"I'm Your Man," Izzy Stradlin x Reader ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
A/N: I saw a post from the fabulous @sunstripdoll, and I quote verbatim: 'I need a subby Izzy fic where he’s very needy and puppylike', and I thought 'Eureka, that's it!'. SO... here it is :P Plus I am ill writing this so if it's piss-poor I do sincerely apologise to all afflicted. MASTERLIST
؛༊ SYNOPSIS: 1989 - Izzy's trying to get sober, cold turkey, and he's never felt more needy in his life. For years, he's had women after women, most simultaneously, but now, as his body works through detox, nothing and nobody is on his mind bar from you. Will you help him clear his head? (Duh! And I'm aware the photo attached is not 1989, suck the skin off of it.)
CONTENT WARNING: sub!izzy, begging, dry-humping, hair-pulling, riding, cowgirl couch sex, male-moaning (the best kind!), dirty talk, FEM!READER -> I have never written for a male sub before so critiques are welcome :)
Being sober sucked! At least it did in Izzy's opinion, thus far. He was only a handful of months into sobriety, and whilst he was expecting clarity, fresh perspective, and a spring in his step, it was quite the opposite. Completely the opposite actually; his head was more scrambled than his borderline-schizophrenic coke-spiral, so much so he couldn't get any 'fresh perspective' until he cleared his head. How did he do that exactly?
Fucking his girlfriend, of course.
He’d never been in such a committed relationship before—he’d never been able to keep himself entertained enough for it. It sounded horrible, and it was, but he supposed the drugs had left him with a pit that one girl simply couldn’t fill at the time. Now his head was all fragile and his body was so delicate, and he had met you, there was no thought in his mind or cock asides from you.
That was the all-consuming thought in his head at the moment. The two of you were chilling on the couch of his new place in Lafayette, somewhere quiet and away from the noise of LA. He was laid between your legs as you watched some random cable series, something with Tom Selleck in it he thought. Though what was on TV was of zero importance when his head was nuzzled between your thighs.
You were wearing some sinful sleep shorts, so the warmth of your skin was pressed flesh against his cheeks, the soft indents of your stretch marks made for a difference in texture that was more than welcome. That only fuelled the thoughts in his head even more.
His sex drive had been through the roof the last two months or so. Initially, for the first three months of sobriety he felt like he’d rather be reborn as a virgin monk than be touched. Now, it had come back full force to a point it was pathetic.
As he lay there, all he could think about was having his face buried between your thighs, ravishing your cunt like it was a puddle in a desert and he hadn’t drank for days. Then, if he begged enough, maybe you’d ride him. The thought alone, of your hips rocking back and forth on his cock, made a ragged sigh slip from his nose that nudged against your plush skin.
His hand tightened around the side of your thigh just a little, trying to restrain himself. You were just innocently watching TV and playing with his hair; nothing about the moment was sexual at all, but he just couldn’t stop the rush of blood to his dick. Your presence alone was arousing, and it left him so incapacitated he felt like a teenage boy messing around for the first time.
Hoping to satisfy some of his appetite, he started kissing the inside of your thigh, not going high enough to make him lose his head, but enough to scratch that itch of getting closer to that sweet cunt of yours. He felt like he could spend hours in it.
You thought nothing of it. Your attention was mainly on Magnum PI, which you had worn tapes of too many times to count, and Selleck’s lovely facial hair! Though, Izzy’s little kisses snapped you out of it for a second. Looking down at him with a smile, seeing him pepper tender lips against your skin, you felt a warm rush of heat go through you. It wasn’t anything intense, but the sensation was just sweet.
You hummed audibly as you scratched at his scalp, accidentally catching a strand or two between your fingers as you shifted slightly. The slight burn on his scalp when you caught his locks made a muffled moan spill against your skin—reserved and quiet, but noticeable.
“Sorry, honey, did I hurt you?” You asked worriedly, interpreting the sound as one of pain rather than pleasure. It was a relatively innocent moment, so you hadn’t registered there being any chance of him being worked up.
Quite the contrary, he found. There was something about being under your hand that turned him on so much; there was no control in his mind or body, so to be controlled felt like a necessary restraint. He’d never been particularly submissive before, but his newfound sobriety perhaps had given him new perspective after all.
“Nah, nah, baby, ‘s fine…fine.” He murmured, pushing your one thigh deeper against his mouth where kisses went from gentle pecks to slow open-mouthed kisses. All he wanted to do was prove to you how badly he needed you all to maybe get a ‘yes’. If he got a ‘no’? He’d just beg. He’d beg until he cried if he had to. Anything to have you around him.
His abrupt behaviour had tickled you a bit; he was so on and off as of late—there was no in between. He was either relaxed as anything, trying to write new material and soaking in the peace of Indiana, or like this. A desperate mess. Even with his holding back, you could easily tell he was already getting himself worked up.
It was fun, making it worse. He didn’t beg and plead in a way that was grating and pushy. He would whine, ask as politely as he could to tongue your pussy as filthily as he could. There was something thrilling on your behalf about being able to see this famously ‘reserved and mysterious’ rockstar, who could have any woman he wanted, yearn to be inside you.
Teasingly, you remarked, “You sure? I didn’t catch it too hard?” as you raked your fingers through his hair again, intentionally pulling this time around just to gauge his reaction.
You played unfair, he thought, as his erection strained painfully against his sweatpants and pressed into the couch. It was uncomfortable and throbbing. Feeling you tug on his hair the way you would once he was tongue-deep in your cunt made his hips twitch into the couch.
Still, he tried to keep himself together, just to feel like he could for a moment. Sucking against your skin now, leaving little marks that dotted upwards like a treasure map, he shook his head. “Doesn’t hurt, promise, babydoll,” he insisted, the restraint he was putting into his body escaping slightly in his voice crack.
You could feel the couch shift beneath you when he twitched into the fabric, and the ego boost you got from it was unfounded. You wanted to see him do it again—needed to. “Humping the couch now? Someone’s desperate.” You mused lightly, going back to just stroking his brown locks as you pretended to focus back on the TV. You knew he’d fight to get your attention back.
Unashamedly, he breathed out shakily against the fabric of your shorts that clothed your crotch, “A little.” Then he felt your nails trail down the back of his head and onto his neck, which made his whole body shudder, and his cock grind against the couch. He even murmured a little, “fuck,” as he felt his restraint slip away from him.
The more you tried to ignore him, the more he wanted you. It was like he had an uncontrollable urge to make you pay him attention, to help him out, or to just push him as far as you could.
“Please, baby, please,” he would murmur with need against your clothes as he began to kiss over your clothed cunt, which had silently dampened the fabric. You had given no indication you were turned on at all, and here he was humping the couch like a poorly behaved dog. It was your own self control that made his own crumble.
You hummed curiously, letting your gaze look down for a moment. You knew what he wanted to do; he was craving to taste your pussy, and to have you wrapped around his cock, but you wanted the ego boost of hearing it. Hearing him groan with frustration as he looked back up at you definitely satisfied that boost.
His brown eyes were blown and wide, pitifully staring up at you like a dog begging for a treat whilst the rest of his face was pressed against your cunt, nose nuzzled against your clit over clothes. With his messy brown curls, he looked like a sweet, needy puppy. You knew he’d do anything for it, for you, from his look alone.
Moving his mouth away just a little so you could hear his low whine clearly. “Let me eat you out, babydoll, please. Gotta taste you…my dick hurts you got me so hard. ‘s not even fair, didn’t do anything. Just- please, sugar.” It was a scramble to get his words together, as he was caught between pleading for your pussy, and actually being up against it.
Rolling your eyes with a loving chuckle, endeared and aroused by his desperation, you assured him it was fine to go ahead. “Okay, baby, do what you want,” you relented, leaning over just enough so that you could kiss his forehead sweetly before leaning back against the couch, spreading your legs further apart.
Seeing you open your legs invitingly was like winning the lottery in his eyes. He wasted absolutely no time in moving your shorts and panties to the side, tentatively licking a stripe up your wet pussy. Gently, he tugged at the waistband of your shorts, “Can you take these off, sugar, please?” he shuddered slightly, feeling a sugar-high from one lick of you already.
How could you deny a boy so sweet? Lifting your hips, you let him take off your bottoms and gave him the honour of seeing your cunt in its entirety. With ferocity, he wrapped his hands around your lower back and pulled you down the couch so you met his lips as he immediately latched his open mouth onto your wetness.
He groaned with relief, matching your own moan of pleasure, before muttering, “Taste so good, like sugar, babydoll…fuck, ‘s so good,” as he suckled on your clit. Every sigh and moan that left your pretty mouth made his cock throb in his boxers. You made such pretty sounds, he wished there was music like it, but there was no piece imaginable that could mirror the serenity of your moans against his ears.
Your legs writhed either side of his ear, causing his one hand to wrap around the matching thigh, as the other frantically rushed to slide two fingers into your soaked hole. He heard you gasp, “Oh Iz’, that feels so good,” in that breathy voice that made precum leak into his boxers. You really were music to his ears.
As he ravished you with it mouth and fingers, you could see him grind himself against the couch still, but more unabashedly now. The sight alone, of him rutting himself against the couch and moaning into your cunt, could have been enough to make you cum.
But he was already taking care of that. His long, dexterous fingers curled against your g-spot as he made circles around your clit with a desperate fashion. He was so eager to make you cum on his mouth, to taste you come apart. He could tell you were close from how you now harshly tugged on his hair, moans just fell from your mouth along with whining praises.
“You’re so good, honey,” “look so messy humping the couch like that, huh?”, “my pathetic pretty boy.” All of it felt like enough to make him cum in his pants, which he nearly did once you came shivering on his mouth, hips grinding yourself against his mouth and nose.
The living room was coated with the smell of your sex, heavy with your panting breaths. However the silence that came post-orgasm was cut short by your needy lover pleading for you again. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he leant up to kiss all over your neck. His hips settled between yours, and you could feel his strained hard-on rub against your bare pussy.
The sensation made you twitch from overstimulation, and gratification. You could imagine how painful it was, hear how uncomfortable it was from the ragged groans that kissed your skin. You hadn’t done a thing to him, and he was like this? It made you feel like the sexiest woman alive, and as far as Izzy was concerned? You were.
“What do you want, honey? Tell me.” You insisted gently, not wanting to be too mean when he was already such a state from eating you out alone. One of your hands knitted into his messed hair, the other settling on the crook between shoulder blades.
Hearing you essentially coo to him, wanting to hear what he wanted, made his head spin. You were perfect; you let him work himself into a mess, but once you could see it was toeing the line between discomfort and genuine pain, you just wanted to help him out. He shuddered at your gentility, “Need to be inside you, baby. Please, please, ride my cock, sweetheart, I need you on top of me.” Each of his ‘please’s punctuated by messy kisses to your neck and grinds against your cunt.
“Sit back.” You told him simply, and he did so with ease. He instantly moved away from you to sit down, legs spread so you could see the pronounced bulge against the fabric of his bottoms. The fabric was darkened from where your juices had marked him. His hair was all messy and sticking to his face, which was flushed and wide-eyed.
Bless him.
Getting up from the couch, you could see he’d do anything you told him, so bossing him around felt like a fun little warm up. Gently, but with a tone of authority, you ordered, “Take your clothes off, babe,” to which he nodded frantically.
First his shirt was off, showing off his pale and slim frame, kisses by some freckles. He looked a healthier weight nowadays, the coke and heroin had worn him thinner, but his shoulders were looking bigger now, so were his arms. It was sexy, seeing him with a bit more filled out, a bit more muscular but still slim.
His chest was rising and dropping heavy, his mouth was open slightly so he could get more air as his thirsty eyes drank in the sight of your half-naked body before him. You were like some sort of angel, sent to him to keep him on the straight and narrow.
He looked like a dream. But he still wasn’t as unclothed as you wanted him, “Forgetting something?” you reminded him teasingly, nodding towards his lower half. Scrambling, he muttered out a ‘shit sorry, angel’, as he shimmied out of his sweats and boxers.
Sitting there, vulnerable and completely at your mercy was a sight to see. His strained cock resting against his stomach now, the usually soft pink tip a more poignant shade as precum leaked from it—he was an utter state. “Want me to ride you, honey? That what you want?” You teased as you stripped off your own shirt, not wanting him to feel embarrassed by being the only one completely naked.
You obviously had gotten the answer to that question mere moments before, but because you knew he’d say it again, you just wanted to hear it. He nodded helplessly, eyes not knowing where to focus on your body, “Yeah, yeah, I want it, baby, want you, need you.” Hearing him confirm his need for you was like music to your ears.
“Sure you deserve it?” It was a mean question to ask, but he had to work for what he wanted! Though you were dangling the bone in front of the dog, really, because you now straddled his lap, but left his dick out of it. You weren’t quite going to give him that satisfaction yet.
Hands gripping on your hips, almost whimpering as his hips bucked up to meet nothing, his lips spanned all over your chest. Whining against your breast he insisted messily, “I’m sure, i’m sure, angel, i’ll do anything you need me to, just let me have you.”
At that point you had given up being mean, he was just a pathetic puppy of a man and you wanted to put him out of his misery. Tilting his head up to catch his lips, you mumbled against them, “You can have me then, since you asked so nicely,” before the two of you were intertwined in a messy french-kiss.
As his hand groped at your tits, one up in your hair, your arms draped over his shoulders as you raised yourself up to drop down onto his cock. It was a careful manoeuvre, and wholly gratifying when you felt the stretch of his dick, satisfying the emptiness inside of you.
Plus, the simultaneous moaning gasp that left the both of your lips was so delicately intimate. To know that the both of you were experiencing the exact same pleasure and sensations whilst being intertwined in one another was simply beautiful.
Simplicity. That was what Izzy had needed all these years. He wasn’t a man of grandeur and extremity, but he’d engorged himself into a life of excess and chaos, and it had ruined him. Now, with you wrapped around his cock securely, moaning into his mouth and caressing his body, nothing felt complicated about it. You just made sense.
His eyes felt hazy as he leant back and watched you roll your hips, letting you use him however you felt necessary. The sight of your flushed face, arched back, and perky tits was a sight he wanted engraved into his eyelids so he could see it whenever he blinked. “Fuck, thank you, sweet girl,” he breathed out, ragged, as he took hold of your hips so it was easier to thrust up into you.
As a musician, he was a man of rhythm, and as aforementioned, one of simplicity. He didn’t need a flashy solo to know his skill at guitar, nor did he need to lose his control and thrust up mindlessly into you. This wasn’t about him. All of this was for you; the mess he was, was all for you.
But as the pleasure built up in both of your bodies, the higher your moans became, the messier your movements were, the more he felt this innate restraint be pulled away from his hands. He wanted to get himself off, sure, but he prioritised and craved to see you fall apart on his dick.
As his thrusts became more forceful, still making sure to meet your hips accordingly, but now using his hands to guide that movement, your head fell back whilst your hands rest against his knees. Your eyes were closed majority of the moment, just taking in the physical pleasure of it, but once your gaze fluttered open at a particularly good angle, and you could see his handsome face, all delirious looking at you like some sort of painting, you committed to keeping them open.
Your chests pressed together, touching heartbeats and intermixing breaths, as your delicate hands took hold of his face. Kissing over his nose, you murmured between moans, ‘I love you’s, relishing in the soft whine that left his throat when you did. Despite the desperation in the build-up, the moment itself wasn’t rushed or half-assed.
“Can I go a bit faster, babydoll? Please?” He whimpered brokenly. His whimpers weren’t high-pitched, still in that mid-toned Indiana drawl you were used to, but there was a tone of desperation to it you’d never heard from another man. It was like he needed you to breathe.
Once he was met with your breathless permission, he really gripped your hips as he began to fuck into you with minimal restraint. It nearly knocked the air from your throat as a sharp moan spilt from your lips. He pressed his face into your neck, nose brushing over your skin, biting flesh and muffling his own moans as he felt his resolve tear away.
Your own resolve went away with his, as you felt a tightening sensation in your lower abdomen, and a trembling in your thighs. Your chest felt tight as you panted, “Izzy, Izzy, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Hearing those words were like the heavens opening before him, “Come on, angel, please cum on my dick, need to feel you, wanna cum in you,” he pleaded helplessly. He was trying his hardest to not speed up or change anything, as he knew it messed with you when he abruptly changed anything like pace or force.
But as soon as your moans broke in the way he knew to be your orgasm washing over you, as well as your arching back and the spasming movements in your hips, he took it as his green light. He didn’t want to overstimulate you, but he needed this. Needed you.
He mindlessly fucked up into you, kissing all over your neck and onto your jaw as he murmured in a whining tone, “So pretty when you come, sugar, so fucking pretty,” as he chased his own orgasm.
He panted against your neck, as your hands stroked the back of his head, the odd whimper slipping from your throat as your body relaxed. “Come on, pretty baby…you gonna cum for me? Yeah?” you coaxed warmly, kissing his sweaty forehead adoringly.
He shuddered out a moan with a nod, feeling his hips begin to falter, overwhelmed with a rush of pleasure and more significantly, relief. His own orgasm hit hard and heavy, a broken groan of your name leaving his lips as his load spilled into you shamelessly. He’d been needing this since he felt a twitch in his trousers just being between your thighs.
Neither of you moved, nor did you want to. The lull that followed was warm and comforting, like a blanket despite your mutual nakedness. Soft pants filled the sex-scented room, and you collapsed into his chest, feeling his cock go soft inside of you. Like the sex itself, nothing felt rushed, and neither you nor him wanted to pull off of each other just yet.
The reason he loved you so much was the quiet you gave his head. In that moment, nothing was on his brain; no craving, no music, no nothing. It was just you. Just the warmth he felt being with you and the calm that came with it.
Who needed drugs when they had you, huh?
𓏲🪽˚. THE END
