#das writes

[dasseinhundin]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Woe, Halstarion hurt/comfort be upon ye

[dasseinhundin]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A little something to help process.

[dasseinhundin]

I guess space and time

Takes violent things, angry things

And makes them kind

He awakens to the glow of the early morning sun. Inside their little nest of blankets is deliciously warm, the rich velvet curtains isolating the sleeping nook from the outside world so the only sounds that can be heard are the waves and Stede’s soft snoring. Ed blinks his eyes open slowly, luxuriating in the feel of the soft rays of light on his face and the gossamer of fine linens, the gentle weight of the silken duvet.

He hasn’t always been able to take his time waking up like this.

Not long ago, it wasn’t uncommon to wake with a pounding head from too much rum, a stiff neck from a night in the captain’s chair, the occasional knife to the throat or the roar of cannon fire—now, he thinks to himself as he turns his head to admire the way the light catches his lover’s golden curls—now he gets to wake up feeling warm, and safe, and loved.

It’s enough to make a man cry and shit, honestly.

Ed curls onto his side to tuck himself better into the crook of Stede’s arm where he continues to doze, nosing at the curve of his jaw and admiring the soft scratch of stubble. The man’s been growing it out lately, and Ed can’t say he doesn’t like it. It accentuates the line of Stede’s jaw, emphasizes that dazzling smile of his, tickles his lips when they kiss. His own facial hair, well—

Ed doesn’t go much for the long beards these days.

He smiles fondly at the memory of the first time Stede had caught him shaving. It was a few days after their reunion, after they’d talked it out, and Stede had walked into the en suite and in on Ed carefully sliding a straight edge razor down the side of his cheek. The man had been mid-sentence and had stopped immediately, and Ed still remembers the white-hot burst of anxiety that had bloomed like a flare in his gut as he awaited the other man’s reaction.

It was one thing for the Dread Pirate Blackbeard to shave his beard off under the threat of the military, but out here on the open sea, in the privacy of his own ship? Stede’s words at the academy clamored in his head—How can you be Blackbeard without your beard?—but in the end, he was an idiot for worrying. Stede had merely strolled into the room, gingerly taken the razor from his hands and with an affectionately chiding ‘you missed a spot, darling,’ had taken over for him without a single question.

Ed blinks back the sudden burn of tears at the memory. Because honestly, what else had he expected from the only person who had ever truly seen him?

Stede snuffles a bit, still sound asleep, and Ed takes the opportunity to continue to trace his lover’s features in the early morning glow. He tucks his nose behind Stede’s left ear and inhales deeply, heart fluttering at the familiar smell of bergamot and lavender soap. Never thought he could be the heart-fluttery type, but well, Stede’s changed a lot about what he thought he could be. He presses his lips to his lover’s pulse point, breathing in his smell and reveling in the soft pulse of his heartbeat against his mouth. Strong and steady, just like the waves beating against the hull.

“Mmn..Ed?”

Stede’s voice is soft, still thick and sweet as honey with sleep. Ed smiles, warmed through at the sound of it and presses another kiss to his skin. Fuckin’ heavenly.

“Someone’s awfully affectionate this morning,” Stede says with a drowsy chuckle.

Ed’s smile quirks into something just a touch more mischievous, kisses just a taste more teasing. He trails them up Stede’s neck feather-light, then nips the side of his jaw. The giggle that he makes sends Ed’s heart spiraling into the stratosphere.

“What, ‘m not allowed to say good morning to the most beautiful bastard on the seven seas? Sounds pretty fucking unfair, if you ask me.”

Stede turns over on his side to better face him, all soft curls and warm skin and gauzy linens. Even his night cap looks so endearing it makes Ed want to kiss him stupid. He doesn’t extract his arm from where Ed’s laying on top of it, but rather drapes his other one over his side, encasing Ed in the cocoon of his arms. All around him is the smell of lavender soap and sea salt and Stede, and it’s bliss.

“Well, that won’t do at all, now, will it?” Stede tuts affirmingly. “No unfairness on our ship, no sir.”

That little possessive—our—still sends a thrill down Ed’s spine. To think someone like Stede would want to share something like his ship (his home…his life!) with someone like him will never cease to astound him in the best of ways. He tucks his head under Stede’s chin, suddenly bashful.

“Mnnnope. So shut up and good morning.”

He can feel Stede smiling. Beautiful bastard, indeed.

“Good morning to you too, my dearest.” Ed feels his arms tighten around him. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a fuckin’ rock.” Ed sighs happily. They’d just gotten the duvet from a merchant vessel off the coast of Jamaica, the pillows from their last stop in Barbados; A gift from Mary, of all things. Lovely woman, clever as a fox at cards. Turns out she and Ed get along swimmingly, much to both Stede and Doug’s horror. “Your ex-wife has surprisingly good taste in bedding.”

“Yes, well, Doug was telling me that little Louis is starting to have quite the eye for fabrics. Turns out he helped Mary pick them out.”

“No shit!”

“Mhm,” The apples of Stede’s cheeks flush a darling rosy color. He cocks an eyebrow in feigned seriousness, which is all but impossible with that night cap still on his head. “Meanwhile, I hear that Alma is quite keen on having her dear Uncle Eddy teach her that…oh, what did she say…that, uh, ‘cool thing with the knife’?”

Ed doesn’t have the audacity to look the least bit sheepish. In fact, he pushes up onto his elbow, staring down into Stede’s face with glee. “She did? Ahhh, she’s gonna be a little hellion, I knew it!” He cackles. “We’ll have her raiding ships before she even debuts.”

Stede barks out a laugh despite himself and it warms Ed down to his toes. He loves being the reason Stede laughs. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, dear. I think Mary might have a word or two to say about that.”

“Mary, Mary, Mary.” Ed tuts, straightening the collar of his lover’s nightshirt. “Y’know, I still need to pay her back for kicking my ass at cards last time we were there, so teaching her daughter how to throw knives I think is perfectly acceptable revenge. Practical, even.”

“You know she’s my daughter, too.”

“Point being, mate?”

“My point, dear, is that maybe we should have Jim teach her. If—“ He adds quickly when he sees the shit-eating grin growing on Ed’s face. God above, he loves this ridiculous man. “And that’s a big ‘if’, mister, Mary okays it. After all, Jim can pin a fly’s wings with a dagger at twenty paces.”

Ed shrugs. He has a point. If Alma is going to learn, Ed will be damned if it’s not from the best. And Jim’s the best mark he’s ever seen with a knife, Ed can’t even take that personally. He flops back down into Stede’s waiting arms. He bites back a pleased hum when he begins to comb his fingers through his hair. “Alright. Fair enough, man.”

Stede continues to run his hand through his sleep-tangled tresses, gently undoing the knots and scratching his scalp with his well-manicured nails. Between the soothing attention to his hair, the gentle rocking of the ship, and the warmth of his love’s body and the dappling of sun, Ed feels his eyelids grow heavier. Fuck it, why not doze a little more? King George himself doesn’t have it better.

Ed feels the soft press of Stede’s lips against his brow. He burrows closer into the blankets, closer into Stede’s side. He presses his lips against every bit of Stede he can reach with drowsy adoration.

It’s incredible how easy it is to love Stede. Easiest thing he’s ever done.

Stede’s other hand trails down Ed’s shoulder to trace the intricate floral stitch of the dressing gown Ed likes to wear to sleep. It was an easy choice to make back in the early days, to commandeer it when he’d returned to the Revenge alone. It had smelled like Stede, had held the comforting softness and finery Ed associated with the man he’d fallen for, and even in his darkest points he could never bring himself to be rid of it.

Stede presses another kiss to his forehead, but this time he lingers, as if just breathing Ed in. After a time, he asks quietly, “Why don’t I ask Lucius to bring us some toast and a bit of that yummy marmalade you love so much? We could have breakfast in bed, make this a real decadent morning.”

Ed pushes himself up just enough to press his lips to Stede’s. Even now, it’s still like a gunpowder spark. Breakfast sounds divine and he could eat a whole jar of that marmalade with his bare hands, no question, but he doesn’t think that he’s quite ready to give up this little paradise they’ve found themselves in quite yet. He falls back into the pillows and pulls Stede to follow with a gentle hand on the back of his neck, swallowing his lover’s hum of delight.

“Mmm…five more minutes?”

Stede smiles down at him, cloaked in gold and sunlight and he’s the most beautiful thing Ed’s ever seen.

“Tell you what,” Stede says with a conspiratorial whisper, and Ed’s never been more grateful in his life than in this moment, with this man in his arms that’s worth more than all the finery in the world. “I’ll give you ten.”

With golden string,

Our universe was brought to life

That we may fall in love

Every time we open up our eyes

[dasseinhundin]

but I woke up in a safe house singing

They wake up together one morning, wrapped together beneath the sheets and curled around each other like they do every morning. Stede’s got creases in his cheek from the pillow and rather stubborn cowlick. Ed’s hair is a certifiable mess and he knows his breath could peel paint. But Stede’s hands gently trail down his back as they take turns trading kisses between them like secrets. Inside their bunk is comfortable, and safe, and warm. Beyond the curtains and the windows is the quiet rush of waves, the distant call of seabirds.

“Five more minutes.”

“Ed, you said that fifteen minutes ago.”

Ed presses his face into the crook of Stede’s neck, traces his nose down the dip of his shoulder. He smells faintly of lavender, like sea salt and a little like Ed, too. He gives a soft nip to the skin there, playful. “The fuck are you, a clock?” He teases.

Stede giggles, arms tugging him tight to his chest. Ed offers no resistance. “You’re a menace. You know, part of being a captain is actually captaining the ship.”

“They won’t miss us,” Ed whispers in Stede’s ear. He punctuates it with a kiss, smiles against Stede’s lips when he feels his lover grin against him. “C’mon, love.”

Stede heaves a dramatic, put-upon sigh that Ed doesn’t believe for a single second. “Well, I guess the men are just going to have to make due without their early-morning pep talk.” He says, looking at Ed slyly from the corner of his eye. Ed plants a loud, wet smack on his cheek and grins when Stede tries not to smile. “If they mutiny, dear, it’s entirely on you.”

“Oh yes,” Ed agrees, returning to the task of trailing kisses down Stede’s throat. “Yup. All on me. My bad. Absolutely.” He snickers when he feels Stede’s chest shake with laughter. He looks up to meet Stede’s warm honeyed eyes, and is stricken speechless by the depth of them.

Stede has beautiful eyes. Expressive ones—Ed loves how they crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or how round they become when he’s excited, or how shiny they get when he seems truly, deeply moved by something. It reminds him of stars, of the endless night sky. It never ceases to surprise Ed just how open and warm and loving Stede’s eyes can be, and it never ceases to put his heart in a vice grip to see those loving eyes on him.

Ed’s not sure what’s different about this time. It could be the way the early light of the morning spills in through the crack in the curtains and lights Stede’s face like something holy, or the way his skin feels beneath Ed’s fingertips. It may be the steady, sure beat of his heart beneath Ed’s palm, or that silly little cowlick, or Stede’s starry, loving eyes. It could be how Ed realizes that he never wants to wake to a sunrise without Stede there to catch its light.

“Let’s get married.” He says.

Stede’s eyes go big and round and oh, Ed loves it when they do that—it’s like the heavens opening up and he can peer through at every constellation. His mouth forms a small ‘o’, the apples of his cheeks as red as they would be after a day in the sun. He raises a hand to cradle Ed’s cheek.

“Wh—I—Ed, are you serious?” Stede asks him, breathless.

“Yes,” Ed says, lacing their fingers. As soon as he says it, he realizes how sure he is, how much he means it. He wants this down to the marrow of his bones. If Edward Teach has ever spoken the truth in his life, by God it’s this. “More serious than a gut stab, mate.”

Stede wheezes out a laugh, high pitched and disbelieving. “Oh, darling—”

“We don’t have to,” Ed hurries, stomach winding itself into every knot he knows and a few more for good measure. “What I mean is I just love you so fucking much, Stede. You’re the air I fucking breathe, and—and—and—and pirating isn’t exactly a stable life career. You don’t know how many days you get.” He squeezes Stede’s hand, forces himself to meet his eyes. “I just want to spend however many I’ve got with you.”

Stede’s eyes well with tears. “Oh, Ed,” He whispers, pulling Ed into the cradle of his arms. “Me too.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Stede gives a watery laugh, pressing a kiss to Ed’s temple. “I do. I don’t know if you know this, Edward Teach, but I am very much in love with you.”

Ed surges forward and kisses him because he’ll be damned if he spends another moment not kissing Stede. He doesn’t seem to mind the paint-stripping breath, which is an added bonus, because Ed’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to help himself at this point. After a few moments, though, he feels Stede squirm away a bit and looks down at him to watch as he pulls off his gold and turquoise ring. Ed recognizes it as the one he never takes off, his most favorite piece. He holds it up to the light as if to inspect it and gives a short nod.

“Ah, yes. This will do splendidly.”

“What are you on about?” Ed asks him.

Stede tugs at their joined hands. “Well, it’s traditional to give your betrothed a ring when you ask them to marry you. And as both a gentleman and your future husband, I’ll be damned if my husband doesn’t have an engagement ring for his proposal.”

And oh, if that doesn’t just fuck Ed’s heart right up seven ways to Sunday. He coughs, trying to remember how to breathe. “Yeah, well, sure. I mean, I guess. So. Um.” He stares down as Stede slips the ring onto his finger, holding his breath. When they continue to sit in silence, he blinks. “Uh. Are you. Are you gonna—um, gonna ask…”

Stede looks up at the flustered pink creeping across Ed’s cheeks, the expectant silence that’s fallen between the two of them.  Ed sees the moment when it clicks in Stede’s brain, the relieved sag of his shoulders, the gentle glint of his eyes as he holds the ring still, halfway to the first knuckle.

“Edward Teach,” He says softly, and already there’s no way that Ed’s going to make it through this without crying. Stede runs his thumb over his fingers, over and over, and it feels like the pull and push of the tide. “Will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my husband?”

Ed bites his lip, sniffling. The lump in his throat is so large he can’t even speak, so he just nods his head as tears spill hotly down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he manages to finally squeak out.

Stede’s smile is radiant. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Ed agrees, more steadily this time. Stede’s grin is infectious, and he simply has to taste it.

Ed knows that eventually they’re going to have to emerge from their little nest. As much as he wishes that they could while away the day in bed hidden from the rest of the world, the crew does need their captains, and they do eventually need breakfast. Ed will comb his hair and Stede will smooth his cowlick, the pillow crease marks will fade and (eventually) he’ll brush his teeth. But for now, they’ve got each other and a promise for a lifetime of mornings doing just exactly this.

Ed can’t fucking wait.

(x) (insp. music)

[dasseinhundin]

show me home and I will go

They come spilling into the cabin, a drunken, giggling mess of limbs stumbling over each other. Ed’s got a bottle of rum clutched in one hand and Stede’s cravat in the other, and Stede is trying his best to unbuckle Ed’s holster from around his waist before he ends up snagging it on another doorknob. Personally, Ed doesn’t think it’s much of a problem—he’s not drunk enough that he’s stumbling into those walls all on his own, after all, glancing merrily down at his love’s kiss-darkened lips. But alas, he can’t say he doesn’t love the feel of Stede’s arms around his waist, so he graciously puts up with it.

“What a bash!” Stede crows, delighted as he finally dislodges the tongue of his belt from the buckle. “Roach really outdid himself with that cake. Splendid, truly.”

Ed hums his agreement, tugging the cravat up a bit to return Stede’s attention to where it belonged. His co-captain follows willingly, glancing up and pecking him. He can still taste the orange glaze on his smile.

“Think we’ll have to turn right back around to St. Augustine to make up for all the fruit he probably used,” Ed teases. Stede swats him on the chest, eyes sparkling, and he snickers.

“Hush, you rude thing. I’ll have you know we stocked extra oranges especially for this. After all, it’s not every day that part of our crew gets married!”

Ed smiles wistfully, falling gracelessly into his place on the divan. A recent acquisition from a Dutch ship, but it’s quickly becoming his favorite spot to lounge. He drops the bottle of rum on the floor and closes his eyes, enjoying the slight spin the room takes. From somewhere behind him, he can hear Stede pattering about, the clinking of their crystal set and the splash of what he can only assume is more booze hitting the glass, and he resigns himself to being considerably drunk for the remainder of the evening.

He’s seen matelotage ceremonies before, but never one planned and executed by one Stede Bonnet. Once Lucius and Black Pete had announced their intentions, the man had been a flurry of activity, insisting on a lavish (well, as lavish as a pirate ceremony could get, Ed supposes,) affair. But If there’s one thing that he’s learned over the past two years, it’s never to doubt what the man he breathes for is capable of.

They’d docked in Havana, and in the span of about a week the deck of the ship was transformed with flowers and ribbon and candles of all colors and sizes. The yards were dripping with garlands, the banisters draped with chiffon and swags. Somewhere Stede had even found an exquisite and impractically long, plush red carpet to run the length of the main deck for an aisle. Lucius had cried when he’d emerged from below deck to see it.

The ceremony had been held at sunset when the stifling summer air was a bit less oppressive, and the sky was painted a swath of pinks and purples. The humid air was perfumed heavily with the bountiful flowers, and if anyone asks, that’s why Ed’s eyes were watery during the ceremony. Absolutely nothing to do with the heartfelt vows Lucius had recited, or the look of utter adoration that shined on Pete’s face. They showered the couple in rose petals as they ran down the aisle (no rice—Buttons had insisted that it hurt Olivia’s stomach,) and then the following hours were spent having one of the most raucous parties that Ed can remember in years.

“Here you are, darling.”

He feels the cool, gentle nudge of a glass against his cheek and raises a hand to take it without opening his eyes. The most he’ll do is sit up to sip it, because he doesn’t feel like getting any more alcohol on him than he probably already has.

“Thanks, mate.”

Ed cracks an eye open to watch Stede settle into his armchair with a long, contented sigh. The fire crackles merrily in the hearth, gilding Stede’s profile and combing streaks of light through his golden curls. He’s dressed down from the earlier party, in a rich blue banyan and the first few buttons of his collar undone. It’s far from the first time Ed’s caught breathless by how exquisite the man is—softened curves and gentle lines where all Ed’s ever known is sharp cuts and jutting edges. He’s got that darling little crease in his forehead, the one he gets when he’s pondering something. Ed has the absurd urge to squish his eyebrows together with his thumbs just to see it deepen. Sometimes he pictures what Stede will look like five, ten, twenty years from now and he can see it so clearly; the man will age like a fine wine, and fuck if Ed can’t wait to savor it.

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Ed sing songs, sipping the liquor—he’s surprised with a deep aroma of ripe fruits and spices and the heady tang of tannins. So not liquor, then. “Mmm. Nice wine, by the way. Caaabernet…?” Stede’s been trying to educate his palate whenever they could snag a good bottle, but he’s still not totally sure what to call wine other than ‘grapey’ half the time. He’s able to tell a good one from a shit one now at least.

Not like he won’t still drink them both, but whatever.

Stede turns his attention away from the fire, eyebrow quirking. “What look? And excellent work with your taste buds there, dearest. Do you like it? I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Top up?”

Ed sits up as much as he’s loathed to start the process of shucking off his shirt. He loves the material, something soft and breathable, but he’s craving the satiny fineness of his robe. He gets an arm through it before offering his glass to Stede to refill.

“Mhmm, please do. And the look of someone with an idea.” He says coyly. “What’ve you got going on in that big, beautiful, lunatic brain of yours?”

Stede smiles, apples of his cheeks blooming a very bitable shade of pink. “Nothing, really. It’s kind of silly, actually.” Ed doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail the expansive map of tattoos across his bare chest. He grins.

“Well, I think that should really be for me to decide, shouldn’t it?” Ed says, placing his glass on the table as he saunters his way around it towards the chair. He leans over Stede like a shroud, hands on each arm rest and the robe closing them in like a curtain. Stede to his credit doesn’t back down from the obvious flirt, bold with wine and what now Ed can joyously name as love. “I mean, seeing as how I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I’m gonna be playing a part in whatever you’ve got cooking up there.”

He taps Stede’s temple gently and Stede can’t keep a straight face. He’s biting his lip to keep down the size of his smile, and oh, there’s that pretty blush again. He looks like an overexcited kettle ready to boil right over, and honestly despite trying for flirty, Ed loves this look on him just as much as his bedroom eyes. He loves all Stede’s expressions if he’s honest though, so he’s kind of a shit judge in that regard.

“Well if you really insist,” Stede finally says in a rush, grabbing at his hands to pull him towards one of the bookshelves. “I’ve actually been working on a little something. Been thinking about that offer you’d made a while back. About the, ah, the tattoo.”

Stede kneels to look through the volumes on the bottom shelf and motions over his shoulder for Ed to sit as well. Ed watches with bemusement, swimming now into the realm of a pleasant buzz where he can’t even feel his shitty knee complain about sitting crisscross on the floor. When Stede swirls around it’s with a large journal similar to one of Lucius’ and he places it gingerly between them. Ed looks down at the book and then back up at Stede’s face, waiting for him to continue.

Stede takes a few deep, almost giddy breaths before flipping open the book. He skims a few pages before stopping abruptly.

“I’m not the strongest artist,” Stede says, holding his hand over the page. “I had a lot of help from Lucius, and Frenchie also gave me some good ideas, and Buttons was invaluable help as well with the technical design of it—”

He’s rambling now. It’s really, really fucking cute.

Ed leans over the book to kiss him. Stede instantly shuts up, which was both the intended effect and an excellent distraction for him to sneak a peek down out of the corner of his eye at—

“Is that a fucking bird?”

Stede blinks, dazed from the kiss and fuck how is he so cute? He looks down at where his hand had strayed from covering a truly horrific depiction of what Ed can only guess is a seagull.

“Oh, no!” Stede laughs. “Frenchie wanted to practice his portrait skills while we were brainstorming and made this lovely sketch of Olivia. I think he got her beak just right, don’t you?” “Oh, yes.” Ed says, silently relieved that whatever is on that page won’t be on his other half’s…wherever. “Definitely. Even got the little sparkle of mischief in her eye.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Getting a bit distracted here, love.” Stede straightens up. “Ah, yes. Well. I guess I should probably just show you, shouldn’t I?”

“Well I’m not sitting here on the floor half dressed and whole drunk for you to not show me, am I?”

“Quite right.” Stede takes another deep breath, closes his eyes, and flips the page.

To be honest, Ed wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Over the past few weeks since Stede had started to seriously consider getting one, he’s floated quite a few ideas for his first tattoo around: an orange, a star, an anchor, a lighthouse (Ed had kissed that suggestion right out of his mouth), but never once had he mentioned this.

“A compass rose?” Ed asks him. “What made you think of this?” Not unusual for a sailor, but it still takes Ed by surprise. It’s a pretty design, a simple curved star in the cardinal directions with notches around it and a cut of arrows through it. What catches Ed’s eye about it is that none of the directions are delineated except for East—marked with a simple x.

“I hate to break it to you, mate, but usually compasses point North.”

Stede is looking at him now, really looking at him, and Ed suddenly feels thrown back years to that night on the deck, bathed in moonlight and clutching a tatty old piece of red silk. His heart skips, and for some reason his breath hitches at the sight of the tiny, earnest smile on Stede’s face.

“When I was thinking of what I wanted, all I kept thinking was how permanent it was. How it should tell a story, of sorts. Tell something about me. And, well, I may not be much of a gifted navigator but I wanted something to show the one thing I do know for certain.” Stede leans towards him and takes his hand in his, squeezing gently. He looks up into Ed’s eyes, and fuck, he thinks, why do I feel like I’m about to cry? 

“Edward Teach, no matter where I go in this world, no matter what happens, my compass points me to you.”

Tears burn hot and furious in Ed’s eyes, sudden as a riptide and just as hopeless to quell. He stares at Stede, disbelieving and so, so in love.

Stede suddenly looks bashful beneath Ed’s wonderous adoration, and shyly turns back to the page to point out more details. “I know that ‘East’ is usually denoted by an ‘E’ on the map, but when I saw you sign the accord, you’d used an ‘x’, so I thought it would be a little secret of sorts. Kind of like a double meaning. Both for ‘east’ and for—”

“Edward,” Ed chokes out.

Stede smiles gently, wiping Ed’s wet cheek with his thumb. “Exactly right.”

Ed just stares, motionless as Stede wipes away the tears from his eyes. His lips tremble as if fighting to speak, but what can he possibly say? How can he possibly even try to unravel the tangle of emotions that knot in his throat, to express the swell of love so strong that it threatens to crack open and spill from his very bones?

“So,” Stede asks, and even in his dazed state Ed can catch the self-conscious note of anxiety in his voice. “What do you think?”

That snaps him out of it.

Ed surges across the space between them, grabbing Stede’s face in his hands and swallowing the yelp of surprise as he knocks them both to the floor. He kisses Stede like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it, like he wants to cling to Stede’s skin like the fine salt of the sea and never let go again. Stede gives just as good as he gets, the beautiful bastard, tracing the seam of Ed’s lips with his tongue and making the most beautiful sounds Ed’s ever heard in his life. He tastes like orange cake and cabernet, and if Ed doesn’t just want to devour him whole.

“What do I think?” Ed asks incredulously once they finally part for breath. “I think that’s the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard in my life, Stede Bonnet, and that I love you, and that I want one too.”

Stede looks so beautiful in the firelight, hair tousled and kissed breathless. “You do?” He asks. Ed laughs and kisses him again because he simply can’t stand not to.

“Yes. Only mine will be ‘S’ for Stede. Right here, over my heart.”

Stede looks up at him, and if Ed’s ever had a doubt he was loved, he’ll never doubt again. It radiates from Stede, glowing like stars in his eyes and warms him down to his bones. He places his hand over Stede’s heart, beating strong and steady as a drum. He likes to think his matches.

“Great minds think alike, I guess.” Stede says, placing his hand over Ed’s. “That’s just where I was thinking I’d put mine.”

(x)

[dasseinhundin]

but here i am with arms unfolding

He spots Stede’s silhouette on the far side of the deck, legs slung through the rungs and head pillowed on folded arms across the banister. His hair’s gotten longer, tied neatly with a simple blue satin ribbon at the nape of his neck. It’s about the only finery he’s got left to him these days, and it’s still a little jarring if Edward’s being honest.

When Stede had reappeared a few weeks ago, it was with none of the pomp or flair Edward knew him for upon their first meeting. No flashy clothes, no peacocking. He’d shown up on a small fishing schooner with the rest of his ragtag crew dressed in rags and sunburnt from head to toe, scruffy and caked with sea salt and grime. He’d taken the verbal lashings Edward had thrown him with surprising grace, had barely made a move to defend himself at the threat of violence.

In the months that they’d been apart, Stede had never lost his ability to completely tip him ass-over-teakettle. The bastard had laid his rapier down on the dock, held up his hands, and had simply told him that he’d take whatever punishment Edward saw fit, with the sole hope that one day, he’d maybe be worthy of apologizing.

Edward had said nothing at the time, choosing to leave Stede and the crew on the deck without a word to retreat to his quarters and drink himself into a fugue.

It’s been weeks now, however, and there’s only so many places one can go and things one can do to avoid someone on a ship. Edward’s tried it all—from holding up in his quarters to trying to make himself nocturnal, there has been no escaping Stede Bonnet.

And God fucking dammit, how he hates how much he’s missed Stede’s voice.

The first time he’d overheard Stede laugh, he’d had to duck below deck to calm his breathing. Oh, the ache! God, that gaping, festering void that lived to the left of his lungs had throbbed so hard his ribs creaked with the pressure of it. So many nights he’d spent listening to that laugh. Once he’d wanted nothing more than to spend every last day he had listening to it. Now he couldn’t hear it without shaking.

But still, Edward lingers: around corners when the crew is in the dining hall. In the crow’s nest while Stede reads a story. On the lower decks while he chats with Oluwande. He slows his steps when they cross paths, tries to bank the flutter in his stomach when he feels those warm brown eyes settle like a touch on his shoulders.

Edward hovers at the peripheral like a phantom, unsure where to go from here. It’s impossible to ignore the looks Stede gives him—he hasn’t given the man a scrap of hope, but still he watches with achingly adoring eyes. Edward speaks in clipped tones, but Stede regards him with nothing but warmth and affection. He’s patient and calm and so, so kind, and it makes Edward feel like he’s trying to gain balance in the middle of a hurricane.

He watches Stede gaze into the night sky, follows the curve of moonglow across his cheeks. Even now he looks content, as if just being where he is, is enough. Fucking mental.

Edward doesn’t know what he wants, or if he’s content. He thought he was starting to be when the man had shown back up, and suddenly he isn’t sure of a single thing anymore. Is he okay, truly?  Is he better off without him? Does Blackbeard need him?

Does he need Blackbeard?

The wind picks up, and Edward watches a few curls tug free of Stede’s ribbon. They dance like flaxen strings in the moonlight. It’s barely been a year since they’ve known each other, but somehow Stede looks older. More sure of himself. The skittish man he’d met on that ship what feels like a lifetime ago is gone, Edward realizes, and with some surprise, he finds he wants to learn who this Stede is now.

He steps just heavily enough to alert Stede to his presence. To his credit, Stede doesn’t jump or start jabbering on like he once thought he would. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed skywards, and Edward follows suit as he settles down beside him on the deck. Another breeze blows by, and Stede places a hand on the deck between them like a gentle offering.

Edward hesitates. His throat aches with the memories of shouting it raw, tears burning hot in the corners of his eyes. Such an unassuming thing, this hand—barely calloused, nails well-manicured, this hand has spent most of its life never knowing any hardship. And yet, between them, it holds a scrap of silk. A petrified orange. His beating heart, his everything.

His heart feels fit to burst through his chest. To calm down, he takes in the crash of the waves on the hull. The stars shining above, and the salt tang in the air. The smooth, worn wood of the deck beneath them. The gloss on the banister.

The faint smell of lavender.

Edward takes in a shaking breath.

Without a word between them, he takes Stede’s hand and holds tight.

(x) (insp)

[dasseinhundin]

you will see your beauty every moment that you rise

He traces the wet, salt-warm path from eye to throat, swallows his lover’s shaking gasp beneath the silver lit stillness of the room. Stede is gentle as he mouths at his stuttering pulse point, heartbeat a hummingbird and voice a trilling thrush.

“Why,” Edward will ask the darkness of nights like these. His voice is thick as smoke, self doubt spilling like embers from his lips. “Why do you love me?”

Stede shushes him with gentle, sipping kisses, hands cradling and thumbs brushing the delicate skin beneath Ed’s tired eyes. He lets his hands trace each inch of skin his love allows, each drop of ink and gnarled patch of healed over skin worshipped with reverent fingers, each wrinkle smoothed and imperfection venerated. How can he ever begin to explain?

“Because you take your tea with seven sugars,” Stede settles on finally, trailing his lips featherlight down the back of the snake that encircles Ed’s right arm. He nuzzles the inside of his elbow with his nose, pressing a kiss to the soft skin there. “Because you tell ghost stories to the crew.”

He hears Edward sniffle above him, a broken little inhale. Feels him shake his head. Stede continues his path across his body, pressing his lips against each hint of a rib, tracing the sails of the ship emblazoned on his lover’s chest. “You love a fine fabric and a good glass of brandy. You’re patient enough to teach me how to fight, and you make me laugh.”

A sharp sob.

“I’m no good, Stede.”

Stede pushes up to his elbows. Watches the shimmer of moonlight play in Ed’s watery eyes. Wonders how anyone could ever have been fooled for a moment by the mask—how the world could fail to see the beauty in this incredible man.

“My love,” Stede says with a gentle kiss to his starlit eyes, “You’re the finest thing my hands have ever held.”

[dasseinhundin]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death (TV) 

Rating: Teen

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet

Summary:

“Mmm…five more minutes?”

“Tell you what,” Stede says with a conspiratorial whisper, and Ed’s never been more grateful in his life than in this moment, with this man in his arms that’s worth more than all the finery in the world. “I’ll give you ten.”

-- Ed learns that waking up is pretty alright when you have someone worth waking up next to.