Hii,can you please write some enemies to lovers Izzy x reader. Maybe where the reader is in Stede's crew and of course Izzy hates on them,but he actually has a crush on the reader and the reader does too. Then it happens that they spend a whole night talking about this and that,and in the morning Izzy can't take it anymore at the point where he kisses the reader without thinking about the fact that everyone could see them. The crew actually sees it and starts teasing him thinking the reader doesn't feel the same and then the reader kisses him while the crew shuts up. I KNOW MAYBE IT'S A LITTLE DETAILED BUT I ALWAYS WANTED SOMEONE TO WRITE SOMETHING LIKE THIS. thank u so much I love your writing <3
You didn't know what to expect when Captain Bonnet said you'd be sharing lookout duty with Izzy that night. Awkward, tense silence at best and grumbled insults at worst, you supposed.
Never in your wildest dream did you imagine you'd be sat side by side, shoulders and knees brushing frequently as you pass a bottle of grog back and forth, laughing and chatting like old friends.
And oh... What a lovely smile he has when he laughs.
"He's not a bad captain," you chuckle, gratefully accepting the bottle that's kept you both warm tonight. Well, that and the brief swordplay lesson he gave you earlier. That certainly got your blood pumping.
Izzy groans and rolls his eyes, giving you a sidelong glance. "He fucking is," he says, but there's a little less bite to it than normal.
You sigh and bite your lip, thinking for a moment. The topic of Stede and Ed have come up multiple times tonight. It had been tense at first but slowly devolved into fond stories and gentle ribbing.
"Let me rephrase," you try, "he's not a bad person."
Izzy makes a facial expression and a vague noise that tells you he's not convinced of that either, but he doesn't argue. He just thinks on it a moment and then shakes his head.
"I don't wanna talk about Stede Bonnet," he says eventually, turning to look at you. You're awfully close now.
"Okay.. What do you want to talk about?" You ask, a little softer now as you turn to him too and your playful grin melts to a simple, warm smile.
He doesn't answer. He's looking at you in a way you've never seen him look at anyone before. Suddenly you feel hyper-aware of everything around you. It's like the two of you have been forming a bubble around you all night and now suddenly it's popped.
You can feel your heart beating in your chest. The cold wooden step beneath you. The lap of the waves against the ship. The cold night air versus the warmth you can feel from the man beside you. His eyes on you (has there always been hazel in the brown?). The tobacco on his breath, even. You're that close.
"I want to talk about you," he says eventually, almost whispering. He looks surprised at his own words and maybe like he's self conscious too.
"Okay," you agree, "what do you want to know?"
Izzy shrugs and bites the inside of his cheek as you hand him the bottle back. "I don't know," he murmurs, "anything."
It's a tall order, but it's sincere. Vulnerable, even, which shakes you to your core. Still.. You've been talking for hours. You don't feel a need to stop now.
Taking a deep breath, you start to tell Izzy about yourself. You tell him about your life on land before you joined Bonnet's crew, how that came to be, how it's been since.. All of it.
And to your surprise, Izzy listens. Really listens. His steely concentration is sometimes hard to read, but you don't get the sense that he's judging you. If he has any questions he asks them quietly, never interrupting you.
By the time you're finished, dawn has broken. Soft light creeps over the horizon and bathes Izzy's face in a warm glow. You're not sure he's noticed; he hasn't taken his eyes off you once.
You take another breath. "Anyway, so that's - "
You're cut off by a pair of lips on yours and a gloved hand cupping your face. The kiss is eager, but not intrusive. A thumb runs along your cheekbone as you lean in and kiss back, surprised but certainly not unhappy.
A laugh cuts across the deck and suddenly the kiss is broken. Izzy straightens up and clears his throat, that scowl you're used to is back on his face.
You follow his gaze and see some of the crew looking at you both. Some look shocked, a lot of them are laughing. You don't have to look at Izzy to know he's tense again. Something in you snaps.
Without thinking anything beyond wanting to make him feel good again, you boldly grab his shirt and pull him to you once more, kissing far more fiercely than he had you.
The laughter quickly stops.
When you break the kiss on your own terms this time, you have the privilege of looking nice and smug. Izzy is frozen for a moment, but then his mouth twitches upward and the gleam in his hazel eyes returns. He places a hand over yours and squeezes before hauling himself up with a brand new vigor and a spring in his step.
"Right, you fuckers, let's put you to work since you've got time to fuckin' laugh, eh!?" You hear him yell out as he crosses the deck.
You stand and stretch too, assuming that your night shift is well and truly over. You make your way to your cabin, ready for a long lie in.
You can hardly wait for your next turn for look out duty.
Summary: The crew finds out about your “secret” relationship with Izzy. He assumes you wanted it quiet because he’s older and jaded. You let him know just how wrong he is.
It wasn’t exactly subtle.
Sure, you didn’t say anything about you and Izzy being together, but you didn’t not say anything either. There were no secret signals or behind-closed-door rendezvous—just an unspoken understanding between the two of you. A closeness that wasn’t for show but was always there. The way his shoulder brushed yours when you passed. The way your mug was always filled first when he made tea.
You’d thought the crew knew. Or maybe just didn’t care.
Until the morning Lucius caught you slipping out of Izzy’s cabin, boots in hand, hair mussed, shirt askew.
He didn’t scream, he howled.
“Oh my GOD—I knew it! I KNEW IT!”
You barely had time to blink before the others came pouring in.
“Wait, what’s happening?” Frenchie skidded in, Jim right behind him.
“They’re together!” Lucius shouted, pointing. “Them! Izzy and them!”
Roach, passing with a tray of biscuits, paused. “Took y’all long enough.”
Izzy appeared behind you, shirt halfway on, and let out a long-suffering groan.
“You’re all children.”
“Children who clocked your soft little glances a month ago,” Lucius singsonged, leaning on the railing. “Honestly, I thought you were just really into glaring at their ass.”
You glanced at Izzy, trying not to laugh at the red blooming in his ears.
“Alright,” he growled. “Enough.”
But it wasn’t enough, not for them. That day, and the next, the teasing didn’t stop. Every time you handed him a drink: “Aww, is that for your little murder husband?” Every time he didn’t snap at someone: “Ohhh, love’s made him weak!”
He gritted his teeth and bore it like a soldier, but you could feel it—how he started keeping a little distance. Speaking less. Sleeping on the edge of the bed like maybe he wasn’t supposed to be there after all.
So you found him in the quiet that evening, sitting below deck in the corner he always haunted when he needed to be left alone.
He didn’t look up when you sat beside him.
“You mad?” you asked softly.
“No.”
“You’re pouting.”
“I don’t pout.”
You paused. “You are mad.”
“I just…” He sighed, looking anywhere but at you. “Thought you didn’t want them to know."
Your head tilted. “Why would you think that?”
Izzy set down the whetstone he’d been aimlessly turning in his hands. “Because I’m not someone people show off. Not like Stede with Ed. Or anyone, really. I’m just—me.”
You let the silence sit for a moment, then leaned in.
“Izzy,” you said, “I don’t show you off because I’m not proud—I don’t show you off because I have you. You’re not a trophy. You’re mine.”
He finally looked at you, eyes guarded.
“And if I thought for one second you didn’t want to be known?” you added. “I’d still choose you. Quiet or loud. But don’t ever think I’m ashamed of you.”
He blinked hard and looked down, jaw clenched. “You deserve someone easier.”
“Probably,” you said with a grin, “but then I’d miss out on the really fun part where I get to kiss the grumpiest man on the ship.”
That got him. A snort, short and sharp.
Then your hand found his. “You’re not a secret, Iz. You’re just… ours.”
And just as you leaned in, the trapdoor creaked open.
“I knew it,” Lucius whispered. “You’re in love, you old bastard.”
So this is basically an experiment for me cuz it’s the first time I’ve ever written anything here and I apologize for any grammatical mistakes in advance cuz English isn’t my first language!! Anyway my obsession with Izzy has gone a little out of ‘hands’ if you get what I mean so let’s get started I guess?
Warnings: some NSFW, minors DNI
Izzy is…repressed. Like, both emotionally and sexually cuz he’s never really had the chance to express his feelings to anyone cuz of Blackbeard and his job. And given how busy he is, he probably doesn’t really have the time for any sexual sort of activities so…y’know. So whenever he has any typa strong feelings he finds them hard to process, like falling in love with you. He probably struggled a bit but he still managed to confess to you like a normal person for some reason? And for the sexual part I feel like he gets hard like rlly easily? You’d get to see it cuz of the tight leather pants he wears and it’s hot af if you know what I mean.
He’s REALLY sweet when you’re his significant other/someone he truly cares about and loves dearly. He’s probably gonna take really good care of you and bring you food whenever you look kinda tired and he’s always looking out for you no matter what. Keeping you safe and by his side. Whenever he sees you hangry he doesn’t really talk but he tries his best by bringing you your comfort food and letting you rant to him about anything you want. He’ll be the one to cuddle you and wipe away the tears on your face whenever you’re feeling down and you can’t help but to smile at your adorable boyfriend. If you ask him to sing to you he’d sing beautifully or even serenade you to sleep if you want him to. He’d do anything for you, honestly.
He secretly likes training you in swordfighting and stuff cuz he’d get to teach you something new and be in close proximity and intimate with you. He tries his best to be a good teacher (and he is) and asks you if you can follow and takes good care of you during your duels, making sure you never get hurt. You never do because of how skilled he is. He’s the best swordsman in the Caribbean, after all. He’d praise you for your improvement even though he doesn’t really express his true feelings that often because he trusts and respects you a lot.
He gets jealous easily but doesn’t admit it. Whenever you and Stede or Ed get too close he behaves in a really weird way, like staring at you while you guys are talking and sulking a bit cuz he’s pretty insecure about himself. He’d be extra touchy when you guys are in private though, and you’d know something’s off because you usually initiate these actions of intimacy. Then you’ll do Stede’s ‘talk it through’ thing until he feels better and you’ll know about his jealousy because of this. He never blames you though, only blaming himself for not being good enough for you. He’s obviously the best man anyone could ask for though.
He actually sorta likes reading because that’s a way he can actually chill for a bit, without being grumpy about the crew. He wears reading glasses, probably silver ones and he reads to you if you want him to because his love language is probably acts of service. He’d actually enjoy this kind of domestic-ish life because he’d almost spent his entire lifetime at sea. Contrary to popular belief, he’d actually brew you tea instead of just coffee even though he prefers black coffee himself. Maybe he’d even buy some fine tea leaves for his favourite person.
He loves hugging and cuddling, especially during storms and cold weather. He loves being snuggled up against your warm body under the sheets. It almost feels like he’s back home. You remind him of home and he’d definitely want to start a family with you someday. He’d be shy and brush it off if you mentioned it though. He’d like it when you call him Daddy, honestly.
Yeah so I guess that’s it!! I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this and I’d appreciate constructive feedback as well! <3
could i request an izzy x reader where they’re cleaning each other up after a raid? all fluff and falling asleep together
Summary: Izzy and reader clean up after a raid
Relationships: Izzy x reader
Word count: 800+
Warnings: Mentions of injury and pirate medical care
“Hold still you twat,” Izzy chastices as you squirm away from his attempt to clean up the cut on your forehead.
“Can’t help it, stings.” You pout.
Izzy rolls his eyes with a small smile on his face, “it’s gonna sting love it’s pure alcohol, just hold still.”
You manage to stay still just long enough for Izzy to clean your cut, you’ll never get used to that deep sting that sets your teeth on edge.
Izzy moves away slightly to inspect the wound, “shouldn’t need stitches luckily but it might scar m’afraid.”
“Will I still look hot?” you tease, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend.
“Shut up,” he grumbles as he swats at you playfully. “How did you even get that cut anyway?”
You shrug, “just some idiot, he got a bit overexcited with his knife, waving it around like a fucking magic wand.”
You notice his frown, touched by how protective he is of you, as you are of him. But you both know that you can more than handle yourself. Still it’s nice to have someone care about you so much, a familiar feeling since you joined The Revenge.
“Don’t worry babe, I stabbed him straight in the chest.”
“That’s my y/n.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. “Just be careful though okay, I can’t-“ He doesn’t finish that sentence, he doesn’t need to, I cant lose you. He turns around before you can see the glassiness in his eyes.
Although you’re both more than aware of the dangerous lifestyle you’ve both found yourself in, it can be hard to watch your loved one be put in danger so often, and it definitely never gets any easier.
It’s only now when his back is to you that you see the blood soaking into his shirt. You move to lift the shirt up before he can stop you, revealing a large gash on his right side.
“You idiot, you were worrying about a teeny little cut on my forehead when you’re walking around with this.”
Izzy looks down at the cut as if he’d forgotten it was even there, “It’s fine.”
“No it’s not fine, come sit down.” You usher him back to the bed you were both previously sitting on so you can have a better look at the injury.
“You really don’t need to make a fuss.” Izzy grumbles.
“Like how you didn’t make a fuss about my head?”
Izzy doesn’t answer that, you take it as a go ahead to have a closer look at the wound. It’s quite a deep cut, looks like it’ll definitely need stitches.
“Were you just gonna wait until you bled out?” You ask him.
“Stop being so dramatic, I wasn’t gonna bleed out. I would’ve had Roach look at it later.” When he’d made sure you were okay he didn’t add.
You would chastise him for putting everyone else first but you know he takes his role as First Mate incredibly seriously, something you’ve always admired about him. Instead you just bite your tongue and go get Roach to help fix him up.
You watch as Roach tends to Izzy, the latter keeping a stoic expression as he’s stitched up. You know it’s for your benefit, he doesn’t want to worry you.
“All done, light duties only for the next few days, don’t want you to pop those stitches.” Roach says.
You thank Roach, he gives you a quick nod in return before leaving you and Izzy to it.
“I’m just gonna go check on the crew.” Izzy announces as he stands from his chair.
“Uh uh no you don’t,” you reply, guiding him to the bed instead.
“Roach said I could still do light duties.” Izzy argues.
“The crew will be fine for one evening, just lie down and relax with me.”
Izzy knew there was no point arguing with you, and truthfully he didn’t really want to, he was feeling kinda sore and always enjoys relaxing with you. He lays on his uninjured side, leaving room for you to snuggle in beside him.
You lay down beside him, allowing him to pull you closer until you’re nestled against his chest, one of your favourite places to be. You take in his scent as you lay there, your eyes fluttering closed as you let the day melt away.
Tomorrow’s another day, but tonight you’ll enjoy laying next to the man you love knowing that you’ve both survived another day.
“Goodnight, Israel.” You whisper, but you’re only met with a soft snore.
You smile to yourself, delighted that he feels so safe in your presence, just as you feel safe in his. You fall asleep that night knowing that you would do anything for this man, and no doubt in your mind that he would do the same.
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.
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
Synopsis: 'Even if I die screaming, and I hope you hear it.'
A/N: Oh my gosh, the next chapter title will be tge one that was voted for in the TTPD poll! Eek!
Content Warning: Mentions of injury, illness, death and PTSD. This series is 18+, so minors dni. Go away (politely).
DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN OFMD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. NOR DO I CLAIM THE PROPERTY OF TAYLOR SWIFT'S MUSIC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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'I move through the world with the heartbroken'
The first thing you noticed when you came to was the darkness. Actually, that was a lie. The first thing you noticed was the sound of someone crying. Next, was the darkness. That endless pitch black that had seemingly consumed you whole. Keeping you trapped in it's murky jaws and refusing to set you free. If you could just recall how to open your eyes, you would be rid of the perpetual gloom but no such luck. So, there you were. Stuck.
The longer you remained ensnared within your own personal purgatory, the worse the sobs seemed to grow. They sounded unfamiliar to your dulled senses. It seemed that the age old adage of 'lose a sense and the others compensate for the loss' was not true in your case or at least, not yet. Such things must take time, you mused.
The thought of remaining in the dark for the rest of eternity felt too daunting a thought. So, you pushed it to one side and focused your attention on the forlorn words, that now fell from the mystery mourner's lips.
'My longings stay unspoken'
"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." there was a pause, a great shuddering intake of breath that surely must have rattled their cage of ribs. A failed attempt to collect themselves. "You fucking idiot. Pull yourself together man."
That voice...that voice, it...it sounded familiar. You knew that voice. How did you know that voice? You strained your hearing further to catch more of their pitiful monologue, desperate to place a name to your unknown visitor. "Should never have left you." they murmured, so low it was a struggle to make out the rest of their words. "Should have just told them all to 'go to hell'."
Them? Who was the 'them' this person spoke of? You wracked your brain for an answer, finding only blurred snippets of a wounded gaze in a darkened, swaying room. You could have sworn the memory held the fierce sound of rain accompanied by thunder.
"What am I supposed to do without you?" they questioned, the sound of raw desperation tugged at your heartstrings, as you willed yourself to wake up. To open your eyes. Anything to appease their sorrow.
But to know avail. You were lost to the labryinth. The four corners of your mind now plagued by the dark. Surely this was not to be your permanent state- locked in your body for the unknowable future? Suddenly the endless nothing felt achingly oppressive.
I'm here, I'm right here! you thought in a blind panic. Wishing for nothing more than to open your eyes.
'And I may never open up the way I did for you'
"I should have just told you how I felt that day with the oranges."
Oranges.
Yes, yes! You could picture it now. So viscerally, that you could almost smell the purfumed, citrus scent that had permeated your surroundings, while your lover so lovingly pealed away the rind and fed you a segment.
Wait...your lov-
Izzy. The name lazily swam around your mind, as tge puzzle pieces finally fell into place and your earlier confusion dissipated like the morning mist upon the serene ocean. Izzy, your Izzy. That was who was with you now. That was who the voice belonged to. You almost wept with joy. Instead, you shed tears of despair at the realisation- your predicament was the root of his suffering.
There he was, blaming himself over events beyond his control and you were helpless to do anything to ease his pain. All you could do was lie there and wait for a miracle to heal you.
Forgive me, Izzy. You begged, as you listened on to his whispered lamenting, wondering if perhaps you had not really survived tge storm but instead, been damned to your own personal version of hell.
'And all of those best laid plans'
The days passed more or less to the beat of a similar routine. Between Izzy's turn at playing guard dog, your family would come to visit you in random succession. It became a guessing game of who would turn up next, played only by you, yourself and, well, you, again. A broken clock had to strike right twice and yet, you had failed each time to guess correctly.
You wept internally when Frenchie had finally been well enough to make his way to your bedside, guitar in hand. After saying a few words and expressed apologies that you really did not feel needed to be said- like anything that had transpired had really been his fault- he had played for you. Not his usual, playful ditties but something more subdued. Peaceful. Without words but the melody spoke in place of the lyrics. It was beautiful, albeit haunting.
'You said I needed a brave man'
It had stayed with you, a faithful companion, all through the night, while Izzy reluctantly doze in the chair beside you. His own conscious betraying him, forcing the silver-haired pirate to sleep, when all he wanted to do was remain awake. To watch over you as he had failed to do so on the fateful voyage.
Occasionally, you yourself would drift off to a dreamless realm. It was always difficult to gage how much time had passed. Sometimes you were roused awake by a cheerful "good morning!" from Captain Bonnet, which was more often than not, met with a sneered, "fuck off!" from your beloved. You would have scolded him if you could.
Other times, you found yourself returning to the present mid-conversation. Admittedly, you had almost had a heart attack when you had found yourself awake during one of Jim's prayers. The hushed mutterings of Spanish had sounded too close to the Last Rites uttered on someone's deathbed and you had feared the worst.
You had grown particularly fond of Fang's visits. The man's calm presence gave you respite from your unfortunate desposition, as he recounted the crew's daily activities. From Buttons trying to summon a literal water goddess, to Roach finally causing a coup in the inn's kitchen and instating himself as the new Head Chef- it seemed that your family were still up to their polite menacing ways.
Captain Ed would on the odd occasion find himself by your side, with or without Izzy. Sometimes the two men would talk amongst themselves, reminiscing whilst sharing a bottle of whatever cheap liquor they could procure from a local merchant. They never got drunk but they had enough to make your predicament feel more bareable. You often wished you could join them but alas, you were forced to endure every moment of wakefulness with full clarity.
Sometimes, their conversations drifted from times shared upon the Revenge, to a man named Silas- someone you had never heard mentioned by anyone else on the crew, which could only mean he was someone from Izzy's past. You did not understand a lot that was said, by such points the alcohol and weariness of the day was starting to take effect, but whoever this 'Silas' was, you were positive on two counts. One, he had meant a great deal to your lover. Two, he was dead.
Such a revelation had sent you into a tailspin of terror, igniting your burning will to stay...alive? Is that what you were? No, you were currently straddling a third space between life and death. One foot in the grave. You were not ready to cross over to the other side yet.
But did those who love you feel the same way?
The doctor had mentioned on several occassions about putting you out of your misery. Despite the slew of expletives that had promptly fallen in quickfire from Izzy's sharp tongue at the mere suggestion of giving up on you, you found yourself questioning how long they were willing to wait for you, to rejoin them in the land of the living?
'Then proceeded to play him'
That same night, Izzy had abandoned his usual post and taken up residence beside you on the bed. It was nice being so close once more. With your eyes permanently shut, the silver-haired pirate could almost trick himself into believing that you were merely sleeping. That by daybreak, you woukd stir awake and great him with a weary smile or grumble and plead for 'five more minutes'. "I don't care what that fucker says, I'm not giving up on you." he rasped, voice worn from shouting so much at the medical professional. "I'd sooner fucking die, than let that happen." his vow was met with silence. Despite himself, he had grown used to the quiet. Content with observing the laboured rise and fall of your chest- the only inkling, aside from your struggling heartbeat, that you still occupied the same plane of existence as him.
If you were still breathing, still fighting...then there was hope.
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.
