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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year ago

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Love For You / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I just found your ao3 account a few days ago and your writing style is excellent! Legitimately some of the most visual and evocative writing I've seen on that website, and I've been devouring your izzy hands fics since I caught up on season two! Can I request another izzy x reader post-amputation and just the reader caring for him while he's pining hard? Maybe the reader has some medical experience so they've been able to help him a little better than the rest of the crew, making sure he's taking time to heal in a difficult moment (physically as well as emotionally, god knows he needs that.) Letting him know he's loved and him realizing he hasn't...heard someone say that to him or treat him this gently in a long time

Thank you so much that's so kind of you to say, it's so lovely people finding me from AO3!! Honestly one of the best feelings, and goodness knows Izzy needs this :)

Okay so I haven't been able to watch the new season so all my knowledge is coming from Tumblr gifs and posts, so I really hope this isn't too ooc my lovely!! Anyway let's get this man some comfort!

I spent all day writing this, so all comments are much appreciated! Thank you! :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury, mentions of physical abuse, mention of smoking, kissing and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Something monstrous seemed to be creeping up the shuddering walls.

No, it wasn't the stifling silence that had seemed to envelop those of Blackbeard's crew still left, hiding their heads between their legs and closing their eyes as they felt the quicksand drain out through the fingers. Nor was it the creaking organ snore of Wee John thrumming up the timber; the rest of your usually upbeat crew grew despondent as they wracked their brains together and came up with a way to save you all from imminent demise, having flopped onto their sides and fallen into fitful sleeps just before sunset. Sadly it wasn't even the feel of Lucius' finger stroking yours through the cold grates of your jail, his smile lost and forlorn as he thumped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as well, feeling even more entrapped in himself than you did.

It was, in fact, the hard glare Izzy Hands was shooting into the side of your face. He hadn't spoken a word since Stede had left, choosing instead to let out the odd sniffle from his corner bucket and busy himself by watching you like a man possessed: like something wild, something smothering itself in the shadows to stop its howling heart from devouring the light around itself. From tearing his dagger out of his scabbard and devouring his heart himself with clawed hooks. He looked ghastly, and he looked gargantuan as the life seemed to convulse within him, leeching out and darting its tongue around the creaking wood until it filled up the room and began to fill your heart up with a hope you thought had been lost weeks ago.

He looked beautiful and proud and defeated and assured in spite of it all, and you were finally beginning to understand why Zheng Yi Sao had locked him away in this cage.

And in a way, it terrified you that this cataclysmic, lucent shadow was creeping its merry way straight for you.

The tenebrosity was quickly broken by Izzy's shining eyes gliding across the bridge of your nose to land instead on your top lip. He wasn't entirely sure why exactly he was feeling so timid. It wasn't as if Frenchie was still awake, as he was too busy hugging his free arm around the remaining muscle of Izzy's thigh and burying his head into the muscle with a soft murmur of contentment. Yet the idea of being caught leering at you like a dopey boy was enough to make him judder with embarrassment, and enough to send Frenchie's head keeling sideways so his lips were rammed up against his trousers.

Thankfully, it was exactly Frenchie's floppy head that gave away the fact that he was fast asleep, and allowed you to steal Izzy away for yourself. With a gentle lift, you were quick to replace your friend's cheek with your own hand, giving the side of Izzy's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

'You look like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders', you sighed as you took in Izzy's harrowing form. It wasn't his paleness that worried you, or the redness that cracked and splintered around his irises. It was the way he was watching you, eyes trained steadily on your face for the last hour and a half, as if he were doing his best to memorise everything he could before he ran out of time. As if he would never have the chance to look at you again.

The edges of his lips curled up, and he thumped his head back against the wall. 'Me? I'm feeling fucking fantastic. Never been better. Why do you ask?'

'Well', you began as softly as you could, straining to reach the vials in your hip knapsack to retrieve some salve for the scarring that had begun to pucker around his skin. 'We are about to be executed. I guess I just wanted you to know this is a safe space to let it all out before we are. A confessional of sorts, if a little makeshift.'

He wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to you, confused.

You pointedly looked him in the eyes, before unscrewing the vial and dipping your pointer finger in. Making sure he didn't seem too uncomfortable, you leant forwards as innocuously as you could, trying not to startle him anymore than he already had been. With a swipe, you began to rub the herb mixture around the sore looking welts left around his cut leg, making a point to run your fingertips soothingly over the goose-bumps that began to rise at the feel of you against him.

'I wanted you to know- to know that you're always safe around your crew.' You did your best not to let your voice tremble, no matter how much your throat tried to choke you. You turned your head back down to his leg, trying to hide the fact that your mouth was crumpling in on itself.

He winced as your hand brushed against a tender point, and you ran the back of your knuckles over his skin in apology. He felt like he was burning alive: a fire blazing so furiously in the pit of his stomach he was sure it was gushing out, swinging around the room and warning everyone of his impending falter as he fell upon the crags of your fingers below. He had no idea how, in all the seas, you couldn't possibly see how ecstatically devastated he was to be sitting here with you.

He didn't mind dying. He wasn't scared of it. As long as you were there to enhalo his misty light in the end. As long as you were there to love him until his last breath. As long as, no matter what form he took, you were still enclosed around his heart.

'Who says I have anything to confess?', he glanced at you with heavy eyelashes, eyes bleary but sharp as he started straight into your soul. I don't have to confess it, he thought, it's so fucking painfully obvious.

How could he confess something so inexplicable? Something that wrapped around all of his bones, that wormed its way into parts of himself he thought long numb: long lost. How could someone ever articulate the feeling of life itself? It was insurmountable, far too transcendent, too impetuous for mortals to to unsnarl into words.

'Oh Izzy', you said, mouth falling into a frown at the way his hips reflexively bucked up at the feel of a new cream being slathered around his leg to try and numb the pain. He moaned, trying to mask the sound by clenching his fist into his mouth and biting desperately into his knuckles. One more touch, and he was about to fall apart. 'Your eyes are drowning in so many regrets I can barely see the stars in them anymore.'

He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with incredulous, wild eyes. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he let it rest, still clenched, by his quivering chin. 'Not in my eyes. You never could. That's not possible. Not me.'

'I could.' You were quick to reply. 'I always could. You're our guiding light, Israel Hands.'

Oh boy, if he wasn't devastated before he sure was now. His face fell immediately, and for a moment you felt your heart ache with a sore regret at the silvery tears that began to cloud in the crinkles of his eyes. But then he does something that surprised even you.

The way he opened his legs up was almost miniscule: too small for anyone who didn't know this man's quirks and intricacies and giveaways to notice, but a well aimed shot that sent a rush of heat prickling up your cheeks. Before he changed his mind and retreated into himself again, you were quick to scoot your backside over and come to rest far too intimately between the tightening leather of his inner thighs.

'You can't be surprised that we care about you', he started after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning the side of your head to rest gingerly on his intact leg. 'That the whole crew has always cared about you. Look, someone even got you a mop-', you gestured to his side, trying to make him laugh before the sun rises, and thankfully you succeeded.

He shook his head out as if trying to refocus himself as his chuckle died out in his chest. He didn't want to laugh right now. He wanted to focus on the weight on his leg: on the feel of your nose brushing on the length of seam running up to his groin. He blinked back heavy tears that spread along his lashes, sniffling coarsely. He probably should laugh, he thought. He should be fucking howling, spitting, going rabid at the irony that the one thing he had been yearning his whole life was lying right there on his lap, and he only had a few hours left in his pathetic life to savour it.

'How are you doing, by the way? Seriously', you jolt your head up to watch him quizzically. He did his best not to meet your eye, choosing instead to stare at the black grains above Jim's slumped head. 'After, you know, everything that happened with Ed-'

'You don't need to worry about me', he sniffed, but his hand twitched as he lifted it up to rest on his thigh, just above the top of your head. 'It's my job to worry about all of you. Not the other way round.'

'When are you going to get it through your thick skull that we want to worry about you. This isn't some kind of weird mandate or self-preservation tactic on our part Izzy. You may be a fucking idiot, but you're our fucking idiot. Let us take care of you too, like you've been looking out for us.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head beginning to shake furiously enough to send his stray silver locks clambering over his eyes. He was glad for their cover, so he wouldn't have to see the way you had lurched forward: the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, as you rose onto your knees and pressed your hands firmly around his waist, just where the joint of his legs met the soft squish of his tummy.

'Don't you shake your head at me. We all know you've been trying to direct Blackbeard's anger your way. We do!' You cocked your head, trying to follow his face as he squirmed in your grasp. Losing your patience, you gripped his jaw with your thumb and pointer finger, directing Izzy's widening eyes back your way. 'We do, Izzy. We know what you've been doing for us. What you've been sacrificing. And I'm sorry - I'm sorry that none of this is fair. I'm sorry that any of this happened at all.'

One. Two. You tapped your finger a third time, your fingernail swirling over the fine nuances of the holster running over his sawed leg.

It had always been your little secret: a shared confidence, between you and Izzy. One tap. Two. Three on each other's arms after battles, three taps there on your shoulder before you went down to your bunk, three fleeting touches burning at the back of his spine to let him know that you were alright: to let him know that he was alright.

You only stopped when you heard a brisk inhale: a sharp whistle that broke through your indulgent repose and made Roach roll over. Thankfully, a moment later, the cook's arm was splayed out across the floor again, and his leg kicked out backwards with a swift jolt up poor Button's behind. Izzy, though. Izzy, despite the surprising tenderness of the moment, was almost smouldering. The muscle by the side of his femur began to writhe underneath just the point of your fingertip, the feeling of just your warmth making him feel too feeble. Too needy to even control the rest of his body; he desperately tried to reach out a hand to shove your shoulder back and push you away, but his mind was too busy swimming with the concentration of trying to remember how to inhale.

The sharp breaths he dragged in painfully were starting to worry you, as were the wracks of his spine as he seemed to writhe backwards and forwards, back arching off the wall before collapsing back down on itself painfully again.

He felt your hand clench around his back, guiding him to sit still again. You were close, far too close - your noses almost touching, as you took a risk and used your free hand to slowly.... god, so fucking slowly he felt like he was going to split in half. He looked like a wounded animal: something terrified of being hurt as his eyes stayed trained on your approaching fingers, face wary until your fingertips touched his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

And then he felt that warmth. That warmth against the shell of his ear. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and for once, he was glad for the taste. It was comforting. Familiar. Deserved. He wasn't one for the fucking heartache of tenderness. And god, how his heart ached.

'Come on,' you nestled yourself between his legs again and perched your elbow up on his left leg. 'People must have cared about you before. Might as well get it all out in the open. Be honest with each other now.'

He paused, before the stubbornness wormed its way in again. 'No, they haven't-'

'Well, what about your parents? Your parents must have been kind. Besides, the crew obviously cares about you. I obviously care about you. Stop being so pig-headed.''

He startled you with a laugh: he seemed to choke on it, his teeth baring as he barked it out, yet he still couldn't seem to look at you quite yet. That's alright. You had an eternity left in these few hours.

Kindness?

He couldn't remember a time before joining Stede's crew that he had ever felt such a thing, let alone let it fester in the crevices of his ribcage until he felt the dreaded thing was going to claw its way out. Perhaps, if he let himself fester in the silence for a moment, an image of his mother would squirm its way out of his long repressed memories. Clawing and scratching and digging her pointed nails to dig her way out. No, his mother had never offered him a jot of comfort. She could stay buried in that coffin he had stuffed her down into, instead of rotting inside of him. He had enough barnacles to scrape off his body as it was.

It wasn't as if he had any surprisingly sweet memories of his life before. His mother had never been one for grace: her words always bit at his brain like a frenzied tempest, his actions never good enough. Once, when he was six years old, he had tottered up before the sun rose and followed his older brother down to the docks, trying to please his mother. Even so young, he had spent most of his years yearning to be seen as anything but the 'nuisance' or 'pest' his mother used to spit at his feet, and yearned to return with a line full of fish to please her. To help her with the chores that she always yammered his father had left her to rot with. Had left him. That he rotted away her youth. When he came slinking into the doorway, a nervous smile twitching at his ruddy cheeks, his mother had taken one look at the muddy, damp fringes of his trousers and had slapped him clean across the face for his troubles.

Another part of him remembered her warmth. The same that radiated off your palm as you spread your fingers across his knee; the way she would sometimes scutter into his bed at night, and he could smell the harsh sting of alcohol on her breath as she curled up and hugged him close against her chest. Of the way she would sometimes let him sit on her knee once the three of them had returned home after service, and she would brush back his growing hair and he would curl himself up to chase the stray ray of sunlight that glowed against her neck.

It had left him a Gordian mess of a man. Simultaneously spending his life seeking any kind of validation, any kind of affection, while his stubborn self-preservation did its best to push everyone away.And yet here you came, watching him with those sweet, sad eyes. Swinging the sword to undo him.

'I don't remember much about them', he replied curtly, but not unkindly. 'My father left us when I was young. I was... mainly left to my own devices.'

You nod slowly, letting his words thinking in. Letting the misery drenching every seething heave of his tongue wash over your head. 'Well', you began to rub your thumb in circles against his trousers, 'at least you have us here now. One good thing to add to the pile.'

There we go. The knot's slowly being undone.

You tried to smile, but the intensity of his gaze falling on you again unsettled you.

'You're right.' His voice was far too earnest for his own good. 'I have had one good thing in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

You nearly jolted when you felt his hand smack down on top of yours. He had closed his eyes to try and hide himself from his discomfort, but his gloved fingers still slid between yours and squeezed despite himself. Once he was assured they were firmly intertwined: his own grasping tight enough to bust the leather at the stitching, he dared himself to finish his train of thought before he lost his nerve.

'I do... I do care about the crew. None of this was their fault, and they shouldn't have been fucking blamed for it. But I- I, I care about someone else far more than all of this twatty lot put together.'

It's a whisper into the darkness. A despairing yell of defiance against the solitude. A smothered light, long lingering and far longer forgotten. A spark of hope against the threat of ruination. It was a silver tear, glinting like starlight against his iris and falling with a content plop onto the back of your hand.

'I-I-', he stuttered out, clenching his teeth as he wills himself not to cry. 'I-'

The words refused to unlatch from his throat. Luckily, you were adept enough to notice the longing that drew a sad ache across his face.

'Izzy, I-'

'Let me finish', he stumbled out, his whole face now contorting as he struggled with the weight of it all. His bottom lip began to wobble against his will, face falling in on itself.

'I have-I have... love. For you. 'What I'm trying to say is'-, he shakes his head, chiding himself.

'Izzy, I know, it's alright. I know. I understand.' You grabbed tighter onto the back of your hand, enveloping it with your free one until his stopped shaking, begging him to realise you could see him.

'No-. No. If I don't say it now, I'm worried I never will.'

'Take your time, take your time. We have all the time in the world'. A sob finally gasped out from Izzy, chest heaving as he felt you draw his hands up towards your mouth. Still safe. Still warm. Still firmly cupped between your own, but the feel of your lips brushing against his knuckles was enough to send him reeling. The gentle peck that followed, though, was enough to finally let him break free.

A tentative finger reached out, checking for any signs of repulsion before landing awkwardly to point into the blade of your shoulder. He seemed to freeze: immobile marble frozen in fear as he seemed unaware as to what to next. After a few wary blinks, he clumsily spent a few seconds trying to manoeuvre the rest of his arm to cross across your back, before tugging your torso to lean closer towards him.

For a moment, it finally seems as if the world has skittered upright on his axis again. It felt normal. It felt right, feeling him grow comfortable with affection again as he melted, for the second time that week, into your hug. For his sake, as he burrowed his head into the pulse point of your neck until his stubble began to tickle your collar bone, you pretended not to hear the maimed whimpers that struggled past his closed lips.

The only time he moved was to raise his head up towards your nose, bumping it playfully against the tip of your own. Then another graze. A rub, and then another one, his eyes the whole time languidly drawn down to stare at your cupid's bow, until he slowly brought himself down to breathe unsteadily against your mouth. After a final moment of contemplation, he blinked placidly before closing his eyes and tilting his head to close the miniscule distance between the two of you.

His jaw was tense as you ran your finger down it, so busy trying to commit to his memory the pressure of your lips against his bottom one that he was forgetting to breath. But he didn't pull away. In fact, his hand clamped around your neck, digging almost painfully into your back as he stumblingly latched onto you, forcing himself further against your opening mouth. His hand found solace by cupping the back of your skull, chest squeezed against your breasts as he opened his lips and almost devoured you whole.

A loud 'awww!' erupted from your side, making the two of you jolt apart. The only problem was, Izzy's bottom lip had been rather firmly attached to yours. This meant that as you drew back, Izzy, in his stubborn unwillingness to let you go, let his bottom lip drag down along your inner mouth until a line of saliva connected your bottom lips, which only made the person the other side of the brig giggle even louder.

'You guys are cute', Black Pete yawned with a wakening stretch.

'Yes!', Roach chimed in as he teddy bear rolled his lanky legs round in front of him. 'I swear!', he continues, ostentatiously wiping his finger underneath his eye, 'I must be crying! I'm two seconds away from going up there and commencing our escape myself.'

With a tilt of your head that hit Izzy's chin, you looked at the cook incredulously. Izzy only gazed down at you past the crook of his nose, wonderstruck as the he let the words wash over his head.

'You. You really think you can take on all those very competent pirates up there.'

'Of course!'

'You cried for twenty minutes earlier about soup!'

Roach waved his hand unconvincingly in front of his face. 'Broth, it was broth! But I'm great with knives, remember! I have one hidden in my underwear right now!'

'Why... why is it in your underwear?', Oluwande piped in as he rested his head on the side of a barrel.

'Yeah, you weren't captured', Archie added, shuffling her own head off Jim's shoulder to look out past the bars. 'Why isn't it, I don't know, in your pocket or something.'

Even though Roach has opened his mouth to answer, his train of thought is broken by the tired grumble of another one of your friends. 'I hate to admit it, but that was actually very sweet', Lucius chimed in, twisting his lips into a shit-eating grin as he eyed the both of you up, another cigarette now firmly tucked in and freshly lit between his fingers as he took a drag.

'Is everyone on this fucking boat awake?!', Izzy cried, wrapping a hand protectively around your shoulder joint.

You snorted, burying your head protectively against the soft skin of his bellybutton. The sound of the crew beginning to argue with an increasingly impatient Izzy was like music to your ears; the monster was beginning to retreat.

No longer did it hang and shake and pierce the walls with its talons until it bled umbras. It retreated: chased away by the comely love of your crew. Of your family. Of the man who held you protectively against him, blinding you with his tender love.

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izzyhandswhore · 1 year ago

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hear me out : reader giving izzy a massage (non-sexual) because reader sees how tense he is :’)

((I know I said fluff.... But Season 2 has given me brainrot so here we go)) Giving Izzy a (non-sexual) massage

Season 1

Izzy spots the way you've been looking at him all day before the word 'massage' can even leave your mouth. You're looking at him like you're sizing him up and he's looking right back at you with suspicion and confusion until he finally breaks and confronts you with a gruff, "what??"

You point out that he looks tense and he just scoffs at you and shrugs and tells you he's fine, but he can't quite meet your eye and doesn't sound all that convincing. If you press him further he'll say something along the lines of "is it any fucking wonder with this lot? Fucks sake.."

He'll just shrug off your first few attempts to get to his shoulders, bat you away and tell you to fuck off. Even if you do get him to stay still long enough to hold him and massage his shoulders a little, he'll try to keep his grumpy face and just tell you it's pointless, he doesn't feel a difference.. But the way his muscles ease can't lie... Neither can that tiny, embarrassing groan that escapes him before he turns bright red, shrugs you off and stalks away to go bark orders at some poor soul.

For the rest of the day you see him rolling his shoulders and tilting his head like he's trying to crack his neck, all while giving you little sideways glances. Try not to look too smug, you've got him. When you two are back safe and alone in your cabin, he “casually” asks about that thing you did earlier and could you.. do it again maybe?

You’ve got your work cut out for you. The man is basically all knots and stiffness. You start with him perched on the edge of the bed while you kneel behind him and work at his neck and shoulders, all while he’s groaning with relief and leaning gently into your touch. It ends with him lying face down practically naked as you work his whole back.

He is not quiet. He’s constantly giving breathy instructions and moaning and praising you.. It’s no wonder you get funny looks and teasing whispers from the rest of the crew the next day. You don’t care, you’re just happy Izzy is happy and finally got a really good nights sleep. You make him feel so safe and relaxed he’s snoring before you can even finish the massage,.

Season Two

Blackbeard soon puts a stop to you and Izzy sleeping in the same cabin. He claims you’re “a distraction” to Izzy and reminds you constantly how lucky you are to be alive since you’re nothing but Izzy’s little pet. To keep you safe, Izzy starts distancing himself too. You’re forced to watch from the sidelines as Izzy’s health declines.

When Blackbeard cuts the second toe off, you no longer care what’ll happen to you. In the dead of night you creep into Izzy’s cabin. He near jumps out of his skin, scrambling back and drawing weapons from under his pillow as you approach. He doesn’t relax even after he realises it’s just you.

In hushed, desperate whispers he tries to get you to leave. He acts like he’s angry with you for invading his space, for disobeying orders, for assuming he even wants you here. Eventually, with tears in his eyes he hisses, “it’s not safe!”

Silence falls over the room. You know he’s just trying to protect you with the whole “evil first mate” act. He knows you see right through him. Just like before he sits on the edge of the bed, defeated. You quietly crawl behind him and press a kiss to his bare shoulder before starting on the knots there.

He doesn’t lean into your touch this time, he flinches. He doesn’t say a word or make any noise of pleasure. The only sounds in the room are muffled grunts as he presses his lips tight together or tiny gasps when you come across a particularly sore spot. Any other noises outside the cabin also snap him to attention and make him tense all over again.

It’s a long and difficult process but eventually you feel him start to relax and nod off a little. You carefully coax him into bed and hold his hand for a bit as he drifts off. When you think he’s asleep you get up to leave and he squeezes your hand tight and looks up at you with tired, teary eyes. There’s so much he wants to say but he doesn’t have the strength to say it so he settles for,

“Thank you, love.. I..”

You smile, shake your head, squeeze his hand and assure him,

“I know.”

#I’m so sorry #ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #izzy hands x reader

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maximwtf · 1 year ago

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“What kind of a moron gets shot…”

Izzy x Reader

words: 1970

google docs pages: 3,5

warnings: blood, a gunshot wound, slight alcohol use

opening: A medic, you get shot in a crossfire. It’s only after things have settled a little that anyone has time to notice you. No one but you are used to removing bullets, so obviously the crew chose the next most experienced pirate to help you with your instructions. Izzy.

AN// Reader can be any gender! I finally started watching this series, after putting it off for so long and oh my god do I love this man more than life itself. I would die for him. Anyway, sorry if this is a little ooc, I’m learning how to write for him ! Requests for him would also be lovely, I have so many ideas that I don’t even know what to write :D

“What kind of a moron gets shot…”

The feeling of rain hitting your face kept you to your senses, additional moisture to the already wet wooden deck you were laying on. At least you had made it back, but that did not remove the fact that someone from the other ship had gotten a good shot at your thigh. For that reason, you didn't mind the wet fabric sticking to your skin. The waves of pain radiating from your thigh were enough to keep your mind from thinking of anything else.

Your body curled up a little, hands going to hold the place of the wound on their own, or at least that’s what it had felt like. Like your body was moving on its own. There wasn’t much of a thought process happening in your mind, though it felt like you should have known what to do. You’d removed more than one bullet in your time, and it wasn’t a rare procedure to perform for you. But never could have you guessed the amount of pain a bullet wound caused. You’d only ever helped someone else and seen them try their best to stay still for your sake. As much as you had hoped these thoughts would have distracted you from the pain, they didn’t. The pain was still raging, making you groan and grunt silently against the deck. Or at least what you thought had been quietly up until voices became audible around you. They’d been there before as well, but they’d become somehow louder by now. Like the people that sounded further away were now closer. The crew must have noticed something was wrong.

You opened your eyes, still curled up on the deck. Most of the crew were there, standing near you. From your perspective and what was left of your vision, they seemed concerned. But probably rightly so. Most of them had become quiet, only light chatter among them. “Well, fucking someone help me.” You growled, allowing the words to come out and going back to gritting your teeth straight after. The chatter got louder for a moment before someone was pushed out from the group. By the sound of his voice, you identified him quite easily. The first mate of Blackbeard’s, Izzy. He did not sound keen on doing this, insisting for someone else to do it before accepting his fate. But you and mostly everyone else in the crew seemed to agree on him being the most experienced for this, after you.

You knew their first idea would have been to just cut off the whole leg, but for the amount of times you’d helped them you were hoping they’d see this as owing it to you and actually helping.

Your vision was getting a little more blurry, not badly but enough to make things a lot more confusing. You tried to keep a straight head, knowing you’d have to assist Izzy while he got the bullet out. While these thoughts were running through your mind, two of the crew members of which you hadn’t seen who carried your form to the lower decks. No more of the rain, you thought. They cleared a table, and by the sound of it they must have just sweeped the items on it to the floor and placed you on the smooth surface instead.

There was a moment of silence before through your haze you could hear Izzy’s voice clearly. “Well, fuck off? No need for an audience.” He said, and by the sound of it the people previously there made their way back up. “Cut the…the pant leg.” You said, not wanting to waste any more time. Izzy looked at you, doing as you said but with slight hesitation. “How does a medic manage to get shot?” The first man asked in a voice you wanted to believe was annoyance, trying not to find a hint of worry from his voice. You didn’t want to imagine a man worried for your life trying to save it. “Guess the bullets couldn’t resist a…a checkup.” You took a quick breath, gritting your teeth as the fabric was pulled off from over the wound. Izzy didn’t say anything to that, perhaps it had been a bad time to joke either way. You didn’t have time to waste, for anything from the bullet could leak to your bloodstream if you kept stalling. “T-take off yer belt-” You had to take a breather before continuing, but that was enough for Izzy to give you a dirty look, which you were glad you couldn’t see properly through the slight blur. “And wrap it a little higher from the wound…” You finished the sentence, trying to stay still on the table. “Gathered that much.” He said, voice still stern as he undid his belt and wrapped it tightly around your thigh. “Get yer knife…and dig..dig the bastard out.” You breathed out, closing your eyes for a moment as you braced yourself for what was about to come.

The sound of Izzy taking out a knife from his belt opened your eyes once more. You took a weak hold of his wrist before the first mate was able to start the process. “If I lose consciousness after…take the fabric you removed and..and use it to close up the wound after cleaning with rum…” You instructed him before your hand let loose from his wrist. His eyes were on you, you could feel it. Yet, he did not say a word. It worried you, but you didn’t want to tell him that. You wanted to think that he didn’t care. As many times as you had spent time with him, he did not care for you. Maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed talking to you from time to time.

You took a hold of the edge of the table, which was worth it. Because as soon as Izzy had dug the knife into the wound you screeched. Using the palm of your hand to cover the rest of the horrendous noises leaving you, feeling hot tears push their way through and fall down the sides of your face. The gritting of your teeth helped, somewhat. The feeling of the blade hitting the bullet sent a mix of shivers along with waves of pain through your body.

You tolerated it for a while, in a way proud of yourself for that, this being the first time a bullet was being removed from you. Though, that did not last long.

The dim lights in the lower deck began to seem darker, and your body wasn’t contorting itself the same way as before. In a way you felt more relaxed this way, though the darkness that had started to slowly surround you was something you didn’t look forward to. A faint sound of the bullet hitting the wooden flooring as the knife left your body was the last thing you heard. Your consciousness faded away, leaving Izzy alone with bloodied hands and a mess on the table.

His gaze shook a little, but he stood still at the table. Thanking whoever had left a bottle of rum in the lower deck. Izzy took a hold of the brown bottle and took a swig from it himself. With a second to think, he poured the liquid from the bottle straight onto the wound. It felt odd not to hear you instruct him, not that he needed it anymore. But you being so silent, seemingly dead to anyone else's eye who might have walked past, it shook him a little. As many people as he had killed and seen dead, none of them had affected him this way. The thoughts of your death filled his mind for a brief second, before the first mate shook them away. He wasn’t sure how much to pour, stopping eventually. He thought you might like the rest of it once you woke up. In his experience, rum was good at numbing feelings. Just what pain was, only a feeling.

Izzy wrapped the wound best he could, leaving the belt on. You hadn’t told him what to do with it after, and that had only now occurred to him. As much as his duties would have commanded for him to leave you with the rest of the crew, he did not want for you to wake up in the noise and smell that was the crew’s quarters. Was what he told himself, not being able to ask for your opinion.

He might have not been the tallest man on deck, but that did not mean he was weak in any way. He picked you up easily, carrying you to his quarters. Barely a spot for sleeping fit there, but he managed.

The first mate laid your still form onto the small bed, seating himself onto a box next to it. His eyes stayed on the bed for some time before a sigh left his lungs, turning his eyes to his hands. He placed them over his face for a while, the burning feeling of tears trying to push through all too familiar at this point. They never truly fell down, so it did not count as crying for him. A pirate didn't cry.

So he sat there, the held-back tears reddening his eyes a little as he leaned on the wall behind him and stared at the other in front of him, keeping his gaze up. He felt conflicted, more so than usual. He hadn’t thought of you, not of how much he seemed to care. Sure, the two of you had spent an odd amount of time together, but you preferred to be alone or at least at the sidelines, so did he. So, for long it had been a coincidence that you bumped in together. And during those times you spent together were almost enough to make him feel alive again. But when you didn’t, was when he truly felt lonely. And so he did now, now when you were unconscious. A sharp breath drawn by you caught his attention back. The end of it started sounding more like a hiss than anything else. Your eyes tried to open slowly, but the sheering pain forced them to snap open with yet another hiss. You curled up on the bed before your eyes landed on Izzy. His mouth was slightly agape, but soon realised to hand you the bottle from earlier which you gladly accepted. After a long swig you handed it back to him, hand shaking ever so slightly. Eyes focusing on him now, vision back to what you remembered as normal. Even with Izzy keeping his gaze quite low, you could see the slight tint of red in his eyes. The first mate hadn’t said anything yet, so you decided to break the silence. “Have you been crying?” Came out rustier than intended, but the teasing tone of voice was still clear somewhere in there. Izzy’s jaw tightened, but he must have backed away from what he wanted to say. “Sod off.” He looked away for a moment, expression much softer after from what you could tell. Though, he seemed stiff. Like he was shaken in a way you’d never seen him before. “Izzy-” You sighed, not sure what to say to him, so instead you thought of something else. His other hand was resting on the edge of the bed. Expecting him to pull away at the very least, you placed your hand on his, but he didn’t. He allowed your slightly warmer, shaky palm to warm his colder hand, badly wiped away blood dried on it. “Thank you.” You said silently, not to disturb the oddly peaceful silence that had formed from the slightest of connections. Izzy turned to you, moving his hand further on the bed, not adding anything to that. The touch was a thank you enough, more than enough to him.

#izzy hands #izzy hands x reader #israel hands #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd x reader #our flag means death x reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #izzy hands beloved #yar har I love pirates

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emptymasks · 1 year ago

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no but izzy crying, the tears in his eyes building as he knows what everyone is saying about ed is true but he doesn't want to break and cry in front of them, but if he did they wouldn't laugh at him anymore because this isn't the same as everyone cackling 'dizzy izzy' and trying to throw him off the ship, this is them and their bonds of friendship and love extending towards him now, they care about him now, and he cares about them now, and if he wants them all to make it out of this alive he's got to kill off the part of him that's blackbeard's loyal little dog, and he's being hugged and his hand is being held and he's letting his hand being held, he's gripping the hand back just thinking about holding izzy's hand, thinking about the crew finding some wood from one of stede's fancy tables and crafting it into a prosthetic for his leg and making him a crutch, making padding from a mast to put on the top to make it more comfortable, later on one of them taking the time to carve out something that resembles a leg and foot, checking on his bandages as the wound heals, helping redress it, just people helping izzy and him finally understanding that it's okay to let people care about you and that it's okay to care about other people and just feeling as though he's got some sort of support system, some sort of family

#im just having a lot of thoughts about izzy okay #our flag means death #our flag means death spoilers #ofmd spoilers #season 2 #izzy hands #izzy hands x reader #imagine #imagines #x reader #mine #mywriting #my rambles

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maladaptivebb · 10 months ago

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unhinged thought NSFW

need to be covered in blood and fucked from behind rn

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xynoford · 1 year ago

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I think about eating izzy out and fingering him to overstimulation and kissing his tears away when he starts to cry. I want to tell him he's been such a good boy and that he deserves this reward for behaving. At first he tries to oppose to your praises saying that he doesnt deserve all this and your love but a few orgasms later he sobs and bawles his eyes out while you shush him with more praises to his work.

#achi talks #i am feral for this man #you dont understand #and i am DEVASTATED that his group of fans is so small #dom male reader #top male reader #dom gn reader #male reader #top gn reader #dom!reader #male reader x izzy hands #sub izzy hands

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collinrobinsonsglasses · 1 year ago

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Too Soft to Be a Pirate

Izzy Hands X Reader (GN)

Chapter 11 of a series, but I think you could read a lot of these separately and understand what's happening.

Summary: Following the events of Season 2 Episode 5 of Our Flag Means Death. You and Izzy spend the day together. Izzy comforts you, because you believe in Stede's cursed suit. You give Izzy a gift. There is a ton of fluff in this one. It was very fun to write.

Chapter 11: The Curse of the Seafaring Life

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

{Next Chapter}

Late into the night, you happened upon Frenchie seated at a table in the galley. Illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern, Frenchie was engrossed in the creation of a new flag for the ship. Recognizing the meticulous work involved, you felt compelled to offer your help. With a warm smile, you joined Frenchie at the table.

Together, you embarked on the task of sewing sequins onto the fabric, each delicate stitch adding a touch of shimmer to the image of a cat with both its paws reaching towards the heavens. The rhythmic cadence of the needle and thread wove a quiet camaraderie between you and Frenchie.

Pausing your sewing momentarily, you looked up at him. “I’m relieved you're alive, Frenchie,” you expressed sincerely.

“Likewise,” Frenchie replied, meeting your face with a reflective look. “It’s nice not living second to second anymore. With Stede as captain I’d say it’s more day to day.”

A chuckle escaped you at the mention of Stede’s unpredictable and inexperienced leadership. The fact that the crew had managed to endure under his command for this long was still a surprise. Expressing your sincere appreciation, you continued speaking, “I know what you did for Izzy, and the risk you took in keeping him alive. Thank you for that.”

Frenchie, focused on sewing sequins onto the fabric, acknowledged your gratitude. “I get it now… why you care about him. He can still be a dick sometimes, but he’s the one who’s kept us alive.” With those sentiments shared, the two of you resumed your sewing, diligently working until the flag was finally completed in the quiet hours of the night. Satisfied with the finished creation, you bid Frenchie a good night and made your way back to your hammock, yearning for a few precious hours of sleep before the first light of dawn painted the horizon.

The next morning, you stood resolute by Izzy’s side, your gaze fixed on Edward, as he commenced his apology. The makeshift attire of a sack and a cat collar, complete with a bell, only heightened the surreal image before you. The memory of Edward parading in Stede’s clothes flitted through your mind, a stark testament to the influence Stede had on him, he made Edward remarkably softer.

While Lucius appeared to struggle visibly during Ed’s speech, your attention remained keenly fixed on Izzy. Despite the gravity of the situation, Izzy maintained a stoic demeanor. As Jim began listing Edward’s transgressions, you unconsciously inched closer to Izzy until your arms brushed against each other. The subtle physical connection seemed to bring a measure of peace to Izzy, his tense form subtly relaxing under your shared touch.

Observing him closely, you couldn’t help but notice the unspoken burden he still carried. Though he seemed to be handling the situation better than before, you were yet to witness him engage in conversation with Ed. You knew that having Edward back on board must be a complicated emotional struggle for Izzy, even if he was adept at concealing his sentiments, unlike the more overt display of emotions by Lucius. Stede briskly concluded Edward’s speech, met with sparse applause and Lucius defiantly shooting Ed the bird.

Following the speech, Fang and Frenchie sought your assistance in hoisting the new flag. As you worked alongside them, carefully securing it in place, your attention once again shifted to Izzy. Leaning casually against the capstan, he was engrossed in the meditative act of whittling a block of wood. It was a rare sight, witnessing Izzy in such a serene state on the ship.

Remarkably, Izzy refrained from his usual authoritative commands, even at Jim, Archie, and Olu, who were engaged in a playful moment with their mops. He simply observed without issuing his customary orders. Even when Lucius approached him, probing into his feelings about Edward’s return, Izzy remained unfazed. His response, layered with sarcasm and sass, carried no venom or malice, signaling a departure from the usual tension that surrounded discussions about Blackbeard.

Later that morning, Izzy sought your assistance in gathering Stede’s scattered candles from various corners of the ship. His intention was to engage in a bout of swordplay training, and you eagerly agreed, appreciating the opportunity to spend some quality time with him. As the candles were collected, you joined Izzy in strategically placing them below deck on different barrels, casting a warm, flickering glow to the scene. Taking your place on the stairway, you positioned yourself ready to lend a hand if needed.

Izzy unbuttoned his leather vest, followed by his shirt. With meticulous care, he laid them on a nearby crate, revealing a canvas of scars on his back, likely souvenirs from past encounters with the cat-o-nine-tails. Your heart sank at the thought of the hardships Izzy had likely endured in his past.

He delicately removed the ring and scarf from around his neck, placing them in his pocket, you found yourself wordlessly entranced, wondering about his ring’s significance. You had never asked him. Turning back towards you, your thoughts were abruptly redirected from his past. His exposed physique demanded attention – powerful pectoral muscles, broad shoulders, and strong arms. The sight was more distracting than you had ever imagined, and you found yourself momentarily lost in admiration.

Caught in a trance, you were brought back to reality by Izzy’s smirking gaze. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized you had been caught staring at him. “Get Lucius to sketch a picture,” Izzy teased, reveling in the satisfaction of catching you off guard. “It’ll last longer.”

Fumbling for a way out of the embarrassment, you stood up and responded, “Actually, I know for a fact he would love that. I could go get him right now.”

Izzy issued a firm command, “Sit back down,” as he grabbed his sword. Obediently, you returned to your spot sitting on the stairway, meeting his pleased smile with a roll of your eyes. It was a familiar dynamic - you always listened to Izzy’s demands, and you could tell he enjoyed that.

The tension that hung in the air dissipated abruptly with the entrance of Stede Bonnet. A complex blend of relief and disappointment swept over you as the two men engaged in conversation. While part of you welcomed the distraction from the lingering embarrassment, another part of you yearned for the continuation of the private moment with Izzy. As they spoke, you observed Izzy skillfully distinguishing the lights from the candles with his sword. You were grateful that his attention was diverted by the interaction with Stede. It spared you from the risk of being caught once again, staring at him with unabashed admiration.

After Izzy agreed to assist Stede in honing his captaincy skills, Stede departed, leaving the two of you alone once more. Unable to resist a teasing remark, you quipped, “That was very kind of you,” referring to Izzy’s willingness to help the man he had once despised.

“The ponce needs all the help he can get,” Izzy reported, rolling his eyes. “Especially if we all want to stay alive.”

Choosing to linger a bit longer, you watched as Izzy continued to hone his swordsmanship. Every so often, he would cast a glance in your direction, offering a small but appreciative smile. It was evident he took pleasure in your presence.

Seated on the stairway leading up to the quarterdeck, you pretended to focus on the intricate stitches of the black scarf you had been working on for the past month. Beside you. Black Pete and Lucius were engaged in their own conversation, while Frenchie casually leaned against the railing nearby. The group collectively observed Izzy’s valiant efforts to train Stede Bonnet, each attempt yielding more amusement than success. Izzy expertly delivered a punch to Stede’s stomach during combat practice, Stede ended up flat on his back on the deck after a rope swing, and his prowess with a gun inadvertently led to the toppling of a sail.

Amused by the ongoing spectacle, your admiration for Izzy continued to swell. Despite Stede’s repeated missteps, Izzy displayed remarkable patience in his attempts to impart these different skills. The transformation in Izzy since the crew’s reunion on The Revenge hadn’t escaped your notice, and you found yourself entranced by how comfortable he seemed to be now.

Lucius, however, couldn’t help but direct a pointed gaze your way. “I know we all have this bet about you and Izzy as a joke, but this is getting ridiculous,” he complained, eyeing you with an expression that suggested he thought you were entirely oblivious.

“What do you mean?” you asked back, feigning innocence.

“The sexual tension this morning is ridiculous,” Lucius retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s right,” Frenchie chimed in. “You haven’t stopped staring at him all morning.”

Caught off guard, you shifted your attention downward, focusing intently on the knitting needles and yarn in your hands. “Just because I feel a certain way about him doesn’t mean he feels the same way,” you mumbled quietly.

Unseen by you, due to your fixation on your knitting, the three men exchanged an exasperated eye roll.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

As The Revenge stumbled upon a ship, Stede Bonnet insisted on a raid to showcase his prowess in the field. The prospect of action excited part of Izzy, eager to engage in swordplay despite the challenge of having only one leg. Yet, a different part of him flashed back to the last time he had been in combat with you – when you had come dangerously close to being stabbed, resulting in your wrist being fractured.

The memory intensified Izzy’s concern for your safety. While he had always harbored worries about your well-being, having you back by his side after everything heightened his desperation to keep you out of harm’s way. Determined to ensure your safety during the raid, Izzy resolved to stay close to you, especially since Fang was absent, off fishing for the day.

As the crew boarded the ship, Izzy swiftly realized he had little to worry about. Stede Bonnet had chosen the only ship where everyone was already dead. The scene that unfolded before them was gruesome, with lifeless bodies scattered across the deck. Adding a chilling touch, someone had used blood to paint a pentagram on the wooden surface of the deck, casting an eerie and ominous atmosphere over the vessel.

As Jim and Stede hurried to investigate a sound emanating from the captain’s cabin, the rest of the crew dispersed to examine the grim scene on deck. Izzy, attentive to his surroundings, noticed both you and Frenchie lingering near the ship’s edge, unwilling to step beyond the circle of lines drawn with blood. Frenchie whispered to you, “It’s witchcraft,” and Izzy observed your widening eyes. He understood that scenes of violence weren’t your forte, and this particular raid seemed to be weighing more heavily on everyone than usual.

Approaching both of you, Izzy gently placed his hands on your shoulders. “Little mouse,” he whispered, prompting you to meet his gaze. It struck Izzy that he hadn’t used your nickname since your reunion. While initially irritated when Edward had employed the moniker to mock his statements upon first meeting you, Izzy had developed a fondness for it over time. “You good?” he asked, concern evident in his piercing gaze.

Observing your hesitant nod, Izzy remained unconvinced of your well-being. One of his hands lingered on your shoulder as he turned his body towards the direction where Jim and Stede had disappeared. An impatient thought escaped his mouth as he looked: “Where are those twats?”

Jim soon emerged from the cabin, rushing towards the three of you, their face marked with concern. “A priest was in there,” they reported breathlessly, “and he said everything on this ship was cursed…Then he died.”

Izzy’s impatience grew as he inquired, “Where’s Stede?”

“He’s still in there, I guess,” Jim replied, shrugging their shoulders.

“Izzy, can we leave?” he heard you whisper, sensing the anxiety in your voice. While Izzy didn’t buy into the idea of curses, he disliked seeing you worried.

“Si.” Jim responded, nodding vehemently in agreement.

“Let me just get that ponce, and we’ll go,” Izzy decided, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly before letting go to locate Stede.

Observing you and Jim huddled closely on the dinghy as you made your way back to The Revenge, Izzy couldn’t help but notice the hushed whispers and pointed gestures exchanged between the two of you. Your nervous glances toward Stede, who held the suit in his hands, hinted that Jim was likely filling your head with ideas of a curse. Izzy had a sinking feeling that Stede bringing the suit onboard wasn’t good news for the crew; the fear of curses had a tendency to spread like wildfire.

While the rest of the crew headed on deck to enjoy a drink, Izzy chose to abstain. Instead, he returned to Stede Bonnet’s cabin, seeking the unfinished piece of wood he had been whittling earlier. Seated in one of Stede’s plush armchairs, he resumed his whittling. The quiet atmosphere of the cabin provided a momentary escape from the unsettling events of the afternoon.

A knock interrupted Izzy’s concentration, and he looked up to see you entering the cabin with hesitation. “Hi Izzy,” you greeted, your question hanging in the air. “I feel stupid asking this, but do you believe in curses?”

“No,” Izzy responded without much pause, his knife continuing its rhythmic dance against the wood as he shaped it. He noticed your subtle shift back toward the door, and he looked up, sensing your embarrassment. “Stop,” Izzy barked, and you turned to face him, no longer attempting to leave. “It’s not stupid that you believe in curses,” he responded softly. “I like that you do.” The sincerity in his words was evident. Izzy found it endearing that you held onto beliefs in the mystical and unexplained– it reminded him of the wonder he had felt when he was younger, just starting out as a pirate. In your belief, he saw a touch of the same curiosity and innocence that he used to have.

Izzy’s words seemed to have a calming effect on you, and he noticed your nervous demeanor easing. With a hopeful smile on your face, you broached the topic, “Well, Stede’s suit is cursed, and I was wondering if I could stay in here with you.”

“Why?” Izzy asked gently, genuinely curious about your belief that he could protect you from a supposed curse. “Being around you makes me feel safer,” you whispered.

“Fine,” Izzy responded, attempting to feign a feeling of indifference. Deep down, he was overjoyed. Perhaps Stede’s suit was more of a blessing than anything. He’d deal with a curse if it meant you’d want to spend more time beside him.

“Okay,” you replied, and Izzy could sense the relief in your voice. “I just need to get my knitting stuff, and I’ll be back.”

“Fuck off, then,” Izzy replied sweetly, eagerly anticipating your return. As he watched you leave, a genuine smile played on Izzy’s lips.

You re-entered the cabin just as Izzy was finishing his conversation with Stede about the potential implications of a curse on the crew. Stede, however, dismissed Izzy’s suggestions and exited his cabin with a flourish. Keen to avoid the newly empowered Stede as he strutted by, you moved quickly and settled on the ground next to Izzy’s chair. Leaning against the chair leg and his one good leg, he felt a sense of comfort feeling you next to him. Izzy could get used to this.

In the quiet cabin, both of you sat in peaceful silence – Izzy whittling away at his piece of wood, and you engrossed in the rhythmic knitting of your scarf. Izzy noticed your head gradually drooping every so often, only for you to snap back awake, until eventually, your head found a resting place on his knee. He could feel the warmth emanating from his chest as you peacefully slept.

Trying to remain as still as possible to avoid disturbing your rest, Izzy found himself enjoying the unexpected closeness. However, after a while, you jolted back awake. Rubbing your eyes, you quickly realized what had happened. “Sorry, Izzy. I didn’t sleep long last night. I was helping Frenchie with the flag.” You began stretching your arms, leaning a bit more heavily on Izzy’s leg before standing up. “I’m gonna get a snack from the kitchen. Do you want a snack?”

Izzy nodded quietly, a hint of disappointment in his eyes as you moved away from the spot against his legs. He watched you leave and waited for your return, but as time passed, he decided to head back to the deck, anticipating your presence.

Lucius found Izzy there first, once again confronting him about Edward’s presence on the ship. “Not moving on is worse, twatty,” was Izzy’s parting shot as he left Lucius alone with the shark he had been whittling all day. Izzy had to admit, having you by his side throughout the day made the process of moving on easier. Your presence brought a sense of calm and he felt your admiration towards him, something he had rarely experienced in the presence of Blackbeard. This new feeling was something he found himself quite enjoying.

Shortly afterward, Izzy, with his feet resting upon Stede’s desk, watched as you reentered the captain’s cabin. While you tossed him an orange, Izzy noticed a look of concern painted on your face, showcasing your unease that had most likely lingered throughout the day. Izzy caught the orange, appreciating your gesture and snack.

“What’s wrong?” Izzy questioned, his perceptive gaze catching the subtle shifts in your facial expressions.

“I know you don’t believe in the curse, but I just saw Frenchie, and he’s covered in a rash. Roach is convinced it’s Stede’s suit causing it,” you replied, biting your lip as you settled down on Stede’s couch. Izzy could sense the worry emanating from you, and the realization dawned on him that he needed to press Stede harder to get rid of his suit, not just for Frenchie’s sake but for yours and the crew’s sanity.

Your sitting position swiftly transitioned into a laying one, hiding your face from Izzy’s view. The signs of exhaustion were evident, a consequence of your night spent helping Frenchie with the flag. Izzy couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern for you, recognizing the weight of worry you constantly carried for everyone around you.

Stede abruptly burst into his cabin, slamming the door behind him and causing you to jolt back into a sitting position. He began whining about his pockets being ripped by the crew, prompting Izzy to repeat his quote about curses. This, in turn, led to Stede yelling at him to “fuck off” before retreating into auxiliary closet. “Rude,” Izzy whispered, crossing his legs and glancing over in your direction.

“That was rude,” you agreed, casting a glance toward Stede’s closet where he had retreated. “It’s the suit,” you whispered jokingly, though Izzy couldn’t help but wonder if there was a hint of seriousness in your words. “I’m gonna go check on Frenchie because being this close to Stede is making me anxious.”

As you left, Izzy shifted his feet off the desk and knocked on the door of Stede’s auxiliary closet. It was time to address and resolve this.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Crouched down in the kitchen with Roach and Frenchie, both of whom were convinced they were hiding from the curse, you gently placed your hand on Frenchie’s back, offering unspoken support as he grimaced in pain. Stede’s voice suddenly echoed through the galley, calling the crew to come out and claiming that the cursed suit was now gone. Roach popped his head out of the galley window to confirm the truth. Slowly, the entire crew emerged from their hiding places, and Jim managed to coax Stede into admitting he now believed in the curse too.

Spotting Izzy leaning against the doorframe, you snuck next to him as the crew deliberated on their next course of action.

“Stede admitted there was a curse,” you smiled up at Izzy, leaning on the other side of the door frame facing him.

“Looks like you were right,” Izzy looked back at you, smiling gently. “Curses are real.”

You couldn’t resist the urge to kiss Izzy on the cheek, earning a noticeable blush. “I know you had something to do with this, so thank you,” you told Izzy, your gratitude evident in your words.

As the decision was made to find another ship to raid and pass on the cursed suit to another unsuspecting crew, you couldn't shake off the exhaustion that lingered from the events of the day. The thought of embarking on another raid seemed far from ideal in your fatigued state. It was as if Izzy could read your mind; just as the rest of the crew started making their way back to the deck, he grabbed your arm with a firm yet gentle grip.

"You're staying here," he declared, giving you a knowing look. "I'm not going to have you falling asleep in the middle of a raid.” Grateful for the out, you nodded in agreement.

As the rest of the crew departed, you found Lucius below deck, engrossed in painting a picture on the wall. Taking a seat on a nearby crate, you continued knitting your scarf, appreciating the chance to finish your project without distraction.

“Its Pete!” you exclaimed, looking up towards Lucius’s painting. “That looks great, friend.”

“Yeah well, Pete is pissed at me, so I’m trying to make it up to him,” Lucius sighed, his focus still on his artistic endeavor.

“Why?” you asked as you were knitting the final section of the scarf.

“He told me Blackbeard is living rent-free in my head,” Lucius replied, “He’s not wrong. How did you get over it?”

You had shared your own story with Lucius when you first met him, so you assumed he was speaking about your similar experience of being pushed off a ship. Your memories flashed back to images of your former best friend, the man you had once loved – a face that hadn’t haunted your thoughts in a long time. “It’s different, because I haven’t seen him since he pushed me,” you answered cautiously, not wanting to diminish Lucius’s emotions or experiences.

“Well, still, I’d like to know,” Lucius pressed.

“I was angry for a long time, but it was exhausting,” you recounted, still moving your needles. “I realized one of the most powerful choices we have in life is how we react to suffering. By putting so much energy into hating him, I was still allowing him to control my life. Life is worth too much, and it’s too short for that shit.” Lucius stopped painting, turning towards you with a smile. “That’s actually pretty wise, babe. Who knew you had it in you?”

“It helped having Fang and Ivan around me, because I knew they cared about me… and you have lots of people who care about you… like me and Pete,” you replied with a smile.

“He really is the greatest, isn’t he?” Lucius said with a genuine smile.

You nodded in agreement, and Lucius turned back to his work before resuming the conversation.

“Your man gave me a little gift today, and some pretty good advice,” Lucius teased, nodding toward a small wooden shark sitting on a crate.

“Oh, that’s what he’s been whittling all day,” you replied, smiling at the small figurine. It was heartwarming that Izzy had given Lucius as a gift after everything they had been through.

“Do you think he has a crush on me?” Lucius asked with sarcasm, attempting to provoke a reaction from you.

As he asked, you finished the last touches of your scarf and hopped down from the crate, leaving Lucius to finish his work. “He honestly might. He brought up you sketching him today,” you replied, partly serious.

“Ha ha”, Lucius reported before turning to you. When you didn’t reply with a sarcastic comment, he looked at you curiously. “Wait, seriously?”

“Bye Lucius,” you responded with a devious smile, leaving him behind.

“You have to tell me if you’re being serious!” Lucius called down the hallway after you, but he didn’t follow you on deck.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

As Izzy returned to the ship with the setting sun, he checked your hammock in the hope that you had finally drifted off into sleep. Not finding you there, he took a quick glance across the deck before making his way to the bow. It was there that he discovered you, perched on a small crate you had brought down, leaning against the back wall, peacefully asleep. Despite the serene expression on your face, Izzy knew that sleeping in such an awkward position wouldn’t bode well for your comfort come morning. Gently cupping your face, he used his finger to stroke your cheek, slowly rousing you.

"Oh, shit," you mumbled upon seeing him. "I fell asleep again. I was trying to wait for you to get back... No more curse, right, Iz?" Izzy's thumb continued its soothing motion on your cheek, and you made no effort to move away from his touch.

"No more curse," Izzy reassured, gazing down at you. He withdrew his hand before grumbling, "Why the fuck were you waiting for me? You should be sleeping."

Izzy's annoyance only seemed to earn a bigger smile from you. "I wanted to give you this," you replied sweetly, handing him the black scarf you had been diligently working on.

Examining the scarf in his hand, Izzy ran his fingers over the stitching. It was warm and soft, much like you, a perfect reflection of the warmth he felt in your presence.

"I know most pirates might not wear scarves, but I tried to make it black so it didn't stand out too much," you explained quickly, a hint of vulnerability in your voice.

"It's perfect," Izzy replied, still examining the scarf. As you stood, your hands deftly took the scarf from his grasp and draped it around his neck. In that moment, your eyes locked, and Izzy fought against the urge to lean in for a kiss. The day spent with you had been perfect, and he wasn’t willing to risk it by allowing himself to be vulnerable.

"Thank you," Izzy whispered. Placing his hands on your shoulders, mimicking the gesture from earlier, they gently moved down until he was squeezing your arms. "Now fuck off and go to sleep, or I will carry you to your hammock myself," he commanded.

"Yessir, first mate hands," you replied, heading towards the doorway that led to the bow. "Goodnight, Iz."

"Goodnight, little mouse," Izzy replied, his gaze lingering as you departed.

That night, Israel Hands found solace in slumber with your thoughtful gift cradled in his arms. The black scarf, a creation woven with your hands and laced with care, now served as a tangible piece of you that he could hold close throughout the night. As the ship rocked gently in the moonlit ocean, Israel Hands embraced the warmth of the scarf – a silent testament to the bond that had quietly woven its way into the fabric of his heart.

Taglist: @5tud10-54r4h @locamoka-blog @promptly-mercy @this--is--music @raviolical @lxsm2 @emilynissangtr

{Next Chapter}

#izzy hands x reader #ofmd #izzy hands #ofmd x reader #our flag means death #ofmd fanfic #too soft to be a pirate #reader x izzy hands

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marksbear · 2 years ago

Text

MULTI FANDOM MALE READER SCENARIOS

It’s been a while since I done one of these, but I think it’ll be good for me to practice more at writing different characters and such so enjoy!

The fact is I had more tags to share 😭

-Miguel O’Hara biting your neck harshly to get your attention when he feeling jealous. Or marking you as his.

-Izzy Hands always lightly taking your hand and helping you either up the steps or down the steps. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it most time. Everyone in the ship always notices it but doesn’t say anything.

^^Ofmd

-Bob taking off his glasses and putting them on you then starts to compliment you how good and cute you look.

^^Top gun!

-Matt Murdock tracing your face in morning when he thinks your still sleep. He also traces your face anytime your two are arguing because he wants to see your emotions.

^^Marvel

-You and The Corinthian driving around during late nights with his hand on your thigh as he drives you around.

^^DC

-Tony stark buying you whatever you want or even dream of. It can be jewelry all the way to new houses and cars.

^^Marvel

-Bruce Wayne and you being a power couple throughout Gotham. Lots of magazines and headline about you two.

^^DC

-Teaching Adam Warlock about feelings about like having a crush or being in love.

^^Marvel

-You and Doom head being an unstoppable duo anytime you two are paired up in a game.

^^Rob Zombie movie 31

-You and Richard Madden making fun of each other accents in interviews for the newest movie you two are in.

^^Actor

-You and Hobie Brown making out in a middle of Miguel’s rant.

^^Marvel

-Homelander wrapping his arms around you as you two makeout and he slowly rises from the ground bringing you in the air with him.

^^The Boys

-You we’re very close with Love to the point all lot of people thought you two were dating. Joe was furious so he started to stalk you planing to murder, but all that stalking for weeks slowly became to months and he slowly started to catch feelings.

^^YOU

-Benedict Bridgeton being so in love with you, but he so scared that his family would disown him as well as everyone around town.

^^Bridgeton

-You and Benedict sneaking off during ball’s and random events to be with each other alone.

^^Bridgeton

-Imagine sitting down in the bleachers waiting for Mark to be done with his track meet.

^^Author/ Me

-Playing with Dutch Van der linde hair during a camp meeting and he tries to stay focus but he can’t.

^^RD2

-You and Larry smoking as you two listen to Sal play the guitar.

^^Sally Face

-Ted feeling ashamed after he realized that he caugt feelings for you even though your a player.

^^Ted Lasso

-When Dean first met you y’all both were very young. You were reckless and carefree while Dean was taking care of Sam and brought him along while you two hanged out. And he caught feelings, but he was confused about why he had feelings for a man so he kept it to himself.

^^SPN

-Helping Mark walk without his leg brace or crutches.

^^Author/Me

-Stu Marcher giving you neck kisses in the middle of class. And most of the time teachers sees him and gives you both detention.

^^Slashers

-Hannibal Lecter leaving bite marks all over your neck and shoulders.

^^Slashers

-Roy Kent being soft spoken and quiet anytime he’s with you.

^^Ted Lasso

-Larry Trainor slowly warmed up to you being his boyfriend so he lets you touch his skin underneath the bandages.

^^DC

-Anytime before a fight Arthur asks you to hold his hands. He says it’s for a good luck, but he’s just really stressed and tense.

^^Peaky blinders

-Steven Grant still being so shy and quiet with you even though you two has been dating for years.

^^Marvel

-Bringing Namor gifts like flowers, jewelry and even little things like a picture of yourself or a padlock necklace. He cherishes all of them and keeps them safe.

^^Marvel

-Meeting Namor on the beach at night almost every night.

^^Marvel

-Bobby and Athena inviting you into their relationship. They both didn’t cheat on each other to find about their feelings for you they just kinda knew one day and talked it out and for a while and a lot of thought they asked would you be willing to date them.

^^9-1-1

-Being a rich man while Steven is your trophy husband.

^^Marvel

-Dying your hair with mark.

^^Author/Me

-Watching Mark stay up all night writing just for him to randomly stop to watch a movie.

^^Author/Me

-Lee and Maren catching you eating a person right in the middle of a dark and empty road.

^^Bones and All

-Being a different love interest for Elio and being heartbroken once he chose Oliver over you.

^^Call me by your name

-Imagine rejecting Derek Shepheard after finding out he has a wife.

^^Greys anatomy

-Rue hugging and crying on you tight after she relapsed.And you being her favorite person ever since what happened with Jules and Elliot.

^^Euphoria

-Being a father figure to Rue.

^^Euphoria

-Imagine being Maddy Perez brother and finding out Nate pulled a gun on her so you pulled up to his house barged in and looked for him and beat the shit out of him.

^^Euphoria

-Billy Hargrove acting like he hates the nickname “Curls.” Or “Curly.” But when you say it he loves it.

^^Stranger things

THE END

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dragon-kazansky · 1 year ago

Text

Captain Hands

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Seems like the crew have taken to referring to you and Izzy as their unofficial pirate parents.

Requested by @rustedachilles

{Masterlist}

Warnings: Fluff. Izzy doesn't know what to do with being a father figure to the entire crew.

Parenthood

♡♡♡

At first neither of you caught on. It wasn't very direct and no suspicion rose from anything they said. It just went over your heads. You assumed it was the crew just being the crew.

Then you caught on. The family dynamic, or as much as you can have one on a ship, really started to show. The crew were coming to you for advice. They were bringing questions your way. At first you thought it was because you were the first mate. Then the "thank you ma/da" started and that's when you knew.

You accepted it.

You allowed it.

It made you feel warm in your heart. They saw you as family, and you saw them the same. Before it was an unspoken dynamic. Now it was really happening out in the open.

You liked it.

Izzy was so fucking confused. You had caught on before he did, but when he realised what they were saying and doing, he was so fucking lost.

The crew would send you to him to ask for things because they didn't want to get yelled at. They knew he wouldn't yell at you. Dad loved his partner too much to ever get mad them for anything.

Then it really became obvious.

"Ma/Da said it was okay for us to have a lunch break."

"Ma/Da said we could have shore leave soon."

"Ma/Da brought us some treats for the night watch."

Izzy eventually cornered you in your shared quarters. You were sorting some maps when he entered. His eyes never left your form as he closed the door behind him and walked over to you. You were so focused on the maps that you didn't even realise he was there until his hands settled on your hips.

He chuckled at the way you jumped. You turn around in his arms and smile.

"Hey Izzy!"

He sighs softly as he looks at you. "What is happening to our crew?" He asks softly.

"What do you mean?"

He looks you in the eye. "I mean, why are suddenly parents?"

You chuckle when you realise what he is asking. "Oh. Yeah, I don't know, but I like it. It's cute."

"Cute?"

You nod. "You don't like being a dad?"

Izzy looks absolutely bewildered. "I didn't sign to be their dad. I'm their captain!"

You chuckle again. "They see you as a father figure. Is that really so bad?"

He sighs again.

"Izzy, it's sweet. They trust us. They love us."

"I love you."

You grin. "Love ya too, you silly fool."

"Never thought I'd ever be a dad," he says softly.

"No? Never saw yourself having a family one day?" You ask, caressing his cheek gently.

"Didn't think I'd live this long."

You frown. "Don't say that."

Izzy's expression softens and he leans into your touch. He felt bad for even saying that out loud, but it was true. That's how he felt.

"This is our family. Own it." You give him such a gentle smile. His heart feels like it could beat right out of his chest.

"You're my family." He says that in the most broken little voice you had ever heard from him.

"Oh Izzy..."

You wrap your arms around him and hold him close. He returns the gesture, desperately needing this hug. He clings to you like a lifeline. You press a gentle kiss to his head.

You both stay like that for a little while. Izzy finds comfort in your arms. You're his safe space. His safe person.

It will take him a bit of time, but he will grow to love the family dynamic. He will own the father title. One day he will hear them call him 'Dad' and he will smile.

For now, he needs your help to get him there.

♡♡♡

@moon-jae - @fandom-star - @coolninjavoid - @angiiepaniic - @ljaneyx - @lxsm2 - @rustedachilles - @outer-space-beech - @callmemana -

#izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd #our flag means death #spirit of the sea #captain hands #dragon writes

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run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 2 years ago

Text

Early Retirement

Summary: Izzy washes up on a beach after leaving the Revenge and rowing through a storm. Luckily for him, a kindhearted stranger took it upon themselves to take him in and nurse him back to health. Maybe even give him a new home.

Word Count: 6478

It’s cold. Too cold.

It seeped down into his bones and settled there until he couldn’t feel his limbs, he couldn’t feel anything other than that debilitating cold. He forced his eyes open but saw nothing but darkness, the salt stinging them. His lungs burnt in their attempt to suck in air but received nothing but water.

Then everything just…disappeared.

The amount of time that passed was a mystery to Izzy but when he came back to consciousness, it was warm. It felt like his body had thawed out, limbs heavy but at least he could feel them now.

His heavy eyelids blinked open, the sunlight coming in through a window making him wince. Everything had a slight blur to it but he could make out that he was in a bedroom, one that he definitely didn’t recognise. He was tucked into a bed, pillows cradling his head and plush bedding cocooning his body, his injured foot elevated on a pile of cushions.

The last thing he could remember was…the sea. Fuck. He had left the Revenge after Stede’s return, at least being allowed the dignity to make that decision himself. A freak storm had rolled in when he was half way to reaching land in his rowboat. It ripped his little boat to shreds and the ocean had pulled him beneath the waves.

He had barely even fought it when it happened. Izzy had always known this would be how he went, at the mercy of the sea, better than the end of a sword. Men like him didn’t get peaceful deaths, he accepted that a long time ago.

Yet, here he was and it was too warm and soft to be Hell.

As his senses returned to him he focused on a smell that wafted up from somewhere else in the house, it was something savoury, something warm and comforting.

He wasn’t alone then. It made sense, of course, but it still put him on edge.

Izzy tried to pull himself up from the bed but it felt like his body was weighed down and his foot throbbed when he tried to move it. With a grunt, he fell back down onto the bed. He could barely move, he’d need a proper plan before he flung himself out of bed.

Before he could try to move again, the door to the bedroom he was cooped up in opened. “You’re awake,” you smiled warmly, “how are you feeling?”

The pale, ragged, looking man in your guest bed was glaring at you. You were sure he would be threatening if he didn’t look like he just crawled out of an ocean grave.

“Where am I?” he questioned accusingly.

“Somewhere safe,” you assured him, ignoring his hostility as you crossed the room.

He hesitated, watching you cautiously. You supposed you couldn’t blame him, he was in a strange place and somewhat incapacitated.

“What happened?”

You sighed. “You washed up on the beach a few days ago. Saw you on a morning walk, thought you were dead by the look of you. Nearly scared the life out of me when you breathed,” you told him honestly.

“Days?” Perhaps his surprise would have been a little more audible if his voice wasn’t so scratchy. His wide eyes conveyed it enough though.

“Your foot is injured but it was wrapped so I assume you know that. You had an infection, have been in and out of consciousness with a fever for the last four days. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it,” you informed him.

“So you just happened upon me, dragged me back to your home, and nursed me back to health?” He was suspicious of you and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

“The doctor got some men to help haul you up from the beach and stopped you from dying on us, he left some medication, but then just left me to it.”

“Where are my things?” It was only then, as he shifted on the bed, that he realised he was only wearing his smalls under the blankets.

“For somebody who just avoided death, you are awfully quizzical,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “Everything that survived your little swim is safely stored in another room. I’m generous enough to try to help a stranger but not naive enough to let them have blades on them. I’ll bring you your clothes now that you’re awake and a pair of linen pants, they’ll be easier to get on and more comfortable than those leathers you washed up in.”

“So you know I could be dangerous?” Izzy squinted at you. You know he was dangerous but taking the chance anyway only made him more suspicious. People didn’t just do things out of the kindness of their hearts, especially for people who they thought were dangerous.

“No offence but when a man washes up on the shore, armed to the teeth and clad in black leathers, I don’t assume they’re just a travelling merchant,” you rolled your eyes.

“This happen a lot?” he asked sarcastically. At least he was well enough to give you some snark.

“Nope, you’re my first,” you shrugged, smirking slightly. “So, what do I call you?” you asked.

“None of your business,” Izzy growled, though it came out weak and scratchy.

“Well, you’re in my home but okay,” you rolled your eyes at him, as if he wasn’t a threat. Then again, he supposed he wasn’t much of a threat right now.

Izzy frowned, but his glare remained hard on you. “Who are you?”

“You tell me and I’ll tell you, for now you can just call me…your guardian angel,” you offered, making him scowl. “Anyway, you’re looking a lot brighter than when you washed up. You should be able to keep solid foods down now, so I made some healing stew special for you. Oh, and the bread just came out the oven this morning.”

Before Izzy could question you further, you had waltzed out of the room.

He didn’t have to wait long for you to return though, this time entering the room with a tray balanced on your hip. You walked up to his bedside, placing the tray down on the table beside his bed.

The tray held a bowl of stew, a couple slices of bread, a mug of herbal tea, and a glass of water.

Izzy just glared at the tray as you took a step back.

“Look, I’m not holding you hostage. If you want to leave, you can, but have some common sense and stay put for a while. Your foot was inflamed when you showed up, the doctor had to shave down the bone and redo the stitches. You need to rest it if you want it to heal properly,” you chastised him.

The man frowned, looking down at his foot. You saw the pain in his eyes and it made your voice soften. “Doctor said you’ll be able to move around in a couple of days if you use a crutch, then you’ll just have to use a cane. Once it’s healed though, he said it probably won’t affect your movement or balance at all.”

“You sure?” he dared to be hopeful.

“The doctor seems pretty sure. But you have to follow orders if you want it to heal properly. So you can’t go hobbling around looking for your ship just yet.”

He squinted at you, suspicions returning at full force. “What do you know about my ship?”

“Relax. I don’t know anything. I’m just not stupid, I figured you’re a pirate,” you shrugged.

Apparently, that only made him more suspicious of you. “And you still risked taking me in?” You had to have ulterior motives, it’s the only thing that made sense.

“You gonna kill me?”

“No. Not if you don’t give me a reason too.”

“Rob me.”

“No, unless I kill you.”

“...take me hostage and sell me?”

“No…”

Izzy sighed. You were right, he wasn’t a threat right now and even if he was, he had no intentions on hurting you unless you gave him a reason too.

“Then it looks like we’re safe,” you smiled, like you had just sorted some problem out. “Eat, I’ll be back soon to collect your dishes and change your bandages,” you ordered lightly before leaving the room again.

The next time you returned it was to take away his dirty dishes. He had emptied the bowl, having not realised how hungry he had been until he took that first bite. He would probably be able to eat more but knew better than to risk it, too much too soon could have him bringing it all back up.

You had brought some supplies with you to change the bandages on his foot. He had glared at you the whole time, as if expecting you to do something to purposely hurt him. You didn’t though. Instead, you handled his foot and ankle delicately, cleaned the wound as carefully as you could and rebandaged it. Working diligently, only speaking when you were apologising for something you couldn’t help or asking him if the bandages were too tight.

The rest of the day went much like that. He didn’t speak whenever you came into the room to bring him food or take away empty plates, and you didn’t try to engage him in conversation, just polite small talk before leaving again.

The next morning, Izzy woke up to you bringing him another tray of food. “Morning,” you greeted him, placing the tray down beside him. “Made you some breakfast, have to keep your strength up.”

Izzy tried to sit up, making himself wince. You moved quickly, helping him shift into a comfortable sitting position. His whole body still ached but the comfortable bed was helping, he couldn’t imagine how he would have felt if he had been recovering on his little cot back on the Revenge.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, sounding like you genuinely wanted to know, weren’t just being polite.

“Like my boat wrecked,” Izzy mumbled, letting you settle the tray over his lap.

“Well, that’s to be expected. You look better than you did yesterday already, that’s a good sign,” you encouraged. “I’ll be around, have some things to tend to, but just shout if you need something.” Izzy only nodded before you were out the door again.

The next few days went very much the same but with each passing day, Izzy could feel his strength coming back. He could sit up perfectly fine on his own, had even stood once, only to fall back down when his injured foot touched the floor. He could feel himself recovering, the room was comfortable and the food was good. He supposed he shouldn’t complain but…he was feeling cooped up, trapped, useless.

Izzy lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling when he heard movement outside his window. It was probably nothing of interest but even that was appealing to him right now.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bracing his weight against the bedside table as he stood on his uninjured foot. He kept the wounded foot from touching the floor as he hobbled towards the window.

It was morning, you had just taken his breakfast dishes from his room, and the weather outside was bright. He looked out over the garden.

From what he could make out, he was on the second floor of a cottage, no other residences in sight.

From his window, he could see your garden where you were tending to your chickens. Tossing feed out for them. He lent against the window frame to support his weight and just watched.

You wiped your hands on your apron once you were finished tending to your chickens, looking up to see your guest in the window of the guest bedroom.

Izzy felt his face heating up, a shame building in his chest as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. But you just smiled brightly and waved at him, silently noting to yourself to chastise him for moving around without support.

Izzy scowled at you from his position, perched on the edge of his bed.

“Here you go,” you presented him with the wooden crutch the doctor had given you for him. “Think you can manage?” you kept your hands out, as if ready to catch him if he fell, as he pulled himself to his feet, letting the crutch take the weight off of his bad foot.

“I’ve used a crutch before,” he grumbled, determined to be able to be properly independent again.

“Just making sure,” you were still watching him closely, hands hovering around him as you moved out of his way.

Rolling his eyes at you, Izzy gave the crutch a test run, using it to walk across the room without grabbing at tables and walls. You just nodded to yourself, satisfied that he was adjusting well to it.

“Listen, now you move around more by yourself but don’t take the piss,” you scolded, surprising him a little. “You still need to rest, to stay off of your foot as much as possible. Okay?”

As much as he wanted to scoff and dismiss you, he could tell you were serious.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Seriously, just accept some help, alright?” you found yourself rolling your eyes at him again, you had lost count of how many times you had done so since this man could hold a conversation again. Still, you found you did it with a little fondness.

Now that Izzy had started using his crutch, he could move around your cottage, moving up and down the stairs with your help. He insisted that he didn’t need your help but you wouldn’t let him near the narrow staircase unless you were with him.

At least that meant he could come downstairs and sit in the living room or the kitchen instead of being locked away in his room all alone, he could even go and sit outside and get some fresh air.

He was currently in the living room, you had left him in front of the fire with a selection of books to choose from, while you finished cleaning up in the kitchen. You had just put the last of the dishes away when you heard hissed cursing coming from the other room.

Tossing the rag down, you rushed into the living room to find Izzy standing, gripping the back of the couch with one hand and clutching his crutch with another. The pain was etched on his face.

“Alright, come on,” you spoke softly, with care, as you hurried to his side.

You took hold of his arm, listening to him complain as you encouraged him to lean some weight against you. Still, he let you guide him back to the couch and sit him down.

Once he was sitting and you had placed the crutch to the side, you knelt down in front of him and pulled his wounded foot into your lap.

He had knocked it against something when he was walking around and when you unwrapped the bandages you saw that it was a little red but looked perfectly fine otherwise. He hadn’t broken any of the stitches, he wasn’t bleeding, it didn’t look too irritated. Thankfully, he was still on the mend.

“You have to take it easy, be careful and don’t over do it,” you sighed. Something about this man told you that he wasn’t used to sitting idle for long.

“I’m fine. Just knocked it,” he insisted petulantly.

“Yeah, well…just be careful. Once the bandages come off for good and you can put proper weight on your foot again, you’ll be able to get around with just a cane.”

“And then I’ll have outstayed my welcome,” Izzy nodded like he was agreeing with something.

“What? No!” you frowned, sitting back on your heels. “Of course not. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

Izzy blinked at you, face contorting in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I’m kind and you’ve been a decent guest so far,” you shrugged, like it was truly that simple and that true, standing and brushing off your knees. “Now, sit still for once and I’ll fetch you some tea,” you ordered and, well, Izzy could follow orders, couldn’t he.

You were just about to leave the room, just about to cross the threshold, when he spoke up.

“My name is Izzy.”

You paused in the doorway, taking a moment to make sure you had heard him correctly. You turned back to him with a smile, all soft and sweet in a way that warmed him from the inside out.

“Izzy,” you repeated, testing the word on your tongue. Izzy found that he liked the sound of it and you decided that you liked the feel of it. “I like it.”

Izzy only nodded when you gave him your own name, still smiling as you disappeared back into the kitchen to prepare that tea for the two of you.

That evening, the two of you enjoyed a soothing tea in front of the fire together.

“I think it makes you look distinguished,” you complimented as you monitored his movements, smiling at how far he had come since you found him half dead in the sand.

“That’s a generous way of saying old,” Izzy rolled his eyes, adjusting his hold on the handle of his new cane. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was simple and sleek, good enough for him in his opinion.

“Absolutely not,” you tutted. “Anyway, you wear the age well so it still wouldn’t be an insult,” you shrugged.

Izzy looked away from you meaningfully, hoping to play it off as casual. “If you say so.”

“You could get a real nice one with a silver handle or something. Oh! You can get one with a hidden knife in it!”

You could just picture holding a sleek but ornate cane, just simple enough to satisfy him. Looking all distinguished and formal until somebody says the wrong thing, looks at him the wrong away, and he unsheathes his hidden blade.

“Huh…that’s not a bad idea, actually,” Izzy hummed, looking at the cane more approvingly this time. Yeah, maybe he could make this work.

Evening tea had become a bit of a routine for the two of you now. Sitting in your cozy living room in front of the fire, blankets over your laps, a cup of tea in your hands, and maybe a book each depending on your mood. It was a pleasant, calming way to end the day.

Izzy kept glancing at you, watching as your eyes followed the lines in your book, lost in the fictional world. He wanted to speak, to get this off of his chest, to take the weight off of your shoulders but…but he found himself worried that saying what he needed to say would take all of this away from him. He liked this, even if it wasn’t a life made for him. He would miss it.

“I’m really able to leave now. I’d find a ship,” he finally managed to speak, to push the words out without faltering.

You paused, lowering your book to look at him. “And I’ve told you, you’re still welcome. I like living out of the way, like the quiet, y’know, but it’s been nice to have you here. You’re interesting and I enjoy your company. Izzy scoffed. “Really, I do,” you insisted.

“Well, you’re probably the only person who does,” he muttered, thumbing at the pages of the book he hadn’t been reading.

“That can’t be true.”

“Apparently, I’m difficult.”

“Okay…yeah, I can see that. But it’s kind of…endearing, you know?” you laughed a little.

Izzy pondered it for a moment, still not really believing it despite how sincere you sounded. “...if you say so.”

“I do,” you didn’t care how many times you needed to reassure him, he needed it and that was all you needed to know. “Anyway, don’t you go worrying about rushing out of here. You can stay as long as you need.”

“You wouldn’t want me here if you knew who I was,” Izzy insisted firmly.

“Well, tell me who you are, Izzy,” you placed your book down, completely forgotten about, so that he could see your full attention was on him. “Tell me, Izzy. It won’t change anything,” you promised.

Izzy sighed, placing his unopened book down as well, refusing to look at you as he spoke. “You can’t promise that.”

“You’ll never know unless you tell me,” you shrugged.

Izzy took a stabling breath but nodded, knowing you were right, that you would probably find out eventually anyway. It would be better if you heard it from him.

“My full name is Israel Hands and you were right about me being a pirate,” he started. For some, that would be enough information.

“...that name is familiar,” you hummed thoughtfully, trying to remember where you heard it. It didn’t sound like a common name and you were certain you didn’t know anyone with the name ‘Hands’, but you had definitely heard the name before somewhere.

“I’m the first mate of Blackbeard,” he added.

For a moment, you could only gape at him. It wasn’t everyday you found out you were housing one of the most infamous pirates of your time.

Izzy waited for the horror or disgust to set in. He knew the stories and tall tales people told, some true and others wildly fabricated. He knew that you had likely heard one or two stories yourself if you recognised his name.

You shook off the surprise but found yourself more confused about how he ended up here. “What is the first mate of Blackbeard doing washing up here with a missing toe?” you asked, not sounding disgusted or afraid of him.

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, figuring you didn’t really want to hear it anyway.

“I have the time.”

Izzy was certain that you were just being polite, perhaps even afraid that if you weren’t he would hurt you in some way, but when he looked at you, you were nothing but genuine. Your eyes held the usual care and sincerity that they usually did when they gazed upon him. Your smile was still soft. Like nothing had changed, and maybe it hadn’t.

So, unable to find a reason not to, Izzy told you everything. You just made yourself so easy to talk to. He started from the very beginning because you wanted to know who he was, not just how he ended up here.

He told you of a young boy at the docks sneaking onto a ship, of a cabin boy aboard Captain Hornigold’s ship, of a newly made captain and first mate that still had sparks in their eyes. He told you about the creation and rise of Blackbeard, of the fuckeries, the victories, and the losses. He told you about Queen Anne’s Revenge and of all the years they served her well. He told you of men growing bored and restless, of a ship christened The Revenge. Of the landed gentry come pirates.

He told you a saga of hope and pain that ended in betrayal, desertion, mutilation, reunion, and finally in the enlightenment that had Izzy Hands climbing into a dinghy in the middle of the night. Only two days away from shore. Only one day before a storm that only his previous captain could have predicted.

Izzy told you everything in front of a crackling fire, the warm mug of tea growing cold in his hands. And you listened, like he was somebody worth listening to.

That night, you both fell asleep in the living room. The fire burning out but the blankets draped over you both keeping you warm. For the first time in a long time, neither of you fell asleep alone.

When you woke up the next morning to find the other side of the couch empty and the house silent, you worried. Your talk last night went very well, in your opinion. Izzy had opened up and you had listened, had reassured him when he was finished or doubted himself.

You threw off your blanket and jumped to your feet, heading out the front door. You walked around to the rocks that overlooked the beach, finding him sitting there, looking out at the sea.

You relaxed at the sight of him, reassured that he hadn't run away in the middle of the night. You joined him quietly, he didn’t look up but he seemed to welcome your company.

The two of you watched the sun rise over the horizon but you couldn’t help stealing looks at Izzy’s face, he looked so…content. There was a faint longing in his gaze, lost in his thoughts, but he looked happy, the early morning sun illuminating his face.

“Do you miss it?” you asked, staring out at the gentle water with him.

“Sometimes…” Izzy confessed on a soft exhale. “It’s all I’ve ever known, really. It’s strange being on land. The ground is always so still.”

“Yeah, it tends to be,” you joked a little, catching the way the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in the imitation of a smile.

A beat of silence passed. “I understand if you want me to leave now.” Unfortunately, he kept speaking before you could protest. “My foot is healed enough. The worst that can happen now is that I need the cane for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

This again…you sighed.

“Izzy, I don’t want you to leave.”

“Even when you know who I am?”

“Even then,” you nodded, smiling fondly. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not some violent barbarian that people tell stories about. I’ve known you long enough to know you wouldn’t hurt me and that I’m rather fond of you. My home is open to you for as long as you want it to be,” you promised.

“Kindness gets people killed,” Izzy chastised quietly.

“Lucky thing I have the best swordsman in the Caribbean to protect me then, huh?” you teased, knocking your shoulder against his.

“Yeah…real lucky…” Izzy mumbled out at the ocean.

“So you’re staying?” you asked, not hiding the hope in your voice. Izzy just nodded. “Good, I’m glad,” your smile grew.

“At least for the time being,” he shrugged.

“I’ll just have to make the most of it then, won’t I?” You tried not to roll your eyes at his attempt to play coy. Izzy shook his head at you but found himself smiling despite himself.

“Now come inside and get something to eat,” you patted his shoulder.

Izzy let you help him to his feet and hand him his cane without complaint. He even let you take him by the arm and guide him back into the cottage, though he pretended that he didn’t find the whole thing comforting.

You walked into Izzy’s room, which you had started calling it instead of ‘the guest room’, and found him shaving in front of the mirror.

“Aw, I was likely the scruffy look,” you pouted playfully.

“It’s a fucking nightmate,” Izzy muttered as he shaved his cheeks clean. Now he could stop scratching at the stubble. You just chuckled fondly at him.

“Want me to trim your hair when you’re done?” you offered. His stubble had grown in almost enough to not be considered stubble anymore and his hair had grown as well, you figured he’d want that trimmed back down if he was so particular about his facial hair.

“I can do it myself.”

“I have no doubt. I usually do my own as well, but a little helping hand would do no harm.”

Moving on to neatening around his goatee, Izzy sighed. “Fine…just…”

“I’ll do it exactly the way you want, don’t worry,” you promised him.

“Fine.”

You sat on the bed while Izzy finished shaving and trimming his goatee until it was perfectly neat. Izzy’s stubble had grown in while he was bed bound, so this was your first time seeing him properly groomed the way he liked. Turns out, you liked it too.

He was huffy about it but allowed you to pick up the shears and comb through his hair. You worked slowly, making sure to speak to him and not take it too short. As you spoke and worked, Izzy seemed to relax, trusting you.

You cut his hair back down to the length he preferred but he still hadn’t slicked it back with pomade like he usually did, hadn’t done so since he woke up in this very bedroom. Instead, it hung loose and soft over his ears. It made him look soft, less intense. He supposed it was more suitable for his current living conditions so he tried not to dwell on it too much.

“There you go. You look lovely,” you complimented, running your fingers through his hair and letting it fall, smiling proudly at your handiwork. Izzy scoffed. “Oh just accept it,” you tutted, “you’re all neat and tidy again, all nice and handsome.”

“Christ,” Izzy complained, glaring at your reflection. “I will maim you.”

“Ah, so there is some pirate left in you. Very nice to see,” you teased. “I’ll leave you to keep grooming yourself.”

You could hear him muttering curses to himself as you left the room, giggling to yourself.

Izzy sat at the kitchen island, cane propped up beside him, peeling apples while you worked on making a pastry. “You really need to make a pie?” Izzy questioned, but didn’t slow his work.

“We need to use up the apples somehow or they’re just going to go bad and that would be a waste,” you reminded him. “Anyway, you’ll like it. I make a great apple pie.”

“...you’ll have a high standard to beat,” he warned.

“You’ve made me curious, Izzy,” you looked over at him but he didn’t look like he wanted to talk any further about it, so you didn’t push. “You can tell me another day.”

You continued to make the pie, the fluidity of your actions telling Izzy that you had indeed done this many times. You would give him a task here and there, and he would carry it out diligently. You could imagine him as a first mate, just as diligent on the deck as he was as your sous chef.

Izzy watched you plate up two slices of freshly baked pie. “Here, have a slice while it’s still warm,” you placed a plate in front of him. “Cream?”

“Sure,” Izzy nodded and poured some over his slice before joining him, sitting beside him. Izzy took a spoonful of pie and brought it up to his mouth before pausing and scowling at you. “Stop fucking watching me like that.”

“I want to know if you like it,” you whined.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he huffed.

“No you wouldn’t. You’d mumble ‘yeah, it’s fine’ even if it was the best thing you had ever eaten.”

Izzy fought back his smile, knowing you were right. “I promise to tell you just stop looking at me like that.”

“Fine,” you sighed heavily, dramatically. “If you insist.” No, you weren’t pouting.

But you also didn’t watch him eat, and that was enough to satisfy him. “Okay, yeah…” Izzy sighed after swallowing his second bite. “This is good,” he praised.

“Thank you,” you grinned, bright and proud, before digging into your own slice.

Izzy just chuckled and shook his head at you, going back to enjoying his pie.

Izzy slows his chewing when a thought dawns on him. This was all so…domestic, the way you moved around each other, shared the space together. He didn’t think he’d ever be sitting in a kitchen of a cute cottage, eating a pie that was made for him by his…fuck, he needed to shake off that thought immediately.

His what? His carer? The person who took him in when he was on death’s door, who took pity on him.

“We could go for a walk later, maybe even down to town if you feel up to it. Give that cane a proper test run,” you suggested between bites.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“But I swear, if I see a single flinch or hesitation in your steps, we are turning around and coming right back home.” You didn’t come off as a threatening person, you were rarely stern with him, but he knew you were being serious about this.

Maybe he was focusing on the wrong part of your warning but…

Home.

You talked about it like it was both your home and his home, a home you shared. Like it could be his home. Could this be his home? Fuck.

“Sounds good,” Izzy nodded.

Izzy had allowed himself to grow too comfortable, he only realised that when the worries seeped back in. He had grown used to your home, your presence. He didn’t like change, never had, and a lot of things had changed lately but the two of you had developed a bit of a routine that helped calm his nerves. Now it felt like it was all changing again.

You had been acting strange, almost distant towards him. As much as you could do while sharing the same space. He would often catch you losing yourself in through but never voicing them, never letting him in on it when he asked. Something was wrong, he must have done something wrong, it was the only thing that made sense. Maybe you were building up the courage to kick him out and send him on his way, you had realised he was more trouble than he was worth.

“Izzy, can we talk about something?”

This was it, you were going to ask him to leave. He has outstayed his welcome, if he has ever truly been welcome in the first place.

“Sure.” His voice didn’t falter and he was proud of himself for that.

“You told me how you ended up here, about what happened and I was wondering…well, the crew, Blackbeard, aren’t expecting you to return, are they?”

That question threw him off. Oh, maybe you were worried about Blackbeard coming to your shores and causing trouble. “Probably not. They’re probably relieved about it as well,” Izzy answered, honest but a little bitter about it, even he could admit to that.

“And you aren’t going to try to go back?” you asked, though the question wasn’t judgmental in any way.

“Wouldn’t be welcome if I tried, I imagine. But I have contacts, I’d find another ship or something,” he didn’t want to lie to you but he also didn’t want you to keep allowing him to live in your home out of pity or guilt. He would manage, he would survive, he always did.

“…Blackbeard was talking about retiring, right?”

Izzy felt himself sigh before he heard it. “Sure. Guess he managed it too, in his own way I suppose. Didn’t think retirement was a fucking option. Still not sure it is,” he admitted.

You looked nervous again, aimlessly fixing a cushion on the couch you both sat on. “What if this could be your retirement?”

“What do you mean?” Izzy frowned.

You might have huffed and rolled your eyes at him for being dense but you could see his genuine confusion. “Somewhere peaceful and quiet for you to relax. Good weather. Somewhere comfortable by the sea. Sounds like a good retirement spot to me…”

“I…what are you saying?”

You had to fight the temptation to reach out for him. “I’m saying that maybe you deserve to have a retirement too. Some…some good days without constant worry and fear. Maybe you deserve it and have earnt it just as much as Blackbeard,” you gave into the need, reaching out and placing your hand over his, “and I’m asking if you could have that here, I’m asking if you would stay.”

“You want me to stay…for good?” His face was scrunched up like he was trying to figure out some complicated puzzle. Like he didn’t believe that you could just want him to stay here with you.

“I do,” you nodded like it was as simple as that, because it was. “I’ve lived out here for a long time. Never felt lonely despite the distance I am from town. I think I would be lonely if you left. Think I would miss you. No, I know I would.”

“I don’t need charity,” Izzy growled, pulling his hand away from yours.

It made you ache but you didn’t fight him, didn’t try to touch him again, giving him the space he needed. “I’m not doing you a favour. I just want you here, Izzy. If you want to go, I’ll support you and do whatever I can to help, of course, but I want you to stay.”

Izzy couldn’t argue with you, apparently. He didn’t snap or accuse you of lying, he paused and considered it. Why would you lie? What would you be getting out of this if you were lying?

“…why?”

There was so much you could say, so much you had yet to put into words. But one of the many things you had learnt about Izzy during your time together was that actions spoke louder than words, the care you had shown him had earnt his trust more than anything you had said.

You acted before you could talk yourself out of it.

You shifted closer to him on the couch, placing a hand against his shoulder when you lent in. The kiss you pressed to his lips was short and tender, just enough to express the way you felt.

When you pulled back, hand still on his shoulder, he was just looking at you. The lines on his face softened and lips slightly parted as he blinked at you.

“Will you stay with me, Izzy?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Izzy nodded, looking a little stunned but the answer felt right. “Yeah, yes, I will. I want to stay as well.”

You smiled adoringly, lifting your hand from his shoulder to stroke his cheek.

Izzy had woken up in your home thinking he had died out at sea but he knew there was no way that was the case because this couldn’t be his afterlife. He hadn’t done enough good to earn this, you were just giving him this out of the kindness of your heart.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, didn’t think he did deserve it, but he was here anyway. Maybe you were right, maybe this could be the next, maybe even the last, phase of his life. He would do whatever he could to earn it now, to earn you and this home.

#israel hands x reader #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #our flag means death izzy #ofmd x reader

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