#nsfw #Izzyistrans #steddyhands
Izzy is sore. His solo session while Stede and Ed were out of town was...frustrating to say the least.
It's always so much harder to cum when he's doing all the work, harder to let himself feel and relax. And last night was the worst in awhile. + He had spent two tedious hours trying what seemed like every toy in the drawer, but nothing felt right. It was a parade of toys that felt amazing when Stede and Ed used them, but in Izzy's hands they did practically nothing. +

#stizzy fluff
Stede still can't believe his dumb luck to have found him. Izzy's face is relaxed in sleep, bundled in Stede's bed. He purrs in his sleep, louder when Stede holds him to his chest. There's something so beautiful about Izzy letting his guard down with him.+ The trust Izzy has in him now, the ability to truly rest in his presence.
Izzy stirs, his breath picking up as he wakes. Stede pulls him close, not wanting the peace to end. But Izzy opens his eyes and smiles at Stede, glowing in the morning light.+

#nsfw Izzy/Roach/Wee John
Wee John's belly makes a great pillow for Izzy's head as Roach fucks him slowly and deeply. Roach has Izzy's hands held tight behind his back and he's slobbering all over John as he whines and pants and pleads for "more." But Roach is in charge and what he says goes.
"If you're not going to be quiet, at least make yourself useful." Roach demands, continuing his measured, lazy thrusts.
Izzy tries to move his head down along the slope of John's gut, but without his hands he can't get purchase.

Roach calls on the crew to show the fuck up. Izzy's turning 60 this year, and he refuses to let Izzy ignore his birthday like he does most years. It won't be anything major, it can't be anything too fancy, nor too celebratory if he expects Izzy to actually show. He plans for everyone to gather at Stede's for a dinner party and karaoke. Roach makes Izzy's favorite meal--yellow curry with sweet potatos and peas and the garlic naan he made the first time Roach cooked for him. Lemon meringue pie and peanut butter brownies for dessert.

#CJIzzyWeek2024

Izzy was pulling into the driveway when CJ came barreling out the front door. He was yelling something, but with the windows up Izzy couldn't make it out.
He lowered the passenger window and hollered, "What, Jack!?"
He huffed as he reached the car door.
+ Grabbed the open window and stuck his head in like an overzealous dog.
"Baby!! The ice cream shop reopened! Can we go get a twist cone?"
Izzy wanted to say no, you're a 46 year old man, but right now Jack looked like an excited kid.
"Why the fuck not. Get in."
+

CJ convinces Fang and Izzy to go camping with him over a long weekend. They load up Jack's pickup with their supplies--primarily hot dogs and beer--and set out into the country. Jack says he has a great spot all picked out, one he goes to on his own a bunch. + And it's a beautiful place when they finally get there after a couple of hours. There's a clearing in the forest and a spring not far away. Izzy looks around, surprised that Jack hadn't brought him before, but glad to see it now. They set up the tent, just one big one to share. +

CW: medical procedure
Izzy feels something odd in his chest and his primary sends him to get a mammogram. They tell him it's probably nothing, try not to worry. He's never had to do this before. He cut his tits off years ago. He hoped he'd be able avoid procedures like this. + Everything in the waiting room feels so feminine. He's the only man in the room and he feels like everyone is sneering at him. When he goes back to the imaging room, the technician is clinical but kind, tells him to take off his shirt, fumbles not to say "and bra."+

#cjizzy ficlet

Izzy hears a pot clang on the kitchen floor and a "fucking dammit", then Jack's yelling, "What's the conversion of dry to wet beans?"
Izzy hangs his head and takes a breath before calling back, "What does that even mean, Jack?" + "I'm making soupy beans, like from tiktok, but I'm starting from canned, not dry. How many cans wet beans would be the same as a pound of dry beans?"
"I don't fucking know, why don't you Google it."
There's silence for a moment and Izzy thinks maybe he's home free. +

Izzy is a twitch streamer that mostly plays GeoGuessr and the occasional stream of PowerWash Simulator while grumbling about life and his fitness routine. He has a small crew of regulars in the chat that he spends most of his time yelling at, but they seem to eat it up. One day he says he'll do a topless stream if he hits 100 subscribers. In less than 5 minutes, one of his regulars--MustangCap-gifts 100 gift subs. Izzy is shocked, but a promise is a promise, and he whips his tee off. The chat goes wild at seeing his chest, and Izzy subtly preens

#HappyEdIzzyWeeks
It's been a long day. Cleaning and laundry and tidying up Ed's doom piles so that the apartment looks nice, calming even. Izzy knows it won't last, but it makes him feel better for now. And he knows he'll get a kiss and a "good boy" for it when Ed gets home. Stede will probably be in tow with a kiss as well if Izzy's lucky.
Izzy puts the kettle on to make himself a tea and to relax with a book for awhile.
Now that he's no longer in motion, the aches settle in, reminding him he isn't made for running around any more.

Fang worries for days, thinking about what Izzy will say when he brings up the poly question. He'd known going into their relationship that Fang had been in poly situations before, just not recently. And he hadn't been interested in anyone since they started dating. And it isn't like Izzy isn't enough for him! He loves Izzy, loves what they have, the bond they share, the history that helps them understand each other. But Fang has so much room for more in his life and his heart.

Izzy hugs his stuffie tight, thinks about how Dada tells him it's okay to feel bad sometimes. It's easier than it used to be, to let himself be sad and not try to push it down or away. It's okay to feel sad because it's temporary as long as you let it run its course. 1/6 Izzy hugs Panda tighter, knowing he'd be strangling her if she were real, but this is what she's for so it's okay. He lets himself cry until he feels empty and salty, imagining he is part of the ocean.
There's a knock on the door and Dada pops his head in.
"Okay, Iz?" 2/6

Thinking about Fang getting their nest ready. Turning on the heated blanket and straightening the weighted one. Setting up their snack tray--the gluten and lactose free protein drinks Izzy likes, fruit snacks, the big water cup and a jug for refills. Grabbing the addins Izzy might want--the sweater Izzy likes most and his own threadbare hoodie, and various garments left by their friends over the last couple of weeks. It's a good start, enough to make Izzy smile at him for the forethought.

Izzy leans over the railing, breathing in the morning air. It's pungent and sharp, clearly indicating an incoming storm. He calls for the crew to prepare and then head below, then heads to the captains' cabin to let them know. He knocks twice then enters, knowing they're likely still asleep this early.
The sound of soft snoring confirms his suspicions, so he removes his leathers and climbs back into the bed, jostling Stede as he clambers over him.

Izzy has the house to himself today. Fang's taken the dogs on a visit to his mom's and Lucius took a long weekend away with Pete. He sleeps in to 9am, has a leisurely breakfast of eggs and coffee with the fireplace on and the cat curled up on his lap. He starts a new audiobook on his headphones while he does the dishes, laundry and vacuums, happy to have the time and freedom to get the house all cleaned up for when his partners come home. He puts fresh sheets on the bed, excited for how crisp it'll feel to slip in them later.

#omegaverse #nsfw Omega Izzy is in heat and desperate. He's jumping the bed and fungering himself, but it's not enough. It's never enough. He's so desperate he grabs his phone with his other hand and calls the last number who called him. He's not even sure who it was. Someone answers, the voice tinny and faint so far from his ear. He's whimpering and moaning and crying
"Pleaeeee, alpha....need...please..."
There's a distant "Coming" from the voice and the red symbol meaning they hung up.

New year's eve is coming up, and the Revenge crew are arguing over who gets to kiss Izzy at midnight.
Wee John promises to fix everyone's holiest socks if he can.
Roach threatens to cut off olive oil access for everyone but the Captains. Jim just threatens bodily harm if they aren't the winner.
Frenchie convinced The Swede that Jackie wouldn't allow it, even though Jackie has offered everyone a free round when she reopens her bar if she gets to be the smoocher.

Izzy likes being alone. He likes being able to watch murder mysteries without someone calling him morbid. He likes being able to take a bath with the door open so the cat and dog can come and go as they please.
He likes the quiet and the solitude. He doesn't miss the crowded quarters of life onboard a ship. Nor the smell of working, unwashed bodies. Nor the biting cold rain on his face as he hauls ropes and nets and fish.
He doesn't miss his crew, the family he made out of necessity and shared trauma and responsibility.

Usually Izzy does the cooking, as a good little housewife should. But on days when he's sick and his tummy is too upset to even think about cooking, Fang takes over. He sends Izzy back to bed with a kiss on the cheek and another on his tum, telling it to stop being a dick. Fang goes to the kitchen and gets the big pot and cooks up a week's worth of veggie noodle soup. He uses the little star pasta because it's Izzy's favorite and heaps of garlic because it's delicious and nutritious. He hums as he works, happy to be able to do this for his love.

Izzy wakes late, his body aching. The curtains are still drawn, blocking out the light of the morning, making his fuzzy head feel even more off kilter. He sits up and turns, and even moving slowly and carefully he winces. Two ibuprofen and a swallow of water, he rises. Everything is quiet, but the little noises of the house seem more insistent as he makes his way to the bathroom. The cat cries for his breakfast, the selfish little bastard. If he wasn't sure before, the way his sight wavers and lurches assures him that ita a migraine day.

There are days when he can't get out of bed. Days when the pain makes him mean. Like there are thorns growing under his skin. Days when he hates so much, Ed, Stede, everyone, himself. Days when he cries and cries and curses everything and wishes the bullet finished him. On those days they give him space, give him a hand or an ear, whatever he doesn't push away. They offer again and again no matter how many times he does. They remind him he's their unicorn, their first mate, their friend, crew, family, loved.