked, and then a soft sound left his lips, as if being nestled between your legs was the only thing he needed, as if you were his point of light in the world, like in the words that had been said before.

"She's got a smile that it seems to me..." The excerpt leaving your lips softly, like the song you knew so well, played on every radio and place possible, even for you who wasn't into the music world.

"That's it, you're my Sweet, and that fucking smile of yours that breaks me." Izzy confessed, and you felt your heart race at his words. You had everything you needed in that moment. A moan was released from your lips, feeling him pulse while you knew he was melting with how wet your walls were around him.

"I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain." You sang, feeling a smile form on your lips, seeing how he appreciated your voice, kisses being placed on your neck, sweet kisses.

"You're safe with me." The guitarist affirmed in your ear, and the way he comforted you made you squeeze him in your warm walls. "Fuck." The sound of the curse leaving his lips. You knew he was feeling as dazed as you.

"Her hair reminds me of a warm, safe place." The words came out paused from your lips, as if you were no longer fully able to discern what you were saying and how you felt. Love was overflowing, but you couldn't take the need anymore — you needed him to move inside you. "Please, Izzy..." You moaned tenderly, in a sweeter way than when you sang. You needed him to move.

"I feel that way inside you. I think I found my place, fuck." You knew it was becoming too much even for him. The minutes passed like centuries between you, desire accumulating at the edges. "I think you need to ask again, darling." Then you knew you needed to really look. Your legs couldn't take it anymore, as you wished to move, and you knew from the way he moved slightly that it was the guitarist's desire.

"Please, sir, please." You intoned like a prayer. Even though you wanted to continue exploring the songs from that notebook that were certainly worth more than all your belongings, all that mattered was him, was how you felt as one.

You felt him pull out of you quickly, the notebook falling to the floor with a thud, the pages closing, but you didn't really care in that moment. You wanted to feel Izzy, and he just wanted to be inside you, hitting your ass with the friction of his cock. "Fuck, baby, I need to move." Then he quickly threw you onto the bed, with a strength that was truly surprising, considering his lean frame, but it was defined, and the entrance leading to his member, which at the tip let out pre-cum, made you understand he was in the same situation as you. "I need you on all fours for me."

Izzy moved you, placing you with your ass up with your enthusiastic help. He aligned his hips and member with his own hand, preparing, placing it at your wet entrance. Then you felt his erect cock entering your sweet pussy. That position made you feel every inch that was given to you.

Entering your body, leaving you wetter and wetter, as moans escaped your lips. "Izzy, harder." You asked, letting out his nickname, before feeling the way he squeezed your hips. The marks would certainly be left on your body, but you knew that was exactly what he wanted.

Your moans echoing through the room as the guitarist gripped your flesh firmly between his fingers, the movements being quick and precise on your sweet spot that he knew exactly where to find, making you squeeze his cock tighter between your folds.

You felt yourself falling, as if reaching a high flight and plummeting. It was coming for you. "I need to come, sir." You asked for permission, knowing he liked to know about your peak. Your senses being silenced as moans escaped your lips and you felt like putty in his hands that he would do whatever he wanted with — you would allow it.

"I know you do, sweetheart." Stradlin affirmed breathlessly, feeling your walls tighten around him, making him gasp with the delicious way that, in all his years, only you had made him feel. "Come for me, darling." Then, with the words, you allowed yourself to go. Allowed your body to fall and only pleasure remained between you.

The peak making you become a melted mess, as you felt him penetrate your entrance faster, even with disconnected movements, seeking to reach his pleasure, until finally arriving after you, feeling the way your walls filled with his release.

Only the panting of both of you together being heard through the room you shared, lying side by side on the bed afterward, staring at each other, feeling that you were coming down from your own stupor of pleasure. You didn't need to say with words what only your eyes could explain, but it was said by him in the sweetest way.

"You're my Sweet Child O'Mine." Your chest then filled with love with the way the words were placed. "Even if I don't say it every time I should." He said this to you as if he wasn't used to expressing himself that way, so verbally, but it was for you, for what you had, and for the life you would share.

"I know that. I always know." You said, caressing his dark hair and looking into his penetratingly cloudy eyes, but at the same time so transparent, this time with the mirror of love. "We need to get up to feed Shadow." Then you both smiled together, letting out a laugh at the domesticity you had side by side. It seemed really good — a life together.

Hello, everyone! As always, I wanted to thank those who gave this one-shot a chance, and I hope you enjoyed it.

It's my first time writing about Izzy — I was a bit nervous, but I really liked how it turned out. I think I managed to capture what I wanted for him. I'm feeling a bit emotional after this one.

If anyone wants to keep reading, I have other oneshots on my profile, but they're about Alex Turner — my husband KKKKKK. I plan to write more and I need to create a list.

I'm still listening to a lot of Lana Del Rey and feeling inspired. New things are coming.