I just read When the candle burns and it was amazing! If you're open to it I would really enjoy a part two
When the candle burns - two
Izzy stradlin × fem!reader
He wasn't used to this.
Not the fact he was back on tour again — no, the fact he actually became attached to someone. He'd gotten used to you, your habits, how you moved, and especially how you talked.
Fuck, he missed your voice.
He'd been resisting the urge to call since you left.
He was never one to want someone. He had groupies, fans, plenty of people to entertain himself with and yet his mind kept drifting back to you.
Even when he was drinking, especially when he was drinking.
Tonight the urge had been too strong, he needed you.
He was drunk, and needy, and forgetting exactly why he shouldn't do this.
He couldn't bring himself to put down the phone regardless of how irrational he knew it was.
He was half on the bed, his shoes probably fucking up the sheets but he couldn't bring himself to care the tinest bit.
He remembered your number, of course he did; he was pretty sure it was fucking drilled into his head like your touch was his skin.
His fingers moved clumsy over the dial, holding the phone up to his ear as he waited for you to pick up. If it would've lasted a few more rings, he was sure he would've pussied out.
Then he heard your voice and just froze up.
It was simple, you picking up the phone with a greeting, but he was sure if he was standing up his legs would be a little weaker than they already were.
His mind was already blurry and foggy from how much he drank, it completely zoned out just at the sound of you breathing.
"fuck, I missed your voice."
It slipped out, wasn't on purpose or anything but it happened regardless.
It was silent on your end, and he was desperate.
"I know it's late, 'm sorry, sweetheart... Couldn't think of anything else."
He could imagine you standing, you finger twisting around the phone cord absently as you tried to figure out what to say. You were probably in the kitchen, making tea, maybe dancing around while listening to a record.
"Izzy you shouldn't do this." Your voice was soft, like how you would whisper against his skin in the early mornings before the sun had risen.
He knew that, he definitely fucking knew that, but you were too damn tempting to resist.
"I cant—fuck, I can't sleep. Can't play correctly 'nymore. Can't have another girl touch me without imagining you..."
If you didn't think he was desperate before, you had to have now. He shifted to lay on his side, holding a pillow as if it could've been you. If you were here.
If you didn't leave.
"We knew what we were getting into. Nothing was meant to happen."
It sounded more like you were reassuring yourself than trying to convince him. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.
"But it did—you can't tell me I was the only one who felt that shit. You'd be lying."
He was confident in it, even if his words were slurred and his vision blurry. He saw the way you looked at him, how you would slump against him after a long day and exhale like he was the only thing grounding you. He wasn't that fucking stupid.
"Izzy, I can't right now, please..." Your voice had shifted, into something more desperate and in his drunken state, he felt as if you were cracking because of him.
Your voice was enough, even if it sounded like you were pissed at him, or held a grudge. Your breathing was enough for him to remember how it would brush against his flesh.
He couldn't take you down with him, no matter how much he wanted to drown in you.
"Okay, 'm sorry. Just needed to hear you..." He relented, closing his eyes hoping he would pass out, the last thing he wanted to hear before sleeping was your voice.
"Maybe when you're sober, Iz." Your voice cracked, the only sign of weakness you showed before the line went dead.
He curled up in the fancy ass hotel bed. All this luxury surrounding him, all the fans and groupies, sold out shows, and he could only think of you.
One day I'm gonna achieve Izzy's playing style on guitar
